Kissing cousins
Waiting for Peanut to arrive!
She didn’t MEAN to be racist!
Maddie was playing in the front yard when I heard her shout, excitedly, “Mom LOOK! There’s Africa people!” And then, because she thought I couldn’t hear her from where I stood inside the kitchen, she shouted a little louder, “MOM, LOOK! THERE’S AFRICA PEOPLE!”
I’m sure the African family crossing the street at the time thought my little blonde-haired blue-eyed girl was expressing deep-rooted, family-inherited racism, but really she wasn’t. She was just SO excited to see some people who looked like, and dressed like the people in the pictures I brought home from Africa. Remember, this is the little girl who believes that EVERYONE should and will be her friend, and the thought of a whole CONTINENT full of people she hasn’t met yet just fills her with glee. She especially wants to learn to dance like the Africans on the video I brought home.
Some day, I want to take my little blonde-haired blue-eyed girl to Africa so she can make a few more friends. In the meantime, we’ll keep our eyes open for the African family who live in the co-op across the street and maybe take the time to say hello. And perhaps offer an explanation/apology. 🙂
Ten years
Tonight we celebrated Marcel’s sister’s tenth anniversary. At his parents’ house at supper, we talked about the wedding ten years ago. The wedding reception took place in a tent in the front yard. It was a lovely day. Everyone was happy. Well, almost everyone.
My memory of that day brings knots to my stomach and a lump to my throat. My memory of that day is…darkness.
That was in the middle of Marcel’s deep dark depression. I remember him sitting on a chair at the wedding, slumped over, no light in his eyes, and no joy in his face. It was scary as hell seeing him that way. He’s one of the funniest people I know, and without his sense of humour, he was just a shell of himself. He was in a deep dark pit he couldn’t pull himself out of, and there was so little I could do to help.
We tried to get help, but weren’t very successful. So few people around us at the time had any experience dealing with depression, so we didn’t really know where to turn. In the middle of it all, I did so many things wrong. I was just trying to cope. We all were. I got mad, I cried, I told him to snap out of it, I took him to doctors, I tried to appeal to his guilt – I’m sure I tried every trick in the book. If you asked me now how to help someone going through depression, I wouldn’t be able to tell you, because I know I didn’t do it right.
After weeks of darkness, a few weeks after the wedding, he gave up hope. He disappeared, and I was sure I’d lost him. He drove to a quiet place and, with a knife he’d taken from our kitchen, tried to end it all.
Thank God, his attempts at suicide failed. When he woke up and found himself still alive, he decided God must have wanted him to stay alive, so he got himself to a hospital. All the while, not knowing where he was for over 12 hours, I waited, I cried, I screamed, I drove around like a mad-woman looking for him, and I longed for just one more chance to let him know I loved him.
Through hours of surgery, we waited – his family and some of mine. In the morning, the doctors told us he would live. I was relieved, but I just didn’t know what that would mean. Even if he was still alive, what if he decided to try again? What if he wasn’t convinced life was worth it? What if we’d have to face this all over again a few months down the line?
Slowly, though, he began to recover. He got help and learned more about this disease of his. He confronted some of the skeletons in his closet, and figured out how to face them without fear. His doctor prescribed medication, and soon the light began to sparkle in his eyes again.
Four months later, Nikki was born, and fatherhood transformed him. He set about to be the most amazing dad he could be.
It’s hard to believe it’s been ten years already. At the time, I really didn’t know how our marriage would survive such a bumpy road. But we stuck it out, clung to each other, and found our way out of the darkness together. Now we’re stronger for it.
Now, ten years later, I have so much admiration for Marcel. He has shown so much bravery in turning his life around. He has faced so many fears and come out the victor. One of the greatest challenges he faced was quitting his job after being in the workforce for 22 years, and heading off to university for the first time in his life. Not everyone will take such a risk late in their thirties. He has learned to cope with anxiety and depression and he has found ways of helping others cope.
He’s my hero. I can’t imagine life without him. I can’t imagine never laughing with him again. I can’t imagine not watching our children grow up together. I can’t imagine sleeping without the warmth of his body next to mine. I can’t imagine not hearing him call me “Buddy”. I can’t imagine how I could have gone on living if he hadn’t survived.
Clawing my way out from under
Sometimes I have nightmares of being buried alive. It’s the scariest way I can imagine dying. I remember, as a child on the farm, hearing of people getting buried in granaries – they died trying to claw their way to the top as the ground kept giving way beneath them and the grain kept pouring down on top of them.
That’s how housework feels sometimes – like you’re getting buried while trying to claw your way to the top. You just get the laundry done, put the last pair of socks in the drawer, sigh with relief, and then turn to see that the hampers are mysteriously full again. Did they wear THREE outfits today while I slaved over their laundry? Dishes – the same way. You wash the last glass, drain the sink, and someone walks into the kitchen with a dirty cup.
