I'm no authority

I’m not sure I like being the authority on things.

Lately I find myself defining things I’d rather not. Naveen is full of questions all the time. Like last week he asked, “Mommy what does “part” mean?”

Huh?? Really? I wanted to ask. Right now? While I’m trying to hurry your brother into the school to sign him in so I can get you to the daycare and get to work? After I had to bargain with chocolate to get your shoes on? I have to now define the word “part” to a three year old with no other context?

It’s part of the parenting gig, I know.

And I enjoy it most of the time. I really do. But last week when I caught wind of Deaglan humming to himself I was sorry I asked what he was singing.

“Heyyyyyyyy,sexy lady!”he repeated louder, zooming Lightning McQueen up a couch cushion ramp. Then as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “Heyyyyyyy sexy Mommmmy!”

Gulp.

“You know what honey? Sexy is an adult word. Let’s not say that word.”

“That’s the song Sara plays for us at school in the program (the after-school program). Why can’t we say it? What does it mean?”

“Well, it’s just a word adults sometimes use to describe each other.”

Naveen suddenly interested: “Heyyyy sexwee Mommmy!!!, hahahaha.”

I was thinking about this on the drive this morning when Tom Power told the story about a time when he ducked into the Ship Inn Pub, in St. John’s Newfoundland for a pint and found the patrons eerily quiet, eyes fixed on the stage. He said when he scanned the bar he noticed that almost every person was mouthing the words to the song the band up front was singing.

The band was the Skydiggers. They were singing Fire engine (Red explosion). He then played the song.

A small thrill ran through me. I love the Skydiggers. I first saw them at the pub at Brock University in my second year and instantly became a fan. I had their album Restless within arm’s reach for the next 15 years.

To this day, track 12 still slays me every time I hear it.

Maybe when they’re old enough I’ll explain to the boys that that song is the definition of sexy. Come to think of it, by that point they probably won't want to hear me say the word sexy.

Totally unrelated but if you have two minutes watch this video I got of Naveen at bedtime tonight. He's explaining why he's angry at Deaglan. He has a lot to say on almost everything all the time these days.

 

 

 

Kind caring men who can bake pies

Friday after school I asked Deaglan how he did when it was his turn to tell the class how his parents had chosen his name.

We’d practiced the story the night before, how originally he was going to be named Patrick after Daddy (Shaune’s first name is Patrick) and Great Grampa but then Daddy decided that he needed his own name and after disappearing into the basement for 20 minutes to consult with Google, came back with the name Deaglan – pronounced like the more common version Declan but spelled the Celtic way. After I pared the story down a few times, we settled on this version: Daddy found my name on the computer. Mommy loved it. My middle name is William after my Grampa.

“I didn’t get a turn to talk about my name but I told everybody that my Mom is from Bangladesh.”

I’m always surprised when he mentions something about my childhood to other people. I don’t talk about it all that much and when I do I’m careful not to overwhelm the kids with too many stories. It’s a fight in me that I will never resolve. On the one hand I am desperate to teach them that they were born into this abundant life not because they are more deserving than the millions of kids who were born into severe poverty, but by chance. And yet I am acutely aware that belaboring my point for any length of time could have the opposite effect so I choose carefully when to bring it up.

More than anything, I want to raise kind caring men who are aware of the inequality that is so common in our world. I also want them to be happy. I want them to find good partners and good jobs and be surrounded by good loving friends. I want them to care about the world and contribute to making it better.

I also want them to live on the same street as Shaune and me for all of their live long days and provide me with a handful of grandkids.

But that’s a whole other post.

Deaglan told me that he couldn’t remember why he told everybody where I was from but everybody had lots of questions that he couldn’t answer. I made an excited mental note to show him again where Bangladesh is on the globe. But because the moment had presented itself, I took out the letter we’d recently received from one of the girls we sponsor.

Keerthana is the same age as Deaglan so we had a  wonderful discussion about the differences of being in grade one in Canada and Sri Lanka.

Today Shaune took the kids to the apple orchard  and taught them how to bake a pie.

60 one hundred lasterdays

If I’m going to be completely honest, I’ve resisted just about every new phase of parenting.

There was that initial few months with the first new baby where a part of me couldn’t help but think – this is a bloody nightmare, and though the strength of this sentiment eventually rounded and fuzzied itself out in my heart and mind, there was still a fair bit of swearing under my breath when both kids began crawling, and then again when they needed to be toilet trained and weaned from the things they didn't want to give up.

