Saying Yes, and More Handmades...

My thoughts have been leaning towards the possibility of an internet-free December. My reasons are many and varied. You know those days where you wish you had just one extra hour in the day? Well, I don't know about you, but I certainly spend at least an hour on the internet each day. By the time the pictures load on my blog, or I check and comment on everyone's facebook status updates, an hour has passed. Or I go on for "just a minute" several times a day. Before I know it, those minutes add up to an hour.

So, what would I do if I was granted an extra hour in my day?
::play with my kids
::nap
::bake cookies
::sew/knit/paint/write/quilt
::write a letter
::do a bit of housework that I never seem to get to
::sort through a still-unpacked-after-our-move-two-years-ago box
::talk to my husband
::lie in bed and read
::and so on and so on

It all became glaringly clear to me today while I was creating these little folk for a craft class we're teaching tomorrow:

Nativity peg-people!

I was enjoying the process of bringing this wee Mary and Joseph to fruition, when Violet came in and sat beside me. There was a time when I regularly crafted with my kids and patiently taught them to do some version of what I was doing. Lately, though, my crafting time is limited and I quickly shuffle them off to less messy endeavours. She watched quietly for a moment, then lovingly picked up Joseph. So I asked her, "Do you want to make one?" Her little face lit up. I let her choose the colours, and helped her sew a heart on to her "guy's" cape. As she worked she kept saying, "You're teaching me how to do this, mommy? You're my teacher?"

I'm so proud of those tiny stitches made by a 3-year-old's hands!

She painted on a face, then decided she wanted the whole head purple...

I thought of that extra hour. I looked upon the pride and joy on that little girl's face, and reflected upon the many opportunities I could have to teach her things a small child might want to know, without hurrying her on to less messy things. I found a well of patience I thought had been lost to me. I am thankful for this moment of grace, and plan to add many of them together to make up an hour a day to nurture my children's spirits.

December will be a quiet month at The Knitty Gritty Homestead, at least in its blog space. I'll post occasionally as inspiration nudges me, but I will choose my moments carefully.

How would YOU spend an extra hour in your day? Where might you find one?

It's Alright to Cry

A song we used to sing in Primary school went like this:
"It's alright to cry, crying gets the sad out of you!
It's alright to cry, it might make you feel better."

The I-can't-zip-my-backpack cry of frustration.

Gnawing on fingers always helps.

Cut loose, baby!

In a house with three little ones, there's a lot of crying. There's the inconsolable my-gums-are-hurting cry of a teething toddler, the I-need-a-nap-but-won't-admit-it cry of a preschooler, and the frustrated I-can't-explain-why-I-misbehave cry of a 5-year-old. There's the I-dropped-my-blanket cry, the someone-slapped-me cry, and the I'm-ashamed-because-I-hit-my-little-sister cry. This is just to name a few. And any mother worth her salt can differentiate between the many versions, even if she's sitting in another room.

The I-was-having-fun-a-moment-ago-but-now-I'm-not cry.

As parents, we're wired to feel uncomfortable with crying, and to do something to make it stop! Admittedly, when Violet starts her tantrummy screaming, that "something" might be a threat: "I'm going to stop this van because I can't drive whilst listening to you yell" or "You're going to have to go out on the porch because you're hurting everyone's ears". You don't have to tell me how potentially damaging it is to essentially tell my child that it isn't okay to cry. Doesn't every mother know more deeply than anyone the ways in which she is messing up her kids? My sister once said, "I'm a lot more relaxed now that I've acknowledged the fact that, no matter what I do, my kids are going to be complaining about me to their therapists in 20 years..."

Generally, though, I try the ever-available, all-purpose Mama Embrace. When I'm not at my wit's end, when I haven't refereed 40 fights by 10:00 a.m., and when I think I won't get flailed at for trying, I sit silently and open my arms. I hate to be hugged against my will and think kids should have the same opportunity to NOT be hugged if they don't want to be.

More often than not, the offer is accepted, and just the rhythm of my breathing, the warmth of my arms, is enough to calm the storm. It's an awesome power we wield as mothers, is it not? Where something free and ever-available can settle a little spirit, soothe a little heart, and stop the flow of tears down a little face? This has worked wonders in the early weeks of Kindergarten, when little ones are feeling lonesome for home and mommy. I ask, "Do you need a hug?", and the torrent of tears on my shoulder washes the loneliness away so that my little charge is free to play and explore. It's always nice to affirm what they're feeling: "It's frustrating when your sister wrecks your drawing" or "It hurts when someone bites you".

