Daniela Ginta, Freelance Writer

Gratitude makes the journey better. Kindness, too.

Category: Motherhood

It Happened To Santa Too

By

On November 3, 2013

In Life Stories, Motherhood

Santa's steps?This time it wasn’t my fault. More so, I had no idea that it will happen today. There was no warning.

The day started with laziness in bed, snuggles and a big pile of pancakes. A pot of steaming strawberry sauce… memories of summer mornings drowned in fragrant berry smells and perky leaves holding sun and dew in green curled bellies.

Mouthfuls, butter melting, dripping sauce and sweetness, boys joking about all the inappropriate things again and again. This morning will hang in a corner of my soul, for no particular reason, but for the sweetness, the innocence and the roundness of it all.

The hills around have white dusted tops and countless thin trees, black and sleepy and fog-wrapped. Coffee on the porch, soft whispers to go with small sips. Find a place to take the boys. Where to, where to? A snowy lake? Is it snowy? Let’s try.

We drive the licked-clean road through snowy meadows and patches of trees… Do you hear the lone woodpecker? The sky is draping low and white. We park, boys roll out of the car in snow and make us promise snowball fights.

PathThin ice grows from the shores on the black surface of the lake. The path along the shores is padded with fresh-fallen snow and walking on it sounds like stepping on buried drums… muffled thick noises, branches droopy with snow, voices of boys running ahead and the distinct drum-roll of another lone woodpecker.

We walk around the lake, bumping chests halfway with the lake-dwelling dusk and making our way out of the woods as snow starts falling again.

A snowman perhaps? But the snow is powdery and stubborn, there’s no sticking. Snowman head and tummy crumble, we leave but two snow angels by the side of the road, taking our own with us. You need them when you drive through curtains of snowflakes, when you know you have to say thank you, again, for the simple beauty of new snow.

As snow-covered layers come off, Sasha’s big eyes turn and stare into mine.

Boy. Wonder“Mom, is Santa real?”

I stared back, I pondered, I listened to the voice that said “Be true” and pondered again. Will that take the magic away?

“What does your heart tell you?” This is how shy truth-teller me goes about it. I’m barely an inch tall.

“My heart says it’s not true.”

Truth-teller bows to child’s wisdom, eyelids drop in approval and then the promise snuggles in between our hearts “We can keep Santa with us though, magic and all…”

JoyYes we can. If new snow can sing to us every time, so will Santa and its wicked trail of make-believe. Truth and magic can live together if they’re done right.

So that’s how it all happened. Truth-teller honor.

 

I Killed The Tooth Fairy

By

On November 1, 2013

In Life Stories, Motherhood

ExchangeThat’s right. I did. It happened yesterday.  I have no remorse and at the risk of sounding cold and heartless, which I am not, I must say that it feels liberating.

I did not have a good relationship with her, you see. If I had to define our relationship I would say it was a case of forced labor. I had to become a tooth fairy and not by volition but because everyone did it. I was ushered into it even though I had no desire to perpetuate a concept I did not agree with.

The reasons I did not agree are as follows:

  1. The price per tooth varies with the household, which is puzzling for little people and downright annoying for big people who believe in fairness (it is almost ironic that the root of fairy and fairness is, well, fair, and the work of the said entity is anything but)
  2. If you, the designated fairy, happen to forget to operate before you go to bed, and on top of it happen to sleep in and hence do not manage to replace the fallen teeth with money by the time the child wakes up, well, you’ve got some explaining to do or you have to do the kind of sneaking you haven’t done since the days of high school…It is not pretty, or comfortable.
  3. A big one: why would a child get money for a tooth that falls out? There is no work involved, not the child’s anyway, and if anything, children may be driven face to face with a chilling concept (I will leave it to you to name it due to its potentially offensive nature.) I may be wrong, but somewhere out there a child must have wondered at some point “If my baby tooth is worth X dollars, then what is —- (fill in with random body part) worth?” Just sayin’…
  4. According to children, the tooth fairy does the following: she walks through the house in the middle of the night, reaches under the child’s pillow, takes the tooth (care to know what her house looks like?) and replaces it with money. Creepy by most people’s standards, you’d agree. After having our home broken into just a couple of weeks ago, the concept of strangers walking through the house is challenging. My boys are perceptive enough to ask point blank: How does she get in, mom? Then what? Asking the questions was only a matter of time.

