Tuesday 28 October 2014

Space (for Marty)



In your arms
Space disappears
Between
You and I
Between
Who and what
I am
Between
What I think and
What I know
Between
What I want and
What I have
Between
Heaven and
Earth

In your arms.



Canterbury Hills

We went to the woods because it's what we sometimes did on a Sunday afternoon when we didn't attend church.

The morning was spent lingering over bacon and eggs. The aroma of apple cinnamon breakfast pitas hung in the air, mocking me. Marty and I, had committed to avoiding carbohydrates, at least for now, but Maggie, Miles and Athena had toasted the sweet dough which lay on their plates. I think that is the worst part about the new nutritional plan. Items like the pitas, frozen pizzas and packets of pasta could be found in the freezer and on the cupboard shelves.

I still made sandwiches for the kids and poured them breakfast cereal while I waited for the carbs to run out and debated what my move would be when they did. After breakfast, the kids grabbed their pumpkins from the porch and began transforming them into works of art. They toiled in amiable companionship, these three, while Antonios watched from his perch at the counter waiting to carve his with Zoe who had since left for her shift at the local hamburger restaurant.

Two hours in, pumpkin seeds and pulp had made it's way off the table and onto several chairs and the floor. we had a skull, a bat and a toothy jack' o' lantern ready go. We also had three kids in need of some fresh air.

This is where the woods come in to play. Canterbury Hills, is a 72 acre conservation area in the Dundas Valley and our local hiking spot of choice.

We parked in a designated lot at the end of the path and began our walk. Less than five minutes in racing challenges began.

“Ok,” I said. “Athena gets a five second head start. First one to touch the sign wins.”

 We lined up across the leaf-strewn path, Maggie, Miles and I, five measured paces behind six-year-old Athena.

“When I start to count, Athena runs,” I instructed. “When I get to five the rest of us can go.” I was hoping the five paces and five seconds would give Athena enough time to get out of the way. I knew we would all be running flat out, trying to best each other on this beautiful day.

“One, Two, Three, Four, Five!”

I ran. I ran trying to best a 13-year-old who does track and an 11-year-old who plays select soccer while trying not to run over Athena, who we had all underestimated because she won. Miles ran past the sign he was supposed to touch and sprawled in the tall weeds beyond it while Maggie touched the sign and gingerly veered off to the right, finding a patch of sunlight in which to catch her breath.

Marty, who had left the trail, and our field of vision, reappeared. “Are you guys racing?” he asked.

“YES...And I won,” Athena answered.

“I came in second,” Miles and Maggie both chorused.

It takes a few minutes for me to explain how we all ranked then we lined up again for race number two which saw Marty as the starting gun, end-point and overall judge. When Marty said go, I was determined to win. I propelled myself forward flying past yellow, green, red, gold and orange trees. My feet kicking up leaves and gravel dust as the distance between me and my partner closed. I could hear the kids breathing.  I watched from the corners of my eyes hoping not to see either of them inch past in the last few paces of the race, they didn't.

For the next few hours we traveled the woods, fluidly changing formation. We left the path to explore the river, lay down on carpets of vibrant green moss, buried children in the leaves and threatened to come back for them in the spring and pointed out deer tracks while trying to avoid their poop.

Each of us took a turn helping Athena through the burs or up a hillside.

“Look at that, that's a great place to go tobaggoning,” Marty said pointing to a long and not so gentle slope to the right.

“We'll have to get another sled for the winter. I'll try and get one like the other,” I said.

He nodded and let go of my hand then sprinted ahead to catch up with Maggie where he slung an arm across her young shoulders. I watched her tilt her head toward him as they walked and smiled.

When we returned to the van energy spent, eyes were twinkling, cheeks were rosy, fall coats which had long since been removed, were being de-burred.

I looked back on the woods, leaves afire with the business of preparing for winter, and snapped a picture for my mental memory bank.

Life is not long but sometimes it is good.

Thursday 23 October 2014

Hardenening My Heart

It's interesting...

I recently started practicing what some would call "tough love" on my 17-year-old daughter.  She had, unfortunately, stepped over the line one too many times. In spite of several civil conversations and mild attempts to help correct her, she has thus far refused to reform.

So, time to step it up.

I asked my lovely daughter to make me two lists: one of all the things I have to do for her, and one of all the things that I actually do for her.  Zoe's a smart girl.  Her have to list was short and sweet - food, shelter, clothing... While her actual list acknowledged both the big and small things I do to make her life more comfortable.