With that hug, and those words, comes the affirmation:
"It's alright to cry...crying gets the sad out of you..."

Handmade Holiday: Wee Things

In anticipation of Advent, several friends and I create handmades to share: 5 friends, 5 items times 5. We all end up with 25 unique gifts for our children to open, one at a time, on each day leading up to Christmas. Tomorrow evening we will gather, wrap our offerings in brightly coloured tissue paper, and attach them to a big stick. I don't know why we tie them to a stick, but it's what we do. We call them Advent sticks!

A month ago when I started thinking about what to make, I actually thought I'd back out this year. Too busy, too tired, too stretched. But then I got into the spirit with a loving nudge from a friend, and here's what I came up with.

A pretty button sewn onto a circle of wool felt, then layered over graduatingly-larger circles makes a lovely (and thrifty!)  ornament

with a message stitched onto the back!

A flock of crocheted snowflakes, each one unique,

silvery,

and intricate.

And last, and possibly sweetest, a tiny bit of fairy work.

Here are the simple directions for this quick gift:

Using 0-2 mm needles, cast on 10 stitches using a fingering weight yarn.

Knit as many rows as you like; I like it to look a bit longer than a square. That would be a rectangle! Break off yarn, leaving a long enough tail to wind into a tiny ball.

Slip the stitches on to a toothpick, and push another toothpick carefully through the work.

To finish, weave in cast on end, glue small beads onto the ends of the "needles", and glue the little ball of yarn onto the front of the work.

You can attach a magnet or a pin or a hanging string, depending on how you want to use this. You can also glue it to the front of a card for your favourite knitter, OR mount it in a tiny frame!

I love wee things, don't you?

Yarn Along!

When I thought to do a yarn along post (I miss it every week, or post too late...Wednesday is a work-day for me!) I giggled to realise that we have some pachyderm love going on at the homestead this week.

I just finished "Hannah's Dream" by Diane Hammond, a beautiful story about the love between animals and people, between parents and their children, and between strangers. It is a tale of loneliness, loss, hope, and realising your dreams. The characters are believable and endearing, and Hannah the Elephant is unforgettable. You'll also love Max Biedelman, the cross-dressing, safari-going dame that starts it all off.
I also happen to be knitting an elephant; look here to see what Flo the Elephant will look like when she's done. The photo above shows the shaping of her back and trunk, and her beautiful ears! Don't elephants have the most improbable ears? And those trunks...10 000 muscles, so delicate and dexterous. Those baggy knees! Those soulful eyes! Those precious feet! I've had a thing for elephants ever since primary school. Looks like the love hasn't faded much.

The kids have been enjoying "Amos' Sweater", a knitting-related storybook (!) about a sheep who has had enough of having his wool stolen, and attempts to take back the sweater that his mistress makes from it! This humorous tale was written by Janet Lunn, the author of my favourite childhood novel, "The Root Cellar". Check out your local library!

Violet needs a haircut. She has a tiny little face, and a big head of hair, like a teasle or Chewbaca. She is one of those kids who screams bloody murder if we wash/comb/groom her hair in any way. She HATES elastics and barrettes. She does not want princess hair. So she'll be visiting the hairdresser this week. Making the appointment reminded me of a haircut Violet got just over a year ago...

Once upon a time there was a little girl named Violet.

One day she found her mother's scissors. The big sewing scissors. She opened the blades, poised them across the top of her head, and said, "Mine cut mine hairs, mommy!" The mommy, not wanting to startle her beautiful daughter into a run, took a slow step towards her child, just as the blades of the scissors closed.The mother started to laugh/cry in horror/hysterics.

This was not the kind of trim that could be remedied by elastics or comb-overs. It was decided that Violet would need a professional.

Tara, at our local hairdressers', proclaimed Violet's handiwork irreparable...

...and set the clippers to "0". You could see the hesitation and regret on this professional's face as the little girl's remaining hair was shorn away.

You can see in this photo how the experience disturbed the little girl, and it was all her mother's fault for leaving her scissors out.

All ye crafty moms, a warning take by me: if ye have scissors, your child will find them. Hide them well, my friends, hide them well.