I almost always trip a little when my sense of control is challenged.

Three years ago when Deaglan first started skating lessons, I again felt light-headed at the thought of spending every Saturday morning of that winter shivering behind dirty glass watching him fall and then get up, fall and then get up.

Each fall a physical blow as if to my own body.

We’re a bit seasoned now, two skating sessions and three years of soccer under our belts, some baseball and swimming too. And so it should be no surprise to you that this weekend we entered into that rite of passage so many Canadian families enter willingly – we suited up our skinny kid, handed him a stick and hoped for the best as he slowly made his way onto the ice. We again stood watching and cringing and this time I saw Shaune vomit a little in his mouth when a more experienced parent mentioned that the hockey season includes every Saturday and Sunday right into March.

I was tempted to weep that hockey would rob us of any overnight weekend plans but then I remembered how we felt at the end of this last soccer season: A part of something with the other parents. We all cheered our kids and the kids on the other teams; we didn’t care about goals and winning. By the end of the summer all of us parents knew all the kids’ names, cared for them as if they were our own, unwrapping granola bars and wiping chins, bringing extra treats for the younger ones that weren’t old enough to play.

This morning Naveen came into our bed and asked if we were going to the hockey balrena like we did lasterday. I squeezed my eyes shut tight. A few minutes later Deaglan crawled in, cuddled up close to me and whispered I love you Mom, I love you 60 one hundred times around the world. You’re the best mom a kid could want even when you’re mad at me. For no reason whatsoever.

I sunk into acceptance. What else was I going to do this early on Sunday morning?

Teachable moments

The best part of my summer was having Shaune at home.

A home feels complete and balanced when one person is allowed to focus solely on it and the kids while the other person can focus solely on work. And if the working person takes on some of the routines in the evenings and weekends, well then you really have something. I tried to imagine a more ideal scenario but couldn’t.

Okay, that’s not completely true.

Ideally we would have someone come in to cook and clean. And iron. Oh, and run through sight words with Deaglan a few nights a week because I’m learning that I’m just not cut out for the patience it takes to teach a little person how to read. Come to think of it, I could also use a hand doing my hair in the mornings. I’ve painted myself into a corner with this new cut and frankly, I’m exhausted. So is the blow dryer and straightener.

I worked from home yesterday so I could be flexible for the first day of school. Both kids did great and I think, so did Shaune. He said it was surprising how much more respectful and not mouthy the teenagers are when they know you’re their full-time legitimate teacher versus just a supply.

One of the educators at Naveen’s daycare asked me if I was sick. Before I could answer, she continued by clarifying that she was only asking because my face looked tired and swollen. That’s likely the last time I’ll make eye contact with her. Coincidentally, I’ve looked into the curriculum for the Early Childhood Education program over at the college. I’m seriously thinking about lobbying to make Social Skills 101 mandatory in the first year.

Unfortunately I don’t know when I’ll find the time.

It’s five in the morning and this is the only time I could find to update my blog. I did however, remember to take a picture of the kids yesterday. I even made a sign. I also reminded both of them that they were to listen to their teachers and be good and kind people. 

I thought hard about reminding Naveen again that he was not allowed to say “What the fuck”, but decided against it. I think I made my point the day before. I’d even patted myself on the back when Deaglan piped in to really cement my teachable moment. In a wise older-brother way, he told Naveen that those kinds of words were pretty bad and that he had to wait until he was a teenager to be able to use them but even then he could only say them to himself or his friends. Never teachers. Never bosses. And never ever to Mommy and Daddy.

It’s nice when you can witness first-hand the fruits of your parenting labor. Don’t you think?

I don't even know why I bother to ask them to smile. Naveen decided that this was his new "cweepy, picture face."

 

I also found these pictures on the camera.

 

Deaglan lost his first tooth and got five bucks from the Tooth-fairy. I don't see any hopes of us becoming a single-income family any time soon. Five bucks!

If Shaune isn't thinking about us or work, then he's thinking about Hallloween. I'm not sure when he took this but I'm not surprised. Both my boys have inherited the "Halloween should be a national holiday" gene. Naveen could imitate a Zombie even before he could fully pronounce his own name. My husband was never more proud.

