Love and Life

To My Loves for Valentines Day,

     Before you swept me off my feet, I was a leaf upon a trembling branch caught between seasons. I held stubbornly to the life I had always known, too afraid to look down, and oh so terrified of letting go. Soon, a sky full of color billowed around my face, as one by one, those I'd  grown up with entered a new season of their lives and left my quaking side. I did not know how to follow their lead, and faked the flight all beside me took so willingly. But in truth, I still held desperately to the tree that was yellowing my silky skin, and crumbling the tough stem of my resolve.

    Then from the west a wind began to whip around my wilted frame, breathing new life into my aching soul. You wrapped yourself around me, gently tugging, until finally I flew with you. I twirled and danced upon your confidence, free at last to explore the world around me. Graceful and lithe, we remain, forever a leaf caught in the wind. You my sweet husband, will always be my fall - a head over heals tumble that freed me from my lifeless state.

   With great anticipation I looked forward to the spring where new life would sprout and grow. The wind and I had worked as one, and the soft kisses of his breath placed me gently upon the ground. I settled in and sank beneath a piece of earth I would claim as "home". I changed completely then, from wind blown leaf to fertile soil, and soon I could feel new life pulse within me. A gorgeous and delicate flower breached the surface of the world, and at once I was anew. I would nourish you, my son, in every way I could. A life built from my own. I will always think of you Dear Gabriel, as the spring that enriched my world and introduced me to the possibility of renewal.

   The breeze gently blew around my son and I, whispering 'I love yous' and bringing relief from the relentless heat. And soon I was aware of another seedling beneath my soil, a gift from my beloved wind. She grew lovely and strong, and I was left breathless and dumbstruck by all that I had. This summer flower grew more quickly than the springs cautious bloom, developing at an alarming pace; and you little Edie, soon intertwined your roots with Gabe's, and we all grew as one. And so, my Dearest daughter, you will forever be the summer that created a garden from our little piece of nourished soil, a true and vibrant Eden.

   The winter came and I was aware of one more precious life within me. But when he began to sprout a defect within his stem stopped him from a full emergence into this bright and wonderful world. Before I could stop the change, my soil began to freeze and all nourishment from my ice encapsulated heart just stopped. Winter was upon me, and he was not at all what I was promised. I felt that I was once more, a leaf wilting on the branch, scared and frightened from all that was unknown.

    But within me a courage I had never met revealed a heart not dead from fear, but only in hibernation - a defence to the cruelty of nature. Beneath that frozen soil I discovered that my heart was not glacial, but instead beat so ferociously that the ice surrounding it, melted faster than it accumulated. And so my precious Preston, you will forever be the winter that taught me nourishment is not enough, a strong and ferocious heart is also needed.

You are all the seasons of my life, and I will nourish you for as long as my beating heart will allow. And when it's time I will float above the earth once more, dancing upon the clouds, no longer afraid to let go, for love was my life, and my life was lived.

This House

I shake my fist at the heritage artifice that is my home; often times cursing its poor construction and my naivety at being a first time home buyer. Against our better judgement, spurred on by excitement and the ultimate sign of independence, we waived the option for inspection. It was a brand new development surely it was built properly. It wasn’t.

Now I find that I fantasize about leaving this place and purchasing some land with a farm house nestled in its center. I live there most days, on this fantasy farm, picking fresh fruit and calling to my giggling children...

but something unexpected happened...

I choked up.

I fought back tears when my husband suggested we might have to go sooner than I was prepared for. Leave? But we only just got here. It seemed like we just moved in.

He apologized.

I chastised myself because its not his choice. When it's time to go – there is no debate. RCMP members are moved as often as every three years to reduce the chances of corruption and ensure impartiality. It doesn’t make leaving any easier, though. I tried to shake it off. Home is where the heart is. My heart is with them; with my sweet, beautiful, loving kids and him the husband.

But a part of me revolted against the reality. Leave my home? What about the measurements on the wall and the hardwood floor thats seen so many firsts, and we can't leave the bath I laboured in, or the yard they play in...

