under the bottlebrush tree

I know that life is medicine.  Never has this lesson been more prevalent than during this stage in my life.  Parenting.  It is not for the faint of heart.  Ease up, I tell myself through out the day.  It is my new mantra.  Though mostly is does little for my nerves in the heat of the moment.  Let it go, I reiterate after things just aren’t going my way.  I wish I could listen to myself a bit more closely.  No anger directed at a three-year old “works”, no threat solves the problem, no frustrated shouting gets anything accomplished.  Yes, I do this too.  I am not proud.  I have yelled at my boys and it makes me feel sheepish.  I feel ashamed that I could be so angry at such little things for such miniscule issues.  No napping being the main culprit.  You see, Miles has decided that indeed 3 and a half is an adequate age to forgo the afternoon lie down, and his almost two year old brother decided to follow suit.  I get it I really do.  He can make it all day now, and it makes bedtime that much easier and earlier and mama gets her rest one way or another.  It is me.  Me and my expectations.  Me and my agenda.

Face it mama, it’s not your agenda anymore, it is theirs.

In the morning I let the chickens out of their coop.  Lately I have been graced with a full nights rest, and waking up to a shining sun.  Don’t you see?  I am not waking up before dawn, it is a beautiful thing I tell you.  Beautiful.  I take my time soaking up the morning dew with my mismatched socks, checking out the early birds having breakfast at the feeder, scope out what type of insects are lurking in the bottlebrush brush tree -the mecca of bird and insect life in my yard- and observe the location of the white morning moon.  It is my favorite time of day.  Except for dusk.  That is my absolute favorite time of day.  It is where I do all those things I just mentioned all over again.  This time with a warm bath, a cup of tea (alright sometimes a beer) and a book in my near future.


IMG_1421 IMG_1418

Today the hummingbirds came back.  They are impossibly tiny and feisty little things.  Their feathers are iridescent, a green and red that puts any christmas decor to shame.  They are fast as lightning too, swooping down by my cheeks and then past other little birds trying to make themselves cozy in the red bristles of the tree saying, “skitt! skitt!  This is my neck of the woods now!”.  I like their spunk.  It reminds me of my boys.  Busy little things, full of energy, breath takingly perfect.  Mother natures finest.  (I know over the top, but I can’t help it, they just are.)

A no nap afternoon and a trip to Richmond Hill’s first farmers market of the year with all the excitement of a bouncy house and picnic and ice cream cones twitching in their eyes, led to the long walk across a never ending field with a content boy on my back and a very, very, very exhausted, loud and teary boy on my side.  Carrying all my loot and the leftover food and two large children made for a nice spectacle I am sure, for there was nothing silent about us.  We came with a vengeance.  Or left with one…. either way, it wasn’t pretty.  Never mind the fact that Miles’s dear Baxter (a little puppy stuffed animal) was left in a random location in a random field in which a specific mama had to race around desperately searching for.  Don’t worry he was recovered and rescued.  Thank goodness.


Needless to say, the two boys never even woke as I washed them clean of the days trials and tribulations.  I was able to tuck them in, kiss their foreheads and smile down on their sleeping sweetness thankful that tomorrow is a new day.  Thankful that I get to close the coop and hear the birds argue and feel the evenings cool on my toes and well… have a beer.

and just for the sake of cuteness


2 thoughts on “under the bottlebrush tree

  1. I love you. And whatever, cut yourself some slack. It’s hard to make it through a whole day with grace when u don’t get the mid day 2 hour break. Love to u and your boys!

    • you are absolutely right, i DO need to cut myself some slack. But i really dont like to yell at them, you know… its ugly when you hear it back a few days later. Love to you to mama!

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