When the Cats are Away

Let me start by saying that I love my family. I love (and chose) to have three children and, more times than not, they make me very happy. But I am human. And as much as I love the sometimes joyful and sometimes torturous noises of having a family, once in a while there is nothing better than the sound of extended peace and quiet. This morning, my wonderful and marvelous husband, left with our youngest two children for an overnight visit with his family in Buffalo (hear me letting out a sigh of joy and happiness).

I have been anticipating this two day oasis for weeks; as has my eight year old son who is like me in more ways than he’s capable of seeing at his young age.  We have been secretly planning our time together every night at bedtime.  It sometimes has been hard for us to hide our excitement from the others. A couple of times Eric was wavering on whether or not he would just stay home.  My son quickly learned the art of subtle persuasion reminding his dad how important it was to visit his family.  Well played, son.

This morning, the girl’s bags were packed and waiting at the door by 9am.  Waves of guilt would sporadically wash over me but I had to stay focussed on getting them out the door.  As they drove away, I felt a little sad but then shook myself out of it.  It was time to celebrate. I have two days at home with a mostly well-adjusted eight year old who loves his down time at much as his mother. It doesn’t get any better than this.

We jumped into action by heading to our favourite place to go for breakfast together. We’ve been going there, many times just the two of us, since he was a baby.  They know both of our orders without asking (which, by the way, are identical) and while we wait we play a competitive game of squares.  The next stop is at the bowling alley where he proceeds to legitimately beat me (well, he used the bumpers a lot more than I did) two games to none.  We ended our morning together at the bookstore and then he was off to a friend’s house for the afternoon.  I know. This is crazy good.

I head home to build myself a cocoon of warmth and bliss.  I first stop at the movie store to find the perfect movie for a woman alone on a snowy afternoon. I select a movie that any woman without her husband and children around might also choose; a movie about a senior citizen who reveals that he is gay and lives out his life exploring his newfound sexuality.  See what I mean?

Back to my cocoon, Eric didn’t have time to chop wood for a fire for me so I decide to do it myself.  I am clearly desperate for the atmosphere a fire is going to create because this would be the first time in my life I would be swinging an axe around.  I almost learned the hard way what proper foot positioning is for times when one misses the target.  Anyway, I got enough small pieces to make a go of a fire and got is started with surprising ease.

The point of all of this is that…I love being alone?  No wait. It’s more than that.  It’s that I do love my family and I love being a mom and wife but I also love being Lori.  The Lori, who when stripped of so many of the things that seem to define me on a daily basis, is the same old girl she has always been.  I don’t feel bad, like so many mothers do, about wanting, needing and loving time to myself.  Time alone or time with my friends, refuels me.  It gives me perspective and it makes me happy.  Why should any of us feel guilty about that?  And it’s not only about people with kids. We all need to step back and shut out the rest of the world sometimes and just feel good about being alone.

Tonight, like two college buddies, my son and I will pick up dinner at McDonalds and mindlessly eat it while we watch hockey. I will go to bed knowing I’ll be sleeping through the night and then we’ll wake up and quite possibly go out for breakfast again.  By the time everyone arrives home tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be recharged and well-rested and ready for the craziness of having a family to consume me once again.

Our House

I drive by the house I grew up in on my way to the market every Saturday morning.  I always look at it (for as long as I can while driving) and point it out to the kids.  It’s not a particularly outstanding house. It’s not a house I would necessarily buy myself. But, when I drove by early this morning, with the ground and trees blanketed in snow, all I could see was how beautiful it was.

As a child, it didn’t matter that it wasn’t the prettiest house or the biggest house or that I shared a room with my sister or that we all shared one bathroom for a long time. It was just our house and I was comfortable and happy in every part of it.

Thinking about that house and the life I had there has given me a needed chance to reflect on my house now.  I tend to fuss over it and complain about it a little too often.  I don’t like this or I am tired of that.  I covet other people’s houses and neighbourhoods overlooking the best part of ours which is simply that it is our home.  Our home where our kids play (and eat) all over the place, where we love to host our friends and where we have built most of our life together so far.

When I drove by my old house this morning I was hit all at once with a lifetime of memories with my family.  Where my sister and I played catch on the front lawn and broke the new lattice on the fence that my Dad had just finished building.  Where my Dad would spend hours doing something or another in the garage and where we woke up to over twenty years of Christmas mornings. And where my younger sister infamously climbed a ladder leading up to my other sister’s room to break in to steal her clothes.  

That house saw my sisters and me grow up.  It is where I picture my Dad on his chair in the rec room.  I can still hear the radio playing, like it always was, while my mom did the dishes after dinner.  Every room and scratch and banged up wall holds a moment from my past.  I think all of these memories are what made it so hard for me to even go into that house, one last time, right before it was sold. I just couldn’t say goodbye to the life that I had loved so much.

