Community
Did I ever tell you the story of how I thought Hosea was lost?
Ok ok actually there are a couple "I thought Hosea was lost" stories now that I think of it. I'll save one for another post!
So did I ever tell you ONE of those stories of how I thought Hosea was lost?!
Last year, around this time, we were all out at our usual playground, the one I've been going to for the past 10 years. I've gotten pretty relaxed there, I'll get caught up in conversations with people while the kids are running around all over the place, climbing trees, hiding in bushes, wandering. I don't always need to see them. I'm not much of a helicopter parent. But at this time Hosea was only just 4, so I needed to keep him somewhat in my sight much of the time. As I was catching up with a friend I'd run into there I noticed he was over on the side, kind of by the adjacent community centre building, with some buckets, looking like he was going to dig or dump or something like that. I kept chatting, and chatting, and chatting. And then I realized I hadn't seen Hosea for a bit. "Hang on," I said, "I don't see Hosea anymore..." ...all parents kind of know that feeling, and are understanding when someone has to abruptly stop a conversation for a "where's my kid" mission. Usually these missions are short. And I assumed this one would be too!
But I couldn't find him!
So I wandered around the outside of the building, went inside the building, asked some ladies at the front desk, "Have you seen my son? He looks like-----" and as I began to describe him one of them interrupted me with, "I know who your son is!" Ha!
But they hadn't seen him.
So I went back outside to the playground and enlisted the help of my friends there, the people who just happened to be there when we came along to play, the people who I'd been having conversations with. "Hey, can you help look for Hosea? I can't find him anywhere!" I said, starting to feel a little bit panicky. I got the girls to help too.
Everyone wandered the playground, around the building, into the garden, looking in bushes, calling his name. Greta went into the library there, downstairs, and I checked near the ladies at the front desk again. "Have you seen my son? I still can't find him..." I said again, this time a little louder, a little less relaxed. I was having visions of him wandering off, down the street, something like that. It's funny, I didn't at all think a stranger had taken him. I just thought he saw himself as such a confident little hot-shot 4 year old teenager that he might've decided to walk home, or walk to the store, or walk wherever BY HIMSELF!
"Have you seen my son? I still can't find him..."!!!
And then right behind me opens the family washroom door, slowly, and I see my son's little face peeking out. "Mama?" he said to me sheepishly.
"Hosea!!! What are you doing?! We've all been looking for you!!"
"I was just going poop!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" he yelled.
And at that I snatched him up in my anger, and exasperation, and relief (and amusement!).
"I need-ta wash my hands!" was his wailing response.
"Not this time mister," I heard myself say as I marched him off in my arms, back to the playground, to give him a good talking to.
"I need-ta waaaaaaaasssshhhh my haaaaaaaaands!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Yes, they know my son.
They know me.
They know us all, I'm pretty sure.
That is community! :-)
.....................................................
I've been thinking about this topic a lot lately. Maybe it all started last week when a friend of mine from the neighbourhood and the kids' school told me she had some clothes I might like. She said they'd look beautiful on me, and that she just didn't wear them anymore, and she'd thought of me before getting rid of them.
Just last night another neighbour friend messaged me about some clothes she thought might fit, that I might like, that she was getting rid of.
And today while I was thinking of all this while on my bike I realized I was wearing some clothes from another friend from the neighbourhood--she'd given them to me a few years ago!
How many bins and bags of clothes have been given to my children over the years? Pretty much all thanks to people in my community, I've barely ever had to buy them anything new. It has been such a wonderful gift.
How many times have I been stranded--in a childcare bind--when someone from the neighbourhood has pulled through and offered to help? I run late from work and meetings on a regular basis it seems, and someone is always able to grab Hosea for me.
How many times have I been sick, or one of the kids has been sick, and community has helped with pick ups and drop offs? Sent messages to see how we're all doing? Even--a couple times as a complete single mother desperately sick--brought over soup and bread and medicine?
That is community! :-)
.....................................................
