A piece of home or heaven

This morning on the way to school I played Simon and Garfunkel for the kids. I turned the volume up louder than usual and we rode in silence as we listened to The boxer. Midway through the song, I adjusted the rearview mirror to see how they were taking it in. Both boys were looking out the window, watching the cars slide gingerly along the cold snowy terrain.  I turned my attention back to the road, lost myself in the story, musing over  the genius blend of music and poetry.

It filled me with glory despite the dim, blustery January morning.

We poked around a second-hand music store, a relic in today’s uber-tech environment, over the Christmas break and although we were looking for some inexpensive copies of Star Wars - Shaune has been anxiously waiting for the right time to introduce the saga to the kids, I thumbed through the  CDs hoping to find something on the mental checklist I’d been keeping. 

I hit the jackpot when I saw the familiar cover of their Greatest Hits album; I’d owned it almost twenty years ago in university. In the days that followed, I listened to it a handful of times, as a mother and grown woman now, and still it felt like I’d found a piece of home or heaven, just like it did all those years ago.

We didn’t do much else over the break. I spent many early mornings running outside, eight or so kilometers and just as many mornings looking for workouts on the internet, which I did in the basement amid the Lego builder and budding artist who were given plenty of warning about what could happen should they interrupt me for the 45 minutes I needed. 

We also tinkered with our new phones (Loving the LG G3!), met up with family, made it to hockey practices and spent the rest of the time eating curries, when Shaune felt like cooking, and eating salads when I had to, assembling toys, picking up Lego, assessing dozens of new drawings the kids churned out at what felt like break-neck speed, and lounging around the now familiar living spaces in our home, on this very first Christmas here. 

It was a good end to the year.

These guys spent two uninterrupted weeks together. Most of the time they played really well together but if I'm going to be honest there were also many trying moments. Lots of tattling. Lots of fights needing mediation. Lots of tears. Lots of wine.

Deaglan spent a good deal of time building Lego. Cars, spaceships, submarines and even a Woolly Mammoth. And I spent just as much time picking tiny pieces out of the rug, off the kitchen floor, from the bottom of staircases, out of my hair, my teeth...etc.  

And Naveen, well he refused to do anything or go anywhere unless it was in his pajamas. So because we understand that he values comfort above all else, together we gifted him four new pairs this year. 

Here's what we ate on New Year's Eve. Shaune made mussels in a tomato broth and chorizo sausage topped with scallops and lobster. And because our brother-in-law doesn't do seafood, there was also grilled steak, mushrooms, crusty garlic bread and Caesar salad.

We cut the tree out of the house when all was said and done. It was such a nuisance to get into the house that it made things easier to just trim it branch by branch. Here's how it looked after its substantial haircut. 

Speaking of haircuts. 

Naveen's friend Lawson's Mom, Diana is a hairdresser and when we told him she would be cutting his hair he sat still and quiet while she clipped away. It was a first!

I know not to ask these people to smile when I point a camera at them because this is all I ever get, yet I do it all the time. 

I hope the end to your year was just as good.

Tuesdays in late July

Last week Shaune took the kids to Manitoulin Island to a cottage with his parents. This was the first time in six years that I have been alone in the house for more than a few hours. It was lonely and glorious at the same time. They were gone for four days and three nights.

On the first night I was lost.

The house felt too big, too empty. My plans to enjoy takeout and whatever I wanted to watch on TV lost its appeal when I realized they were not coming back in a few hours. There’s something about freedom in those small doses. I ate leftovers and channel surfed most of the evening. When Shaune and the kids called, I had a hard time swallowing the big lump in my throat.

Pathetic. I know.

On day two I received a total of four phone calls and one video chat, two of which were spent trying to console Deaglan, reminding him that we’d be together again in no time at all. When I was sure he was finished sobbing I reminded him that he was with just about all the best people in his life: Daddy, Naveen, Gramma and Grampa.

It felt good to be missed though.

I got the hang of it a little by the second and third nights. I went out for dinner with friends and couldn’t believe how good the food tasted when there was nobody to discipline. It felt a little like old times; before kids.