This house - It's only three years old, and I have lived here its entire life. A lifetime that has been spent standing tall during some of our family's most awe inspiring moments, and sheltering us during some of the worst trials we've ever endured.

It's a stubborn little house, a house with personality. And somewhere along the line this heritage artifice etched a place into my stone heart, cracked my hard facade and safely encased a million memories.

These walls, they whisper to me, they tell our story and if we leave it...will I somehow forget it all? So many events, so many beautiful, gut wrenching moments, so much life. How can I step away from that so easily?

It would seem I can't...

And so I have come to the only conclusion I can draw. I love this place. I love it despite its problems. I love it because it's more than a poorly constructed house, somewhere along the line it became a part of the family. And I find...somehow...my heart is here too, between these walls, drumming a percussive beat that flashes through memories and moments in a blink of an eye. A beat that simply says...

love them, love them, love them

I'm linking up with YeahWrite this week (June 11, 2012) with one of my favourite posts from this year.

My Calloused Feet

The air is thick and humid and I'm sticky from my own salty sweat. The blackened asphalt beneath my feet seems - at first - to be a brilliant idea. The dirt and rocks have been replaced by a smooth and dustless road and the journey should be easier. Instead my steps are short and quick - my calloused feet - scorched from the summer sun's relentless assault on that blackened, heat absorbing asphalt; and I wonder whose idea it was - the insinuation that it's ever so easy.

There are times I find a cool patch of grass, to cool my blistered feet, to ease my weary body. I scrunch up my toes, digging them deep within the soft earth, trying my best to plant myself within the rich, forgiving soil. The respite is soothing. I enjoy the view from my little piece of greenery for I know - inevitably - that the march of life will continue on. I squint and place a hand over my eyes, a bystander now, watching those few that pass my resting place - looking at me enviously.

I want to raise a hand, summon them over, and share with them this place I have, but I know it's not truly mine to divvy up, nor theirs to accept. We all have our own roads to follow, our own aching feet to rest when it is time to do so. And I refuse to feel guilty about feeling rested, and ready for the road ahead. I deserve this little piece of Eden. I am still stung from the blisters that were raised and wept from the road I walked last year. And this grass it is my salve; and I am healing.

I place a hand over my heart and drum my fingers against my breast. The ache is gone. The fear has left. My son is safe.

Beneath my drumming fingers; however, a lump is felt. But please - I whisper - I want just a little longer upon this grass. Just a moment more to live without the journey, to walk without the scorching heat.  I close my eyes and wonder if it is time to step upon the blackened asphalt once more.

Time to journey on these calloused feet, to walk the road whose appearances are deceiving - for the journey is never that easy...

Potty Persuasion

What she would prefer to do in the bathroom - get into my makeup.

How hard is it to potty train a toddler? It's a piece of cake, simple really. When I potty trained my first baby (who is now 3 months shy of his fourth birthday) I put the potty in front of him, told him to pee and poop in it, and reminded him that diapers are for baby's not big boys. He got it. He hasn't used a diaper since. Accidents are rare for him, and he enjoyed the freedom and all the praise he received for doing his jobbies in a potty. Potty training should be called potty direction. Give the kid some directions and watch how easy it all is. Let them take the reins. Let them lead the way.

So I put the potty in front of Edie. Told her to pee and poop in it, and reminded her that diapers are for baby's not big girls. She didn't get it. I had to remind her every hour on the hour to use the potty. I had to bribe, cajole, threaten, beg, and perform goofy songs and acts to get her to even sit on the potty.

Potty training is HARD. Who the hell thinks this is easy - a piece of cake? Potty training should be called potty torture. I can't let her take the reins, or lead the way, because then I get panties full of poop, puddles of pee her brothers slip in, laughter as she runs from the accident she just left on my couch! She loves the praise I give her when she goes on the potty, but on the other hand she laughs maniacally when she pees all over herself and I have to chase her to clean her up. She's evil.