Acts of Kindness

A version of this post originally appeared as a note on Facebook; I've edited slightly for this space.

When Margot was scheduled to have her surgery, I wanted her to have some special little thing for her night in the ICU; I wasn't allowed to spend the night. I still try to avoid thinking about it. For the first 3 and a half months of her life, she'd slept beside me in my bed, and spent her days in a Maya wrap (the only place that brought her comfort before her surgery). It felt so counterintuitive to leave her there, tubes sprouting from every part of her body; it's only now that I can fully appreciate the tremendous faith and trust it took for me to leave her in the care of strangers. So, before we headed to the hospital, I started my search for some token that I could leave with her to let her know that I hadn't abandoned her.

I had shopped at Natural Pod, a business in BC that sells lovely natural toys and products for children. There I found a sweet little dolly called "Baby Belle", just a simple scrap of soft terry cloth, with a neutral face and a long gnomish hood. She is stuffed with natural sheep's wool, which absorbs the scents of people, home, and all things familiar. I ordered one in navy blue because it was the colour of Margot's eyes, intending to tuck it into bed with me until that night when she'd sleep without me; the plan was that she might be comforted, even subconsciously, by my scent.

As fate and the quirks of Canada Post would have it, it didn't arrive on time. But we did get it before we left CHEO (a few days post-op). We named her Peppa, and Margot was totally enraptured by that tiny, simple little doll. She lay on her side in her hospital crib, just gazing and cooing at this little dolly. She's a perfect little doll for babies because she's tiny and lightweight, great for chewing on, and easy to tuck in your pocket or diaper bag.

Months after our hospital experience, I got an email from Natural Pod reminding me that I hadn't paid for Peppa! In the distraction of that time in my life, I returned home and forgot to send payment. This email was a gentle reminder, and also a check to make sure I'd actually received my order.
I quickly replied, explaining the basics of the tale I just told you above, assuring them that I would send payment immediately. I also referred to a photo I took of Margot gazing at Peppa in her crib, and of how much we loved the little doll.

I got a reply from a Natural Pod staffer, begging me to accept Peppa as a gift, thanking me for sharing our story, and telling me that they were all in tears after hearing our tale. They also asked that, in lieu of payment, I send them a photo of Margot with Peppa.

Please consider this story when you are doing your Christmas shopping this year. Toys R Us has everything your child might want. But would they have let me off the hook for an unpaid bill? I doubt it.

There are many little family-owned businesses that are living by their values, trying to provide us with lovely, handmade, soulful items for our children and our loved ones. They actually DO care about the stories their customers share, and that makes me loyal to them. I didn't share my story with them in hopes that they'd feel sorry for me or give me a freebie, but more as an apology for my distraction, because I know they're a small business and can't really afford to give stuff away.

Visit the good people at Natural Pod, or Twig and Toadstool, or Nova Natural Toys and see if you can't find something unique, beautiful, and timeless for the little ones in your life. Resist the compulsion to spend your money on plastic toys just because your kids saw them on TV. You, as a consumer, have the power to create change just with the choices you make. Where you choose to spend your money sends a powerful message to the world of big business.
 

Margot, with Peppa, at her 3-months post-op checkup.

Fun for Little Hands

As a Kindergarten teacher, I work with children at many stages of development and ability. The range is astounding, as I teach a split Junior and Senior Kindergarten class. I thought there might be readers out there who wonder about what kinds of things they should work on with their 3-5 year olds to prepare them for Kindergarten. Even if you homeschool or unschool, these little ideas are fun for children of this age and build fine-motor control and hand strength.

You don't need fancy or expensive materials. I love the idea of high-quality resources for 3 year-olds, but let's be honest here: for the amount of waste/destruction/distraction, I'm fine with using the cheap stuff. It's the SKILLS that are important here, not the finished product. Suit yourself; I prefer to save our money for when our kids are a bit older and can appreciate the careful use of expensive materials.

I like to let each of my kids have their own special stuff...it's easy to get lost in the herd in a bigger family! It can be nice for a child who must share a bedroom and most of the toys in the house to have a special activity box or drawer that is just THEIRS. For my 5-year-old son, this includes his "map book", compass, Spiderman pencils, and sharpener.

For a 2-3 year old, a craft drawer/box could contain the following:
::small scissors
::glue stick and white glue
::tape
::construction paper
::stickers
::yarn
::playdough
::small items to glue (buttons, foam shapes, macaroni)

Here are some activities to keep those little hands busy, AND to encourage skills that will strengthen their little finger muscles (important for pre-printing!)