I wished Shaune was there to discuss the food and enjoy the conversation.  

It’s always times like these, times when I’m out of my element, that I realize just how much my regular life satisfies me. I realize that home is where my three people are, not the vessel that holds us. I realize that despite the chaos and constant feeling that I’m not doing enough, there is a comfort for me in the everyday ordinary of my life.

On Thursday when they got back, I wondered if I’d measure up to what they thought they were missing.

Naveen hung onto my neck into the next day. Friday morning, when I told him I was going for a run but that I’d be back before he knew it, he put on his sneakers and cried when I told him that I’d be running for too long for him to join me. Deaglan asked a hundred times if I loved the necklace he’d bought me at the gift shop. And when I told him that yes, it was just the perfect one for me, he asked if I thought I would wear it every day for the rest of my life.

 The boys on the Chi-Cheemaun,  the ferry from Tobermory to Manitoulin Island.

 My mother-in-law (have I mentioned how much I lucked out in the in-law department?) building what looks like an amazing mote.

I think this is what the hip kids would call a selfie...I'm surprised though because I can usually never pry the camera out of this guy's hands long enough to capture him in a picture.

You'll notice I gave my blog a little makeover. I used Pic Monkey to create the new header. It was easy (obviously, if I could do it!) and free.  I tweaked the about me page and updated a picture or font where it seemed to need it.

I've been seriously considering changing the name.

Lately I get a lot of creepy visitors looking at the pictures of my boys. I can see what they've typed to find my little space here...things I'd rather not repeat but things that worry me nonetheless. And I can see what pictures they focus on.

I started this blog a month or so before Deaglan was born; five and a half years ago. We were told prior to that, at our 20 month ultrasound, that he would be a boy but something in me did not trust the technology. I didn't believe that they could be accurate in predicting his gender by looking at those static pictures of his bone structure.

Clearly, I was wrong.

But when it came to naming the blog, I had decided to keep it simple: The child. Little did I know that it would open me up to giving all sorts of perverts a peek into my world.

What do you think? Would you change the name?

Vacationy knowings

Yesterday, late in the afternoon, in the still hot sun, the kids and I took turns choosing songs on Youtube on the tablet in the backyard. Naveen wanted Baby Beluga even though I thought for sure he’d ask for this one we’ve been forced to listen to again and again upon his insistence. Deaglan couldn’t think of something on his first turn so I suggested this, only because I remembered how it made me feel that first time he told me he LOVED it: Surprised, and then suddenly in love with it because it reminded me of him.

No new thing I chose this.

If there’s any chance I can get them onto Springsteen I take it. This age of no records and tapes, and practically extinct CDs makes it harder to exert any influence. I love the story-ness of an album; I lament these 99 cent moments ITunes offers.

I sipped ice cold Chardonnay while they sucked the juice out of  freezies.

I’m sort of picky about white wine. Not expensive picky. I adhere to two specific criterion: Hot, hot summer days. Glacially cold Australian Chardonnay. I’m slightly more flexible with red. At 42, finally (!), I have accepted that I’m a happy-hour drinker. Through my twenties and half of my thirties, I tried to believe I was something else: Fun and witty at parties. Charming and enduring at bars. Always lively into the night.

None of these things are true about me.

Instead. I know I’ll be asleep before the good shows come on. And more than two drinks on any given night ruins my next morning.  I’m shy. And in most situations I feel I have nothing to offer. I’ll probably never go vegan or start spending more on jeans. I love this song because I know Pink’s onto something even though it’s true, I don’t get her hair. Mascara and eyeliner is my version of putting on my face.

And I tell my little boys all the time that I’m sorry. That it’s okay to cry.  That feeling grumpy is normal.

Not because I’m modern and cool.

I just want to make room for my own imperfections.

 

I had last week off. We celebrated Aunt Pat's birthday. Gramma remembered how much we love that cake from Costco.

 After, we all watched Naveen play his final game of Blastball. Pictures to come.