A really good thing

When I was in my early twenties and off-and-on single, I used to make lists of the qualities I was looking for in a man. These lists were often written by hand in my journals. Back then I did all my writing by hand, in hardcover journals I bought at Cole’s bookstore at the Pen Centre; my favourite ones had prints of famous paintings on the covers and were lined but not dated. I spent a good amount of time sitting in diners, alone, with a novel or self help book and always a journal, sipping tea or something stronger, reading and writing.

It felt right and somehow very writerly.

...Tolerant of all people

...Kind

...Handsome and Funny

...Enjoys talking about the important things

...Likes the same books, music and movies as me...

The lists went on and on in great detail. When I think back on it I realize what I was really looking for, was my idealized self.

It took another decade to learn that I could be all those things to myself.

In my mid thirties, when I saw that this thing really was on with Shaune, that after nearly 10 years of our own off-and-on, we’d finally given into the fact that we should stay together, build a life, start a family, I stopped thinking in terms of ideals and looked instead to what was right in front of me.

Because I think we all get swayed by the fairy-tale version of marriage; we want the celebrity and Pinterest versions too. We get so caught up in what it’s supposed to be like, these imaginary benchmarks we’ve helped perpetuate, that we forget to mine our own relationships for the gold that lies within.

The more I learn the truth about what it takes, what it really takes to make a marriage work, the more I know we have a good thing, a really good thing.

Last Friday night the kids foiled Shaune’s plans to surprise me with a diamond ring for our fifth anniversary tomorrow. After dinner Deaglan asked “if we could give Mommy her big, big surprise.” I was stunned to learn that I hadn’t really lost my wedding band (two weeks prior, I'd taken it off to let one of the kids look at it, got distracted by the phone ringing and two days later noticed I no longer had it) but that Shaune had actually found it and used it to get the ring he bought sized.

When we got married, neither one of us felt right about spending money on a diamond since we’d only recently bought a house, paid for a wedding ourselves and had a growing eight month old boy to finance. I told him at the time that it might be a nice gift for a fifth anniversary. Since then he went back to school, and quit a well paying job to take supply work.

Which is all to say I was not expecting it.

And that the ring is beautiful and sturdy, the diamond just the right size and sparkle, and that I know for certain I would not have picked one that was different, says something about us I think.

Happy Anniversary Honey. I wouldn't have picked anyone but you!

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?

Making peace with hard

This morning I ran nine kilometers.

It felt like early May. The sky shone clear, blue and showed off with the most liberating  breeze. The sun was gentle and warm; not it's oppressive self, like last week. Even by the midway point, I was thankful I hadn't opted for a running jacket, although I know if I’d been walking I would have wished for one.

It was one of those runs.

I noticed a hundred different shades of green, emeralds and jades, olives and khakis. Lush and healthy from all the rain. And even though I’d woken up feeling tired and failing, I ran my course and remembered that my grass was just as green. The trees seemed to cheer me on, their branches dancing in that gentle wind. It was hard to believe we were deep into July.

It was a hard run.

I took last week off from the gym; I embraced my vacation that way. And the week before that I’d been able only to find enough time to scramble to the cycling classes over my lunch hour. My lungs did not like this sudden wakening, the kind only running seems to induce. But I’ve made peace with this kind of hard in the past and I refused to let it stop me today. Sometimes, like this past week at work, I remind myself that hard is like good strong coffee on a cold dark morning. Necessary.

I let Shaune do all the parenting this week.

And along the way, I collected guilt and a dwindling self-esteem. Each time one of the kids asked me to play or take them to the park, I laid paralyzed on the couch and explained that sometimes Mommies don’t have what it takes to do it all. I leaned on Shaune. I’ve never been happier to have him at home with the kids. A temporary kind of leaning made sweeter by the fact that he's been hired as a fulltime high school teacher, set to start in September.

I explained things to Deaglan. How sometimes work takes all of your energy when you get older. I explained it to him because I knew Naveen wouldn’t understand yet. I tried to buy myself some understanding.

After my run, I ate leftover steak and a handful of strawberries.

I told the kids to get their helmets on and we rode to the park. We played soccer and then they rode circles all over the park’s paths and driveways. I sat on a bench, warmed by that mild sun and watched them make tracks with their wheels from riding through the patches of leftover puddles.

I talked myself into believing that they’d remember only this.