*with playdough, roll balls and "snakes", then cut with a butterknife (I also let my kids cut up mushrooms and bananas!)

Jude's snowman, complete with scarf!

*once they start showing an interest in scissors, cutting playdough snakes into pieces is a good way to practise that open-closed movement
*cut a 1" strip of paper and ask your child to snip it into lots of pieces (using child-sized scissors)
*take the little bits of paper and give them a gluestick! Let them glue them on a sheet of paper!
*once they seem comfortable with snipping, have them cut along a straight line
*then progress to wavy lines, big circles, etc.
*have them draw long vertical lines (say "Zip!") and long horizontal lines (say "Zoom!")
*encourage a proper pencil grip (we call this the "tripod" grip, using the thumb and forefinger to pinch the pencil, while pressing it against the middle finger at the first joint). I'm not trying to be picky; a child has much better control of the pencil with this grip! If your child wants to "fist" the pencil or scissor it between the first and second fingers, try using a 2-3" pencil instead.
*draw a simple shape on construction paper, and use a hole-punch to create a cheap lacing card! Wrap some masking tape around the end of a piece of yarn, to be used as a lace, and let your preschooler "sew"! Taping the free end of the yarn to the back of the paper is helpful. Don't pick at your child!...this doesn't have to be perfect.

*if your child isn't able to squeeze white glue out of a bottle yet, you can put dots all over a piece of paper, then let them glue things to it! If you feel brave, get out the glitter. I HATE glitter. But my kids love it. So I hide it. Once in awhile they find it, we make a mess, then I hide it again. I can't bring myself to get rid of it altogether, because of COURSE they love it. Glitter is sparkly and messy. Just always know where your glitter is and never, EVER leave your children unattended with it!

Gorgeous glitter creation!

Stay tuned...I'll be back with tips on encouraging numeracy and literacy skills with your preschooler in a future post!

What's Going on in Your World?

It's November 16. It's sunny and cool outside, with a huge downpour in the forecast...must remember to clear basement floor in anticipation of the inevitable inches of water that will accumulate there.

I'm at the local library and my kids are playing happily for perhaps the first time today. Love the smell of this place...cleaning products and books...lots of them. I'm surrounded! Alternative medicine behind me, DVDs to my left, Automechanics and Farming to my right. The comfy easy chair by the fireplace is taken (boo!) so I'm sitting on a hard plastic chair.

I still haven't settled on what to have for dinner. We're completely and utterly broke (you know, when the mortgage comes out Friday, you don't get paid for another week, the needle on the fuel gauge is flirting with the "E", and you're out of milk, fruit, and bread?). Time to visit a financial advisor. What to do? Remortgage house to pay off all other little loans, then pay one big, predictable payment each month? Sell the homestead, move to the Arctic (the pay is great! isolation...not so much), and start anew? Continue living month to month in complete denial that being broke is actually the norm? So maybe just spaghetti for dinner, since I have all I need for this standby.

I'm excited that the library has Season 5 of Grey's Anatomy on DVD. I foresee an evening of finishing up my Advent crafts (exchange is on Thursday!), eating popcorn, and ogling Dr. Owen Hunt. Yes, he's my favourite. Dr. Sloan is just too...perfect, and slutty. And Dr. Shepherd? I can't forget him in "Can't Buy Me Love"...that, and he looks like a bad kisser (I don't give a damn how nice his hair is)!

My chickens are moulting. They look so pathetic and ugly! The number of eggs we're getting has dropped dramatically. Robin has renovated the duck barn to house both the ducks and the hens to save on heat in the winter...hopefully the number of bodies in there will keep them warm enough, in addition to a couple of heat lamps! Now we're trying to figure out how to round up the ducks, which are decidedly feral, aside from their hilarious sneak attacks on the hens' food. Ducks act subtle by waddling in an awkward herd, quacking in absolute terror. This happens daily.

That's today's update. I know your life isn't as thrilling as mine.

Thanks to the world wide web for the photos!

Craft Classes: Tree Blocks!

With the simplest of raw materials (wood, beeswax, olive oil, and cotton) you can create a set of tree blocks that are sure to outlast any toy you pick up at the nearest big-box store.