So you see, for all the above reasons and more, I had to kill her.

The straw that broke the camel’s back (or the fairy’s spell in this case) was Sasha’s “fresh-from-school” question.

“Mom, is it true that the tooth fairy does not give money if the tooth has been pulled out by the dentist?”

That was it. I had no decent answer to it and the cheekiness of an imaginary creature can only go so far. It was me or her.

One had to go and it wasn’t going to be me. Without an ounce of hesitation I blurted out “There is something I have to tell you.”

Pitter-patter, wait for me hurried steps brought a wide-eyed Tony from the bedroom to the living room, which was now becoming the sacrificial tooth fairy arena. With a gaze that meant “I knew it” he gave me his vote of confidence in handling the situation. Talk about feeling like a grownup. Occasionally I act like one too.

“There is no tooth fairy, my love.”

Sasha’s eyes, wide and trustful, built a question mark right there and I could see it trying to stand on wobbly feet and I knew it did not mean “Really?” but rather “Now what?”

So he asked. “Then who is the tooth fairy? You?”

I nodded. Yep. Was he disappointed? Yes, no? A few seconds of no words and deep long gazes waded like fat ducks towards a lake that was to cover the pit of newly disclosed life truths. Not murky, but clear water. You see the bottom if you care to look. Kids do, because they appreciate the full depth of such truth. Mine do.

“I knew it!”

“I knew it too!” Tony peeped in.

Smiles. No disappointment. My explanation: I thought she was unfair. Some kids get paid five or ten dollars per tooth, others don’t have that much worth of food over the course of a day, or week. Here in Kamloops, and everywhere.

Bottom line: I couldn’t stand her ways. She had to go.

A few good pounds lighter, my whole being has been celebrating the event since it happened yesterday.

And if there’s a shadow of unpleasantness associated with this whole story, because there is one, it is this: I almost had my hands on Santa too, but I let him get away.

“Are you Santa too?”

Pause. “No.”

OK, don’t ask. And please don’t say “Oh, but you had it, right there!” It’s true, I did. But I am weak. Or just more attached to him than I was to the tooth fairy; sentimental value is hard to argue with. I need to think and assess. It’s not an easy job. Being a parent, I mean.

Thoughts to share? Please don’t be shy. I just showed you mine.

Disclaimer: I did not ask for the portrait. It was Sasha’s gift. And his way of making peace with it all. 

Bats, Ghosts and Pumpkins and Twice the Fringe. Costumes Ready.

By

On October 30, 2013

In Life Stories, Motherhood

GhostsIt’s the night before. You have postponed the sewing. The craziness of the day that should not be more than a day is consuming… Halloween, tomorrow. Costumes, masks, too much of this and that, stores engorged with hats and lace and inadequacy. Sigh. Tomorrow night will be owned by ghouls and shredded tempers and you can’t settle for it. Shudder. But the boys, they want the sweetness of it. Is there any?…

Time to sew. Tomorrow the costume parade and Halloween wickedness will unfold.

“Do you like Halloween, mama?” Not really. But I like it for you, if you like it. “We do, the costumes, but no creepy faces.” Costumes it is.

CowboyLet’s sit on the sofa; needle and thread, fringe waiting. Little boy reads from a book with little boys and big canoes and bears piling up in the canoe, eating the fish, splashing the boy, what silly-mannered furry sacks. Little boy reads, you sew fringe on the cowboy costume; one leg, then the other. Small pants still, knees left on hills of sun and rocks that had to be observed from up close, left on grass during tumbles with big boy. Pants with knees have no stories.

“Mama, they need to be dirty, can you?” You go outside, rub dirt from under the mint shrub, make them look tired and rugged. Small pants, fringe on both legs.  The tips of your fingers sting from the stubborn needle you had to push in.