 We spent some time with my sister and her family in Northern Michigan.

 
I go back to work tomorrow and although I'm sorta ready for it, I'll miss happy hour Youtube videos.

That Friday

The Friday before vacation is a special kind of stress. You don't want to be missed in all the wrong ways so you make sure to tie up any loose ends. You file things properly. You look for a reliable backup. You gently but firmly refuse to take no for an answer from delayers.

You organize delegates for meetings you should be attending. You anticipate the things people might need while you're gone and you deliver them early. In your mind you hope it's as if you weren't gone at all. And when you can't think of one more thing. You slip out quietly. Without a grand exit.

No fanfare. You just go.

In the car you think of five or six things you could have done. Someone you forgot to get back to. But you keep moving toward home. Because this week you did the work of three months. And you have nothing left.

You earned this vacation. That first vacation glass of wine.

Finally around seven in the evening you start letting go. With help from that wine.

Two things:
-I wrote this post on my tablet and used pictures I took five minutes prior from my lounge chair
-I found that ladder in an abandoned lot and I love it. I also love Naveen's brief clad bottom.

It connects me to you



I think about blogging every day.

 

In fact, over the past almost six years, not a day goes by that I don't see the happenings of my life through this lens. I’m constantly writing posts in my head, trying out new ways to express what I’m going through.  It brings me a lot of satisfaction.

 

It connects me to you.

 

I try to write honestly, give you a true sense of my experience. I figure, what’s the point in trying to fool you into thinking my life is perfect. It’s not. And I want us to know we’re in this together. I want you to know that I haven’t discovered a secret formula that you don’t know about. I'm not living a freakishly happy life over here.

 

My life is probably exactly like yours. Just in a different house, on a different street. In different skin.

 

Sometimes I worry about what you must think - I rarely stray from writing about my kids or my childhood, or my feelings. But then I remember that that is what I have to offer. That is why I write. That might be why you come back. And also this; these are the things that have shaped me. These are the things that give me a voice: Motherhood. My childhood. My feelings about it all.

 

I post these pictures and write these words, but I'm not living a life unlike yours.

 

I bicker and fight with my husband.

I yell at my kids.

I cry in the night.

I get jealous.

I wish I could lose ten pounds at least 20 times a day.

My house is a mess a lot of the time.

 

We’re so much the same, probably. You and me.

 

I find great comfort in that. I fight to remember this when I’m feeling outside of myself. When I’m feeling alone and disconnected. I write to connect again. I write to stay conscious. I write to find my voice when I feel like I can't speak.

 

I just wanted you to know this.

 And also I wanted to show you pictures from our little vacation. We took the kids to KOA in Port Huron, Michigan again this year. On the way to work this morning, Deaglan asked me for the tenth time, "Don't you wish we lived at KOA Mom?"

 

Clearly he didn't notice the state of my hair due to the lack of indoor plumbing.

 



This guy here.
Well.
He's just naughty scrumptiousness.

At Deaglan's soccer game this past weekend I grabbed him around the waist and asked him softly for a kiss.

His response?

"Mommy, I hate you and I hate kith-is."

No less than five mothers and grandparents within earshot turned our way, chuckled and said some version of, "AWWWW, but kisses are the best and so are Mommies."

I shrugged sheepishly and shook my head. He's a hater lately. What can you do?

I wrote several variations of a veiled apology for including this picture of myself and then deleted them all. Then I deleted the picture and added it again.

Hi, my name is Kim and I don't have a flat stomach. And I never will.

 This guy. Well, as usual he kept us fed.

 And this guy here.

This joke-telling, negotiating, "I've got a great idea," sarcastic, pickle loving kid of ours. He was the perfect age for KOA this year. He helped me see it all through a kid's joy-filled eyes again. He wished out loud a dozen times or more that we could just move right into that cabin we were staying in. Just live there for the rest of our lives.

That cabin with no bathroom or running water.

Oh. Don't put ice in this kid's cup.

Ever.