Today on the playground after school a few of us moms were having a discussion. And it got heated. It was about education, and our pasts, and there was some other stuff stirring up. Someone cried! And we all listened, and I think this someone might have felt better, and we all felt a little bit closer.
It can be hard and isolating to be a parent. But the playgrounds are our piazzas. And our therapy, our-- literally and figuratively--breath of fresh air. I've said this before--the playgrounds are our piazzas.
What will we do when the kids are older and the playgrounds aren't needed anymore? Where will our piazzas be? Maybe on the sidewalk benches, where I still see Harry from time to time. Or maybe inside a homey restaurant, like the kind another old karaoke friend waved to me from yesterday, as I walked past it headed to the store. Maybe in the library, or the community centre. Maybe in the coffee shop where I finally talked to this kooky neighbourhood-fixture-of-a-woman just over the weekend. You know, the type of woman who wears octagonal shaped glasses, has great style, and describes people as "batty" while seeming to understand how unnecessary it is to introduce oneself since we've likely seen each other a bazillion times informally over the last 10 years...?
Maybe our piazzas will be along the bike path, like where I met Simon. Simon, by the way, is certain he'd seen me on that bike path before I ever met him...which is another thing that's funny: it is indeed a small world sometimes.
That is community! :-)
.....................................................
It's a cushion. A piazza.
It's therapy. It's comfy.
I've felt it for years, living here.
Maybe it's because it's the longest I've ever lived anywhere?
Or maybe it's just because it's a special place!
I can go out walking and within a few minutes I'm bound to see someone I know. Someone like Harry. Frank. The lady with the octagonal glasses. The lady with the crazy hats. That guy who introduces himself to me anew, as if we never met, every time. The shopkeepers, the seniors centre with the baked goods, the thrift store, the friends, the growing families, the children.
We welcome new people too. Because that's how community should be. Simon's in the fold now. "I saw so and so and so and so", he'll tell me happily, after running an errand, or commuting back here from work.
"I can't be anonymous in this neighourhood!" he says.
That is community! :-)
And I hope you have yours too.
If you don't...make it...if you can. Because we all need it more than we realize!
Ok ok actually there are a couple "I thought Hosea was lost" stories now that I think of it. I'll save one for another post!
So did I ever tell you ONE of those stories of how I thought Hosea was lost?!
Last year, around this time, we were all out at our usual playground, the one I've been going to for the past 10 years. I've gotten pretty relaxed there, I'll get caught up in conversations with people while the kids are running around all over the place, climbing trees, hiding in bushes, wandering. I don't always need to see them. I'm not much of a helicopter parent. But at this time Hosea was only just 4, so I needed to keep him somewhat in my sight much of the time. As I was catching up with a friend I'd run into there I noticed he was over on the side, kind of by the adjacent community centre building, with some buckets, looking like he was going to dig or dump or something like that. I kept chatting, and chatting, and chatting. And then I realized I hadn't seen Hosea for a bit. "Hang on," I said, "I don't see Hosea anymore..." ...all parents kind of know that feeling, and are understanding when someone has to abruptly stop a conversation for a "where's my kid" mission. Usually these missions are short. And I assumed this one would be too!
But I couldn't find him!
So I wandered around the outside of the building, went inside the building, asked some ladies at the front desk, "Have you seen my son? He looks like-----" and as I began to describe him one of them interrupted me with, "I know who your son is!" Ha!
But they hadn't seen him.
So I went back outside to the playground and enlisted the help of my friends there, the people who just happened to be there when we came along to play, the people who I'd been having conversations with. "Hey, can you help look for Hosea? I can't find him anywhere!" I said, starting to feel a little bit panicky. I got the girls to help too.
Everyone wandered the playground, around the building, into the garden, looking in bushes, calling his name. Greta went into the library there, downstairs, and I checked near the ladies at the front desk again. "Have you seen my son? I still can't find him..." I said again, this time a little louder, a little less relaxed. I was having visions of him wandering off, down the street, something like that. It's funny, I didn't at all think a stranger had taken him. I just thought he saw himself as such a confident little hot-shot 4 year old teenager that he might've decided to walk home, or walk to the store, or walk wherever BY HIMSELF!