Just saw wood of varying diameters into rounds, and sand the ends and edges, as well as any loose/rough bark.

Slather with a generous coat of beeswax polish, and let sit for at least a few hours.

Buff to a sheen, then store in a lovely drawstring bag. You can personalise it with fabric paint and a potato stamp!

Imagine the delight of small hands opening this beautiful gift...and how clever you'll feel at your creativity, thrift, and eco-friendliness!

Visit http://www.twigandtoadstool.blogspot.com/ for more details!

Tutorial: Clothing Swap!

Every once in awhile, when our closets seem too full and we're bored with what's in them, we (our circle of women) organise a Clothing Swap. It often corresponds with someone's birthday or another occasion. It happens at night, with wine and appetizers, or in the afternoon, with tea and cookies. We mostly bring women's clothes, but sometimes include children's and men's clothes. We bring shoes, scarves, gold shorts, orange pants, feathery shirts...anything goes!

Shanti explains the "rules" to new swappers.

Here's how it works: we all gather, visit, nibble, then the magical moment arrives when someone says, "Swap time!" We all grab our bags/baskets/boxes of clothes, and DUMP them in the middle of a large space. Then the free-for-all begins. Sometimes there's good-natured screaming and scrambling. Sometimes there's a wear-off, if one item is desired by two (where both parties model it and we kindly decide who wears it best). Often there's a kindly, "Oh, this looks like it would fit you!" Don't take the time to try everything on at first; just stash it behind you. When the frenzy has died down, try everything on, and put back anything that doesn't fit/look right.

Loot bags for women!

The mountain of wardrobe riches...

Score!

Picking through the treasures.

Once the clothes have been thoroughly picked through (and stirred and picked through again), we often have a fashion show, showing off our best score of the night! The clothes that are left behind (and there are usually lots) are bagged and donated, and everyone goes home with a few "new" (free!) articles to add to their wardrobe.

Swaps allow for creative expression and wild ensembles.

And of course, someone always brings (or models!) funny lingerie...

If you're feeling bored with your wardrobe, or overwhelmed with the mountain in your closet, now is the time to organise a clothing swap...just make sure you don't leave with more than you brought!

Before the Long Dark

November is decidedly upon us, with its colour scheme of grey and brown, its withering and fading away of colour. As we get the last of the wood in, set more mousetraps, and prepare to nestle in for the winter, getting outside to play in rubber boots and sweaters takes on a new urgency. Yesterday we had a spontaneous lunch in the potting shed, with milky tea, cheese and crackers, salsa and chips, and some homemade ginger crackle cookies (will share recipe next week!). We enjoyed the warmth of the sun through the windows, the ease of running in and out without the armour of snow-clothes, and the pleasure of each others' company.

Irish-farmer-Jude.

Bengal Spice Tea.

Margot's inevitable spillage...

This window seat is a perfect fit for this little body.

Now and again I need the reminder to make hay while the sun shines, as they say, and just go out to PLAY...the imminent winter is a good enough excuse (if one was needed!) to get out and enjoy the last days of Autumn.

Remembering

When I'm asked where I learned to sing, I reflect on my childhood. My parents were both very involved in community volunteering. Mom usually had us kids in tow, so we all started singing in the church choir at an early age. Gathering to sing for the residents of our local nursing home was part of the expectation of being a choir member, and I knew lots of old songs by the time I was 10.

We recently gathered once again at the newly-built retirement home where my Grandma is a resident, to join in the monthly singalong.

The kids think that the retirement home is "GG's House"...they love it, and all her "roommates"! 

They are always delighted to see "GG's pets": two lovebirds, and some goldfish!

This lady taught kindergarten to all three of my siblings. She still thinks Kindergarten is the best place to be, although she's retired. Now she shares her musical gifts with the elderly residents of this retirement home, playing good old-fashioned tunes like "Our Golden Wedding Day", and "Pack Up Your Troubles". She inspires me with her energy and joie de vivre; I hope teaching Kindergarten for the next 25 years does as much for my spirit as it seems to have done for hers!

Familiar hands play familiar tunes.

Margot wanders this place, giving random hugs and letting the residents touch her blanket.

One of my favourites; I swear these are the same songsheets we used to use when I was a kid.

This handsome gentleman spent 5 years overseas in World War II. He captured the room with his rendition of "Let Me Call You Sweetheart".