After a month of potty training - I ran to the Internet.( I needed reassurance that I wouldn't be cleaning poop off her prom dress!) I found so many tips that I wasn't sure what to do first. So I decided to cater my training towards my daughter directly. Edie loves Dora, and candy. So Scott picked her up a toilet insert (so she can pee and poop on a TOILET like her hero - me - while sitting on her favourite cartoon character - Dora!) and then I began bribing her with candy. At first I wasn't sure if this would be such a great idea, candy bribing I mean. What kind of mother would that make me? I'll tell you the kind of mother -  apparently I am the mother who will resort to obesity causing tricks to get my children to do what I want them to.

But here's the kicker! She hasn't had an accident in almost a week! I haven't had to clean up pee or poop of my hardwood floors, or off her brothers who were unfortunate enough to come upon her accident. I don't have to count to ten quietly while I change her pants, again. And I don't have to dread the morning when I pull off her nighttime diaper while preparing for the inevitable destruction of her clothes and all the fabrics in my house.

She has finally decided that going to the toilet (although more time consuming then finding a nice corner to crap in) is worth it...because she gets candy. Now I just have to find a way to slowly wean her off the reward system...

Potty training and all it implies is a lie. Toddlers will use the toilet when they feel like it. It's the one thing they have power over. You can't "train" a kid. You can only try to persuade them with whatever tools you have at your disposal! In fact that's what Potty training should be renamed.

Potty Persuasion!

You're my Favourite

Dear Scott - My very favourite husband.

I want to say thank-you for doing the dishes TWICE on your days off. I know it takes a lot of motivation to perform such a monotonous task but I trust you were rewarded satisfactorily (even if my performance was less than stellar) ;)

I want to say REALLY! for the amount of time you have spent with your nose touching your new Itouch. If I have to watch you play anymore Facebook games while the kids desperately vie for your attention - I think I may break that thing. (Oh and please no more complaining about your aching wrist - this problem would be solved by putting down the Itouch (Carpal Tunnel!) and doing some dishes ;)

I want to say thank-you for cleaning out the car and rearranging the new car seats. I'm sure our children and their now safer lives also appreciate this. Plus I enjoy not having to play the game, "What's that smell?"

I want to say REALLY! for the toy donations that were supposed to be in a bin before Christmas. Your constant promise of "I'll do it tomorrow" is no longer sufficiently convincing.

I want to say thank-you for buying curtain rods, curtains, and installing these window dressings so that our peeping neighbours will no longer see our family in various states of undress! (You my dear husband who loves to wander around in his boxers, me who loves to strip naked to weigh herself - what woman doesn't do this? Gabe who is ALWAYS naked, Edie whose potty training and forgets to put her pants back on after a potty, and Preston whose a baby and gets his diaper changed.. frequently - does this kid ever stop pooping?!) And although I'm positive our family has already been seen naked by the neighbours (innumerable times), at least now they no longer have to avert their eyes from our humble dwelling.

I want to say REALLY! for the one blind I wish you would put up - the one for the shower room! I no longer wish to crawl to the shower...my knees are now more bruised than my ego.

I want to say thank-you for constantly reassuring me with our new secret code talk that you have not been replaced by an intruder from a separate dimension. That dark shadow I've seen in our house clearly has nefarious intentions, which may or may not be the plot to kidnap my husband and take his place (I probably shouldn't watch shows like "Weird or What"). I suppose I should also thank you for believing me when I say I have seen a dark shadow haunting the house - by now most would assume I was crazy - I myself am beginning to doubt my own eyes...

I want to say REALLY! when you do stuff to your paranoid wife - like pretending to be a ghost. I also want to apologize for punching you in the face - but I've seen dark shadows in our house, who want to replace you...so really...what did you expect?

Finally I want to say I love you and thank-you for being my very favourite husband; no REALLY, you are!

Death becomes her

As I sit here waiting patiently for the phone call that will arrange an appointment for a biopsy on Ouch (annoying and painful breast tumour), I can't help but think that if it's cancer...all this waiting around can't be very productive. And being a person who can't help but imagine the worst, my brain has conjured up a lot of death related images to torture me during this time of patient waiting. To bide my time I went in search of blogs, and the women who have faced breast cancer at my age. I ran across one fantastic blog called "The Big C and Me" written by Renn. She wrote a post that commented on a online friend's statement to her, "Just because I have cancer doesn't mean I'm going to die, and just because you don't doesn't mean you're going to live".  This got me thinking about life and death and how its inextricably linked. We all have expiry dates. We are all going to die. And we all do a damn good job of forgetting this fact.

