Perhaps it would be easier to cope with:
– a sick father-in-law
– a worried husband
– kids who are fighting (because of the stress in the air, quite frankly)
– the anniversary of my father’s death
– a disappointing vacation and the looming return to work
– an uncertain future (still haven’t lined up childcare/preschool for fall)
if I weren’t pms-ing.
Where is the justice?
Yes, Marcel’s dad is still in the hospital. Yes, he had a heart attack and we are all somewhat subdued in this household. Even Maddie – our normally cheerful one – was a little out of sorts after seeing her Pépère in a hospital bed. We’re still waiting for further prognosis, but surgery may be necessary. Thank you all for your kind words and your prayers.
So this post will not be as lighthearted as I might have hoped. But here goes anyway…
Thirteen years ago, on one of the only sunny days in an otherwise rainy, dreary summer, we said “I do” in front of the people we loved most. Were we blissfully happy and in the middle of a great fairy-tale love? No, I wouldn’t say so. Did we commit ourselves to each other believing we would always feel passionately in love and that we would never want to kick each other’s butt? No, probably not. BUT… Did we believe that we loved each other enough to spend the rest of our lives together, that we were committed enough to each other that we would pour all the energy we could muster into making our marriage work, and that we would walk together through whatever raging rivers life put across our paths? Yes. Definitely.
I loved him then, and I love him ten times as much now. He makes me laugh, he challenges me, he makes me want to be smarter, he teaches me things, he knows how to be tender, and I wouldn’t want to go through life without him. We have our challenges, we’re not always kind to each other, and there are times when we can’t seem to communicate properly, but we are committed to a lifetime together. Even in the darkest of times, I know I would rather be with him than without him. Our journey together has taken us through some rough spots, and each time we survive, we emerge a little stronger than before.
When we said our vows, we didn’t promise each other a lifetime of bliss. We promised loyalty and love. We promised friendship and support. We promised the things we knew we could deliver, and then, when we can, we throw in the extras that make a marriage worth working at.
Today, I was reminded once again that when you marry someone, you also marry their family. I’m not only committed to Marcel, I’m committed to his family too. So how did we spend our anniversary? Well, in the morning, we spent it picking peas, beans, and corn in Marcel’s dad’s garden with most of the family. As he lay in his hospital bed, one of his first concerns was for his garden. To put his mind at ease, we took care of the garden before we visited him again. It’s what family does. I wouldn’t have it any other way. It turned out to be a great little moment of bonding and caring for him in the garden that is so dear to his heart.
And as I sat in the hospital room, I was reminded of why marriage is worth committing to. In a rare tender moment, Marcel’s mom reached over and brushed her husband’s cheek and then laid her hand on his arm. In the 16 years I’ve known them, I’ve almost never seen them show any sign of affection, and yet I know that their love runs deep. They have their problems, just like we all do, but when the road gets rough, they have each other.
In 32 years, I hope I can still reach up to brush the cheek of the man I love.
Perhaps while waiting for word from my husband who’s gone to the hospital to find out what the cardiologist has to say about the shortness of breath that brought his father there early this morning is not the best time to listen to a sappy song about losing your life partner (see lyrics below) – especially if it’s two days before the anniversary of the death of my own father. Perhaps I could have chosen another cd if I wanted to avoid tears.
And perhaps it would be easier to comfort Julie’s tears with an “everything will be alright” platitude if she didn’t already know the pain of losing a grandpa.
Perhaps everything will be alright and I’ll write a cheery post tomorrow about our wedding anniversary. Perhaps it’s just the universe’s sick idea of a joke that our anniversary seems to be clouded with sadness, even though the marriage it commemorates is a mostly-happy one.
Perhaps I should listen to the wise words of Ray in church this morning and just “be still and wait for God.”
Lest we forget,
your deeds as a younger man.
like how when you were nine,
you fell in love because she was the
first girl you’d seen throw a cricket ball.
You knew that you’d be together for the
rest of your lives.
Now you sit alone in the sun,
in the backyard, feeding the birds
reading the newspaper.
Thinking about the love
that you shouldnt have lost.
Love that you lost,
love that you shouldnt have lost.
When I was a child,
I didnt see her much.
She passed away before i was 5.