We talked about the war, and I thought about the many memories contained in the hearts of the residents here, most of whom lived through the Second World War. I thought of what it must have been like to say goodbye to my spouse, to wait months for a letter, to wonder whether my letters were reaching him. I thought of the babies that were born, and grew without meeting their fathers. I thought of the men who came home and had to somehow re-integrate into a family of strangers. I wonder about all the stories we don't hear.

Remember the fallen ones, and remember the ones who lived. If your grandparents are no longer living, contact your local nursing/retirement home and find out how you can contribute to making the lives of the residents brighter. Share a craft, a song, a dance. Sit and listen to a story. The elderly are a gift, tucked away in homes and just waiting for someone to visit. Many eyes watched with envy as we ushered Grandma out the door to come up to the house for lunch, and I would have taken them all out for lunch if I could have.

Remember them.

Don't Let Those Sunday Afternoons Get Away

If you're reading this and you're Canadian, and especially if you're from a small town, I may not have to explain much.

I'm not sure when my dad started playing hockey, but I imagine it was sometime around 1950. He tells us he used to stuff catalogues into his pants as leg protection. One photo we love shows this gorgeous, fit young man grinning cockily, completely oblivious to his missing front teeth (there might actually be a bit of pride there). He was always good: tough and fast. But he wasn't a goon. My dad took training to be a coach, and is well-respected in hockey circles for his skill and knowledge.

Throughout our childhoods, dad coached teams, instructed other coaches, evaluated exams, and ran hockey schools in Canada, the US, and Scotland. Walking into our local arena is like strolling into my childhood: the smell of rubber mats, French fries, and that instant hot-chocolate triggers so many memories. I hear the echoes of the cheers we used to shout for dad's team (Get back! Get back! Get back into the woods! 'Cause you haven't! You haven't! You haven't got the goods!) I would never have been described as a puck bunny; being the coach's daughter gave me special status. Needless to say, I never dated a hockey player. I sometimes wonder if dad didn't warn them all away. I heard a rumour once that he'd announced to his players, "If I ever hear any of you talking about my daughters the way you talk about ________, you're off the team". The warning was well-heeded.

When I was 4, my brother was born. When he was 5, my dad got him all outfitted for hockey. It was clear after one ice session that...well, let's just say, hockey wasn't in my brother's blood. He wanted to lie on the ice and roll the puck around like a wheel. His feet hurt and it was too loud and cold out there. I giggle about it now. Dad never pressured my brother the way a lot of parents seem to. When my brother got older and showed an interest in basketball, dad took him to see the Chicago Bulls play, and fostered this interest instead. When he became interested in music, dad got him a guitar.

Well, the next generation has arrived.

A few weeks ago, Dad took Jude into "town" and got him all geared up for hockey. While I don't hold many fantasies about spending my weekends in hockey arenas, Jude is just so darn cute in hockey equipment. That little jock strap! Oh my goodness.

7:00 a.m. Saturday mornings sees Daddy and Papa getting Jude ready to go.

My dad's familiar hands assisting with socks.

Young Warrior in training. I can't believe that's my skinny boy in there.

Up before the sun to play this national sport.

This picture makes me happy in so many unspeakable ways.

While I don't love the increasing competitiveness and body contact in children's hockey, or how it's becoming exclusive because of the expense, there is so much I love about this sport. Every time I hear Jane Siberry's "Hockey", I think of my dad and all those pure memories of hockey at its simplest:

Winter time and the frozen river, Sunday afternoon

They're playing hockey on the river
Rosy...

He'll have that scar on his chin forever; someday his girlfriend will say hey where...
And he might look out the window...or not
You skate as fast as you can 'til you hit the snowbank (that's how you stop)
and you get your sweater from the catalogue
You use your rubber boots for goal posts, ah...walkin' home


Don't let those Sunday afternoons
get away get away get away get away
breakaway breakaway breakaway breakaway.


This stick was signed by Jean Belliveau so don't f**king tell me where
to f**king go...
On sunday afternoon


Someone's dog just took the puck-he buried it it's in the snowbank...your turn

They rioted in the streets of Montreal when they benched Rocket Richard
It's true...


Don't let those Sunday afternoons
Get away get away get away get away
breakaway breakaway breakaway breakaway


The sun is fading on the frozen river, the wind is dying down
Someone else just got called for dinner

Rosy
Hmm...Sunday afternoon