"Have you seen my son? I still can't find him..."!!!
And then right behind me opens the family washroom door, slowly, and I see my son's little face peeking out. "Mama?" he said to me sheepishly.
"Hosea!!! What are you doing?! We've all been looking for you!!"
"I was just going poop!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" he yelled.
And at that I snatched him up in my anger, and exasperation, and relief (and amusement!).
"I need-ta wash my hands!" was his wailing response.
"Not this time mister," I heard myself say as I marched him off in my arms, back to the playground, to give him a good talking to.
"I need-ta waaaaaaaasssshhhh my haaaaaaaaands!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Yes, they know my son.
They know me.
They know us all, I'm pretty sure.
That is community! :-)
.....................................................
I've been thinking about this topic a lot lately. Maybe it all started last week when a friend of mine from the neighbourhood and the kids' school told me she had some clothes I might like. She said they'd look beautiful on me, and that she just didn't wear them anymore, and she'd thought of me before getting rid of them.
Just last night another neighbour friend messaged me about some clothes she thought might fit, that I might like, that she was getting rid of.
And today while I was thinking of all this while on my bike I realized I was wearing some clothes from another friend from the neighbourhood--she'd given them to me a few years ago!
How many bins and bags of clothes have been given to my children over the years? Pretty much all thanks to people in my community, I've barely ever had to buy them anything new. It has been such a wonderful gift.
How many times have I been stranded--in a childcare bind--when someone from the neighbourhood has pulled through and offered to help? I run late from work and meetings on a regular basis it seems, and someone is always able to grab Hosea for me.
How many times have I been sick, or one of the kids has been sick, and community has helped with pick ups and drop offs? Sent messages to see how we're all doing? Even--a couple times as a complete single mother desperately sick--brought over soup and bread and medicine?
That is community! :-)
.....................................................
Today on the playground after school a few of us moms were having a discussion. And it got heated. It was about education, and our pasts, and there was some other stuff stirring up. Someone cried! And we all listened, and I think this someone might have felt better, and we all felt a little bit closer.
It can be hard and isolating to be a parent. But the playgrounds are our piazzas. And our therapy, our-- literally and figuratively--breath of fresh air. I've said this before--the playgrounds are our piazzas.
What will we do when the kids are older and the playgrounds aren't needed anymore? Where will our piazzas be? Maybe on the sidewalk benches, where I still see Harry from time to time. Or maybe inside a homey restaurant, like the kind another old karaoke friend waved to me from yesterday, as I walked past it headed to the store. Maybe in the library, or the community centre. Maybe in the coffee shop where I finally talked to this kooky neighbourhood-fixture-of-a-woman just over the weekend. You know, the type of woman who wears octagonal shaped glasses, has great style, and describes people as "batty" while seeming to understand how unnecessary it is to introduce oneself since we've likely seen each other a bazillion times informally over the last 10 years...?
Maybe our piazzas will be along the bike path, like where I met Simon. Simon, by the way, is certain he'd seen me on that bike path before I ever met him...which is another thing that's funny: it is indeed a small world sometimes.
That is community! :-)
.....................................................
It's a cushion. A piazza.
It's therapy. It's comfy.
I've felt it for years, living here.
Maybe it's because it's the longest I've ever lived anywhere?
Or maybe it's just because it's a special place!
I can go out walking and within a few minutes I'm bound to see someone I know. Someone like Harry. Frank. The lady with the octagonal glasses. The lady with the crazy hats. That guy who introduces himself to me anew, as if we never met, every time. The shopkeepers, the seniors centre with the baked goods, the thrift store, the friends, the growing families, the children.
We welcome new people too. Because that's how community should be. Simon's in the fold now. "I saw so and so and so and so", he'll tell me happily, after running an errand, or commuting back here from work.
"I can't be anonymous in this neighourhood!" he says.
That is community! :-)
And I hope you have yours too.
If you don't...make it...if you can. Because we all need it more than we realize!
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