If you need to know what love is, feel free to ask my eight-year-old. He knows the answer.

A friend on Facebook, who has a small army of young, adorable children, recently posted a list of questions to ask your kids, typical stuff like “what’s your name, age, favourite food, etc.” The last question on the list was “What does love mean?”

I do not usually do these with my kids and when I do, I won’t post their responses, but for some reason, this time I did ask them the questions, privately, without the other three listening in. And for the most part, their answers were not surprising, I like to think that I know my kids fairly well (well, except for finding out that my twelve-year-old believes that my favourite thing to do is wash dishes, but I digress). Overall though, their answers were not shocking. Until that last question, that is. Ugh. My heart is pulverized by the sweet, tender, kind, loveliness of it all.

My oldest small and my youngest both answered ” That you care about other people” and “that you care” respectively. My second youngest son answered “kiss!” with a giggle. And my youngest son, well, he had some thoughts on the subject and I took them down while he dictated. He propped up his head with his fists under his cheek bones, thought for a few minutes, then looked at me with his deep blue eyes, took his time and slowly answered:

How does my eight-year-old know and understand the answer to this question so completely,  but the people in positions of power, who are threatening to destroy every ounce of progress made toward equality and human rights over the last century cannot connect the dots?

For me, being one who is prone to great, big feelings, able to go from feeling great big happiness to great big sadness in a matter of moments, I needed to hear this today. It gives me hope. It makes me think that maybe things really will be okay.


P.S. I post more nonsensical blithering and updates on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. It’s worth ‘Liking’ ‘Following’ or just checking out The Keswick Blog on those sites as well. Because on too many days right now, micro-blogging is all that I can manage to pull off.


I choose to believe that this illiterate is loving me

Although I am somewhat fairly certain I am not his intended recipient.  But I’m the one who cared enough to take a picture and immortalize it, so I think that I deserve something, no?  Anyway, I am pretty sure this sign is not for me.  Not because no one loves me of course, but rather because my husband did not graduate from the local education system and his spelling is spot on when it comes to all of those four-letter words.  The ‘L’ word being my favourite, but the ‘F’ word is a very close second.  So, Happy Valentine’s Day, to the boy who loooves someone.  I sure hope that she sees the romantical* side of your declaration and chooses not to judge you neither on your grammar nor your lackluster execution.  I mean, just because I want to poke you in the eye with a butter knife, doesn’t mean she will want to as well.  She may totally dig dudes with poor spelling and mad skills with a black sharpie.  But just as a Plan B, take heed and get her flowers and some chocolate.  Stat.  Yes, yes, the thought is the most important thing, but when your thought is moderately illiterate and kind of sort of ghetto, you need to supplement that thought with chocolate, if you’re not showing up with really sparkly diamonds.


Happy Valentines Day, Keswick and beyond!  Make it a good one.


* Yes, I am aware that “romantical” is not really a word.  But Mike in Monsters Inc. says it and I have always thought it fit certain situations too perfectly.  This is one of those situations.

** Yes, I am similarly aware that I am an asshole for hacking on someone’s Valentines efforts.  I’m good with that.

And That Makes Your Life Happy

These are the words of my three-year-old.  When he does anything that is funny or sweet or sometimes really, really weird he says “and that makes your life happy, Mummy.”

And you know what?  It’s true.  Watching him, and his brothers and sister, learn and grow and change does make my life happy.  Even when they are driving my insane and I just want to run and hide from them.  Or sell them to the circus.  Or whatever you’re supposed to do to save yourself from your kids. At the end of the day, each and every one of them makes my life happier.

And I have so much to learn from these little people.  From Paxton, my little Rigatoni, I am learning to just be happy.  And just because I want to be.  And just because I choose to be.  Just like he does.  When he’s sad, his plaintive cry “I wanna be happy!” breaks my heart and makes me smile all at the same time.  So I tell him “then be happy, Paxie.”  And you know what?  He gets happy and the craziest, sweetest, little elf smile spreads across his face and our worlds are right again.


And this makes MY life happy.

At least until the next time, and I reach for the yellow pages to look up “circus recruitment.”. *grin*

Happy Valentines Day and all that mushy stuff

Nothing says lovin’ like tacos and brownies (and if I were so inclined I could so make a completely inappropriate joke here, that would make you feel creepy and dead inside, but it’s Valentines Day so I won’t.  You’re welcome).  Isn’t that the way the saying goes?  No?  Oh well, it’ll have to do.  Tacos for all, a home-made gluten-free super-dee-duper chocolate Brownie for Mr. KB and a home-made heart-shaped-butterscotch-topped-Blondie for my kidlets.

Gluten Free Brownies and Fiesty Blondies

See?  I am so *exactly* like June Cleaver.  Only fatter.  And funnier.