Especially if you have any hopes that he'll eat his dinner. When there is ice in sight, he.can't.focus. Until it's gone.

 

Cajun porkchops with mango salsa. Steak with sautéed mushrooms and asparagus the next night.

I'm not bragging.

Just pointing out the fringe benefits of hooking up with a guy who knows his way around a kitchen. And a campstove.

I love bedhead on a hater.

The vacuum (you see it there on the grass below?) came with us. Naturally.

We spent a great deal of time playing I spy over the three days away. On Naveen's turns he mostly spied his vacuum or our real one (which was at home) or my friend Kathy's blue vacuum. In St. Catharines.

Somebody explain the rules to this kid. Please.

Each kid got to spend $10 at the souvenir shop. I spent three days tracking down rubber balls and polished stones. And just as much time breaking up fights because of them.

That's all for now friends.

The necessary transition from serial killers to swim suits

We took the kids to an indoor water park in Michigan for the March break this past week. 

On the three hour drive I was viscerally alert to the sinister. I noticed things. A few very suspicious looking items caught my attention.  What appeared to be an adult-sized body had been wrapped in an ugly plaid blanket and tossed ever so delicately just beyond the shoulder of the I-69 West. Why, I asked myself, had the driver (killer??) chosen this exact section of the interstate to dispose of the body?

I’ll tell you why.

The shoulder there was narrower. And the ditch a good few feet deeper so that should someone with my scrutinizing abilities notice the evidence, it would be almost impossible to pull over to get a better look.

Twenty or so miles later when we pulled into a rest stop, I scanned the parking lot. In the sizeable yet rustic bathroom, I held my breath to fend off the porta-potty stink, peeked under the stalls and inspected the alignment of the ceiling tiles. When I was sure there was no one lurking in wait, I hurriedly did my business and ran breathlessly back to the van.   

You can never be too careful. These things are almost always connected.

A hundred miles later at the water park, I fine tuned my radar.  I was on the lookout for serial killer types.

Incidentally, that evening when I connected to the hotel’s Wi-Fi, I could not find my show on Netflix. I felt something close to panic at the prospect of waiting three whole days to find out how Dexter would deal with the murder of Rita. The season four finale was a crushing blow and I was desperately in need of a tidy explanation.

After a few hours poolside though, I was able to transition from serial killers to swimsuits. I am equally fascinated by both in a sick twisted sort of way. I never want to be (in) one but can’t resist their demented charm when confronted.  

The water park was teeming with parents of young children. In other words, I was among my own people. Men and women in the sophomore and junior years of parenthood, milled about; their babies and young children in tow, outfitted safely in water wings, life jackets and swim diapers.

Almost every mother there seemed to shrink behind some semblance of swim outfit she’d pieced together, wondering like me, why she’d allowed herself to be talked into this type of ‘vacation’ destination when it meant walking around helplessly parading the wreckage child-birth had tolled on her body.

There were plenty of tankinis. I assessed each one, hoping to see at least a few variations with the right built-in bra structure and enough give in the mid section. I was ready to ask for the shopping details, if the perfect one should cross my path. But no such luck. They all fit the same.  Plunging V-neck with little to no support and a too narrow cup area, so that half of each post partum breast hung low and exposed.

There were also many sporty one pieces, which without exception made the wearer look as if she had a short, squat, square torso. The exact opposite effect any of us wants when so scantily clad. I’d gone down this road after Deaglan was born. It was a very dark period of my life. One I am appalled Shaune caught on camera and one I can only hope to someday forget.

Some of my colleagues thought they could hide the damage with a strategically tied sarong or fetching beach cover-up, a tactic I’d used a few summers ago when the stifling heat and unbearable humidity had us driving to the beach at least a few days each week.

Yet most commonly worn, I noticed, was a throwback to a bygone era - a variation of the one piece with the added skirt/skort so that we looked like a modern less modest version of this.

After two and a half days of sucking in my stomach and walking around with a wet knotty bun, I was ready to move on. 