To remedy our disagreement my plan was pretty simple.  Zoe could ask for anything on her short list.  The items on the long list, however, including laundry, cooking, and transporting to work, school, her boyfriend's and early morning rowing practice, were inaccessible to her until she apologized and committed to better behavior.

I forgot who I was dealing with.

My daughter is very stubborn.  She is also very resourceful.

On Monday when I drove her brother to their bus stop I passed Zoe walking resolutely down the road. Having dropped him off, I headed home and found myself in her direct line of sight. I waved a hearty hello and kept driving. I felt my heart harden with resolve.

On Tuesday, even though she sat at the table, I served dinner to everyone except her. When I took my seat she realized her blunder and rose to serve herself.

On Wednesday morning I got out of bed and made my way downstairs to drive her brother to 7am rowing practice.

"How are you getting to rowing?" I asked her.

"I thought you would drive me since you're going there anyway," was her hopeful reply.

I looked at her.  Just looked and as I saw it dawn on her that I was not going to drive her, I also again felt something in me harden.

It has been five weeks or so since this standoff started.  Zoe has proven herself more resourceful than I could have imagined walking everywhere she needs to go or taking the bus.  At home we engage in friendly conversation and except for the nights that she still occasionally forgets to wash the dishes, she observes all the rules of the house. 

I'm not sure if it's right or wrong but part of me is proud of her for standing up for what she believes in and not allowing outside pressure, even mine, to change her. The other part feels frustrated and ineffective. Whatever it is, we seem to have entered into a new phase of our relationship. One in which she is more mature and self-reliant but also one in which I am less of a soft place for her to turn.

I am also finding it difficult not to apply this new found hardness to other relationships in my life and I'm not sure I like it. I'm not sure if my experiment is worth it or even if I can call it successful if I lose some of what I love about myself and some of who I am in the process.




In Four, Three, Two and One

I recently had a little meltdown. One caused by trying to do too much for too many people and not feeling as though I had time to catch my breath in between. Caused also by a series of new challenges that arose in many different aspects of my life.

People who know me, usually know when I am struggling. Not because I am forthcoming but because the complete opposite is true.  I get very quiet and as much as possible withdraw from everything and everyone. From my quiet space, I evaluate my options, emerging only when I firmly settle on a solution that feels comfortable and right.

Not everyone appreciates my need to withdraw or understands how I emerge renewed, determined and focussed. Some would prefer it if I talked to them or if I wanted input and support. I recognize and respect that as a completely valid method of dealing with life's challenges.  It's just not mine.

Rather than try to become what I am not or continue to frustrate and alienate, I decided to post a few phrases that are sometimes useful for reminding me that I don't have to do it alone.

Four:  How can I help? or What can I do? or my favourite What do you need?

Three: Take my hand, Let me help or, my favourite I am here. 

Two: I understand

One:  Wine?


Monday 20 October 2014

Eleven

What do you believe in when you are eleven?

Santa, the tooth fairy, and the switch witch have been demystified. You are now one of the keepers of the magic who can help create the facade for those younger than you.

By eleven you have figured out that your parents are far from infallible and their expectation that you act more like a young man and less like a toddler is sometimes a pretty tough row to hoe. You're pretty sure that your parents love you but you're less sure that they always know what's best for you. In your mind, they proved that when they made you come in from hanging out with your buddies to spend time playing your guitar and proved it again when they made you go to your grandmother's even though you wanted to play soccer.

This week, this little guy turned eleven. We celebrated the way that we always do with the birthday boy choosing what we would all eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  Miles arrived home from school all pumped up for hamburgers which he, for the first time, formed with his own hands .  His willingness to participate came complete with the requisite sounds and expressions of disgust.

Usually the birthday person gets to choose the activity we engage in.  Birthday or not though, I had a parent's meeting with Miles' soccer coach. In spite of playing just one season of house league, his skills were outstanding enough that he had made it through five tryouts and landed a spot on the select team for 2015.

I dragged him away from friends and off to the meeting with me where he sat alternately fidgeting and silently begging for access to flappy bird on my smartphone. Forty-five minutes after the meeting began it ended.

"Race you to the van," he said when our feet hit the pavement.

 So we ran in the darkness, laughing while the cool evening wind slapped at us.

"I win," he declared delightedly when I caught up to him.

"Yes you did," I conceded graciously, it wasn't that long ago when I had to deliberately hang back to let him win.

On the way home, we made a quick stop at the grocery store.

“Race you,” he said again and again we ran. This time, however, he ran past the entrance to the store and off to a place I couldn't see him.