I was so young that it barely affected my life.
Then one day when i asked
you told me she was magnifacent.
all that i had was your word
and a photograph.
But that look in your eyes
told me all that I needed to know.
Love that you lost,
love that you shouldnt have lost.
– The Waifs
Earlier today, when I was sewing curtains for the bathroom, Maddie called me from across the room, “Mom, mom! Come help me get a puzzle down from the shelf!” Somewhat exasperated, I turned to her and waved in the general direction of the rest of the family. “Maddie, look.” I said. “There are three other people in this room tall enough to reach your puzzle. NONE of them are working right now. WHY do you insist on asking the ONE person who IS working to help you solve your problem?”
I don’t know about you, but some days I want to put a big sign on my forehead: “This mom will NOT be the solver of your problems today. Go find someone else to fix the dvd player, wipe your bum, reach the glass in the cupboard, help you find clean underwear, and find the bike helmet that YOU lost in the garage.”
Also today, Nikki and Julie started fighting (over what, I’m not sure, but I think it was about something as stupid as who had to help dad peel bananas for the milkshakes). As usual, each turned to their defence mechanism of choice – Nikki started hitting, and Julie, always the martyr, shrieked that Nikki had hurt her and then ran into her room and slammed the door. Being the cruel and heartless mother that I am, I started laughing. Fortunately, I was alone in the bathroom at the time and they didn’t hear me. There was just something about the predictable sameness of the moment that struck my funny bone. Perhaps it was a sardonic laugh – picturing myself in the middle of a Groundhog Day time-warp where the SAME fight gets played back over and over and over again.
Some days I want to wear this sign on my forehead: “Mom does not care if you tear each other’s eyes out. Go ahead and fight, but don’t come crying to me when there’s blood on the carpet. I will NOT settle your argument or choose sides in the battle.”
The truth is, sometimes parenthood is excruciating, exasperating, unrewarding, and downright painful. Earlier this week I read this article about a mother whose kids bore her, and it gave me a small amount of pleasure to know that sometimes other mothers find it hard to bear too. Now, before you toss arrows my way for taking sides with a woman who bribed her nanny to read bedtime stories to her kids, you HAVE to admit that at least SOME of what she says is true. Don’t you sometimes get bored with the endless needs, wants, and demands of your kids?
Reading the article reminded me of the mixture of pleasure and relief I got from reading the book “I’m Okay, You’re a Brat” that I found in the discount bin at my favourite bookstore. (I suspect it ended up there because most parents were ashamed to be seen buying a book that implied that their children weren’t perfect angels and they weren’t perfectly smitten parents ALL the time.) Just like the article, the book takes it a little over the top, but there’s some real truth to it, and, for a mother like me who often feels overwhelmed and somewhat guilty for the negative feelings she has about parenting, more than just a little comfort.
Yes, parenting is hard. And the thing is, we need to ADMIT that it sucks sometimes and that we don’t always feel completely in love with our children. We’re not doing each other (or our kids) any good if we act like the world revolves around our kids and there’s nothing we’d rather do than cater to their every whim. The writer of the article said she wrote it because she wanted to fight against the current trend of making the world a child-centred place (Something Gina has written eloquently about). The author probably took it a little further than she needed, but she’s not far off the mark about her reasons for doing it.
Sometimes, I’m a miserable failure as a mother. Sometimes parenting bores me to tears. Sometimes I want to lock them out of the house for the afternoon while I read a book. Sometimes I think I’d rather gouge my eyes out than play Candyland with my kids. Sometimes I’m glad I’m a working-away-from-home parent because I don’t have to fill their every need all day every day. Sometimes I think that parenting is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and the one thing that has the capacity to make me feel like a complete and utter failure. Sometimes I feel guilty for not being more kind to my kids. Sometimes I think my kids will be totally screwed up because I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing. There, I said it. That’s my truth and I’m willing to admit it.
The good thing is, that’s not my ONLY truth. There are other truths that balance those ones out. Like the fact that there are few things as breathtakingly beautiful as watching one of my children sleep. And the fact that the first time I heard the words “I love you” come out of my child’s mouth was one of the most perfect moments life has brought to this point. And the fact that watching one of my children try hard and then succeed is sometimes even more sweet than my own success. And the fact that dancing in the rain with three giggling girls is more fun than almost any adult party I’ve ever been to.