Our plans had included sidetracking so we could squeeze in a visit with my sister and her gang near Detroit. On route I spotted a DSW, a coveted oasis amid the desert of kiddie care I'd been lingering in. I convinced Shaune that I was in dire need.  In 20 minutes I was a new woman; refreshed and ready for the next phase of the trip. 

I hold these two beauties solely responsible.

The kids had a wild time reconnecting. Ashalina, my youngest niece, even fell asleep on the ride from the playscape to the restaurant. My brother-in-law Rick kindly turned around so we could capture her in this group shot.

I was relieved to get home late last night. I did a little reconnecting myself. I'm happy to report that Dexter was again in my queue.

Tangible

We were vacationing last week. 

First we went to Manitoulin Island for a few days – met up with Shaune’s folks, sister and her family - and then hung around home for the last few days. The kids had a blast. They got to spend good chunks of time with their grandparents, which in their books is the same as winning the lottery, and when we were home the remainder of the week, we slept in and went to the park two times each day.

It filled me up to spend whole days with those boys of mine.

It always takes me a while to unwind from work and when I finally did this time, I realized how much Naveen has grown. His sweet little personality is in full blossom. This boy who was tucked snug in my belly only two short years ago is now cracking jokes. Here’s his version of one:

Naveen (with a teasing glint in his eyes): Mama, me want a toe-toe.

Me (acting surprised): A toe-toe? Okay, here you go. (Handing him something imaginary which he then eats. He then waits for my reaction.)

Me: Ewwww, I can’t believe you ate a toe-toe!

Naveen: (Laughs hysterically)

I also noticed changes in Deaglan. 

In early January during a game of checkers he told me that sometimes at school he felt like a “piece of junk”. I remember exactly how it made me feel to hear my four year old say that – like someone had surprise punched me in the stomach.

“Why????” I cried.

“Because sometimes Adam doesn’t want to play with me.”

“When doesn’t he want to play with you honey?”

“When I’m being shy. When I’m being shy, he plays with Jabon.”

“Oh.” I said, understanding. 

I’d never realized that his shyness was bothering him. We’d begun to notice that in social situations with other kids, Deaglan was very shy. It took him all day to warm up to the kids at school, not because he didn't want to play, but because he didn't know how to enter into the situation. By the end of the day, he was usually fully engaged with his friends, playing normally. So we dismissed our concerns. After all, both Shaune and I had been very shy kids.

Shaune still is but the restaurant business beat it out of me, I swear. 

We talked a little more about it during the rest of our checkers game that night, came up with some solutions for the next time he might feel shy but didn’t want to lose out on playing with his friend.  And I Googled it later. I wanted to know how to help him. I found some awesome stuff. 

Without overwhelming him we began to slowly nudge him toward breaking out of his shyness when he could. We told him what to say if he was in a new situation where he wanted to join in on the fun. And we praised him when he made any efforts to make friends. 

It felt counterintuitive to me.  Normally I wouldn’t have wanted to make an issue of it, give him reason to think there was anything wrong with being shy. But that evening playing checkers, hearing how much it was bothering him, well it just about undid me.

This last week I noticed how far he’s come. While he doesn’t run over and join in the games right away, he does make himself available with eye contact, sometimes holding up a toy he wants to share. He still acts awkward at times, makes odd faces because he's not sure how to be. At these times I want to squeeze him to me, give him a voice, say the things I know he wants to.

But he's trying all the time and this makes Shaune and me smile because we see that he understands he needs to help himself.

Here are some pictures from last week. We mostly forgot to bring the camera with us on our outings. 

 Deaglan helped drive Gramma and Grampa's boat.

 On the last day, on the last boat ride just as we were docking, Naveen mumbled to me that he'd like to drive the boat too. I told Grampa this and he promised that next year he could.

 Cousin Layton will be old enough by then to help drive too. 

Try to imagine me shouting from the sidelines "Deaglan, slow down, he's too little to go that fast!"

