by Heather Plett | Sep 1, 2006 | Uncategorized
I always think I’m not a very sappy mom. I almost feel a little guilty about it sometimes. I don’t get all choked up when the kids start school or have their first sleepover at a friend’s place. When our first baby moved out of our bedroom into her own room for the first time, it was Marcel who spent the night on the floor beside her crib, not me. When I go away on business trips, at least 5 times a year, people ask me “don’t you miss your kids like crazy?” And if I’m honest, I say, “not that much, really”. Oh, it’s not like I’m not happy to see them when I get home, or that I don’t think of them while I’m gone. But a few quiet nights in a hotel room by myself along with solitary evenings of eating out in nice restaurants (with my meals paid for) and wandering around a new city – really, it’s NOT a hardship. And I don’t pine for my children. I might feel a little sad when I miss an important event (like missing Nikki’s 10th birthday when I was in Africa) or I might feel guilty if they’re sick while I’m away, but I don’t miss them much. (Does that make me a bad mom?)
BUT… I think I’m getting sappier. Nikki’s going to a friend’s cabin for the long weekend and…well, I miss her already. I just phoned home to say goodbye before Marcel drops her off at her friend’s house, and, I’ll admit it, I wanted to hear at least a small hint in her voice that she was going to miss me. Nope. Nothing. Me, on the other hand – well, I got off the phone all choked up. Pathetic. Me – getting all blubbery. I suppose it has something to do with it being HER that will be away for three days instead of ME. It’s easier to be the nonchalant, not-missing-anyone person when you’re the one doing the gallavanting and having the adventures.
So, now I’m beginning to think that perhaps I’m just as sappy as nearly every other mother out there. I’ll probably wander around the house like a lost puppy when/if they go away to college or move out of the house.
by Heather Plett | Aug 31, 2006 | Uncategorized
I love to hang out with creative people who spend time entertaining their muses and polishing their craft. I love it when people I know have success in their art form or are recognized for their talent. I always hope that, by hanging out with them, some of their creativity and determination to pursue their art despite the many stumbling blocks that artists usually have to navigate rubs off on me.
I think it’s really REALLY important to support people in their art. I don’t always do it as much as I should, but now and then I do what I can. That is why, on this little blog, I am going to do my small part to support a friend who has excelled at her craft and deserves to be recognized for it.
I’m talking about Diane Poulin who has written a fascinating, well-crafted, keep-you-up-late-at-night book called No Safe House, and I’m proud to say I know her.
Several months ago, I went to the book launch for this book. Regretably, I didn’t get around to reading it until my holidays this summer (the pile of unread books beside my bed was just getting too high). To tell you the truth, the cover of the book didn’t really engage me. I’ll be honest – that’s probably the most disappointing thing about the book. And I’m sure Diane had little to do with it (writers rarely do). I find the cover of a book has A LOT to do with whether I’m attracted to it or not, but we all know that you can’t always judge a book by its cover. Case in point.
This book is DEFINITELY worth picking up. It is full of interesting characters (lots of them – but you never really get a sense that there are too many) who are all unique and human and have a touch of darkness somewhere inside them. It’s easy to be sympathetic to all of the characters, because each of them has a piece of you or someone familiar to you in their personality. There are no two dimensional characters or stereotypes. Each character is capable of surprising you.
Diane creates a really interesting backdrop – a fictitious neighbourhood in Winnipeg that could be almost any neighbourhood, yet has a unique and distinct character. There are secrets there, and people who aren’t quite who they appear to be on the surface.
I always know a good book when I’m disappointed when it ends because I want to stay with the characters a little longer. This is one of those books. You should read it.
Don’t just go to the library – BUY THIS BOOK! People like Diane should be able to quit their day jobs and write for a living. Save the money you would have spent on the latest book from Ms.-famous-writer-who-has-a-million-dollar-house-and-a-highly-paid-agent, and buy a book from someone who’s working hard to put out good art without the entourage or the fat advance cheques.
