Ancient

I stood upon my tiptoes, stretching to reach the mirror. It's toothpaste splattered surface was quickly wiped clean - my practised hands completed the task in less than a minute. As I lowered my arm I happened to catch my reflection in the glass. My hazel eyes studied the red hair and brown roots, and slid from forehead to chin. My eyes are the same, despite the the faint hint of crowsfeet, and the lips are still full - one of my best features; and yet i'm different, changed somehow. I see a person who is more cautious and guarded, a woman whose ventured the outskirts of Hell face on and lived to tell the tale. I suddenly let it sink in, all of it, the lessons I've learned. The realization that life is finite, not just for me, but for those I love, was one lesson I won't soon forget. This year has taken a toll on me and has forced me to grow into a person that I no longer recognize.

I used to think aging happened according to the years we accumlated, the number of candles we snuffed out on our birthday cake; I realize now that it's the experiences of life which ages us. Just one year ago I held a life within me, a hope for their future, a fantasy of their adulthood. I would love him, raise him right, and then watch in wonder as he became independent and absolutely remarkable. It never crossed my mind that his life is already his own, and so thus, is the timing of his death.

Babies die. Children die. Adults die. Some people find comfort in this - a comraderie that no one is immune. But I was appalled by this thought; and so I realed backwards from it's infectious reality, as though it's poisonous whisper could only find me if I stood in the open, mocking it's authority, and daring it to come for us. But no matter how deep I hid within my own despair and stubborn hope, I couldn't help but hear his mortality echo against every wall of my being.

I cried more tears this year, than any other time in my life. I stood frozen this year, in indecision and fear, more than any other time in my life. I felt a hurt that cannot be described, a gnawing ache within my soul during the moments where I wondered if he would leave me. This year battered and brutalized every fiber of my being, and left me so horribly vulnerable. But this new found vulnerability would force me to appreciate everything I had.

It will take me a while to reconcile the woman in the mirror with the girl I always knew. I like to think I'm ancient now because I refuse to live my life in years; instead I live in the moment, because there is more of those in a lifetime than candles on your cake.

Romance

I'm independent, strong, and often stubborn. I know what I want, and I know how to get it. But I'm also a pro at self deception. That handsome man over there, the one who saved my life from the rugged half acre I got lost on during my excursion into Vancouver, intrigues me, but I won't fall in love with him. I refuse to become anything less by allowing emotions to rule my aching loins. But the smell of his aftershave, and the way he has started a life saving fire from dry wood, and bits of his tightly kinked pubic hair makes me swoon with admiration. As he steps towards me and mutters a statement that's gruff and inherently sexist I can't help but reach up and caress his six pack abs. I want him, but I can't. I need him, but I won't. He'll take me because I can't make up my mind despite the fact I made up my mind the minute I set my eyes upon him. Throbbing member, velvet enclosure, moan, groan, and happy day.

Recognize it? Yes women, it's your typical romance novel formula and not a thing like real romance...well at least not marriage romance.

Pubic hair fire aside this formula is apparently what women want. We want to be strong, but weak enough to be taken. We need romance, but also a man tough enough to kill a grizzly with his bare hands while opening a bottle of wine for us with his calloused feet. We long for the moments in our relationship where the men in our lives thrust us onto bathroom counters, and we're so swept away with the intensity of our love that we don't worry about the toothpaste tube that has just leaked all over our only pair of good granny panties, soiling the underwear and the counter we just finished cleaning.

 I'm not completely throwing the formula out the window mind you. There is a reason why romance novels gross some of the highest book sales in North America. Do I want a tough man in my life? Of course, I mean if my husband sobbed during Grey's anatomy right along with me it would probably kill the mood. Do I want a romantic guy in my life? Of course, but do I need a guy to stand outside my door with a thousand flowers, while reading me a love sonnet and handing me a dazzling piece of expensive jewellery...well...no. I mean yes. Well it's not necessary...but... It's the thought that counts...so some idiot once said. Anyway. What I'm trying to say is that to have a successful romance all you really need to have - with your tough, handsome prince - is some open communication. Men are timid creatures, sex with us women doesn't come easy. No means no, after all and we aren't the sort of creature who can ever be persuaded to give up our goods through batting eyes, or sexy lingerie. So if your sex life is boring ladies, spice it up, tell the person you are with what you want and go experiment.

As an example to you all, tomorrow I plan on having me a tough and slightly corrupt sheriff. Rawr. And I'm not referring to the romance novel I'm currently engrossed in ;) and if this corrupt sheriff ever feels the need to buy me a thousand flowers, or jewelery or both...I wouldn't object...Not like those oh so confused heroines of my smutty little paper backs.

Take me Scott, woo me, but try and do it before Preston wakes up, and after my shows are over.