“Hey!” I called. “I win...you missed the entrance.”

He came racing back and entered the store behind me.

As we walked the aisles he asked “Mom, can I have 5 or 10 dollars of my own money?”

“What for?”

“It's not what you think," he said. "When I ran past the entrance, I saw a homeless woman.”

I was a little ashamed that I had immediately thought he wanted the money for candy then touched by his ability to see this woman when so many people find the homeless invisible.

When we got to the register I realized that I had only a ten dollar bill with me and I had left my bank card in the van.

“I can't give you ten,” I informed him. "I can only give you the change."

"Can you use your bank card and give me that ten?" He asked eyeing it.

"I left my card in the van.  It's the change or nothing."

"Ok."

When we left the store, I handed him the $7 left from my purchase. He pointed to the homeless woman who was seated on the bench of her walker holding a sign that said “Please help." I deliberately stood back and watched him deposit first the bill then the $2 coin into her outstretched hand.

The woman thanked him then made eye contact with me and said “Thank you.”

“That was his money," I informed her with pride. "His money that he earned, not mine.”

As he walked from her to me, I noticed a little swagger had entered his step.

“Thank you and God bless,” the woman called out after him.

He stopped and turned to throw a hearty “You're welcome," over his broadening shoulders.

Together we walked to the van in silence. I looked at my son.

“Not everyone would do what you just did. Even some adults with more to give would walk past that lady and not want to help her.  I am proud of you and proud to be your mother. No matter what else you believe in, believe that you are a good, kind and loving person."

In that moment we both knew it was true. I hope that it remains so forever.


Sunday 12 October 2014

Six




This week our youngest turned six.

It's interesting watching this small child develop, seeing the strengths and weaknesses come to fore, watching the personality correct and assert itself. Having so many older children in the house, I sometimes forget how young she is then something will happen to remind me.

A few weeks ago the reminder came when Athena returned home from school excited because her tooth was loose.  It took me a minute to remember that, for her, this was a major discovery and milestone.

Over dinner, she told her 17-year-old sister "I'm a big girl now, my tooth is loose."

"No....you're little because your tooth is loose."

"Little girls don't have loose teeth," Athena reasoned.

"Only little girls have loose teeth," Zoe countered.

This conversation went on for a while, the two of them bantering about what made a girl little versus big.  I listened, a smile in my heart stopping my desire to tell them that they are both very very little.

A few days later, when the tooth fell out, Athena chose to keep it.  Which we all know meant she chose to lose it.  For the first few days she carried it around in one of her many purses before moving it to a small treasure box that her brother gave her.  Where it went after that, I cannot say.

A week ago when tooth number two fell out at school, Athena was ready to see what the tooth fairy was all about.  She brought it home in a keepsake box the secretary had given her and after showing it, and the new hole in her smile, off she put it under her pillow.

At my house the tooth fairy is notoriously finicky.  Which means she sometimes fails to show up. Which means Athena woke up in the morning and the tooth was still there.  Which means I had to explain to her that the tooth must have been too far under her pillow for the tooth fairy to reach. Which means when I tucked her in on night number two, I had to remember to make a big deal about tooth placement.  Which also means I don't really deserve it when she tells me I'm the best but who am I to burst the bubble?

By morning number two Athena had made her first successful exchange with the tooth fairy.  The yellow treasure box had disappeared from under the pillow and in it's place, a shiny purple $10 bill.  She showed the money to everyone in the house. She carried it around for two days before deciding to put it in one of her purses.  Where it is now, I can't say.

Six.The last time we will ever have a six-year-old.  The last days of having a child small enough to carry around. The last years of bedtime stories and eyes that grow big with belief and wonder.  The last years when laughter bubbles up before reason.

Six years piling one on top of another, eating away at the magic. Teeth number three and four are already loose. Chapter books are rapidly replacing the the former favourite fairy tales which overflow from the bookshelves.

Six... bittersweet to see Athena on the doorstep of childhood's middle years, to know that soon Santa Claus and all the fairy friends will disappear with the dolls and safety scissors.

Even as a grumble about the mess she makes playing dress up, for the next 362 days I will enjoy having a six-year-old.







Thursday 2 October 2014

Progress



Foot.
One Foot.
Forward.
One foot forward filling space.
Closing distance between here and there.
Moving.
Causing momentum that
carries another foot forward.
One forward foot,
then another.
Propelling.
Closing the distance.
Changing there into
here and here into
there.
Creating a new
horizon and new
destination.
Foot.
One foot forward.

- Vera