A Comfortable Silence

Eric and I were recently able to escape our real life for a quick getaway to Toronto.  I absolutely love these mini-vacations away from the house and our kids.  And no matter how much we may not be able to stand each other when we leave; we always reconnect quickly and remember why we got married in the first place. Before we left, we worked like mad to clean the house, wash the sheets and leave it all in relatively good condition for our return. We packed up three overnight bags for the kids (plus a thousand accessories) and shuffled them off to three different locations. I barely recall what it meant to only be responsible for myself. Now even the dogs need a babysitter and some sort of coordinated effort.

Like everyone I know who is in the business of raising a young family, we are busy. Crazy busy.  Sometimes we feel stranded in a perpetual state of demand: from our kids, our jobs and our domestic responsibilities. So when I get the opportunity to step outside of it all and breathe in the joy of time away, I take it without hesitation. And I generally don’t feel guilty about it.  I am no martyr of motherhood. I need me time. I love me time. I need time with just my husband. I love time with just him.

We had a nice drive in, each with our favourite drink; I like tea and he prefers coffee. We spent the time chatting, mildly arguing and sitting in comfortable silence. After more than thirteen years together it’s all very normal and, I suppose, just the way we like it. Lunch was the first thing on our agenda. We wondered around Queen St. and in very typical fashion made the act of finding a restaurant an extremely complicated event. I insisted we talk about our choices and decide together and he kept saying he didn’t care. We walked in and out of the same places several times before I felt I could make a decision. We ordered – breakfast for me and lunch for him. 

For almost two hours we sat with our lunch. We read the paper, checked our phones, and talked briefly about articles we were reading. It occurred to me that not so long ago I had watched couples like us (usually they were further on in years, much further) and felt sorry for them. How sad that out for lunch together they couldn’t find anything to talk about and instead chose to read the paper, occasionally exchanging sections; barely looking up while the sections crossed the table.  I simply misunderstood.

What is not seen in the quiet moments when a couple sits across from one another in silence are all the threads that tie them together. And while the affection between us may be far more subtle than when we first met, it is far deeper. We sat together, connected as a couple but also taking space for ourselves. It is in these quiet moments together that the pieces of our relationship (which sometimes seems as though they are simply floating all around us) come together to make the complicated yet perfect puzzle that is simply us.

I am already planning our next escape.

Dragons Live Forever Part II

I wish I could enrol in a parenting course. I need it desperately.  Just when I think I have a handle on the whole concept, my confidence evaporates and I feel like I have messed up my children for life.  If a parenting course were to be designed for me in my most current state it might be called Back off Bitch: How Not to Ruin Your Children’s Bright and Happy Future with your Constant Overanalyses of Everything they do. Sounds about perfect.

What they always tell you about being a parent but what you can never really believe is that it never gets any easier. When I had my first baby I knew that nothing in the world could be harder than being a first time mom.  And then when I had a toddler and a baby I knew no one could possibly be busier than me. And now, with three children and ten years of parenting under my belt, I finally understand what those people meant.

My son is just about to turn ten. Ten. Wow. I can cry just thinking about it. Where have the years gone? Looking back, it was so easy when it was so hard. (Ok, now I’m starting to really get choked up and I’m in a coffee shop. Get yourself together!)  There was a lot to deal with but it was so uncomplicated. Now, there is texting and girls and his ability to make his own (sometimes important) decisions. Decisions that I am not sure are always best. Unfortunately, and the reason for a needed parenting course, I don’t always know what is best.  I don’t know when it is okay to let him figure things out on his own and fail and when I really need to intervene. And maybe his choices that I so do not understand make perfect sense to him. It is a precarious position between over-parenting and under-parenting. (Oh great, now there’s a little four year old boy with a pretend helmet on excited for Halloween and I’m sitting here missing my little four year old boy and the tears are really coming.)

Our dreams for our children and the visions we have of ourselves as parents are so grand in the beginning. Then there is reality. When they are small it feels as though you have their whole life to mold them and teach them and model what it means to be a good human being.  And then all of a sudden they have turned into actual little grown up people and you realize how messy (literally and figuratively) it has been along the way and you’re not sure if you did any of it right.

It is just so hard sometimes; and so beautiful at the same time. We are meant to raise our kids to become who they were meant to be. To nurture their little souls with the knowledge that one day they will not need us. But the transition is not easy. It is marked with uncertainty and doubt.  And while preparing them to grow their proverbial wings we sometimes want to clip them so our children will not fly too fast too soon.

All we can do is our best. Even if some days my best looks like a crazy person has been left in charge. I have to accept that I won’t always know what to do or say and that sometimes I am going to get it wrong, way wrong. It is hard to let our children grow up. It is also amazing and wonderful.  It is a poignant moment when you realize your children are not actually yours. They belong to themselves and we have but a short time to prepare them for their journey. No one said it would be easy and they were right. Everyone said these will be the best days of my life and, they too, were right.

Haunting Photos

When I was in fourth grade, my friend had a book of haunted stories. The picture on the front of the book was the outline of a faint ghost floating through a forest. I was fascinated by this book and how terribly fearful it made me feel. I was especially haunted by this photo on the cover. I asked to bring it home one night but it haunted my sleep and I got rid of it the very next day. But this is not a story about those kinds of haunting photos.

This is a story about far more terrifying pictures and ones that haunt me far more deeply. I am talking about the thousands of photos I have stored on my computer.  Almost the entirety of my life since the digital age began.  I am overwhelmed by photos and I fear I will never catch up. I will never be able to go through and print and catalogue all of the amazing photos of us, our kids, our family and our friends.

I kept up for a while. I would go to the photo store for marathon sessions of selecting, cropping and taking out red eye. It cost me hundreds of dollars per time but I would have tackled almost a whole year of photos. Currently, I think I am three years behind. THREE YEARS! Do you know how many photos that is?  You probably do because I am sure you take ten photos of the same shot just like me. And then how do you choose? They’re all so great.

It’s not like the old days (really, I’m saying that?).  It was a one shot deal and you didn’t get to see it until you got the roll of film developed.  And each one was so special.  And still is. And it didn’t matter if someone had their eyes closed and someone else wasn’t looking.  It just captured the moment as it was.

Everyone loves to sit down with a photo album; to turn its pages and remember a time gone by.  Albums need to be created. Photos are not meant to sit on a computer never to be looked at again. But our digital cameras and phones, while inspiring us to take more photos than ever, have actually left us with a void of actual pictures to look at.

Well, there is no time like the present. I need to go through my photos and spend the hours upon hours it is going to require to bring them to life in actual print. They’re worth it. The memory each photo gives to us is worth it. I want my kids to have mini time capsules of their lives just like I do of mine. Even if it only happens once in a while it really is pure joy to sit on a couch curled up with your past and hug it one more time before you place it back on the shelf.

Air Supply and a Good Mixed Tape

Hello all my my new, old and faithful readers. I want to thank you for taking time to be here and for reading my random thoughts.  I want you to know how much I appreciate that you bother and I especially appreciate when you take the time to leave a comment. If you don't already I would LOVE if you would take a moment to either join this site or follow me by email. Sometimes I just need to know you're out there :)

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Recently on a long drive home I got caught up in a good (make that great) Air Supply song (I have a vague recollection of belting out said song  in a downtown Keg drunk off two Keg -size strawberry daiquiris – have I mentioned how much more fun I am when I’m drunk?) It got me to thinking about the numerous mixed tapes I once spent hours in my bedroom making.  Mixed tapes that were mostly full of sappy (but amazing) love songs that I made in memory of a dead, or dying, relationship.  There were also tapes made that captured the great classics of the day. Bust a Move (or Buster Move as I believed it to be called for a shamefully long period of time) got a lot of air play on many of my mixed beauties in eighth grade.

And then there were the hours I spent compiling the perfect mixed tape for the many loves of my life – I am happily married to the actual love of my life but the folly of my youth was to believe that every boy who gave me enough attention (and even those who didn’t) was worthy of this title. Those mixed tapes were special. Time was devoted to the careful printing of each song on the cover of the tape – and even the singer/band if the spacing was well-planned enough.

The art of the mixed tape and sending it off as a love letter, that in essence captured that moment in time in so many ways, has been lost.  It has been replaced by the playlist and with it the romance has died.  Today’s youth will never know the joy of giving or receiving a tape that expresses to the loves of their lives what only a great love song can. They will never know the joy of rediscovering an aged tape – deep inside a box at the back of your closet – one that when you see it you are instantly transported back in time.  It’s sad I think - an archive of the past never to be.

The same can be said of the love note whose ink was thoughtfully put to paper by your one and only; a record of a fourteen year old or twenty year old’s devotion to you.  The love letter left us with the advent of email and the nail in the coffin is our new obsession with texting. An entire generation will not have a box of letters to rummage through – one that chronicles their romantic triumphs and follies.

Even the phone call doesn’t exist anymore. Who doesn’t remember sitting beside their awesome purple phone from Zellers and hoping that if they stared at it long enough they could actually will it to ring?  Who doesn’t remember talking to their boyfriend or girlfriend for so long it felt like your ear was going to fall off?  What was really great about those days was the fact that we, like everyone else, had only one phone line and my idiotic sisters (whom I love dearly now) would absolutely ruin my life by picking up the phone a thousand times during one phone call yelling at me to get off the phone.

We need to remember the importance of creating records of our lives that won’t be lost in cyber space forever. Listening to Air Supply reminded me of the importance of all of these pieces of the past. A good song always stirs feelings in us and those feelings need to be captured in some way. And while I won’t be making anymore mixed tapes I will be sure to try and continue writing notes to my husband and children so we all have something to hold onto and remember once the moment has passed. 

 

A few gems I found -without having to look too hard.
I particularly like the Mega Mix from Hell title - classic

The Mega Mix from Hell playlist - I know you were curious

A book I made for Eric that holds all of our correspondence
from just the first year we met

 

Coffee Shop Therapy

I came to the coffee shop today to write. It had been far too long since I had opened my computer to do anything other than see what my friends were saying on Facebook and checking the hockey schedule.  I came to be inspired, to be alone and to feel cool – you know, alone in a coffee shop with an open computer kind of cool.

I bumped into a woman I do not know very well and whom I had not seen in years. She lost her husband a while ago and as we waited for our hot beverages she caught me up on where life has taken her.  She too has three children all in their early to mid-twenties now. She met a new man, married him and now lives between Ireland and Toronto keeping in touch with her children via Skype and as many visits as they can manage.

In line, waiting to order my tea, talking with a woman whom I only casually know, I became very emotional. And I do not hide these things well - my eyes instantly red and glistening. It was just so striking how life can change in an instant and its trajectory forever altered. She could have never known, with her young family and her busy life, just what the future had in store for her.  I was struck in that moment how the life I have now, the one I count on, curse and love, may not - will not - be my life forever. It seems like only yesterday her kids were so young – just like mine – and now they have carved out lives of their own. Of course this is what we want for our kids; it just seems sad in a way that these days are destined to slip away. (Oh great, now I am really obviously emotional and alone in a coffee shop. Cool factor - 0, weird factor - 10.)

It seems like only yesterday I was playing doubles against her husband and he has been gone for eight years. The life they had, the one they thought was forever, only a memory. I know first-hand that there are no guarantees. That my own Dad, the one who was going to be the best Grandpa ever, would never hold or know any of his grandchildren.  It seems like only yesterday that I was living with my parents and sisters in a life that I thought was going to go on forever. Where did all those days go? Our memories are tricky because they make every moment feel ‘like it was only yesterday’.

This chance encounter, this reminder that life is precariously in the balance of something far beyond our control offered me a needed moment of reflection. We can’t, we shouldn’t and we won’t ever live our lives appreciating and wallowing in every moment in an attempt to hold onto them.  I experience happiness, frustration, joy and complete annoyance in good balance because I am human not because I do not appreciate my life or take it for granted. 

I cannot imagine my life without Eric. I cannot imagine my life without our three kids all living and fighting and laughing under one roof.  Change is difficult and sometimes it is so gradual we don’t even notice it. Other times, it hits so hard that we are not sure how we will face another day. I was given a glimpse today; a glimpse into a future that may be unrecognizable to me now. Sometimes ignorance really is best and I will keep living like this is the only life I will ever know.  When change comes, whether it creeps up or slaps me in the face, I will deal with it then. For now, I will go home to my family and appreciate the gift that they are and then probably yell at someone.

Apparently, I'm a Failure

I have been spending a lot of time on Pinterest lately.  I haven’t actually done anything with any of my Pins yet but I have a great collection of inspiring ideas should I ever get the time to pursue one of them. The other day I came across this poster which highlights (in someone’s opinion anyway) the traits of successful and unsuccessful people. ‘Cool’ I thought. I immediately aligned myself with the ‘Successful’ lady on the left.  I was just about to hit Repin when I glanced at some of the traits of the sad looking ‘Unsuccessful’ fellow:

Watches TV everyday – is there something wrong with that?

Fears Change – a little

Flies by the seat of their pants – most of the time – oh God, this isn’t looking good

Talks about others – only to make myself feel better!

Exudes anger – well, I rarely smile and SO much annoys me

I was horrified to find that I am actually a very unsuccessful person. How could I repin this? I would be a laughing stalk. Clearly, since I could recognize these negative traits in me (part of my journey to self-awareness) then others have certainly already noticed my deficiencies. I certainly have a couple of the qualities from the ‘Successful People’ side but they fall under the category of ‘Sometimes’ for me. I think the poster needs to reflect people like me a little more – the Once in a While Successful People.

And then I remembered this was a Pinterest poster. How can it know with its colourful design and stick figures if I am successful or not. It doesn’t know that my moments of crazy are balanced by moments of my own small triumphs. That just because I sometimes hide my kid’s candy so I can eat it doesn’t mean I don’t love them. It’s just like when I am on Facebook and I notice that some people have close to 500 friends. I’m practically a loser by Facebook standards yet I am surrounded by great friends. And my house looks nothing like the homes on Houzz but I am (mostly) happy in our home.

The poster still scares me a little and I suppose I will try and emulate more of the qualities on the green side than the yellow. Thankfully my life happens outside of the world of the internet and all its social sites  that think they know how to live my life better than I do. I may not look that pretty on paper but it all feels great from here – most of the time.

Six Pack

I think I once wrote that I didn’t mind the few extra pounds I put on around Christmas time. I must have written that bit of crap after walking by a skinny mirror. Because right now - with those few (six) extra pounds I have put on since summer that are pressing not so gently against the button of my pants - I mind a lot.

I have committed several times over to gaining some control back in terms of my eating. But it is like some sort of sick self-sabotage.  As soon as I decide I want to be less gluttonous my body revolts by binging on anything and everything it can. The other day was going to be ‘the’ day. You know, the first day of it all. The first day, as anyone who has ever attempted to lose weight knows, is the most important day of the weight loss process. Anyway, I was doing so well right up until four o’clock. It was then that all the sacrifice I had made in the last nine, long hours came undone. It started with a plate of spaghetti followed immediately by two bowls of Frosted Flakes. Feeling satisfied (as if I had been stranded without food for days) I thought the relapse was over. But, upon returning from a brief excursion I proceeded to make myself a large plate pancakes smothered in butter and syrup. I had consumed an entire day’s worth of food in just a few short hours; another day one, another shameful failure.

I am certainly not interested in losing weigh with the latest trend in weight loss.  I’d rather be glutton free than gluten free. And I’d rather eat less, real food than drink a shake made from a powder. I don’t need a fad diet to help me lose weight. I need will power! I need to eat less than the (well over) 2000 calories a day I am currently consuming. I know lots of people who prefer these methods (my sister included) but they require a whole other level of commitment that I am just not prepared to give.

What I also need is a boot camp and I need it badly. Not that I really want go through all that work again. And at this point I would need a pre-boot camp just to get me in shape enough for a proper boot camp. Oh these first world problems of mine.

One day my ‘first day’ effort will hold and then, if I am lucky, I will have a succession of days when the chip bag stays closed, the row of cookies untouched and the cereal (late at night) stays in the cupboard. 

Don’t get me wrong. I love food (obviously) and I have a healthy relationship with it. It’s just at this moment - when parts of my body are touching other parts of my body that should really be nowhere near each other - the time for action has come. And action will come. Soon. I hope.