Little boys reads “Spooky Old Tree” and laughs.

“Three little bears…

without a light,

without a stick,

without a rope.

And all with the shivers!”

Big boy comes by. Trying the coat on; a stitch here, one there, tuck the sleeves in, don’t cover the metal buttons, they should stay like that. How about coat tails? “Can you, mama?”

Big boy sinks in the orange blanket, pumpkin-colored sofa. Can I sit with you? Chat, read, wonder…

Gentleman“Is my gentleman suit ready? Can I try it on? Oh, it’s perfect!” Big boy, dark brown eyes and a smile reaching straight into your heart. Gratefulness, thoughts of goodness. You bask in it. Boy rhymes with joy and it’s a poem you’ve been writing for years, every day. Today it rhymes. No tears.

Little boy makes little friendly ghosts to hang around the house, and bats that are friendly, and silly pumpkins. “Wanna color with me?” Big boy shrugs; no. Mama says yes, don’t grow up too fast, your brother is holding the door open for you. Stay a kid, go color, cut, stick to the wall. He does.

Night tumbles into the room, draws yawns and hangs sleepy thoughts on tomorrow’s trees. Time for bed, silly boys. Costumes sit in piles on the orange blanket. Fringes, coats, tall hats and polished boots. 

“Not mine, I am a cowboy. They have to be rugged.” The boots, of course.

The kitchen smells of cookies, the crumbliest of all, soft and chewy, sweet-steamed dollops that fall apart when you hold them up. The boys want them so. Handfuls of crumbles, milk dripping on the table, that’s all there is to it. Sweet crumbles.

Halloween is still not your favorite. But the boys love dressing up, friendly little ghosts twirl with the lightest of touch and you think of the little hands that made them. They wanted to make peace with the spookiness of tomorrow. To make it right.

Face. SmileOn the porch there is a jack-o-lantern with thick orange cheeks and a wiggly tooth. Smiling.

“Do you like it, mama?”

 

The Need To Rethink Our Children’s Heroes (And Our Own)

By

On October 23, 2013

In Motherhood

In the days before the Terry Fox Run the boys did with their school, our walk-from-school time was filled with questions and discussions about Fox.

How did he know he had cancer? How did he come to set on a monumental task like the one he did? How did he manage to run with all the pain and heaviness caused by the disease and medication? The topic is far from over in our house.

Terry Fox is alive in more than our hearts. He is with us many times when there are tough tasks to accomplish, or determination, as a life skill, to understand and learn.

But it goes far beyond that.

It’s about understanding the greater good and why it matters to think of more than yourself along the way.

Terry Fox touched people’s lives. He saved people. No cape, no mask or impenetrable costume; no machines and, unfortunately, no well-designed pause in the scenario at a time when his life was in danger so he could be saved in time.

But he saved people.

Many have gotten stronger in their fight against cancer because of him.

What he did was making people — like my sons and me — realize that superheroes are the most human-like creatures. Vulnerable and strong at the same time. Awe-inspiring.

He is not the only one.

A couple of weeks ago, we stood in a long lineup at TRU for a chance to see and listen to Commander Chris Hadfield.

It was spellbinding. He talked about being nine and dreaming of being an astronaut. He talked about following a dream and making it a reality.

If you have encountered many people like that as a kid, and learned from them, good for you; you are fortunate.

Not to imply for a second that dreaming as a child and accomplishing as an adult forms a beeline, punctuated solely by accomplishments and joy. There are trials, there are many failures along the way, but if the dream stands and becomes reality, chances are there were some more factors involved, such as determination and motivation.

Hadfield and Fox are two of the people who have made many of our dinners and walks alive with questions.

There are many more.

We have our own heroes and role models. We have reasons why for choosing them.

Talking about people who accomplish things we admire is something necessary. Children learn about values because we acknowledge real values and our words have weight.

Children also need to know that regular people do outstanding things.

