Lucky

We sat in the comfy chairs, in front of the fire. We talked of a host of things, lightly and irreverently. Children. Work. Mutual acquaintances. Family. It would have been cozy, except for the nervous picking at the label of the bottle of beer she drank, and the sadness hanging in the air. And the short, sad laugh that would be interjected into the conversation. "It doesn't feel real," she would say, hiccupping slightly, eyes watery. And we'd move on.

 

We talked about it, of course. Of what was happening. Of what happened to me. Of the way through, of the disbelief, the unreality of it. Not of the future, it's too soon and too scary. Of how I moved away, of not speaking to him in years and years. Of the disconnect, of the healing. Of the lack of children that had to be taken care of, told, divided evermore. "You're lucky," she said softly, looking away.

 

I've long since ceased to think of it as the worst thing that ever happened to me. It's a history, a sad blip on my life, but something that turned out for the best. Everyone has a tragedy, mine is not so bad. I no longer feel like I have "failure" stamped upon my soul.

 

But I've never thought of myself as lucky in its occurrence. As small a tragedy as it was, it was still a Bad Thing.

 

But the thing is that perhaps one of the things that makes me the most sad is that yeah, I am. In comparison, our divorces – mine was better.

 

And I never wanted to be able to say that about it, especially in comparison to a friend.

 

Father's Day

I had drinks last night in the nearby pub with a friend I've know for seven years. She and her husband have been married more than ten years, together for 15. They have two boys, 6 and 4. Last Thursday night her husband told her he was leaving. She's making a huge brunch for him today. "It's not about him," she said. "I asked the boys what they thought he wanted for Father's Day, and they said 'bacon'."

* * * * * * *

It's my ex's birthday today. I don't know why I remember that this year of all years when it's often skipped by without a thought.

No, wait. I do. Because her email of Friday morning, her call of Friday night left me reeling -- they were such a solid couple! It couldn't happen to them! How can you make sense of a world where of all people, the couple you thought was star-crossed is coming apart at the seams?

I guess maybe it's the star-crossed thing.

I didn't sleep much Friday night. I know how much she must be hurting. I know how hard it's going to be for a while. And *I* didn't have kids.

* * * * * * *

The father of my own children is asleep in bed. I hope. My gift to him this Father's Day -- sleeping in. We don't get that much round here, after all. Ironically it's the five year old who I can't contain with quietness, the baby has been given markers and paper and is beside herself.

What can I say about the father of my children, my partner in life on Father's Day? I can say that he doesn't hide things from me like my ex. I can say he's devoted to his children and his family, unlike my friend's soon-to-be-ex. But who gives a care about comparisons. Saying "you're good because you're not like A" is a back handed compliment.

I love The Man for the days when he's just so tired and impatient but he pulls it together anyway to be patient for the kids. I love The Man for trying to maintain a sense of humour in these crazy times. I love him for putting the best he has into everything, for putting his family first. For saying "go out with her. I'm tired and I don't want to put the kids to bed, but your friend needs you."

And for being the smartest and most original person I know. For not compromising on what he believes. For making some of the most delicious meals I've ever known. For comforting me when I'm down, even on days when he needs that emotional reservoir for himself. For being one of the most fun people I know when times are good.

For being my partner in life.

For being him.

Happy Father's Day to him. Happy sleeping.

Well, it's finally happened ...

Marriage.

No. We haven't gotten married. But the concept of marriage had hit the daycare and the kids were excited! And needed to know more! So the teachers told us they'd do a unit on it! And I was all "hey hey! That's great! But ... uh ... we're NOT married so mind you keep your language inclusive, ok?" And they did!

And my son still told them he thinks it "isn't right" that his parents aren't married.

I heard that. I cringed.

So we came home. I made dinner, and over mac and cheese I asked. "I heard you were talking about marriage at daycare. How's that going?"

He shrugs.

"I heard you said that you think your mom and dad should be married. Why is that?"

"it's better."

So the conversation goes on, and I try to explain they the reason we're not married is that we feel it wouldn't make any difference to our lives. "how do you think your life would change if mom and dad got married?" I ask.

"it would make sense." he says softly, and my heart breaks.

*******

A moment later, after some distraction of eating and feeding and babies, and a few words here and there, he says "you get cake at weddings."

Yes, I say. But I'm not getting married just for cake, I say. I can eat cake any time, I say.

His eyes fill with tears. "but if you don't get married," he weeps. "I won't get any cake!!"

I assure him that I will make cake this weekend.

And all is fine with the world once more.

Writerly

So last night my daughter found a pencil. One of those tiny ones. It fit perfectly in her hand. Without missing a beat, she reached under the table to a box of recycling I had placed there while doing paperwork, picked out a piece of paper, and *holding the pencil correctly*, started making marks on the paper.