A lot of people tell you to live everyday as if it is your last. Man have I tried, and boy have I failed. It's exhausting! Who lives like that? I don't want to sit there watching America's Next Top Model and think, "Is this the best way to spend an hour of my life I may never get back", especially when the answer is obvious...  No one wants live like their dying every damn day - least of which are the people dying every damn day. It's a cute thought but it's not very practical. So I got to thinking about my life and asked the question I think we should all be asking. If my life ended abruptly tomorrow what is it about my life that would have been worth the whole trip, bad times, good times, abrupt end and all?

The answer for me was immediate. My kids of course. And it's not because my DNA will live through them (although that is a pretty nifty bonus). The answer is 'my kids' because of things I could never adequately explain unless you are a parent yourself. Imagine your whole life being lived in 2d, and then one day, inexplicably everything is 3d. There is a depth to my life now that there wasn't before, a true love, an unwavering constant, and the one thing we all look for, some sort of assurance, some sort of guarantee ... Here's mine, here's the one thing that will never change, that will always be the same. I won't ever stop loving them. Even if they leave me. Even if they hate me. Even if they become vile, pathetic, humans that are murdering psychopaths, and Even if they die. I will never stop loving them; for as long as I live (and perhaps beyond).

Death is inevitable, and it's scary, and everyone would like to avoid it, but it's just another event in a normal life. To find love though, a love that cannot be rendered obsolete, that's what makes it all worth it.



Renn's cited blog http://thebigcandme.blogspot.com/2011/06/death-support.html

Barbie

I'm starting to question whether I should be the one influencing my children during playtime. No matter how hard I try I always seem to say something questionable that then gets repeated a million times over. Today for example, my normally tom boyish, little girl, Edie, insisted on playing Barbie's with me. I admit I was THRILLED! I started brushing their hair, and talking about the wonderful Ball we could attend, but before Rapunzel's horse could come and pick us up... Edie pulled off all their clothes and was casually conversing about "being naked" and "having a gina (vagina) too". Well this kind of conversation is not really my cup of tea, so I hung quietly in the background brushing Rapunzel's horses hair. Despite her conversation about "Gina's" I remained happy she decided to play with a doll instead of her brother's batman cave.

Now yes, I admit to teaching my kids the names for their body parts - and the proper names at that...as well as all the nicknames...but I digress. Soon Gabe was fascinated by the barbies and their lack of clothing, and he loudly announced that they all had "Barbie Boobies". Well anyone who doesn't find it hilarious -a three year old making an awesome alliteration like that - is just prudish. So I chuckled to myself and agreed with Gabe, they do indeed have Barbie Boobies. Our weird and slightly awkward Barbie play continued a little while longer, but soon it was time to clean up and I started to put all the Barbie's clothes back on - Edie was long gone, coloring somewhere in the corner by then, and Gabe picked up one of the dresses and asked which Barbie it went to. Well now out of my mouth pops an expression I should have probably kept to myself because the next thing I know he has named...NAMED...the Barbie this.

I told him the dress belonged to "Skanky" the Barbie.  I think I'm all clever and hilarious until he takes the doll to his batman and says, "Hi, my name is Skanky - what's your name?" (Inner groan commences). And I mean...come on! This Barbie has black, four inch (Scaled to size of course) high heels, a short dress that has only one strap, and eye makeup any proud corner owner would do justice with! Now was it smart to tell my son that she was Skanky the Barbie...in retrospect...not so much. But I think the bigger offence here is the fact the Barbie could be named Skanky and no one would think twice about it...and people would probably still buy the doll for their daughters!


....FYI...I was not the purchaser of this particular doll...that unfortunate choice lays at the feet of my oblivious husband!

Oh Barbie...what have they done to you....

And sorry Gabriel...for your new and unfortunate word - or name - as you now know it to be.