Moments – June 24, 2008

I am living in the moment.

How very peace & love of me, no? Live for the now, appreciate each second? Nah. I am living in the moment because I can’t remember the past and because I have no idea what the future brings.

The not remembering the past thing is new. I am still pretty good about things that happened 5 years ago. But last week? Yesterday? Gone like so much dandelion fuzz.

Of course no one has ever had any idea what the future brings. But at my old job, I could be pretty sure. Now, with three personalities at play every day, truly the world is a giant magic 8 ball that gets shaken while I’m sleeping. Sometimes I’m sleeping till 6. Sometimes I’m sleeping till 7. Sometimes I don’t remember what time it was when I got up by the time I’m downstairs having my coffee. Sometimes I’m convinced I didn’t actually sleep at all, not since last week, or was it 5 years ago.

You take my point.

This morning we went to the nearby park where the petting farm is. We call this the Animal Park. In a neighbourhood with many parks we have had to get creative about which park we mean when we take Trombone out. This park also has a water park, a big playground and a lot of green space. (Consequently, about two weeks ago, this park started getting very busy with groups of children. Preschool picnics, school field trips, (“we’re out of curriculum let’s go to the park!”) daycare expeditions, plus all the neighbourhood moms / dads and kids; 10:30 am is like the Fall of Saigon in this park. Choppers and everything. I don’t know why I mention this – maybe it’s a PSA. Queen’s Park. Don’t Go There These Days.)

Trombone likes the Animal Park. He likes two things best about the Animal Park: the chain that is strung between wooden posts within the petting farm, specifically, where the chain overlaps and he has decided it is a gate that needs fixing, and the donation box, which is shaped like a barn and has two very fascinating buckles on it. He really couldn’t care less most days about the actual animals or the park itself.

Today, two notable moments from the park expedition.

We were leaving and passed a man and his two young charges on a bench. They were opening a tub of some kind of candy. Trombone stopped right in front of them and stared. The man offered him a candy and I said it was OK and

Mommy! That man hadda chocolate! And he give one to me! Mommy! chocolate! That man a nice man! That man hadda chocolate! I want another one!

all the way home.

This moment will live on forever and I fear I will now have to go to this park every day because it’s the one with the donation box that looks like a barn AND the chocolate. (Don’t worry, I emphasized that we don’t take candy from strangers unless the strangers have really good chocolate.)

Earlier we had been inside the part of the petting farm where they keep the rabbits. The rabbits are, well, breeding like rabbits these days. Every time we go there’s a new litter of rabbits. I don’t know what they do with them all but it seems kind of irresponsible. Maybe they donate them to restaurants.

There’s a big cage with a mother rabbit and her litter of 17,000 kits. A human mother is standing next to me with her daughter, a girl of about 4, she is enamoured of these baby bunnies. Trombone is looking but not terribly interested. Fresco sleeps against my chest. The mother bunny hops through a little doorway into an adjoining cage.

Mommy, she’s leaving! says the little girl.
Mmm hmm, says mom.
Why is she leaving? says the girl.
I guess she wants some time alone, says mom.
Is she going to pee? says the girl.

The mom looks at me. I smile.

All mommies gotta pee, I say to the girl.
My mommy poops, too, she says.
My mommy poops, too, adds Trombone.

And yet, this other pooping mommy and I didn’t exchange phone numbers. I don’t get it. We had so much in common.


And a moment from Fresco’s morning. He nestled against my chest, his head under my chin, and I patted his back softly to get out the last of the burps. He sighed. He wiggled his bum a bit and scrunched his legs up tighter, curling into a pillbug ball in my arms. He brought his left hand, that’s the sucking one, up to his mouth and let the fist rest against his lips. Just in case.

soft hair, like duckling down
beneath my chin
warm heart beating
against my own
slow sway to sleep
slow sway to sleep

a quiet pause

your weight heavy in my arms
heavy like a bag of gold.

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