What am I trying to say? Well, there are a few things. First of all, I want to remember how important it is to tell the truth. For me, that’s one of the great things about blogging. I can throw my truth out there – even when it’s painful and makes me feel like crap – and someone will come by with words of comfort or wisdom or just plain acceptance and understanding. We have to do this for each other – to make each other feel less alone and more normal.
Secondly, I want to remember (and I want to remind all of you) that we do not have to be perfect parents, that our kids don’t have to be perfect angels, and that we don’t have to pretend either way. We can mess up and they can mess up, and the universe will not come to an end. Nobody will think less of you if you make a mistake now and then.
Thirdly, I’m writing this partly because all the talk of “mommy-bloggers” (with special clubs, special advertising targeted to them, etc.) on the internet has left me feeling a little confused. It’s not that I want to offend those who call themselves mommy-bloggers, or that I don’t understand the sense of community that has been formed by their common motherhood, but I just don’t think I could ever call myself a mommy-blogger. Oh, you’ll read lots of posts about my kids, and I’ll visit lots of other moms (and dads) who blog, but I just can’t define myself that way exclusively. Yes, I am a mom who blogs, but I am also a writer who blogs, a daughter who blogs, a wife who blogs, a cyclist who blogs, a Canadian who blogs, a thinker who blogs, a manager who blogs – and so many other things.
You see, I guess defining myself as “just a Mom” reminds me of the one thing that I most often fail at and that brings me my greatest sense of self-doubt and sometimes guilt. I need reminders that I am ALSO quite good at a lot of other things AND that my world doesn’t have to ONLY revolve around my kids.
And my fourth point is that as parents, we shouldn’t beat each other up quite so much. The woman who wrote about how her children bored her got thoroughly lambasted for it. (Here’s the follow-up article about the controversy it has caused.) Why? She’s just trying to be honest and let other parents know that they’re not alone when they feel like parenting is sucking the life out of them.
So there you go – I’m just trying to tell my truth. It may not be your truth – you may find parenting to be a consta
nt source of joy and fulfillment. I’m happy for you. Just please don’t beat me over the head if it’s not always joy for me.
Well, harvest gold it is, and harvest gold it shall remain. I’ve decided I’m not repainting the bathroom. And here are my reasons why not:
1. It’s starting to grow on me. Or at least I’m resigning myself to it.
2. Even Marcel agreed that it doesn’t look that bad – he can live with it. (He only had a small grimace on his face when he said it.)
3. Once I paint the cupboards and the trim white, and sew some blue and white striped curtains, it will look downright cheery.
4. I’m too lazy to repaint.
5. I don’t want to ruin the rest of my holidays with more painting. I like painting, but I can only take so much.
6. Harvest gold is all about bringing a little nature into the room. Who doesn’t want a little nature in their bathroom?
7. It will definitely wake us up in the morning.
8. If you sit on the toilet, squint your eyes, and let your mind wander, you can almost convince yourself it’s still the seventies, you’re a teenager, and your biggest worry is whether or not a boy flirted with you at school.
9. My other bathroom is perfectly lovely, and THAT’s the one you’d get to see if you visited my house anyway. Trust me, you’d like it, with its minty green walls and white fixtures. Maddie still goes in there, a year after it’s been redone, and says “hmmmm…this is a pretty bathroom.”
10. The toilet’s not so lonely anymore.
11. Haven’t you heard? Harvest gold is the new colour trend for 2007. As always, I’m one step ahead of fashion. Wanna know what shoes you should be wearing next season?
12. I could always cut a piece out of the orange and brown carpeting in the basement (the stuff that’s so ugly it looks like the seventies puked all over it) and replace the flooring in the bathroom! Then you’d swear you’d hit a time warp! It might be a fun little party game, after people have had too much to drink.
13. As darien suggests, I can always tone it down with a little white someday if I get really tired of it.
And that, my friends, is my “trying to make lemonade out of lemons” decision. Perhaps, once it’s done, I’ll share a picture and you’ll all wish you could hire me out as your personal decorator! Take a number. I’ll get back to you when I’m finished painting my kitchen Avocado Green.