(Oh, and by the way, if you look it up on Amazon, don’t believe the review that’s there. Reviewers can be WRONG!)
by Heather Plett | Aug 29, 2006 | Uncategorized
Several of my most recent posts have been about friendships. I feel very blessed to have some amazing friendships (including you, my blog friends), and some possibilities for new and interesting ones. I could give you a bunch of clichés about how friends add richness to your life, blah, blah, blah, but I’ll spare you the agony of all of that. You can stop at any Hallmark store and read them for yourself. (I’m not very good at writing sappy sentimental stuff like that, which is why I’ve never written for Hallmark. Or Blue Mountain Arts. Or Chicken Soup for the Soul.)
In this time of friendship abundance, however, I’ve been thinking back to a time when I felt like I was in a friendship desert. I was lonely – like I’d forgotten how to make new friends and was all alone in a barren, friendless desert. Oh, I still had the support of my family, and could still muster up a decent conversation with a friendly acquaintance, but I didn’t have the time, the energy, the opportunity, or even the confidence to make new and lasting friendships.
Have you ever been in that kind of desert? I suspect it’s more common than we might admit. I think there are probably lots of lonely people out there who pass through our lives looking like they’re content and connected with lots of supportive people, but who go home alone and maybe even cry themselves to sleep now and then. (In fact, a friend told me about a radio report she’d heard once that said that 50% of people surveyed said they didn’t have a close friend to confide in. Wow. That’s sad.)
The time in my life when I felt the most lonely was shortly after our second child was born. It happened for a number of reasons. We’d had 2 babies in quick succession, and besides a six month maternity leave for each of them, I continued to work full time. I was completely exhausted and overwhelmed. Many of the friends I’d had before had either moved away or drifted away because they were still childless and therefore living in a different world. I didn’t have many opportunities to bond with other moms because I was either working or trying to muster enough energy to love and care for my kids. Marcel and I were working different hours (to reduce the amount of time our children were in childcare) so I spent most evenings alone with 2 small and fully dependent children. We were going to a church that was essentially just a place to show up on Sunday mornings and didn’t offer us any real community. We’d moved into a new “neighbourhood” (and I use the term very loosely) which consisted of a short street jammed between 2 major thoroughfares, and there were no other young families on our short street (we’ve since moved). Plus I’d become a manager at work, and when you’re in management it’s tougher to make lasting friendships because people don’t feel comfortable getting too close to you. It didn’t help matters much that most of my fellow managers were men who were nice enough but were a fair bit older than me and didn’t have a whole lot in common with me.
So there you have it, a heap of reasons to be lonely. And I was wallowing in it. I remember nights I’d cry myself to sleep after the children were finally sleeping. I remember fighting tears at the playground when other mothers were there hanging out together and I was alone. I remember feeling always on the edge of the conversations in the lunch room because I was management and therefore had to be held at arms’ length. I remember the nights I could go out (when Marcel was home and able to watch the kids) but I couldn’t think of anyone to go out with. I remember wondering if I’d lost all capacity for making friendships – if perhaps motherhood had sapped that out of me and I would have to get used to this new lonely reality. I remember meeting interesting people and dreaming of building a relationship with them, but knowing I didn’t have the time or the energy to start anything.
I’m getting a lump in my throat as I type this. It makes me wish I could reach back into the past and comfort the woman I was then. I wish I could offer her some hope that it does and will get better. I wish I could send her the “ghost of Christmas future” to conjure up an image of what’s ahead and let her know that she’ll get through and she didn’t really lose the capacity for friendship. I wish blogs had been invented back then so that I could at least direct her to a virtual community where she’d get some validation and support.
Sometimes I see new mothers (or I stumble across their blogs), who look like they’re going through the same desert I did. One memory is particularly burned into my memory. When I was in the hospital six years ago, my friend and I saw a young woman leaving the hospital with her brand new baby, and she had no family or friends who’d come to the hospital to take her home. She climbed into a cab with the baby (and very little else – no one had brought her any baby gifts at the hospital), looking like a scared rabbit, completely overwhelmed with her new life and no-one there to support her. I can still get choked up when I conjure up that memory. I wonder whatever became of her.
