Just Write {5} – Michael’s first bike

You got your first bike when you were four because you had started throwing tantrums and daddy said no way we’re not rewarding bad behaviour but I said he needs his freedom from the daycare kids in the back yard, he is getting older he needs to be allowed to do more, trusted to be a big boy, he is asking us to help him grow up,  and so we went to town and you picked out a purple bike with handle bars that came up to daddy’s knee and white training wheels and plastic streamers in the hand grips and we put clickers in the spokes and a helmet on your head and you were allowed to ride from our house to three houses down and back again. You stopped throwing tantrums, and a year later daddy took the training wheels off and ran behind you, back and forth up and down, one hand on the back of the seat, on your back, on your helmet, hovering, hovering, until you looked back and saw him running beside you, look, look, no hands!

This is my 5th installment of Just Write, an exercise in free writing your ordinary and extraordinary moments. I am linking up with The Extraordinary Ordinary. (Please see the details here.)

Because You Matter: Boy #1

I promised the social worker three quilts for three little boys, and the first one is finished!

006She asked for small quilts (blankie-sized), so this one will meet the bill at 24 x 36″. Perfect for a toddler or pre-schooler!

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It’s a foundation-pieced string quilt done in 6.5″ squares. I used a white strip in the center of each square, and then picked out the brightest scraps I could find out of the scrap bin.

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I hand-tied it with bright red yarn.

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And of course, it goes out with Sampson’s nod of approval.

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Some things bear repeating…

I posted this back in March. Seems appropriate to re-post today. Hope it gives you a bit of a laugh…

It seems this year I do not know
if the snow will ever go.
In March April it sits here like a brick
(not a brick like “you’re a brick, Dick”),
I mean a brick like bricks and mortar,
the kind used in the Latin Quarter.

Winter hard and cold and cruel
will last until the end of school,
and instead of flying kites,
all the kids will get frostbite.
No more soccer, bikes or bats,
for them it’s mittens, scarves and hats.

Cry and wail and weep away,
it’s in the snow you’re forced to play.
Sleds and skates and hockey pucks,
if you don’t like it, then you’re (ahem) out of luck.
For no matter how you plea,
summer’s just not meant to be.