Thursday, September 18, 2008

Atlas [and and Award = Pull a Pint!]

I am weighed down by the heavy burden of my responsibilities, where a wrong word can spell disaster.

As it is, I am anchored in place by my son at my feet, my daughter wrapped around my waist and my other son on my shoulders, to get a better vantage point to view the giant who has entered our home.

I peer at the 6 foot three man with the face of a twelve year old as he beams with delight at us all. My elder daughter stands at his side wearing a backpack the size of an average sized hog, but considerably heavier. I see a vein flinch on her neck. Her beam matches his beam. I have temporarily mislaid my beam but it could just be a weight and balance problem, if not a wait and balance problem?

“So I’ll see you in a few days! Don’t miss me too much!” But I’m not ready yet! I adopt a delaying tactic and hobble her polite climbing partner, “so are you thinking of Half Dome then?”
“Oh no, probably somewhere a bit more off the beaten track.”
“It’s probably still going to be awfully busy at Yosemite National Park don’t you think?”
“Yup, but I know a few places we can climb in peace.”
“Will you climb and abseil?” I wonder which is worse?
“Would you like to take some snacks with you perhaps? I have lots in the kitchen,” but she interjects again, as I’m making them late to hit the road, “we’ve got everything mum, so we’re off.” It’s like being at the race track without any brakes. I remind myself that she has already traveled all over China and Tibet, alone, conquered Mozambique single handedly and has reached the stunningly independent age of 27, but I’m sure there are some words that I ought to be able to retrieve rather than spittle and an air of desperation.

Nonna pats him on the bicep to catch his attention, or possibly test for signs of weakness, “don’t drop er den!”

And Lastly:-

An award for Amazon people who are not burdened by a yoke but flex their funny bones instead.

For "Mommy Dearest" and her blog "The Quirk Factor: resistance is Futile." If this is a new one for you, then you can taste the flavour of the chaos and coping skills on this post here called "Sundays Crappenings."

You may wish to copy and paste the code from the box below to display your award.

No rules as such, but it just might be that you know of someone who is also like minded, so be a good sharer!

Cheers dears


Jocelyn said...

Och, I always feel I could use more of you, and this will do it.

You nail the moments so well, right down to the other children hanging off you.

And, as ever, the perfect punch line.

mommy~dearest said...

Well thank you there, oh wise Goldfish Queen! I am humbled, and therefore taking my children off of ebay.

Bad mommy said...

Awesome. I will never forget calling my mother to tell her how much I enjoyed my first rappelling trip (learning to rappel off the back of the stadium at the university, actually). Her horror taught me something important: never tell your mom that you do anything remotely involving "splat." Even after you've safely survived.

My husband and I climbed until we got preggers. It was fun. And provided that you are very responsible, very safe. Indeed, I used to consider it a good way to pick out suitable men to date: any fellow with enough money for gear, and enough attention to details to keep the gear in good condition and keep from making a stupid (dangerous) mistake long enough to become a good climber - that one is a potential keeper.

Did I mention that I'm 40, and my mother still likes to know when I arrive safely home from any road trip? Perhaps it never really gets that easy.