by Heather Plett | May 14, 2007 | parenting
Forget Hallmark greeting cards, forget roses or expensive chocolates, forget all those things the marketers tell you you HAVE to buy for your mother. Just give me three big smiles, a lovingly prepared breakfast in bed (that is eagerly shared), three hand-made cards, a lovingly made chocolate rose, a pair of home-made earrings, a hand-painted jewellery box, and the odd “I love you, Mom”, and I’m a happy, happy mom.
Because Robin over at
Pensieve wanted to see my morning look anyway, I allowed a camera into the bedroom this morning to capture the mother’s day festivities. Here I am in all my morning glory…
by Heather Plett | May 12, 2007 | parenting
A few weeks ago, a three year old child was killed in the town where Marcel grew up. In a freak accident, she was run over by her own mother. While her mom was in the store, the little girl crawled out of her car seat and climbed out of the car. Her mom got back in the car, assumed her daughter was still where she belonged, and backed up – right over her daughter. A simple mistake. She’ll have to live with the consequences of that mistake for the rest of her life.
Today I read about another little three year old girl who went missing from a resort in Portugal. Her parents were dining in a restaurant about 100 yards from the room where they’d left their children sleeping and unattended. They checked on them every half hour, but the last time they checked, the door was open and their three year old was gone. A mistake, the parents say – they made a simple mistake.
In both cases, people have commented about the bad decisions the parents made. Shouldn’t they have been more careful? Couldn’t they have avoided it?
Last night, I made one of those mistakes. We’d parked the car on the side of the road at the soccer field. While I put my purse in the trunk and Marcel retrieved his lawn chair, Maddie asked if she could run to the playground. I said “Sure. Go for it.” I assumed she meant the soccer field, which was on the same side of the street as us. She didn’t. She meant the play structure on the other side of the street. As she darted into the street in front of the oncoming van, I realized my mistake, spun around, shouted, and grabbed her. The van slowed. Nobody got hurt. We were all just a little shaken. A simple mistake.
The difference is, I don’t have to live with the consequences of my mistake. I get to play the “oops – messed up – try again” card. Other than reminding myself to pay a little more attention next time, I get to forget anything ever happened.
I hope the parents of those other two children will find grace in their lives. I hope there will be plenty of other parents around them who will admit that they make mistakes too. I hope that, over time, they will learn how to forgive themselves.
by Heather Plett | May 9, 2007 | gratitude
– the colour green
– rowboats on the river
– my lovely Trek bicycle, and the way it rode so smoothly this morning with the freshly pumped-up tires
– Maddie’s tag-along bike, and the way she bounces happily along behind me when we ride to soccer games together
– a shower in the basement of my office building for when I sweat my way to work on warm mornings like this one
– that my children are not as whiny or disrespectful as some of the children on the soccer field (yeah, I know I sound catty, but I’m still thankful)
– the flowering trees along my morning bike path
– that I don’t always have a rash on my chin, and that it doesn’t look as bad as it feels
– a few minutes to watch my beautiful niece play last night
– that this morning’s conference call went better than most
– creative ideas
– colour
– that Maddie hasn’t woken up during the night the last few nights and that her breathing is nearly back to normal
– sandals
– my new second-hand linen skirt that swooshes around my legs when I walk
– that I’ll get to relax in another lovely bed and breakfast next week
– the tulips someone planted amidst the wild grass along the river pathway
– the anticipation of a picnic
– a little break from soccer tonight
– jolly rancher candies
– a good book to read (Honeymoon in Purdah – I highly recommend it)
– a cup of tea
– sunshine
by Heather Plett | May 7, 2007 | Home
Vicki, in all her beloved nosiness, wants us to post pictures of our front doors. I’ll try to do that later, if I get there before dark after Nikki’s soccer practice, but in the meantime, I thought I’d paint a little word picture…
I stand on the doorstep on the all-weather carpeting Marcel installed a few years ago, in front of the door I painted green and then frowned at as it warped in the sun. Next to me is a pot of flowers Marcel was given when he finished his practicum teaching a few weeks ago. Just over the railing on the right is the flower bed that runs the length of the house and is enclosed by wooden logs. Poking out of the dirt, you can see bold shoots of green – hostas, irises, hens & chicks, and various other perrenials that I don’t know the names for but that don’t mind growing in a shady spot.
The lawn in front of the house is a little patchy under the massive elm tree that stands sentry in front of our house. This is the lawn I danced on with my children when it rained last summer. This is the lawn I’ve dug snow tunnels on. This is the lawn – just under that big ol’ tree – where I’ve taken pictures of the girls every year on the first day of school. This is the place where we hunt for lady bugs, watch bunnies hop across the yard, rake piles of leaves and then jump in them, spin circles with sleds in the snow, and have water fights after washing the car on hot summer afternoons.
At the edge of the lawn is a worn-looking pair of wooden lawn chairs with a built-in table between them. We inherited this from the neighbour who packed up and moved to the East Coast. It needed a coat of paint when we inherited it, but instead of painting, we sanded it down and went with the rough look. I like it better that way. It suits the place. It’s falling apart, but so far, Marcel has always managed to repair it and make it last just a little longer. We like to sit on those chairs at the end of a long summer day and watch the world go by. Sometimes we do it with the children, each of us sipping Slurpees or iced tea. And sometimes, Marcel and I sit there alone after the children are in bed and sip our glasses of wine in the stillness of the evening.
Across the street, behind three massive evergreen trees, and tucked in the middle of a fairly large housing co-op, is a rather bland-looking stuccoed wall with a wheelchair ramp wrapping around it and winding up the side. On the other side of this wall, our children have all, at separate times, spent many hours playing, laughing, making new friends, learning to trust adults that are not related to them, making crafts, and watching occasional Disney movies. It’s the day care – a place I at times resent because it’s gotten more of my children’s daytime hours than I have, and at times thank God for because it is close to home, convenient, friendly, and my children are safe and well-cared-for and offered training and inspiration there. (Remember the food-colouring and milk trick? It was learned there.) On that ramp at the side of the building, we’ve watched many children try out skateboarding tricks – with only minor mishaps so far.
Between that stuccoed wall and my house is a street that’s busier than I’d like it to be. My children can’t dash across it to the play structure in the housing co-op, or ride their bikes up and down the street. We’ve found ways to live with that, though, by using the sidewalk for bike rides and spending more time in the schoolyard and playground on the quiet street behind our house.
On the left, just on the other side of a large and unruly shrub, is a wide yard with a house perched in the middle. These are our neighbours M&J who just had a little baby boy. They’re moving away in a few months, to a newer suburb. We’re going to miss them – they’ve made great neighbours.
I don’t think I’ll give you the same tour of the backyard. It’s a bit of a sore-spot right now, with its rotting deck, falling-down fence, and weed-infested lawn. It needs some major work, but that’s not really in the cards for another year or two. For now, we’ll do most of our living in the front yard.
This is where I live – an ordinary home on an ordinary street in an ordinary suburb in an ordinary city. Nothing grand or elaborate. Nothing dream-worthy or idyllic. Nothing quaint or full of character. It’s just home. It’s where my daughters are growing up, where I’ve laughed a lot, cried a lot, dreamed a lot, ate a lot, painted a lot, written a lot, and loved a lot.
Just like I will never make the pages of Vogue, my home will never make the pages of Better Homes and Gardens. We’re both simple, ordinary, but mostly happy and well loved.
