In which this is Tuesday, Unwrapped

They disappeared
(always cause for alarm)
and we found them
in the late afternoon sunshine
with her pillow and his blanket
“camping” in the hallway.
She was teasing him,
taking his soother
“My soo-soo!”
and he’d laugh and pull it back.
A game that can be played 
for at least 10 minutes it appears.

And then they just snuggled
(they both love to snuggle)
(and they’re constantly hugging on each other).
Anne talks to him like a mother hen,
I’m here, Joe, she says
and he says, I know, An-nie.
They’re finding their own little tribe,
a language all their own.
They’re so bright and beautiful,
I feel like I’m squinting into the sun
when they’re together.
Linked up at Emily’s Chatting at the Sky for Tuesdays, Unwrapped about finding the small gifts.

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In which this is Tuesday, Unwrapped

We do family supper every night together, sitting down at the second hand Ikea table. We hold hands to say grace but Anne likes to pray (and try to imitate her Papa) so grace usually sounds like “Thank you, Jesus, for our bodies. We bless it all. And we pray we can all go to White Rock together and for the glory and for the food. Amen.” No more high chair, Joseph is thrilled to be sitting at the table in his little booster seat, eating with two hands.

The mess is awesome.

The dishwasher has been broken for 10 days now (and counting). I’m standing in front of my kitchen sink, up to my elbows in hot-hot-hot soapy water, scrubbing supper dishes. I’m looking out the window, into our dense forest watching for our trio of screech owls to make their evening appearance but all I see are the tiny rabbits, butterflies and birds. The tinies secured permission to take the cushions off the couch and are having a bounce party in the living room which means that the clean-up song will be sung a few times later.

Then it’s quiet. I’m always suspicious of quiet since it’s such a rare occurrence. I peek over my shoulder. Joseph is sitting cross-legged on a cushion across from Anne who is “reading” (reciting) a book to him. He’s paying close attention to every word, sitting still. These moments are happening more and more, he’s settling out of this whiny stage, the scream-when-you-don’t-like-it stage.  In so many ways, he reminds me of Brian and these are two of them: he loves to be touched and he is his own little man already, somehow incredibly confident in who he is at not-yet-two.

When the story is done, they stand up and Anne starts to tell me about something but Joseph stands right in front of her and wraps his dimpled arms around her thin waist. He stands right against her, holding her tightly, whispering “bighugbighugbighugbighug” and she pats his back absentmindedly because he always does this, holding onto her or me when he feels like he needs a hug.

The other day, we were at my parents’ house, sitting out on the back deck before supper. Joseph stood in the middle of the grown-ups and started to dance.

He danced and danced and danced.

There was no music but his feet were flying, like he was tap dancing, he was laughing, his arms were wide open. My parents laughed so hard, they nearly cried.

Out of  nowhere, he just decided to dance and so he danced with all his might.

tuesdays unwrapped at cats
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In which this is Tuesday, Unwrapped

A simple thing, really.
A spring-thinks-it’s-summer day
sunshine and cut grass smells
two tinies, sweaty with play,
coated in sun screen,
too tired to walk anymore
so he easily picks them up
one for each arm,
and carries them down the hill
past the blueberry farm
and the pond with the weeping willow
right into
our house
becoming a home.

The Flyers spanked the Habs
that night
and there was much rejoicing.

tuesdays unwrapped at cats

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In which this is Tuesday Unwrapped

It’s where we always go,
the mountains, when
we need to not-think for a while.
With everything going on right now,
losing a job,
all the rest of stifling life,
it can be good to have your breath
taken away sometimes.

We climbed a trail
just above the river.
Stood on the edge of the world.
Felt the sun shine
in the cold, clean air.
Breathed in the pine.
The tinies tossed rocks off the edge,
just to watch them fall.
We braced our feet
and filled our lungs
and hardly said a word except
“Can you believe this?”

I tied my hair back in pigtails
because the wind was tearing it to pieces.

My eyes were watering
I couldn’t quite tell if it was
because of the wind
or because I couldn’t quite take it all in.
What a world.
*Part of Tuesdays, Unwrapped at Chatting at the Sky. A weekly prompt to unwrap and notice a small moment of our week.

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