I took photos. When the heck had she learned that? Isn't she 13 months?!

So this morning when I got to daycare with her, I was pleased to see they had out pens and paper. What fun! I put her down and she immediately picked up the pens and started drawing. It seems a fun thing to encourage, right? So I chat with the carers, put things away, and sit down with her for a bit. A few minutes later I get up to go, and there's a bit of chaos, what with the hugging and the transfer of the child and all.

So I leave, go to work. Boot up computer, make tea, chat with colleagues. Work. Work work work work. And I'm on deadline, so I don't get up from my desk until noon, when I go to the bathroom and ...

My neck? Four or five large slashes of purple marker. And not, like, in a nice line, as one might mistake a necklace or anything. One BIG blotch near my right collarbone, several other irregular ones nearby.

And *no one had said anything*.

Awesome.

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Exacting

"How many hours in a year, mom? I bet more than 800."

"I don't know, honey, but definitely more than 800, because there's 24 hours in a day and 365 days in a year."

"No, not 24 hours, mom. It's twenty-THREE hours and FIFTY SIX MINUTES."

I know we shouldn't have bought him books!!

Passing it on

The other day when I read a book to my daughter --- one of those toddler ones that involves you kissing your kid because you love them so --- I thought it was very cute when she kissed me. A lot. On the mouth.

It's less cute now because -- at that time, she was suffering from a cold -- and now, she's passed it along to me.

Whee!

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Bored

Yesterday at daycare pick up there was a note for me. Please come talk to Y. I groan. The notes are never good.

My son, it turns out, spent rest time picking apart a paint roller. Please have him remedy this, they say. I agree. I sigh. We go home.

He doesn't know why he did it, he says.

But I do.

We talk. Oh yeah, he says. I'm bored.

A little more checking and it seems that while at one point he was allowed to lie and read during rest time, now that's been forbidden. He has to lie on his little cot for 30 minutes, still.

So let me get this straight, I think. You want my kid, who has not had a regular nap in almost three years, to lie still for 30 minutes with nothing to do?

I sympathize with him, to be honest.

Look, ok, I get it. I get that they think that stilling yourself is a crucial skill. And I believe that myself, I do. I mean, this is why I practice, at times, meditation, because I want to learn to slow down. I've been working on simplifying things, at not doing 20-bajillion things at once like I seem to do (I can't just sit and watch a show. I must knit! And read blogs! and watch the show! THERE'S ONLY SO MUCH TIME IN THE DAY, PEOPLE!)

But he isn't like every kid, he likes to think. Constantly. He likes constant stimulation, and he's been like that since birth. Sure, I can try to teach him to meditate, but even meditation for kids recommends only 5-10 minutes to start. NOT 30. So what else can he do with himself? There aren't many five year olds who can sit and do sums in their heads all alone. Not even mine.

But at what point can I bring in the gifted kid card? Won't I just be that mom who causes eye-rolling, oh here we go AGAIN with the special treatment for her kid, cMON lady, give it a rest.

At the same time ... well, next time it might not be a paint roller. He's FIVE. He's BORED. You have given him NOTHING to alleviate the boredom, so he's going to find something himself. It would be far better for you to direct him than allow him to get into trouble himself and then feel constantly like he was being bad. If adults are bored, they can find something to do. Not all adults want to lie still, either. When adults want to rest, they read books. Or watch TV. Or otherwise rest, but not necessarily sleep. This requirement of total stillness is ... well, it's kinda bullsh*t IMO.

Because he's not a bad kid. And I don't want him feeling this way, not at five. Not ever, of course. But not at FIVE, when he hasn't even started school yet and God knows if he's bored in daycare, he's going to be bored in school. If he can add fractions, I think first grade is going to be a major let down.

I don't know what we're going to do, and it's becoming more and more clear that we're going to have to do something. I don't know what. I don't know how we'll cope.

But I'll be damned if I'm going to sit back and have him labelled that problem child when they put him into a situation that even most adults would hate.

A brief moment of harmony

Chowing down

Six weeks ago, I called the infant development specialist in a panic. I couldn't get my almost year old daughter to eat anything. Nothing. Purees only. And then only in minute amounts.

Tonight marks the first night that she's eaten more than her brother.

Oh, she's still not great with everything. She still can't manage certain things, but now it's just a matter of not having molars ... Something age appropriate.

Now she LOVES food. Wants to try everything. Eats a huge amount for a small child. Loves strawberries, and begs for them. Drinks juice.

Has related intestinal distress.

Crazy. Just ... crazy.

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