Today was one of those days. I worked and worked, and in the end it seems I have nothing to show for it. At 10:00 this morning, the living room was clean. Now there are blocks strewn all over the floor, the couch cushions are pulled off the cushions, Tickle-me Elmo lies there waiting to be tickled, and the books, newspapers – well, you get the picture.
Same with laundry. I got it ALL put away this week – a considerable feat for me. The very next day, the girls started complaining about running out of clean underwear. I wanted to cry. That’s one of those things that nobody prepared me for – how much laundry takes over your life when there are five people in the house.
Marcel spent a good part of the day cleaning out the garage – trying to get ready for winter when the car takes back its rightful place in the garage, and the bikes are relegated to their hooks on the ceiling. Same thing there – everything is in order, but by tomorrow, there will be things strewn about again.
We have gotten rid of trailers full of clutter in this house in the last few weeks. We have cleaned and purged and cleaned and purged some more. Clothes, toys, shoes – even some kitchen items. Probably at least 25 bags or boxes of stuff have been carried away. Every closet and every dresser in every bedroom has been purged of stuff that never gets worn or doesn’t fit anymore. And yet, you’d never know it. While we made trips to Goodwill, it seems the stuff left behind threw a party and invited more clutter to fill the empty spaces we’d created. It’s multiplying!
Today I even went as far as hauling 2 boxes of books to a charity drop box. Books! They don’t leave this house easily, believe me. But sadly, though it took me considerable hemming and hawing to commit to giving away those books, all that work resulted in clearing only enough space to fit all the books that didn’t have room in the bookshelves before. In other words, as soon as we buy another book, it will have to sit on top of the bookshelf and cause more clutter again until we purge more to make room for it. Or buy more bookshelves. Sheesh!
Oh, I know, it’s probably not as bad as it seems. Yes, I do realize that things are getting better, and at least it’s a little easier to put away the laundry now that the dresser drawers are a little more empty. But somehow, it still finds a way of spilling out and cluttering up our spaces.
Some day, I just want to clean up this house, and then look around 24 hours later and notice that it is STILL CLEAN!
Perhaps I shouldn’t wish for that too soon, though, because that will mean that my kids have grown up and moved away to their own homes. I guess I’ll just have to grit my teeth, forgive them their messes, and appreciate the richness they bring to my life. If only their richness didn’t come with so much STUFF!
Don’t ya sometimes wish life were a film strip…
…and you could just rewind it by 5 minutes and re-create the scene with a more desirable outcome?
I had one of those moments last night, and another one tonight.
Last night it was while I was preparing supper. Maddie was “helping” me, and she had a little pin from Banff attached to her shirt. Something someone had found and pinned on her. In the same split second I heard something fall on the floor, I glanced over at her and realized the pin was no longer there. In the next split second, I felt seering pain shoot up my leg, and I knew where the pin had landed – the exact same place I decided to put my bare foot. Youch! I screamed, and Maddie went shrieking downstairs – “Mommy’s bleeding! Mommy’s bleeding!” Her sisters ran upstairs to see the freak show, and I sat on the floor clutching my foot.
It was at that moment I realized the advantage of being a kid. If I HAD been a kid, I could have cried it off, someone would have comforted me and put a bandaid on it, and I could have rested on the couch. But because I happen to be the PARENT instead of the kid, I had to wince through the pain, and go back to preparing supper. Kids have to eat, after all. I suppose I should be happy that at least Dr. Maddie went rushing off to get me a bandaid 🙂 But I had to put away the bandaid box after she lost interest in playing paramedic.
Tonight’s filmstrip moment also took place in the kitchen, but didn’t involve pain. Or at least not “literal” pain. Tonight, while the kids were getting ready for bed, I opened the fridge to put something away. I glanced down at the bottom shelf of the fridge and realized the chocolate milk jug was missing its lid. When I grabbed the milk jug to replace the lid, I heard the sound of pouring liquid. Turns out the lemonade jug, which was ALSO missing its lid, had been leaning on the milk jug. Oops. BIG oops. Can you imagine my joy at the prospect of cleaning a pitcher full of lemonade out of my fridge?
On the up-side (if there really IS an up-side) my fridge is now clean. Yes, it needed cleaning anyway, but I really didn’t plan on doing it TONIGHT!
So now I’m sitting here with my foot propped up on the desk – not only is it still sore from last night’s episode, but now it’s also WET from tonight’s episode. Poor abused foot.
Conversation with Maddie in the bathtub
Maddie: Mom, look at your boobies. (Touches my breasts.)
Me: Maddie, please don’t play with my boobies.
Maddie: I ALWAYS play with MY boobies Mom. But look Mom – mine don’t fall off. (Bends over at the waste and tries to get her boobs to swing.) Mine don’t fall off like yours do.
Okay, so perhaps God didn’t bless me with the perkiest boobs in the planet, but they don’t exactly FALL OFF when I bend at the waste!