Life lessons: mini vacation edition

I have two new bloggy girlfriends. You might have noticed them on my sidebar. Sara and Rach started their own weekly meme called Life's lessons where each Friday they list what they learned that week. I'm joining them with my own list.

1. I'm off for a few days starting today. Wheeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!
2. I'm sitting in my pyjamas in the recliner with nothing pressing on my calendar. I may not get dressed till this afternoon.
3. Thank God it's raining because I don't need any pressure to go out and enjoy the sunshine.
4. Shaune just took Deaglan to the market and Naveen's napping! Do I need to go on or are you feeling me?
5. I want to eat ice cream. Guilt-free. I'm going to suggest it when everyone gets back.
6. I won't be answering the phone. Or emails.
7. I may lounge around like this and read my favourite blogs. Guilt-free. Wish we had some ice cream in the freezer.
8. Which reminds me, I might have to get up for groceries.
9. Or maybe we'll eat take-out all day.
10. I'm going to find out what's been happening in Genoa City.*

*I'm not ashamed to admit I got hooked on The Young and the Restless on my maternity leaves.

No one cares what you look like - you're a parent!

That's what Shaune said to me when I hesitated before putting on sneakers and white socks with my jersey top and leggings. We were in Toronto on the weekend for a mini vacation and as you can see from this picture Shaune took from Centre Island, it was cold and wet, not conducive to barefeet in sandals.

We hadn't taken any time away yet this year, since we were busy preparing for and welcoming Naveen into our lives. Shaune had originally asked me if I wanted to go to Toronto several weeks ago but I just couldn't bring myself to go to that place where Matthew had been last.

But then I remembered that it was Matt who was excited last summer about Deaglan being old enough to take to Centre Island, an amusement park mostly for toddlers.

So we booked a room and created a kid-friendly itinerary and headed toward the big city with little thought to Hurricane Earl and how he might impact our trip. It was cold, windy and rainy but we stuck to our schedule.

Naveen slept throughout most of the two days. But Deaglan had a blast. We told him that we would be riding on a boat and trains and boy was he stoked. Here he is with Shaune on the ferry over to the Island.

The second day we bought a day pass for the subway and gave him a good dose of train riding. Every time we were ground level, he wanted to know where the trains went. Shaune and I took turns of honing our explanation skills about how the subway is under the ground - under the ground we were walking on right then.

In the morning while I was feeding and changing Naveen, Shaune and Deaglan went outside to explore downtown Toronto. Apparently a truck broke down in front of a streetcar and there was a bit of a kerfuffle. When they returned to the hotel room, Deaglan excitedly told me about the blue truck that was stuck in front of the choo-choo train (he wouldn't make the fine distinction between streetcars and trains despite our constant reminder). He continued to talk about this all day and when we were home last night and I asked him about his favourite part of the trip he again told me all about the blue truck being stuck in front of the choo-choo train.

No mention of the expensive hotel room we stayed in, or the meals, or even the trains we rode around for no reason other than his entertainment.

I thought about my brother almost every minute of our trip. I didn't know him at all in that environment, his environment. I looked out into the water where he had his final moments. It left me sad and lonely. And I passed by a constant stream of Starbucks wondering each time if it was the one he got his morning coffee before heading into work each morning. I let myself cry when we passed an open market downtown, not sure if I just wanted to imagine that he might have done some shopping there on a Saturday morning or if he might have told me he did.

I mourned that we would never take our boys there to visit their Uncle.

It was one of those trips that might be more fun to remember. Four people in a hotel room when one of them is an infant who only sleeps during the day, a toddler who suddenly developed a high fever, a mother who usually prides herself on being prepared for anything but not prepared for that and a father who was almost asleep when woken and told to go find a pharmacy to buy children's tylenol.

And on the drive home, I went back to what Shaune said about people seeing me only as a parent now. I couldn't decide if it upset me or not. I did the mental checklist:

• Two kids
• Snacks and kleenex in my purse
• Raffi playing on cd player
• Minivan
• Getting excited to ride the subway just because your toddler son is crazy about trains

Of all the things people could see me as, well, it could be worse I guess.