Three

I didn't know what it meant, the honour it held. I was unaware, as so many are in the beginning, during conception and the days of endless growth. I held my belly once, convinced I understood, I thought I was prepared. I made plans, I bought necessities, I waited. He came into my world and I gave him a name. I spent months pouring through books, browsing different websites, looking over countless meanings. It's so important to pick the right one. It should define who he'll become, or so I believed. I see now it defines what I imagine he should become. Bold, and brilliant, angelic, and awesome. A mother's future lies intertwined, unwavering, forever with her children's and as such a million day dreams, an infinite number of hopes lies within her. It's hard to see the person they are when their future shines so bright and is filled with endless possibility. And then somehow, they become separate from you...somehow they break free.

My oldest child, my first born son, took his first step before his first word. His smile is more than memorized, it's embedded within my soul. The sound of his laughter, the gait of his walk, the way he flaps his hands when he's excited. I know it all. I live and breathe him.

He's small, and young, but a big boy. He has his pride, he's potty trained. He takes care of his siblings, and can stand on his head. He winks with both eyes, and loves to make people laugh. He can "do it himself" and isn't "A baby, mom" but he still sleeps with a blanket at night and needs a night light to extinguish the monsters in the dark. He cries for me when he's hurt, and believes a kiss can make him better. When no ones looking he asks me to sing "Baby Mine", and so I do...just as I did the day he was born, when he looked at me and I knew...

              that I didn't know a thing about love before him.

A mother's love is so intense that it dwarfs everything she is, while simultaneously becoming everything she is. It's beautiful, so sacred. But it's terrifying. Because the world is a cruel place, and sometimes nightmares occur. Nightmares so wicked that only a mother knows that the love we surrender too, will surely destroy us, change us, warp us into shells of the person we were, if ever that nightmare becomes a reality. If ever we lose the one person we cannot live without.

She's waiting and hurting, and loving you more than ever. Her perfectly beautiful, three year old boy. I know how she loves him, I love my own just the same, and so I ache for her.

Come home safe Kienan Hebert. Come home to her -your forever safe place - come home to a love that can never be measured, to a woman who would die for you, and right now - most certainly - is.

UPDATE: He was returned by the suspect early this morning. Kienan is Safe!

Family Vacation.

I've just come back from a beautiful, fun filled, two week vacation. Things went a lot smoother than anticipated. Anyone who has ever travelled with family members knows that things often can and do go awry. So as we started off a couple of Mondays ago, heading for the ferry that would take us to the sunshine coast and a long awaited visit at Scott's mother's - finally finished - dream home, I imagined all that could befall us. From projectile motion sickness to explosive diapers to overly excited, non-listening children who climbed the railings of the ferry and fell off the boat. Yes I prepared for all possibilities. With three children ranging in age from cranky toddler to cranky baby, I didn't hold much hope for fun during the actual travel time to get to our first destination. Turns out I should have had a little more faith in my kids, myself, and my ever steadfast husband.

To travel successfully with any family you must have a perfected formula. Every person in your vehicle of choice - from car to train - must be assigned a certain role or expectation. If you set your expectation too high or even too low you will inevitably have a family vacation that's as memorable as any of the Griswold's.

The first designation handed out for any familial travel endeavour is Navigator. This individual must get every person alive and intact from point A to point B. In my family's case the Navigator is my husband as he is the only licensed driver in our brood (I have a phobia, okay?) Conversation from the Navigator is often scarce, quick and to the point; and eventually you learn to decipher any information you might want or need from the under the breath mutterings and sighs of indignation or frustration from said individual. Every eye twitch or quiet hum issued forth from this person can reveal things as diverse as a wrong turn to the happy and timely arrival at the midway point of your trip (Mickey D's in our case). The Navigator is an essential part of any family vacation, but they are only a means to an end, in order to have a Happy and Relaxed environment for your trip you must have a great Second in Command.

The Second in Command, or the Lieutenant if you will, keeps all secondary players cooperative and in line; while juggling the affairs of the Navigator. Everything from cell phone calls, to food handouts, to any necessary disciplinary action is meted out by this integral part of any travelling unit. The lieutenant's success or failure will directly impact the morale of the group. If this role is not handled with the utmost of care, and the perfect balance of strict discipline and goofy fun is not struck then dissension in the ranks will occur. The screams, cries, and violent outburst from the secondary players will be so disruptive that the travel time of your vacation may become torturous and unforgiving. The Navigator and Second in Command must work together and communicate effectively in order to arrive at Point B without a single casualty.

Finally we come to the grunts or travelling trainees. These are the individuals who are slowly learning how to remain patient during the seemingly endless change of scenery and ironically continuous movement during long periods of restraint. Only practice will create perfect travelling companions and so the grunts must learn how to enjoy confinement while looking forward to a new found freedom of early mornings, late nights, extinguished naps, and days filled with endless activities. You can recognize any grunt by one innocuous and annoying enquiry, "Are we there yet?". Upon hearing this question once every twenty minutes the Navigator will sigh, and a good Lieutenant will answer, "Not yet, but soon. How about a game of Eye Spy?" Until at last freedom is gained and the vacation begins.

And so I am happy to report that we didn't lose one single person through motion sickness, violent backseat outbursts or swan dives off the ferry deck. In a family vacation, my friends, that is the definition of Success!