Now that I’m at a more comfortable, relaxed period in my life, with kids who demand less of my energy, a job that I enjoy and that doesn’t overwhelm me, lots of friends and family who support me, I feel like I should start to reach out a little more to those overwhelmed mothers (or other lonely people) who don’t have any real friendships. I’m not sure what that looks like, since I still don’t have a lot of time on my hands, but I think I need to figure it out. Perhaps a mother-mentoring thing might be a good start. I remember asking a more mature mother (when I was a new mom) if she would consider mentoring me a little and at least offering me helpful advice/support when I felt lost and alone. She looked at me like I was nuts and said “by that you’re suggesting that I’ve actually figured this motherhood thing out along the way.” Now that I’ve been a mom for 10 years, I completely get what she was saying (‘cause I still don’t think I know what I’m doing), but at the same time I hate to watch people floundering alone like I was doing.
This is not a post to say I’ve reached any grand conclusions about how I can “give back” – I’m just thinking out loud. I do believe that in our consumer-driven, every-man/woman-for-him/herself culture, we often forget the value of support and friendship and therefore there are way too many lonely people among us. I also believe that we have a duty/calling to make a difference.
If you have any insight about how a person can contribute to changing this for at least one or two people, or if you have your own stories of loneliness, leave me a comment. Maybe we can start a conversation on the topic. Because as much as we often feel like we have to hide how lonely we are for fear of revealing some sign of weakness on our part, sometimes the best way to begin to get past it is to admit it and reach out.
by Heather Plett | Aug 26, 2006 | Uncategorized
An invitation to a birthday party seems to be a rite of passage in our culture these days. This morning, Maddie is off to her first. For years now, she’s watched her sisters head off to various parties and she has dreamed of the day that it would be her turn. Today it was her turn. She’s talked about it all week and was more than just a little excited. This morning, her sisters helped her get ready – one of them helped her tie the bow on her shirt, the other helped write out the card. I wish you could see her new sneakers on this picture – she’s SO proud of them. Pink faux-converse. Too cute.
Julie is itching to become a driver. She drives every chance she gets. She’s learned to drive her Pépère’s (that’s French for grandfather) lawn tractor, and sat on my lap last week as she drove our car around Marcel’s parents’ yard. Yesterday we went to Thunder Rapids and she lived out a little part of her dream by driving a go-cart like a little speed-demon.
Nothing makes me realize how muck Nikki is growing up like watching her take responsibility for her little cousin. She dotes over her every chance she gets and handles her like an old pro. She’s always been so responsible. I remember when Maddie was learning to crawl – she often kept a closer eye on her than I did. And now she’s doing the same thing for little Abigail. Last night, she got to feed her carrots.
The pieces of my children’s lives are passing before me like a fast-paced movie on the big screen. Sometimes I wish I could grab the remote control and hit re-wind so I can re-live some of the really good parts. If not re-wind, then I’d at least hold the pause button down now and then to keep them from passing into the next stage quite so quickly. The growing up and the growing away hurts sometimes.
At the same time, I get such a rush when I look at them and realize the incredible people they are growing up to be. Yesterday was one of those days as we mini-golfed and drove go-carts and bumper boats. As much as I loved their baby-hood, I’m also loving their budding independence when I can sit on the sidelines a little more and watch them grow and become.
How did I get so lucky?
by Heather Plett | Aug 25, 2006 | Uncategorized
Shortly after writing that post about my husband’s cooking, I went to pick up some printing, and ran into an old friend I haven’t seen in quite awhile. Turns out she’s trying to put together the pieces of her life after a hellish year. There can be nothing fun about being forced to move your fifty year old husband into a nursing home because of his rapid decline due to MS. And that was only after she’d struggled to care for him at home while trying to keep herself sane. After too many days of having to run home from work to help him off the floor where he had fallen, she had no other choice.
She describes herself as a married widow. Not only can her husband no longer cook her the kind of meals I’ve been treated to, he can’t even keep her company in her lonely house. He can’t go for walks with her, can’t travel, can’t curl up on the couch with his arm wrapped around her, can’t go to movies, and can’t please her the way he used to (and this is someone who used to brag about her sex life).
This friend is one of the most vivacious, fun-loving people I know. There is something incredibly unfair about the way her life turned out. Too unfair for words.
by Heather Plett | Aug 24, 2006 | Uncategorized
When you sit down to a meal of grilled chicken skewers and curried rice with roasted almonds, apricots and apples, it’s only right that you should bow your head and thank God for a husband who can cook like that!
Aren’t you jealous?