In a world dominated by superheroes who make accomplishments look so easy and quick, children need to be reminded that achieving anything worthwhile takes time, determination and ability to give ourselves to a dream or cause. It is never an overnight thing.

In a world abounding with “awesomeness” and everything is “awesome” from shoes to movies, to just about everything that our children encounter on a daily basis, we need to redefine the word awesome for them. To rediscover it ourselves.

Awesome is, according to the dictionary, “inspiring an overwhelming feeling of reverence, admiration or fear; causing or inducing awe.”

If we are truly inspired, amazed, or awe-struck by what we see in remarkable people around us, in people we hear, read about or meet, we should see it as it is: awesome.

If we keep at it, there’s a chance our children will be learning the true meaning of awesome and applying it to their lives.

(Originally published as a column under the same title in the Kamloops Daily News on Saturday October 18, 2013)

Tippy Toes and Dreamy Feet

By

On October 22, 2013

In Motherhood

DreamYou wake up in the morning. It’s early and the room is still asleep, draped in darkness. You see the door open wide and wonder if any tippy toes and magic little beings have made their way there during the night.

Little people coming pitter patter in the middle of the night… “Mom, I can’t sleep…” But you know they’re asleep , sometimes even as they walk with plumpy little feet through puddles of dreams.

You wonder if you should say “Go to bed” or “Come in here.” They need to grow independent, you know that, but what about hugs and warmth. They need that too. Rules and musts are sent away, little people invade spaces between pillows and blankets, they wallow in warmth and it feels so right.

Sometimes you send little people away “Go back and sleep, little wanderer, night is still thick and you need to sleep…” To grow, to laugh, to play and not fill the house with thumping of tired feet tomorrow.

And you’re sleepy yourself and feel like you’re implanted in a big pile of doughy tiredness but you should get up and tuck little people in, bundle them up in soft furry blankets, make sure they get a sleepy kiss on the head…

One day they will come no more. Little beings will shake their magic off and stop wandering in the middle of the night seeking warm soft snuggles somewhere between crumpled up pillows and blankets.

Until then, keep coming little beings… Pitter patter, open doors, midnight whispers and soft little feet, baby otters in one hand and pockets full of dreams… Keep coming…

Wednesday Mornings, Itty Bitty Spiders and Random Hugs

By

On May 19, 2011

In Life Stories, Motherhood

I am walking home with Sasha from Tony’s school. It is 9am and the morning is a big sparkling diamond. “Let’s walk home this way, Mom.” Sasha points to a street with a tree that looks like a red shredded umbrella with pink flowers all over. He loves that tree. He loves flowers and leaves and twigs. Every day I get them as gifts.

When we don’t have to hurry Sasha discovers an entire world of wonders. We walk up the street, pass the red umbrella tree and stop in front of a carpet of big leaves. They have dew on them, perfect little clear spheres of liquid life. Sasha is mesmerized by them, and I am mesmerized by him. I wish he’ll never lose that sense of wonder. He doesn’t touch the dew, too precious.

A few seconds later he makes the cutest little sound while crouching to see something under a leaf. “Mom, this is the tiniest I’ve ever seen.” It most likely is. A spider. So very small. Yet still, it has its own web. So delicate. Sasha’s eyes are big and round and happy. No gift in the world can replace this.

Time to wonder. Time to be silent and happy. Time to have Mom and that diamond of a morning all to himself.

His little hand slips into mine and we walk uphill. We talk about spider webs and questions are bubbling up so quick he’s almost short of breath. I pick him up. His arms wrap around my neck and his head rests on my shoulder. A big smile inundates his face. “You just picked me up randomly, Mom, I love that.” He’s learned quite a few big words from books and stories on tape lately, randomly is one of them.
There is nothing in the world to replace this. Time to hug my growing baby. Time to feel his head on my shoulder and his breath on my neck like the warm flutter of an invisible butterfly. A random butterfly hug that fills my eyes with tiny spheres of liquid happiness.
The sun envies the warmth of our hug. I would too.

Page 18 of 18

Previous

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén