Today, you would have turned 18. I can’t even fathom you at that age.
Tall? Likely. Elegant? Maybe. Same smart witty personality? God, I hope so.
I can’t imagine talking about university, dating and career paths, but that’s likely what we’d be doing. In my mind, you grow up beautifully, with few bumps in the road, happy and successful. In my heart, you’re always 11, a little girl on the verge of growing up, with the soul of a saint and huge brown eyes filled with wisdom beyond your years.
Regardless of the past or future, you’re missed. And still loved so very much.
Happy 18th birthday, M.
A Birthday.
Turning a Blind Eye.
Showing posts with label Deep Stuff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Deep Stuff. Show all posts
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Piano Torture
(*Warning! Vent ahead!)
Mouse has been taking piano lessons once a week with a wonderful teacher since September. Initially she started out fine. Willing to learn, bursting with confidence, loving every class and being excited to practice. She was learning quickly and I knew she would.
However, since around Christmas time, things have changed. Yes, the music has gotten a bit harder, but not extremely so. Mouse now second guesses every single note, even the ones she KNOWS. She plays the “dumb girl” (which I hate saying – but it’s true). She’s tilts her head to the side, raises her shoulders and says with her best Valley Girl voice “Oh. Um, I um, think that um, that it’s, um… an um… D??” She wants me to say “yes, that’s right” to every single note she plays. However, she WILL NOT allow me to use my finger to help her follow the music on the page. She screams at me in that 5-going-on-13 voice that she can do it herself! Practice has become a form of torture for both of us. I end up beyond frustrated and nearly furious. She ends up miserable. It’s not a good place to be.
We talked over Christmas break and I asked her if she really LIKED piano lessons or if she was just taking lessons because she thought that’s what I wanted her to do and she adamantly said she loved them. When I suggested that we take a break from classes and start them again next year when she was a bit older, I was met with an enormous tantrum and a storm of tears. I explained that learning to read music and play the piano wasn’t something she could just go to class once a week and learn. She needed to practice in between lessons, daily in fact, even if just a little bit. I try to get her to practice for just 5 minutes a day and we both end up nearly in tears.
We’ve tried practicing at different times of the day, but to be honest, we both dread the 5-15 minutes and I think we avoid it, even unintentionally at times and so some weeks she only practices once or twice. But it embarrasses me when we go to her lessons and she’s barely practiced. I feel like a bad Mom for not encouraging her better. But Mouse doesn’t care and generally does fine at her lesson.
She’s 5, almost 6 and I know she’s young. But she’s smart. And I’m torn. I hate seeing a self-depreciating behavior in her already. When I see her doing the “dumb girl” act it’s all I can do not to yell “You are SMART and you can DO this!”, but I know that won’t help to build her confidence.
I see myself in her right now and it makes me sad and mad. I want her to feel confident enough to take a risk and learn something new, to practice and try at ANYTHING even if she doesn’t get it perfect. I want her to be more than I was; to be brave enough to ALLOW herself to have more opportunities and take chances. I don’t want her to miss out because she’s too self conscious to try, too embarrassed to make mistakes, like I was and to a much lesser degree still am.
It’s very important to me that the girls learn how to read music. I don’t care what instrument they play, but I think learning to read music is a very important skill. I’m worried that I’m trying to start her too early and am squashing any genuine desire she might have to do this. We chose piano because we had one and we could find a teacher that she really liked, and well, she seemed interested in learning.
I’ve spoken with her teacher quite a bit about this and she feels like Mouse is doing well and to not be worried. She can tell that she’s bright and is catching on, and that Mouse adores her. Mrs. H is awesome apparently.
But I hate feeling mean and walking away from her practices feeling like I need a drink because I’m so worked up. I hate feeling like I’m just making matters worse. I hate that she looks so sad when we’re done because it’s like she’s failed to “please me”. I want her to have fun and to enjoy learning but I know it’s not something I can force.
I guess I need to think some more about this and decide what to do. Sigh.
Mouse has been taking piano lessons once a week with a wonderful teacher since September. Initially she started out fine. Willing to learn, bursting with confidence, loving every class and being excited to practice. She was learning quickly and I knew she would.
However, since around Christmas time, things have changed. Yes, the music has gotten a bit harder, but not extremely so. Mouse now second guesses every single note, even the ones she KNOWS. She plays the “dumb girl” (which I hate saying – but it’s true). She’s tilts her head to the side, raises her shoulders and says with her best Valley Girl voice “Oh. Um, I um, think that um, that it’s, um… an um… D??” She wants me to say “yes, that’s right” to every single note she plays. However, she WILL NOT allow me to use my finger to help her follow the music on the page. She screams at me in that 5-going-on-13 voice that she can do it herself! Practice has become a form of torture for both of us. I end up beyond frustrated and nearly furious. She ends up miserable. It’s not a good place to be.
We talked over Christmas break and I asked her if she really LIKED piano lessons or if she was just taking lessons because she thought that’s what I wanted her to do and she adamantly said she loved them. When I suggested that we take a break from classes and start them again next year when she was a bit older, I was met with an enormous tantrum and a storm of tears. I explained that learning to read music and play the piano wasn’t something she could just go to class once a week and learn. She needed to practice in between lessons, daily in fact, even if just a little bit. I try to get her to practice for just 5 minutes a day and we both end up nearly in tears.
We’ve tried practicing at different times of the day, but to be honest, we both dread the 5-15 minutes and I think we avoid it, even unintentionally at times and so some weeks she only practices once or twice. But it embarrasses me when we go to her lessons and she’s barely practiced. I feel like a bad Mom for not encouraging her better. But Mouse doesn’t care and generally does fine at her lesson.
She’s 5, almost 6 and I know she’s young. But she’s smart. And I’m torn. I hate seeing a self-depreciating behavior in her already. When I see her doing the “dumb girl” act it’s all I can do not to yell “You are SMART and you can DO this!”, but I know that won’t help to build her confidence.
I see myself in her right now and it makes me sad and mad. I want her to feel confident enough to take a risk and learn something new, to practice and try at ANYTHING even if she doesn’t get it perfect. I want her to be more than I was; to be brave enough to ALLOW herself to have more opportunities and take chances. I don’t want her to miss out because she’s too self conscious to try, too embarrassed to make mistakes, like I was and to a much lesser degree still am.
It’s very important to me that the girls learn how to read music. I don’t care what instrument they play, but I think learning to read music is a very important skill. I’m worried that I’m trying to start her too early and am squashing any genuine desire she might have to do this. We chose piano because we had one and we could find a teacher that she really liked, and well, she seemed interested in learning.
I’ve spoken with her teacher quite a bit about this and she feels like Mouse is doing well and to not be worried. She can tell that she’s bright and is catching on, and that Mouse adores her. Mrs. H is awesome apparently.
But I hate feeling mean and walking away from her practices feeling like I need a drink because I’m so worked up. I hate feeling like I’m just making matters worse. I hate that she looks so sad when we’re done because it’s like she’s failed to “please me”. I want her to have fun and to enjoy learning but I know it’s not something I can force.
I guess I need to think some more about this and decide what to do. Sigh.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Reluctant Grief
Remember this post? Let’s refer to my birth father (which sounds so awkward) as G. Well, I did find a card and I wrote a letter, included a family photo and send it. It was kind of an awkward letter, I mean, really, what do you say after 14 years of no contact? It was weird. It wasn’t like I could say “get well soon”, because well, that likely wasn’t going to happen.
“Hey, I grew up, I had a couple of kids, I’m still happily married and have a lived a whole life you know nothing about. Sorry to hear you’re dying though…”
After I put it in the mailbox and put the flag up, I kept walking by the front door looking at the mailbox, watching for the mail truck, wondering if I should change my mind, run out and get the letter and forget the whole thing. I was afraid of the can of worms I was opening. However, the letter went out, and according to some friends who were sitting with him in the hospital, receiving it cheered him. And so, I’m glad I sent it.
A few weeks ago, it did seem as though G rallied and was getting better, but within a week, he was back in intensive care, with a tracheotomy to help him breathe and feeding tubes. We learned that he had severe pneumonia that was not getting better and that his remaining leg needed to be amputated due to diabetes complications. (His first was removed a few years ago). The leg was slowly poisoning his body. But the operation couldn’t happen until the pneumonia cleared up. It was a viscous cycle.
This past weekend, my aunt who lives closest to him and is listed as his next of kin, went to see him to make some arrangements. While there, he crashed but the doctors managed to revive him. The order was given to remove life support and he died on Monday evening. I found out by email Tuesday morning.
Hubster read the email with me, saw me start to cry and asked me if I was ok, just as Mouse walked into the kitchen. I was surprised at how upset I was, but knew I had to pull it together to get through the day, so I stuffed my feelings way down for a while so I could be “MOM” and function. Though, I’m sure the kids have overheard us talking, I haven’t explicitly talked to them about G or who he is or that he died. I fumbled through the day, tired and dazed and trying not to think about it. I was functioning on about 3 hours sleep, if you call it functioning, because I had been up a lot with a sick Baboo the night before.
We made it through the day; I talked to my Mum and brother and figured things would eventually hit me, but sincerely believed I could deal with whatever would come and it would be no big deal. Insert another night with no sleep, and Wednesday was a horrible day. By witching hour, 5 pm, I was “Nasty Mom”, complete with spinning head and flaming eyes, getting ready to sell the girls to any circus that would take them. I yelled, I stomped and I nearly threw food across the room. And then Hubster talked me down, told me to just hold until he got home. I apologized to the girls, fixed them dinner and put on a movie and wished the ground would open up and swallow me. I felt like sh*t for taking this out on the girls. I knew I had to deal with this, but couldn’t seem to get a grip on time.
Insert ANOTHER night with about 3 hours sleep.
Hubster gently insisted on staying home yesterday to give me a break and that’s exactly what he did. I rested, he took care of the girls and I did a lot of thinking and a bit of grieving.
I’m not a stranger to grief. This is not the first time I’ve lost a family member. I’ve known deeper pain, one that still lingers 6 years later. In this circumstance, I wasn’t sure what to feel, and wasn’t sure what I wanted to ALLOW myself to feel.
I hadn’t had direct contact with G for almost 15 years. At my invitation and effort, after a few years of little contact during my teen years, he was a part of my life for a while, right around the time Hubster and I were married. That was 15 years ago. G and his current wife attended our wedding. Hubster and I went to visit him shortly afterwards. We wrote back and forth for a few months and then one of my letters was sent back with a “return to sender” stamp on it. He vanished. I never heard from him again. That stung for a long time. I was mad for a long time. And hurt. So hurt. Once again, as I did when I was a kid and never heard from him, I wondered what was wrong with me. Why was I not good enough to be around?
And over time, I realized it wasn’t about me. He did it to other people, other family members. I stopped being mad. I don’t hate him. I never did. I let it go.
Occasionally, I heard about G through the grapevine, like when my grandmother died about 11 years ago and when he had his first amputation about 4 years ago, but I never heard from HIM again. I remember when my Mum called to tell me about him being in the hospital and she mentioned that my aunt had said he was surprised to hear he had a grandchild (at that time I just had Mouse). Hubster and I had been married over 10 years at that point and I was over 30, and I remember thinking “He really has no concept of a normal life!” Through the same grapevine, I wished him well, but didn’t contact him. I did say he could find me if I wanted to. He never did.
On top of not hearing from G, I almost never heard from his family either, despite making efforts to stay in touch over the years. Again, I was hurt and mad, and then I let it go.
However, this past summer, I tried one more time. We were in town, my Aunt was available and we had a very nice visit. She was the first to meet and acknowledge my girls. We stayed in touch and then we got the news about G dying. And since then, my Mother, myself and my 2 aunts have been in very close contact. I’m grateful for this contact and hope that we don’t lose it. But, I’m cautiously optimistic. I know that there was a reason why we got in touch this summer and I'm glad it happened before we knew about G.
I carefully considered going to see him when I first found out he was ill, but decided not to. There were many reasons why, none of them vindictive. I also considered going to his memorial service this weekend, but the highly prohibitive cost and previous obligations got in the way. And frankly, I felt as though, if I didn’t go when he was alive, why would I go when he is dead and won’t know I’m there? Hubster suggested that I go for closure, but I think I can find closure here. I wanted to go to support my aunt who had to make all these hard decisions herself. I felt OBLIGATED to go and guilty for not wanting to. The memorial is for his few friends who knew him most recently and it’s unlikely that many people from his “past” will be there. He’s closed us all out and I feel as though, what’s done is done at this point.
I have been reluctant to start to grieve, but it came about anyway, with me kicking and screaming the whole time. While I never wished him ill and certainly, during this whole thing, I never wished him dead, I wanted to be removed. I didn’t want to care as much as I have. I wanted to believe that he was just some person who didn’t matter to me anymore. I don’t know this man and he doesn’t know me. Other than the little history we have, there isn’t much there. What was there to grieve? I wasn’t wishing for a miraculous father daughter reunion. I have a wonderful father. He’s my stepfather, but it offends me to refer to him as such. He’s a Dad in every way to me and I think of him only in that context. I wasn’t hoping that G would swoop in to be Grandpa to my girls. In fact, I kind of worried what I would do if he ever did come back around. What would I say to the girls? Would I really want him there? What if he vanished on my kids like he did to me and I had to try to explain that to them? I didn’t want my girls to have to go through that. My kids have grandparents, Grandpas, who ADORE them. My DAD is a knock out Grandpa who lives for my girls and they adore him just as much. He’s earned that right and privilege and it’s not one he takes lightly.
So, why am I so sad? I’m sad because he died, by his own choice, almost alone. He could have had people around him who loved him, but he chose to shut the door on them. All of them. I’m sad because I’ll never hear him say “I’m sorry” to me, my brother and my Mother. I’m sad not because of the “what could have beens” but because there never was. I’m sad because someone I did care about, and still do to a degree, I guess, has died. A life is over and that alone is worth grieving.
One day, I'll tell my girls about him. They'll know where I came from and what happened and who he was from my viewpoint. I hope that I'll learn from his mistakes and keep those closest me to me, close. I certainly don't want to die alone.
“Hey, I grew up, I had a couple of kids, I’m still happily married and have a lived a whole life you know nothing about. Sorry to hear you’re dying though…”
After I put it in the mailbox and put the flag up, I kept walking by the front door looking at the mailbox, watching for the mail truck, wondering if I should change my mind, run out and get the letter and forget the whole thing. I was afraid of the can of worms I was opening. However, the letter went out, and according to some friends who were sitting with him in the hospital, receiving it cheered him. And so, I’m glad I sent it.
A few weeks ago, it did seem as though G rallied and was getting better, but within a week, he was back in intensive care, with a tracheotomy to help him breathe and feeding tubes. We learned that he had severe pneumonia that was not getting better and that his remaining leg needed to be amputated due to diabetes complications. (His first was removed a few years ago). The leg was slowly poisoning his body. But the operation couldn’t happen until the pneumonia cleared up. It was a viscous cycle.
This past weekend, my aunt who lives closest to him and is listed as his next of kin, went to see him to make some arrangements. While there, he crashed but the doctors managed to revive him. The order was given to remove life support and he died on Monday evening. I found out by email Tuesday morning.
Hubster read the email with me, saw me start to cry and asked me if I was ok, just as Mouse walked into the kitchen. I was surprised at how upset I was, but knew I had to pull it together to get through the day, so I stuffed my feelings way down for a while so I could be “MOM” and function. Though, I’m sure the kids have overheard us talking, I haven’t explicitly talked to them about G or who he is or that he died. I fumbled through the day, tired and dazed and trying not to think about it. I was functioning on about 3 hours sleep, if you call it functioning, because I had been up a lot with a sick Baboo the night before.
We made it through the day; I talked to my Mum and brother and figured things would eventually hit me, but sincerely believed I could deal with whatever would come and it would be no big deal. Insert another night with no sleep, and Wednesday was a horrible day. By witching hour, 5 pm, I was “Nasty Mom”, complete with spinning head and flaming eyes, getting ready to sell the girls to any circus that would take them. I yelled, I stomped and I nearly threw food across the room. And then Hubster talked me down, told me to just hold until he got home. I apologized to the girls, fixed them dinner and put on a movie and wished the ground would open up and swallow me. I felt like sh*t for taking this out on the girls. I knew I had to deal with this, but couldn’t seem to get a grip on time.
Insert ANOTHER night with about 3 hours sleep.
Hubster gently insisted on staying home yesterday to give me a break and that’s exactly what he did. I rested, he took care of the girls and I did a lot of thinking and a bit of grieving.
I’m not a stranger to grief. This is not the first time I’ve lost a family member. I’ve known deeper pain, one that still lingers 6 years later. In this circumstance, I wasn’t sure what to feel, and wasn’t sure what I wanted to ALLOW myself to feel.
I hadn’t had direct contact with G for almost 15 years. At my invitation and effort, after a few years of little contact during my teen years, he was a part of my life for a while, right around the time Hubster and I were married. That was 15 years ago. G and his current wife attended our wedding. Hubster and I went to visit him shortly afterwards. We wrote back and forth for a few months and then one of my letters was sent back with a “return to sender” stamp on it. He vanished. I never heard from him again. That stung for a long time. I was mad for a long time. And hurt. So hurt. Once again, as I did when I was a kid and never heard from him, I wondered what was wrong with me. Why was I not good enough to be around?
And over time, I realized it wasn’t about me. He did it to other people, other family members. I stopped being mad. I don’t hate him. I never did. I let it go.
Occasionally, I heard about G through the grapevine, like when my grandmother died about 11 years ago and when he had his first amputation about 4 years ago, but I never heard from HIM again. I remember when my Mum called to tell me about him being in the hospital and she mentioned that my aunt had said he was surprised to hear he had a grandchild (at that time I just had Mouse). Hubster and I had been married over 10 years at that point and I was over 30, and I remember thinking “He really has no concept of a normal life!” Through the same grapevine, I wished him well, but didn’t contact him. I did say he could find me if I wanted to. He never did.
On top of not hearing from G, I almost never heard from his family either, despite making efforts to stay in touch over the years. Again, I was hurt and mad, and then I let it go.
However, this past summer, I tried one more time. We were in town, my Aunt was available and we had a very nice visit. She was the first to meet and acknowledge my girls. We stayed in touch and then we got the news about G dying. And since then, my Mother, myself and my 2 aunts have been in very close contact. I’m grateful for this contact and hope that we don’t lose it. But, I’m cautiously optimistic. I know that there was a reason why we got in touch this summer and I'm glad it happened before we knew about G.
I carefully considered going to see him when I first found out he was ill, but decided not to. There were many reasons why, none of them vindictive. I also considered going to his memorial service this weekend, but the highly prohibitive cost and previous obligations got in the way. And frankly, I felt as though, if I didn’t go when he was alive, why would I go when he is dead and won’t know I’m there? Hubster suggested that I go for closure, but I think I can find closure here. I wanted to go to support my aunt who had to make all these hard decisions herself. I felt OBLIGATED to go and guilty for not wanting to. The memorial is for his few friends who knew him most recently and it’s unlikely that many people from his “past” will be there. He’s closed us all out and I feel as though, what’s done is done at this point.
I have been reluctant to start to grieve, but it came about anyway, with me kicking and screaming the whole time. While I never wished him ill and certainly, during this whole thing, I never wished him dead, I wanted to be removed. I didn’t want to care as much as I have. I wanted to believe that he was just some person who didn’t matter to me anymore. I don’t know this man and he doesn’t know me. Other than the little history we have, there isn’t much there. What was there to grieve? I wasn’t wishing for a miraculous father daughter reunion. I have a wonderful father. He’s my stepfather, but it offends me to refer to him as such. He’s a Dad in every way to me and I think of him only in that context. I wasn’t hoping that G would swoop in to be Grandpa to my girls. In fact, I kind of worried what I would do if he ever did come back around. What would I say to the girls? Would I really want him there? What if he vanished on my kids like he did to me and I had to try to explain that to them? I didn’t want my girls to have to go through that. My kids have grandparents, Grandpas, who ADORE them. My DAD is a knock out Grandpa who lives for my girls and they adore him just as much. He’s earned that right and privilege and it’s not one he takes lightly.
So, why am I so sad? I’m sad because he died, by his own choice, almost alone. He could have had people around him who loved him, but he chose to shut the door on them. All of them. I’m sad because I’ll never hear him say “I’m sorry” to me, my brother and my Mother. I’m sad not because of the “what could have beens” but because there never was. I’m sad because someone I did care about, and still do to a degree, I guess, has died. A life is over and that alone is worth grieving.
One day, I'll tell my girls about him. They'll know where I came from and what happened and who he was from my viewpoint. I hope that I'll learn from his mistakes and keep those closest me to me, close. I certainly don't want to die alone.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
My Inspriational Slap in the Face
While waiting for Mouse during her piano lesson today, I saw this (see below) on a plaque in the instructor’s living room.
Considering I was having more than an off day, I figured it was a very good inspirational slap in the face. I jotted it down in the notes section in the back of my planner calendar. I have no idea who wrote it, but I like it anyway.
This is the beginning of a new day.
God has given me this day to use as I will.
I can waste it or grow in its’ light and be of service to others.
But what I do with this day is important because I have exchanged a day of my life for it.
When tomorrow comes, today will be gone forever.
I hope I will not regret the price I paid for it.
I wish I could say I made the most of my day, today. I did not. But, tomorrow is the beginning of a new day and I hope it use it wisely.
Considering I was having more than an off day, I figured it was a very good inspirational slap in the face. I jotted it down in the notes section in the back of my planner calendar. I have no idea who wrote it, but I like it anyway.
This is the beginning of a new day.
God has given me this day to use as I will.
I can waste it or grow in its’ light and be of service to others.
But what I do with this day is important because I have exchanged a day of my life for it.
When tomorrow comes, today will be gone forever.
I hope I will not regret the price I paid for it.
I wish I could say I made the most of my day, today. I did not. But, tomorrow is the beginning of a new day and I hope it use it wisely.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
15 Years
15 years ago today, my Mum woke me up gently at 8 am. It was my wedding day. I had been up late the night before working with family and friends to decorate the reception hall. I was tired, but excited and nervous.
After forcing down a piece of toast to help calm my nerves, the action started. My brother and grandfather started cutting fruit for fruit trays, people were coming and going, flowers were delivered, showers, hair was done, makeup applied, photos taken. Tears wiped.
Across town, Hubster-to-be was hanging out with his best man, eating McDonalds and smoking (which he no longer does); trying to calm HIS nerves.
It was a hot and humid day. A *fantastic* day to be in layers of fabric, makeup and tuxedos. Everything started on time, no one messed up their lines, no rings were lost. Everyone who was important to us was there. It thunderstormed during the ceremony at the church of my childhood, but everything was hot and dry again by the time we were done.
We had our photos done at a local park and then enjoyed a simple buffet before partying for a few hours.
I took 2 days off of work to be with Hubster in our dank, moldy little rental unit (a few week carryover until we moved to another town so I could go to school) we dubbed “The Bates”. We didn’t go on a honeymoon.
After the wedding dust settled, I was shocked. I was MARRIED. We were MAR-RIED. I realized I didn’t know HOW to be wife and went through a little identity crises for a few months. It took us some time to adjust to sharing our lives.
The first few years were hard, as they can be for most new couples. For us, we were young, naïve, inexperienced and somewhat stupid. The odds were against us in a big, big way. We found out later that there were bets at the wedding on how long we’d stay together. The average was 2 years.
We moved a few times, were broker than broke, came with our own growing-up baggage of trying to figure out where we were supposed to go and what we were supposed to be. It was hard to be an “us” when we were trying to figure out ourselves as individuals. I look back at the photos of our wedding day and am always surprised by how young we look. How young we were.
However, we stuck it out, fought it out and held on. We had the unwavering support of our families, who many times went above and beyond for us.
We went to college together, we started over together, we worked together, we were part of a special little girls’ life together, we grieved together. We had a whole life that just grew around us, like the tendrils of a vine. Together, we grew up.
And then, our first daughter was born, changing and challenging our lives in ways we could have never imagined. Another daughter, a few job changes and another big move – here we are.
15 years condensed into a few paragraphs. But there’s so much more. More than could ever be put into words, more than could ever be shared with others. It’s our lives, it’s us. It’s who we are. I wouldn’t trade a single minute.
I was intrigued by a spiky haired blonde boy who sat behind me in grade 9 geography class. He lost my pencil crayons and teased me mercilessly and yet, I still noted that he was “interesting and cute” in my diary over 20 years ago.
I was unexpectedly smitten by the troubled young man who called me out of the blue to invite me to his cousin’s wedding 17 years ago.
I married the man who: loves me unconditionally, makes me laugh until I pee my pants, convinced me that the Simpsons were really funny, puts up with my ever changing moods, makes me coffee (most of the time – ahem!), no longer cringes visibly when I say “so I was thinking…”, sometimes makes me crazy by his ability to strategize complex computer games but inability to multitask in real life and helped me to become the woman I am today.
I love the man who is my best friend, my endless champion, my most honest and gentle critic, the wonderful father of our amazing children and my cohort in the making of this history we have together. We may not be who we were when we were first married, but I love who we've become.
Though there may not be much fan fare in our lives right now, or even much of an outward celebration today, our 15th wedding anniversary, I hope you know that I love you more deeply and more completely with each year that we share together. I marvel at all that we’ve shared together, at who we’ve become as a couple and as individuals, and look forward to the journey we have ahead of us.
Happy Anniversary, Hubster. (We’re definitely going to Hawaii for our 20th!)
(cue cheesy song lyrics…)
You’re Still the One (Shania Twain)
Looks like we made it
Look how far we've come my baby
We mighta took the long way
We knew we'd get there someday
Bridge:
They said, "I bet they'll never make it"
But just look at us holding on
We're still together still going strong
Chorus:
(You're still the one)
You're still the one I run to
The one that I belong to
You're the one I want for life
(You're still the one)
You're still the one that I love
The only one I dream of
You're still the one I kiss good night
Ain't nothin' better
We beat the odds together
I'm glad we didn't listen
Look at what we would be missin'
(Bridge)
(Chorus)
(Chorus)
I'm so glad we made it
Look how far we've come my baby
After forcing down a piece of toast to help calm my nerves, the action started. My brother and grandfather started cutting fruit for fruit trays, people were coming and going, flowers were delivered, showers, hair was done, makeup applied, photos taken. Tears wiped.
Across town, Hubster-to-be was hanging out with his best man, eating McDonalds and smoking (which he no longer does); trying to calm HIS nerves.
It was a hot and humid day. A *fantastic* day to be in layers of fabric, makeup and tuxedos. Everything started on time, no one messed up their lines, no rings were lost. Everyone who was important to us was there. It thunderstormed during the ceremony at the church of my childhood, but everything was hot and dry again by the time we were done.
We had our photos done at a local park and then enjoyed a simple buffet before partying for a few hours.
I took 2 days off of work to be with Hubster in our dank, moldy little rental unit (a few week carryover until we moved to another town so I could go to school) we dubbed “The Bates”. We didn’t go on a honeymoon.
After the wedding dust settled, I was shocked. I was MARRIED. We were MAR-RIED. I realized I didn’t know HOW to be wife and went through a little identity crises for a few months. It took us some time to adjust to sharing our lives.
The first few years were hard, as they can be for most new couples. For us, we were young, naïve, inexperienced and somewhat stupid. The odds were against us in a big, big way. We found out later that there were bets at the wedding on how long we’d stay together. The average was 2 years.
We moved a few times, were broker than broke, came with our own growing-up baggage of trying to figure out where we were supposed to go and what we were supposed to be. It was hard to be an “us” when we were trying to figure out ourselves as individuals. I look back at the photos of our wedding day and am always surprised by how young we look. How young we were.
However, we stuck it out, fought it out and held on. We had the unwavering support of our families, who many times went above and beyond for us.
We went to college together, we started over together, we worked together, we were part of a special little girls’ life together, we grieved together. We had a whole life that just grew around us, like the tendrils of a vine. Together, we grew up.
And then, our first daughter was born, changing and challenging our lives in ways we could have never imagined. Another daughter, a few job changes and another big move – here we are.
15 years condensed into a few paragraphs. But there’s so much more. More than could ever be put into words, more than could ever be shared with others. It’s our lives, it’s us. It’s who we are. I wouldn’t trade a single minute.
I was intrigued by a spiky haired blonde boy who sat behind me in grade 9 geography class. He lost my pencil crayons and teased me mercilessly and yet, I still noted that he was “interesting and cute” in my diary over 20 years ago.
I was unexpectedly smitten by the troubled young man who called me out of the blue to invite me to his cousin’s wedding 17 years ago.
I married the man who: loves me unconditionally, makes me laugh until I pee my pants, convinced me that the Simpsons were really funny, puts up with my ever changing moods, makes me coffee (most of the time – ahem!), no longer cringes visibly when I say “so I was thinking…”, sometimes makes me crazy by his ability to strategize complex computer games but inability to multitask in real life and helped me to become the woman I am today.
I love the man who is my best friend, my endless champion, my most honest and gentle critic, the wonderful father of our amazing children and my cohort in the making of this history we have together. We may not be who we were when we were first married, but I love who we've become.
Though there may not be much fan fare in our lives right now, or even much of an outward celebration today, our 15th wedding anniversary, I hope you know that I love you more deeply and more completely with each year that we share together. I marvel at all that we’ve shared together, at who we’ve become as a couple and as individuals, and look forward to the journey we have ahead of us.
Happy Anniversary, Hubster. (We’re definitely going to Hawaii for our 20th!)
(cue cheesy song lyrics…)
You’re Still the One (Shania Twain)
Looks like we made it
Look how far we've come my baby
We mighta took the long way
We knew we'd get there someday
Bridge:
They said, "I bet they'll never make it"
But just look at us holding on
We're still together still going strong
Chorus:
(You're still the one)
You're still the one I run to
The one that I belong to
You're the one I want for life
(You're still the one)
You're still the one that I love
The only one I dream of
You're still the one I kiss good night
Ain't nothin' better
We beat the odds together
I'm glad we didn't listen
Look at what we would be missin'
(Bridge)
(Chorus)
(Chorus)
I'm so glad we made it
Look how far we've come my baby
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Wiped
No, I have not found my keys yet. I remain minutely hopeful that they’ll turn up, but I’m not holding my breath. I don’t want to pass out.
I’ve mentioned a little too often lately how tired I am, and not just tired. Wiped. Out.
Things have been very busy for the past few months and though I hoped this summer would give me a bit of a reprieve, it has not. In fact, things have intensified.
As of this writing, its’ 9:47 pm. I have been awake and “Mom” since 6:24 am. Baboo has not napped and yet has been out of bed 10 times in the last 1.5 hours. Though I did have adult conversation today for a few hours during a play date, it felt a bit like I was “entertaining” and so feel that I have had no time to myself. I feel like I’m going to snap if I hear those adorable little feet get out of bed one more time to go potty/yell that she’s scared/or ask for help to find “Tweet-hawt” the little stuff dog who fell off the bed for the 100th time. Yes, Hubster is helping out to get her settled, but the point is, I can still hear it. I can’t SHUT OFF.
The girls are at a very busy stage right now. They want to explore and be with their friends and be stimulated and go, go, go. I want to encourage this, to a degree. Baboo rarely naps and if she does, bedtime is screwed for hours. Though Mouse will go to bed without too many issues, she does very little by herself during the day and requires very frequent direction/redirection/interaction/reassurance.
I feel like a cruise director trying to keep the girls busy, but encouraging them to play by themselves to a degree. But it still requires me to monitor thing; after all, Baboo is only 2. And she’s still potty training so that does require a certain level of constant awareness and attention. I’m having a hard time finding any kind of rhythm that doesn’t feel frantic.
And in between this, I’m trying to squeeze in meals, a bit of cleaning/laundry – even enough just to try to keep it from taking over, errands, email when I can. Phone calls are a luxury that are often jilted, interrupted conversations that make me feel like I’m losing my mind because I can’t seem to finish a thought.
Lately, its’ 9:30 by the time everyone’s in bed and SETTLED, despite starting bedtime at 7 pm. I’m so FRIED by then. I have projects I want/need to work on and can’t find the time or energy to get them done. I often just flake in front of the tv for an hour (and even that feels too late) and stumble off to bed for too few hours of interrupted sleep. There is very little time for “ME” where I’m not left feeling guilty because something or someone is being neglected/inconvenienced. I know I can’t make everyone happy all the time, and I’m not trying to, but lately, I don’t feel like anyone’s needs are being met in even a close to satisfactory manner. I know that part of this incompetent frame of mind is because I’m just plain tired.
I stopped going to therapy because I can’t seem to get the timing right and frankly, I’m resenting the time spent there. I feel like I’d rather do something more constructive with my time. I’ve been feeling “done” with it, and maybe this is what “done” feels like.
I’m having a lot of mixed feelings: guilt, resentment, anger, sadness about not being able to fully embrace this time with my girls. This is the last summer before we’re into full time school and life will change permanently then. I’m trying to keep up with what seems like a frantic pace, trying to stayed charged and ready to go and yes, we are having fun and I am enjoying it, but god help me, I am tired.
If this is the new pace of our lives, which seems to be going just so damn fast, I need to get into the game and find a way to function more efficiently because I’m going to get dragged behind this fast running horse and it’s going to be messy.
And now, it’s late because I’ve spent way too long bitching about how tired I am (wah, wah, wah. Poor me. Snort) instead of getting my snarky, cranky, over-tired self to bed. And tomorrow is another day full of busy possibilities which I must be ready for.
I’ve mentioned a little too often lately how tired I am, and not just tired. Wiped. Out.
Things have been very busy for the past few months and though I hoped this summer would give me a bit of a reprieve, it has not. In fact, things have intensified.
As of this writing, its’ 9:47 pm. I have been awake and “Mom” since 6:24 am. Baboo has not napped and yet has been out of bed 10 times in the last 1.5 hours. Though I did have adult conversation today for a few hours during a play date, it felt a bit like I was “entertaining” and so feel that I have had no time to myself. I feel like I’m going to snap if I hear those adorable little feet get out of bed one more time to go potty/yell that she’s scared/or ask for help to find “Tweet-hawt” the little stuff dog who fell off the bed for the 100th time. Yes, Hubster is helping out to get her settled, but the point is, I can still hear it. I can’t SHUT OFF.
The girls are at a very busy stage right now. They want to explore and be with their friends and be stimulated and go, go, go. I want to encourage this, to a degree. Baboo rarely naps and if she does, bedtime is screwed for hours. Though Mouse will go to bed without too many issues, she does very little by herself during the day and requires very frequent direction/redirection/interaction/reassurance.
I feel like a cruise director trying to keep the girls busy, but encouraging them to play by themselves to a degree. But it still requires me to monitor thing; after all, Baboo is only 2. And she’s still potty training so that does require a certain level of constant awareness and attention. I’m having a hard time finding any kind of rhythm that doesn’t feel frantic.
And in between this, I’m trying to squeeze in meals, a bit of cleaning/laundry – even enough just to try to keep it from taking over, errands, email when I can. Phone calls are a luxury that are often jilted, interrupted conversations that make me feel like I’m losing my mind because I can’t seem to finish a thought.
Lately, its’ 9:30 by the time everyone’s in bed and SETTLED, despite starting bedtime at 7 pm. I’m so FRIED by then. I have projects I want/need to work on and can’t find the time or energy to get them done. I often just flake in front of the tv for an hour (and even that feels too late) and stumble off to bed for too few hours of interrupted sleep. There is very little time for “ME” where I’m not left feeling guilty because something or someone is being neglected/inconvenienced. I know I can’t make everyone happy all the time, and I’m not trying to, but lately, I don’t feel like anyone’s needs are being met in even a close to satisfactory manner. I know that part of this incompetent frame of mind is because I’m just plain tired.
I stopped going to therapy because I can’t seem to get the timing right and frankly, I’m resenting the time spent there. I feel like I’d rather do something more constructive with my time. I’ve been feeling “done” with it, and maybe this is what “done” feels like.
I’m having a lot of mixed feelings: guilt, resentment, anger, sadness about not being able to fully embrace this time with my girls. This is the last summer before we’re into full time school and life will change permanently then. I’m trying to keep up with what seems like a frantic pace, trying to stayed charged and ready to go and yes, we are having fun and I am enjoying it, but god help me, I am tired.
If this is the new pace of our lives, which seems to be going just so damn fast, I need to get into the game and find a way to function more efficiently because I’m going to get dragged behind this fast running horse and it’s going to be messy.
And now, it’s late because I’ve spent way too long bitching about how tired I am (wah, wah, wah. Poor me. Snort) instead of getting my snarky, cranky, over-tired self to bed. And tomorrow is another day full of busy possibilities which I must be ready for.
Friday, February 27, 2009
A Birthday
There are many important dates in my life. Today is one of those days. February 27, 1992 a little girl was born. A little girl who would become my step daughter; a daughter of my heart, if not my body.
I never anticipated that I would love this little girl like a daughter. Sure, I always knew that I loved her, it was impossible NOT to love her. What shocked me was the depth of that love. The day I saw her driving away in a taxi with my mother-in-law after a short visit to us in Eastcoastville, I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest. I was devastated to see her leave. A mama-bear exploded in me and I wanted to scream “Come back with my BABY!!”
Her family accepted me, included me, allowed me to play a part in her childhood and her future. While I would never presume to be her mother, they allowed me to love her like a daughter.
With her huge brown eyes, button nose and toothy smile, she was the picture of adorable. There was no denying who she was when she sat beside Hubster’s mother. She was a miniature version of her. She was sharp as a tack, full of witty humour, the pickiest eater ever, and probably the most diplomatic person I’ve ever met. Because of her grace and open heart and in spite of an unconventional situation; we all got along. Grandparents, parents, step parents; together we loved her. Together, we tried to give her our best. Because of her, we became a family.
Then, on the next date; May 31, 2003, the unimaginable happened. In a tragic accident, she died at the age of 11. And though, there is so much more than just that to the story, it’s not the day to talk about it.
Every year on February 27, we make her favourite meal: spaghetti. We sing happy birthday to her at the top of our lungs and enjoy a slice of chocolate cake in her honour. It’s never as good as that made by her favourite great grandmother, but good enough. We talk about her, we think about her, we laugh and we remember her life. We acknowledge how she’s touched our lives and shaped the paths that we’ve chosen. She laid the foundation for the kind of mother that I am to Mouse and Baboo and for that, I will forever be grateful.
Today she would have turned 17. And although she would have been on the cusp of adulthood, even if she was still with us, to a parent, even a step parent, she’ll always be our little girl.
Happy Birthday, M. We miss you. Know that we always love you.
I never anticipated that I would love this little girl like a daughter. Sure, I always knew that I loved her, it was impossible NOT to love her. What shocked me was the depth of that love. The day I saw her driving away in a taxi with my mother-in-law after a short visit to us in Eastcoastville, I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest. I was devastated to see her leave. A mama-bear exploded in me and I wanted to scream “Come back with my BABY!!”
Her family accepted me, included me, allowed me to play a part in her childhood and her future. While I would never presume to be her mother, they allowed me to love her like a daughter.
With her huge brown eyes, button nose and toothy smile, she was the picture of adorable. There was no denying who she was when she sat beside Hubster’s mother. She was a miniature version of her. She was sharp as a tack, full of witty humour, the pickiest eater ever, and probably the most diplomatic person I’ve ever met. Because of her grace and open heart and in spite of an unconventional situation; we all got along. Grandparents, parents, step parents; together we loved her. Together, we tried to give her our best. Because of her, we became a family.
Then, on the next date; May 31, 2003, the unimaginable happened. In a tragic accident, she died at the age of 11. And though, there is so much more than just that to the story, it’s not the day to talk about it.
Every year on February 27, we make her favourite meal: spaghetti. We sing happy birthday to her at the top of our lungs and enjoy a slice of chocolate cake in her honour. It’s never as good as that made by her favourite great grandmother, but good enough. We talk about her, we think about her, we laugh and we remember her life. We acknowledge how she’s touched our lives and shaped the paths that we’ve chosen. She laid the foundation for the kind of mother that I am to Mouse and Baboo and for that, I will forever be grateful.
Today she would have turned 17. And although she would have been on the cusp of adulthood, even if she was still with us, to a parent, even a step parent, she’ll always be our little girl.
Happy Birthday, M. We miss you. Know that we always love you.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Crash Landing Into Real Life
We’ve come back into real life with a bit of a crash landing, as we usually do after a vacation. It’s always a shock to come back after being somewhere else to find that our lives are just as they are before we left. It’s a slap in the face to be honest. And while it was great to be away and we really did have a good time, it is good to be home too. Slap in the face ‘n all.
No real Trouble Spot Tuesday post – AGAIN – as right now my whole life is a bit of a trouble spot as we get back into gear here. So, um, clean out a drawer or HEY… did you know that you should clean the lint vent on your dryer? Not just the screen, but the pipe going to your dryer vent. Yeah, clean that out. Good luck with that. See ya next week. (I did this recently and it took me an HOUR. Nasty).
So, today I had my first “therapy” session and it was as stereotypical as I thought it would be. Several times I almost laughed out loud at the stereotypical-ness of it. Sitting on the couch, pouring out my guts, having the therapist nod and say “hmmm. Interesting” while scratching secret codes about my sanity onto my hastily filled out forms. However, I do like him and will see how things go over the next few sessions. I suppose, if nothing else, I’m happy to burden someone else with my troubles for a while. I do feel as though I’m being proactive about this and truly, this is the time to do this as I have a prairie sized view full of time in front of me with no moves/job changes/babies/earth-shattering-life-changes in the foreseeable future. Much different than the last, say, 6 years of my life. No wonder I feel so fucked up.
After we got home, I was understandably drained. I convinced the girls to play “nap” which involved me lying on the bed while they bounced around me and tried not to land on my head. In general, it was not very restful but it was certainly entertaining. Mouse popped around me like piece of popcorn in a hot pan, talking constantly about ALL the things SHE did to personally make my bedroom so wonderful for me. And Baboo popped around right behind her trying to mimic everything she said.
Mouse: (bouncing around my head) And Mommy, you see those pictures on your wall? I MADE them. I PAINTED them and then I MADE the frames. Yeah, I used some glue and wood and made it like a RECTANGLE and put the pretty pictures in there. Yeah, I did that all by myself.
Baboo: (Bounce, Bounce.)Mommy! Gwue. Paint, paint! ME!
Mouse: (bouncing on my back) And see that dresser over there? Yeah, I made that too. I needed a lot of wood and a HAMMER and then I put ALL those knobs on. There’s a lot of knobs. And the mirror? It’s GLASS! But I used paper too because glass is sharp. I made that for YOU!
Baboo: (Bounce, bounce) Mommy! Gwass! Ouch! No touch! Me!
Mouse: (bouncing on my legs) And you know those pillows with all the colours on them? I took a whole bunch of thread and I swirled it around and then I took my sewing machine and SMOOOOTHED it out and then I glued the pillows together to make it REALLY nice for you, Mom.
Baboo: (Bounce, bounce)… WHEEE PIW-OWS! (launching herself at my head).
No real Trouble Spot Tuesday post – AGAIN – as right now my whole life is a bit of a trouble spot as we get back into gear here. So, um, clean out a drawer or HEY… did you know that you should clean the lint vent on your dryer? Not just the screen, but the pipe going to your dryer vent. Yeah, clean that out. Good luck with that. See ya next week. (I did this recently and it took me an HOUR. Nasty).
So, today I had my first “therapy” session and it was as stereotypical as I thought it would be. Several times I almost laughed out loud at the stereotypical-ness of it. Sitting on the couch, pouring out my guts, having the therapist nod and say “hmmm. Interesting” while scratching secret codes about my sanity onto my hastily filled out forms. However, I do like him and will see how things go over the next few sessions. I suppose, if nothing else, I’m happy to burden someone else with my troubles for a while. I do feel as though I’m being proactive about this and truly, this is the time to do this as I have a prairie sized view full of time in front of me with no moves/job changes/babies/earth-shattering-life-changes in the foreseeable future. Much different than the last, say, 6 years of my life. No wonder I feel so fucked up.
After we got home, I was understandably drained. I convinced the girls to play “nap” which involved me lying on the bed while they bounced around me and tried not to land on my head. In general, it was not very restful but it was certainly entertaining. Mouse popped around me like piece of popcorn in a hot pan, talking constantly about ALL the things SHE did to personally make my bedroom so wonderful for me. And Baboo popped around right behind her trying to mimic everything she said.
Mouse: (bouncing around my head) And Mommy, you see those pictures on your wall? I MADE them. I PAINTED them and then I MADE the frames. Yeah, I used some glue and wood and made it like a RECTANGLE and put the pretty pictures in there. Yeah, I did that all by myself.
Baboo: (Bounce, Bounce.)Mommy! Gwue. Paint, paint! ME!
Mouse: (bouncing on my back) And see that dresser over there? Yeah, I made that too. I needed a lot of wood and a HAMMER and then I put ALL those knobs on. There’s a lot of knobs. And the mirror? It’s GLASS! But I used paper too because glass is sharp. I made that for YOU!
Baboo: (Bounce, bounce) Mommy! Gwass! Ouch! No touch! Me!
Mouse: (bouncing on my legs) And you know those pillows with all the colours on them? I took a whole bunch of thread and I swirled it around and then I took my sewing machine and SMOOOOTHED it out and then I glued the pillows together to make it REALLY nice for you, Mom.
Baboo: (Bounce, bounce)… WHEEE PIW-OWS! (launching herself at my head).
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
High Hopes
There are so many excellent posts up about the inauguration… I can’t even attempt to write anything so well spoken.
I missed the actual speech as I took the kids to the museum to get out of the house for a bit. I was able to catch it on CNN.com and let me tell you, my heart was as in my throat today as it was the night of the election. I was teary the whole time and kept getting chills as I listened to him speak. This is big history and I’m watching it. I’m glad to be at an age to really take all of this in and to be able to tell my girls about this big moment.
Hubster and I cannot vote here, but that doesn’t mean that we’re not directly affected by US politics. We live here, pay taxes here, contribute to our community and try to be an honest functioning part of this society. We would do no less regardless of which country we lived in.
It’s hard not to be inspired and feel hopeful around Barack Obama. And despite my reservations about the big picture, I am hopeful.
Our daughters, by birth, are American citizens and it’s for them that I hope. I want to be a part of a generation that actually makes a difference. I hope we can pass down to them a better environment, a better life, a kinder world. We’re willing to work at it. I hope that he is the man to help lead the way.
I missed the actual speech as I took the kids to the museum to get out of the house for a bit. I was able to catch it on CNN.com and let me tell you, my heart was as in my throat today as it was the night of the election. I was teary the whole time and kept getting chills as I listened to him speak. This is big history and I’m watching it. I’m glad to be at an age to really take all of this in and to be able to tell my girls about this big moment.
Hubster and I cannot vote here, but that doesn’t mean that we’re not directly affected by US politics. We live here, pay taxes here, contribute to our community and try to be an honest functioning part of this society. We would do no less regardless of which country we lived in.
It’s hard not to be inspired and feel hopeful around Barack Obama. And despite my reservations about the big picture, I am hopeful.
Our daughters, by birth, are American citizens and it’s for them that I hope. I want to be a part of a generation that actually makes a difference. I hope we can pass down to them a better environment, a better life, a kinder world. We’re willing to work at it. I hope that he is the man to help lead the way.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Turning A Blind Eye
It’s school registration season and though I’ve been talking about it on the surface and loosely considering options for months, I’m taken aback. WHAT? Time to register for next year, already?
And it’s not even so much that it’s another school year, it’s that Mouse will be going to kindergarten in the fall. She’ll be *5*. How did this happen? It’s really beyond my comprehension. Baboo will be starting preschool as well, mostly because she so wants to be there. She pushes Mouse’s much larger classmates out of the way so *she* can be the first to greet the teacher in the morning. For some reason though, Mouse going to kindy is much more distressing for me. I guess maybe it’s because it really does signal the “end of the baby years”.
The school she currently attends is an AWESOME school. We all love it and frankly, since moving here, it’s been one of the best things that we stumbled upon. It’s been an instant community and has been the perfect introduction to school for our sensitive little Mouse. She fit in so well and has thrived there. We love the other parents, have made some great friends, and love the teachers. I’m so in love with our kindergarten that ‘I’ want to go. I should call it “The Love School”. One of the many things I love about this kindergarten is that there is a very low student/teacher ratio and that, to me, says quality. I also appreciate that it is ½ day every day which I think is appropriate for a 5 year old, schedule wise, and prepares them for going into elementary school without overwhelming them.
However, with Mouse’s current class at max capacity and fewer spots available in the kindergarten, it feels like a bit of a scramble to get her in. I suppose it always feels like that for the “good stuff”. So today, I was filling out paperwork and writing checks so I could turn in the registration forms and secure a spot for both girls.
Because I’m a planner who likes to have a backup plan, even if I get it going almost too late in the game, I decided to check out our local public kindergarten, just in case something happens and we can’t go to our current “love” school. Registration is NOW and I *just* happened to luck out and reserve a spot for the first tour of the registration season. I know, it’s pushing it and I’m well aware of my good fortune, despite me feeling like an ass for not thinking of this SOONER and putting myself in a panic situation where I’m scrambling to get things in order. I HATE that feeling.
So yesterday the girls and I drove over to check it out. It’s a nice building, laid out well and I like their philosophies. I’m not keen on the schedule at all and when they mentioned bussing the kids, I nearly had a heart attack. I was picturing my little Mouse, looking sooo tiny beside all the big kids getting on the big orange death rocket, stepping into the hands of a complete stranger who will drive her around the city without seat belt.
…..
Ok, so maybe I’m over dramatizing things and clearly, I’m in denial about Mouse, and Baboo for that matter, growing up. I know that if Mouse was bussed, she love the riding on the bus; probably more than being at school.
However, I was still mad at myself for not getting on the ball about this sooner. This was important to me, and was in fact, the primary reason we moved out here last year, so why did I leave it all to the last minute before REALLY looking into things?
I’ve been thinking (Hubster DREADS this opening and cringes every time I say it) and I realized that I kind of have blinders on when it comes to picturing the girls’ futures, or rather picturing the girls IN the future. I can look ahead a few steps and plan for that, but longer term with them, I just have a hard time. And I think I’ve figured out why.
The year before Mouse was born, Hubster and I would celebrated our 9th wedding anniversary. When we got married we said we’d renew our vows on our 10th anniversary and then likely start a family. After 9 years, we had felt we’d grown a lot, had been through some interesting times and figured 9 was close enough to 10 and that it was time to activate “the plan”. We decided to have a small ceremony to renew our wedding vows as way of recommitting ourselves to each other as the changed people we had grown into. To celebrate all we’d been through and to start the next phase of our relationship. It involved a trip to our home town so we could be with family and have the ceremony at the church we were married in. We started planning this around March for the coming August.
As I was making the guest list, in my head I was picturing each person as I wrote down their name. Once I had a list, I kept having a niggle of a feeling of forgetting someone. It took me a day or two to realize that I had forgotten my stepdaughter, Hubster’s daughter from a previous relationship. I was so ashamed to have not included her initially, even though I hadn’t sent out invitations or even talked about it much to anyone else other than Hubster. HOW could I forget someone so important!? I *put* her on the list.
As the weeks went by, in my head, I was picturing how things would go, what’d we’d wear, what we would say, planning the food etc, and of course, picturing the people who would be there. The ceremony was going to be pretty small and casual, just our immediate family and friends. AGAIN and again, my head kept leaving her out. I was furious with myself. It wasn’t that I was trying to exclude her or was wanting to be a like a fairy tale “step-mother” wanting to hurry up and have my own kids with Hubster to edge her out. I loved her more than I ever knew I could and in my heart, she was like a daughter to me. I was embarrassed and ashamed and mad, wondering WHY I couldn’t “see” her there? Why did I keep leaving her out? And yet, every time I pictured it, I had to deliberately “put” her in the scene. We wanted her to stand up with us. I WANTED this, wanted her to be a big part of that day. So what was wrong with me, I kept asking myself.
Then, in May, the unspeakable happened. She passed away tragically in an accident. So many hearts were broken, ours included. In shock, we boarded a plane to go home, not really knowing what was going on. It was a long trip and neither Hubster or I spoke much. We were afraid to say too much in fear of breaking down on the plane. As I looked out the window, shutting myself off to be with my thoughts, I started thinking about the vow renewal ceremony. I was so sad to know that she wouldn’t be there; that we wouldn’t get to acknowledge her as our family. And then I remembered how I couldn’t “see” her there over the past months.
I felt a kind of horror at this realization. My stomach clenched and my heart stopped for a minute. All this time, I thought I was a horrible person for wondering if maybe I didn’t want her there (which was so, not true). I never once imagined that she would literally be gone. Why would I ever think that an otherwise wonderful, healthy, vibrant 11 year old girl would die? It was a possibility that never crossed my mind. Coming to the realization that maybe I was supposed to know this; had been “told” this; frightened me. Was I supposed to have figured it out sooner? Was I supposed to have done something? But what?
Like a high speed slide show that happens when we realize something that makes us panic, images and thoughts were flashing before my eyes. I recalled talking with Hubster about our long range plans at some point long past. We would talk about buying a house and having a room for his daughter when she came to visit us and we hoped that she might even live with us some of the time. We truly wanted that, we loved her and wanted for all of us to be together as a family. We felt close to her grandparents with whom she lived and we all got along very well. We always wanted to preserve that peace. And though I never admitted it, whenever I tried to “imagine” her living with us; trying to picture a young teenager’s room within our house, it was always hazy, beyond my reach. It was something more than “I just can’t picture it” because it seemed so foreign. It felt more like a whisper of “this won’t happen” and my heart felt a kind of knowing I didn’t want to admit. Why would I ever admit that? It sounded horrible, evil, like I wanted her gone. So, I dismissed it many times, determining that it seemed so unclear because we still had a long way to go before getting to that point in all of our lives.
How could I have possibly interpreted those… things. Premonitions? When I thought back on all that had happened, all I had “seen”, my heart said “I knew”. And that hurt twice as much. I “knew” and wasn’t prepared. Didn’t want to know. And how could I have prepared for that? There IS no way to prepare for that.
So, when it comes to my girls, whether all of this seem hokey or not, I feel like I have my eyes cast downward a bit. I’m not eyeing the horizon too closely. I don’t try to picture them going to high school, going to college, getting married or having a family. I HOPE with all my heart for them and I WISH them every happiness in the world. I WANT so much for them, but I panic if I ever start to try to daydream about it; to picture it.
I’m trying to live in the here and now as best I can. I’m looking a few steps ahead so we’re not completely run over by the future. They are kids for pete’s sakes so they’re changing every nanosecond of every day. I’m still planning, because that’s what I do, but instead of specifics, it’s a much broader spectrum. It’s a generalized planning.
As the girls grow and change and move through their milestones, sometimes, like with kindergarten, I’m a little blown over because I don’t have it all laid out like I so with so many other things in my life. Most of the time, it’s a happy kind of surprise, while still being surreal. I think “We’re here. We made it here. We’re moving forward. “
But, I’m still too afraid to look too closely at the distant future. I’m afraid of what I might see, or rather, what I might not see. If that’s to be, it’s something I’d rather not know. I’m happy with the here and now and for me, that’s all we really have anyway. I’d rather enjoy this time as we have it rather than worry about what I think we might not have down the road.
And it’s not even so much that it’s another school year, it’s that Mouse will be going to kindergarten in the fall. She’ll be *5*. How did this happen? It’s really beyond my comprehension. Baboo will be starting preschool as well, mostly because she so wants to be there. She pushes Mouse’s much larger classmates out of the way so *she* can be the first to greet the teacher in the morning. For some reason though, Mouse going to kindy is much more distressing for me. I guess maybe it’s because it really does signal the “end of the baby years”.
The school she currently attends is an AWESOME school. We all love it and frankly, since moving here, it’s been one of the best things that we stumbled upon. It’s been an instant community and has been the perfect introduction to school for our sensitive little Mouse. She fit in so well and has thrived there. We love the other parents, have made some great friends, and love the teachers. I’m so in love with our kindergarten that ‘I’ want to go. I should call it “The Love School”. One of the many things I love about this kindergarten is that there is a very low student/teacher ratio and that, to me, says quality. I also appreciate that it is ½ day every day which I think is appropriate for a 5 year old, schedule wise, and prepares them for going into elementary school without overwhelming them.
However, with Mouse’s current class at max capacity and fewer spots available in the kindergarten, it feels like a bit of a scramble to get her in. I suppose it always feels like that for the “good stuff”. So today, I was filling out paperwork and writing checks so I could turn in the registration forms and secure a spot for both girls.
Because I’m a planner who likes to have a backup plan, even if I get it going almost too late in the game, I decided to check out our local public kindergarten, just in case something happens and we can’t go to our current “love” school. Registration is NOW and I *just* happened to luck out and reserve a spot for the first tour of the registration season. I know, it’s pushing it and I’m well aware of my good fortune, despite me feeling like an ass for not thinking of this SOONER and putting myself in a panic situation where I’m scrambling to get things in order. I HATE that feeling.
So yesterday the girls and I drove over to check it out. It’s a nice building, laid out well and I like their philosophies. I’m not keen on the schedule at all and when they mentioned bussing the kids, I nearly had a heart attack. I was picturing my little Mouse, looking sooo tiny beside all the big kids getting on the big orange death rocket, stepping into the hands of a complete stranger who will drive her around the city without seat belt.
…..
Ok, so maybe I’m over dramatizing things and clearly, I’m in denial about Mouse, and Baboo for that matter, growing up. I know that if Mouse was bussed, she love the riding on the bus; probably more than being at school.
However, I was still mad at myself for not getting on the ball about this sooner. This was important to me, and was in fact, the primary reason we moved out here last year, so why did I leave it all to the last minute before REALLY looking into things?
I’ve been thinking (Hubster DREADS this opening and cringes every time I say it) and I realized that I kind of have blinders on when it comes to picturing the girls’ futures, or rather picturing the girls IN the future. I can look ahead a few steps and plan for that, but longer term with them, I just have a hard time. And I think I’ve figured out why.
The year before Mouse was born, Hubster and I would celebrated our 9th wedding anniversary. When we got married we said we’d renew our vows on our 10th anniversary and then likely start a family. After 9 years, we had felt we’d grown a lot, had been through some interesting times and figured 9 was close enough to 10 and that it was time to activate “the plan”. We decided to have a small ceremony to renew our wedding vows as way of recommitting ourselves to each other as the changed people we had grown into. To celebrate all we’d been through and to start the next phase of our relationship. It involved a trip to our home town so we could be with family and have the ceremony at the church we were married in. We started planning this around March for the coming August.
As I was making the guest list, in my head I was picturing each person as I wrote down their name. Once I had a list, I kept having a niggle of a feeling of forgetting someone. It took me a day or two to realize that I had forgotten my stepdaughter, Hubster’s daughter from a previous relationship. I was so ashamed to have not included her initially, even though I hadn’t sent out invitations or even talked about it much to anyone else other than Hubster. HOW could I forget someone so important!? I *put* her on the list.
As the weeks went by, in my head, I was picturing how things would go, what’d we’d wear, what we would say, planning the food etc, and of course, picturing the people who would be there. The ceremony was going to be pretty small and casual, just our immediate family and friends. AGAIN and again, my head kept leaving her out. I was furious with myself. It wasn’t that I was trying to exclude her or was wanting to be a like a fairy tale “step-mother” wanting to hurry up and have my own kids with Hubster to edge her out. I loved her more than I ever knew I could and in my heart, she was like a daughter to me. I was embarrassed and ashamed and mad, wondering WHY I couldn’t “see” her there? Why did I keep leaving her out? And yet, every time I pictured it, I had to deliberately “put” her in the scene. We wanted her to stand up with us. I WANTED this, wanted her to be a big part of that day. So what was wrong with me, I kept asking myself.
Then, in May, the unspeakable happened. She passed away tragically in an accident. So many hearts were broken, ours included. In shock, we boarded a plane to go home, not really knowing what was going on. It was a long trip and neither Hubster or I spoke much. We were afraid to say too much in fear of breaking down on the plane. As I looked out the window, shutting myself off to be with my thoughts, I started thinking about the vow renewal ceremony. I was so sad to know that she wouldn’t be there; that we wouldn’t get to acknowledge her as our family. And then I remembered how I couldn’t “see” her there over the past months.
I felt a kind of horror at this realization. My stomach clenched and my heart stopped for a minute. All this time, I thought I was a horrible person for wondering if maybe I didn’t want her there (which was so, not true). I never once imagined that she would literally be gone. Why would I ever think that an otherwise wonderful, healthy, vibrant 11 year old girl would die? It was a possibility that never crossed my mind. Coming to the realization that maybe I was supposed to know this; had been “told” this; frightened me. Was I supposed to have figured it out sooner? Was I supposed to have done something? But what?
Like a high speed slide show that happens when we realize something that makes us panic, images and thoughts were flashing before my eyes. I recalled talking with Hubster about our long range plans at some point long past. We would talk about buying a house and having a room for his daughter when she came to visit us and we hoped that she might even live with us some of the time. We truly wanted that, we loved her and wanted for all of us to be together as a family. We felt close to her grandparents with whom she lived and we all got along very well. We always wanted to preserve that peace. And though I never admitted it, whenever I tried to “imagine” her living with us; trying to picture a young teenager’s room within our house, it was always hazy, beyond my reach. It was something more than “I just can’t picture it” because it seemed so foreign. It felt more like a whisper of “this won’t happen” and my heart felt a kind of knowing I didn’t want to admit. Why would I ever admit that? It sounded horrible, evil, like I wanted her gone. So, I dismissed it many times, determining that it seemed so unclear because we still had a long way to go before getting to that point in all of our lives.
How could I have possibly interpreted those… things. Premonitions? When I thought back on all that had happened, all I had “seen”, my heart said “I knew”. And that hurt twice as much. I “knew” and wasn’t prepared. Didn’t want to know. And how could I have prepared for that? There IS no way to prepare for that.
So, when it comes to my girls, whether all of this seem hokey or not, I feel like I have my eyes cast downward a bit. I’m not eyeing the horizon too closely. I don’t try to picture them going to high school, going to college, getting married or having a family. I HOPE with all my heart for them and I WISH them every happiness in the world. I WANT so much for them, but I panic if I ever start to try to daydream about it; to picture it.
I’m trying to live in the here and now as best I can. I’m looking a few steps ahead so we’re not completely run over by the future. They are kids for pete’s sakes so they’re changing every nanosecond of every day. I’m still planning, because that’s what I do, but instead of specifics, it’s a much broader spectrum. It’s a generalized planning.
As the girls grow and change and move through their milestones, sometimes, like with kindergarten, I’m a little blown over because I don’t have it all laid out like I so with so many other things in my life. Most of the time, it’s a happy kind of surprise, while still being surreal. I think “We’re here. We made it here. We’re moving forward. “
But, I’m still too afraid to look too closely at the distant future. I’m afraid of what I might see, or rather, what I might not see. If that’s to be, it’s something I’d rather not know. I’m happy with the here and now and for me, that’s all we really have anyway. I’d rather enjoy this time as we have it rather than worry about what I think we might not have down the road.
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