And there it all is, right there in front of me, every time I pass by it.  It’s on the lawn, in the garage, on the front step my mom and I would always sit on after dinner and in the top left window that was my tiny, perfect bedroom.  I loved my life in that house and it is that happy life that I am hoping to create for my own kids. And maybe one day, when they drive by this house, their house, and think it is not a house they’d ever choose for themselves, they too will think that it is beautiful.

Winter Wonderland

I think it’s funny how much people love to complain about the snow and winter.  I think the winter is just an easy target because it’s not cool to like the winter.  Everyone loves the summer and the nice weather but personally, I think summer weather is over-rated. 

I love winter. I love a huge snow storm even more.  I love to sit inside with the fire going and watch the snow coming down so heavy you can hardly see anything else.  I love to go for walks when the snow is falling, especially when it’s dark out.  I love to play in the snow with the kids….I love even more to watch the kids playing in the snow.  I love to go out for breakfast to our favourite breakfast place and sit in the window eating French toast and bacon and drinking pots full of tea.

I go into hibernation in the winter. I think a lot of us do. And I know I need it.  By the end of the endless nice weather in the summer, I’m ready for a break from it. I can only enjoy so much nice weather.  In the summer, from the minute I wake up until darkness sets in (which, I’ll remind you is very late in the summer) I feel like I have to be outside enjoying it.  There is no time for rest and cuddling up on the couch and just doing nothing. And I love doing nothing.

Yep, the winter suits me just fine. On any given night, when I don’t have to go out, you may very well find me in my pajamas by 5pm. And I might not change out of those pajamas until sometime the following day if it’s on a weekend.  I like to fatten up a little in the winter too.  Ok, maybe I don’t like it but it happens.  I like to eat all of the comfort food I can get my hands on and since there’s no chance of anyone seeing me in a bathing suit for several months, I always say yes to seconds.

People don’t like the winter because they hate being cold and dealing with the snow. I say, embrace it.  Find the beauty in shorter days and longer nights and rest while you can.  I am sure when the summer comes I will remember all that is wonderful about nice, warm weather. But for right now, while the snow is falling and I am in my pajamas on the couch, I am more than happy that it is winter.

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The snow falls like it has a thousand times before

Still, it captivates me and tricks me to think I am watching it fall

for the very first time

The snow falls and wraps the earth in a soft, white blanket

and I am filled with warmth

The snow falls and as it falls it dances and

the child in me is dancing with it

The snow falls and grips the earth and

I am moved again.

My New Love

So, I never understood what people like Oprah were talking about when they would say things like, “Find what you love to do and do it.”   What did that mean? Where was I going to find it? I am in my thirties for crying out loud. Don’t I know everything by now? I love my job but let’s face it, if I won a significant lottery I am not sure I would continue to do it, full time anyway. But somehow, when I wasn’t expecting it, what I really and truly love to do crept up on me and, like good reality t.v., I can’t get enough.

I have always liked to write.  I still have much of my original poetry from seventh grade.  I have never minded writing speeches and there is a notebook beside my bed that has various entries about random subjects that spans years.  My love of writing has always been there, I just wasn’t paying attention.

Now I spend whatever free time I can muster, writing about things that I am not sure really matter that much but that make me content in a way I have never been before.  Writing allows me to be the complete version of myself. A new, improved version possibly.

I love reading about other writers and the process of writing. The Paris Wife is one of my all-time favourite books. It is a piece of historical fiction that tells the story of Ernest Hemingway and his first wife Hadley.  Now, I’ve never actually read any of Hemingway’s work, but I loved reading about him and his love of writing. 

In discovering this new passion of mine, I have had the full support of my husband and that has made all the difference.  I sneak away to coffee shops when I can and only pretend to pay attention to the movies we are watching together when really, I am working away at my next piece.  I am not sure that I would have been as supportive to him as he has been to me.  When someone discovers a new side of themselves I think it can be a little threatening.  It not only requires time but it also that you allow them to grow when sometimes it is easier when the people we love just stay the same.

Allowing myself to embrace this new passion of mine has been a vulnerable time for me.  Not only have I had the support of Eric but also of my friends and family who have acted like my cheerleaders along the way.  I have never really thought about how important it is to really and truly support people during transitional times in their lives.  I think I have always paid lip service but I don’t know that I supported the people closest to me in the way that I should have. In the way that people have shown me.

I am not sure where this journey is going take me, I only know that I am happy to be on it.  If you haven’t found what you truly love to do yet, keep looking, it is somewhere inside just waiting for you to pay attention.