by Heather Plett | Mar 17, 2005 | Uncategorized
Julie doesn’t have to get another filling. That’s a relief. That poor girl has been cursed with more cavities and subsequent fillings in her short life than I’ve had in my much longer life. The dentist didn’t bother filling this one because it’s about to fall out anyway. I hope her “adult” teeth are a little stronger than her baby ones have been.
For some reason I can’t explain, there are few things that make me feel more like a failure as a parent than a child’s visit to the dentist. ESPECIALLY when their teeth are rotting away. I know I’m being paranoid, but every time the dentist looks in her mouth and finds more cavities, I just feel so JUDGED. Surely I’m a horrible parent if I let them eat too much sugar and don’t teach them good dental hygiene. And when she sits there, trying so hard to be brave and fighting back the tears as the dentist gives her a needle in her little mouth, I want to cry too. Couldn’t I have done SOMETHING to help her avoid this pain?
Fortunately, this time Marcel took her to the dentist, and I didn’t have to suffer the humiliation. But yet again I vow to work on improving their dental hygiene – a vow that will probably last as long as it takes me to type this post.
by Heather Plett | Mar 16, 2005 | Uncategorized
I forget sometimes how lucky I am…
1. He cooks supper almost every night. I climb off the bus, walk down the street, walk in the door, and there he is, greeting me, with the smell of supper wafting from the stove behind him. There’s almost always a towel tossed nonchalantly over his shoulder. It’s kinda cute. When I walk in the door, he hollers into the basement “Girls! Supper’s ready and Mom’s home!” How much better does it get than THAT?
2. He likes to tell me how smart I am. REALLY, what woman wouldn’t like THAT?
3. After nearly 12 years of marriage, he’s FINALLY figuring out how to give decent back-rubs, ’cause he knows how much I love them. (He’s not stupid – he knows what I’m willing to do after a good back rub. Ya gotta forgive him, though, for having alterior motives 🙂
4. He’s so nice to my mom. Even nicer than I am. He fixes her car, shovels her parking spot, hangs things in her apartment for her, fixes her computer, you name it. He likes being nice to her. He even invites her over for supper now and then – entirely on his own initiative.
5. He forgives me when I go away for three weeks and leave him with ALL the responsibilities. And then when I get home, he keeps right on cooking and cleaning and doesn’t expect me to make up for lost time.
6. Even though some of my crazy ideas make him cringe, he’s developed enough patience over the years to sit back and let me run with them without stopping me in my tracks. He gives me funny looks when I tell him how I’m going to decorate and I try to describe what it’s going to look like. He never gets it, but he still says “go for it”.
7. He still makes me laugh, after all these years. He’s got a goofy, perverted sense of humour. Yes, sometimes I roll my eyes when him and his brother get going, but most of the time, I laugh out loud.
8. He’s so darn smart. And brave too. How many men would risk so much and quit work when they’re nearly 40 to go to University? And THEN, after 22 years away from school, pull off A’s and B’s? He’s my hero.
9. He’s a awesome dad. He’s so interested in his kids lives. He pays attention and he gets involved. He’s the one who books the dentist appointments, volunteers for hot lunch day at school, packs their lunches, coaches their soccer team, sings U2 with them, helps with their homework, you name it.
10. He knows how to please me, if you know what I mean. Enough said.
11. Even though a part of him is resistant to change, he lets himself be more and more open to new things. He’s followed me into alot of new adventures – some stuff he vowed he’d never do – because he loves me and wants me to be happy. And he’s learning to like change himself. He’s so much more adventurous than when we first met. I’m proud of him for that. Some people never grow that much.
12. I love to hear him sing. He does a great air-band with his kids.
13. He knows WAY more about politics than I do, but he lets me act like I’m smart, now and then.
14. He’s good at showing me when he’s proud of me. Hearing him brag about my writing or public speaking makes me feel invincible. I like having him in my corner.
15. When I show him this list, he won’t know how to react, ’cause he doesn’t know how to take compliments. He’ll probably make some kind of joke about sex – that’s usually his fall-back position when he’s a little uncomfortable with something. (But at least I’ll probably get a back-rub when I get home.) He’s so darn cute!
Sorry, he’s already taken. He’s MINE! You can just go find your own husband and hope he’s half as good as mine.
by Heather Plett | Mar 15, 2005 | Uncategorized
“Hello, hello. There’s a pace vall vertigo.”
You haven’t LIVED until you’ve seen Maddie sing U2. You may THINK you’ve lived. You may even think you’ve seen other 2 year olds sing cute songs so you don’t need to, but you would be wrong. There is nothing cuter than seeing her screw up her little face like a 2 year old Bono impersonator, with an all-too-serious expression on her face, and her lips stretching around the word “vertigo”. Nothing, you hear me – NOTHING cuter.
So go ahead, go back to your boring lives and dream about the day when you too will get a chance to see my daughter’s Bono impression.
My second favourite “Why’d ya have to go and make things so compicated? See the way you’re acting…(at this point it disintegrates into a serious of unrecognizable syllables)… gets me fustrated.” And at the word “fustrated” her face shows what looks suspiciously like 2 year old frustration, or perhaps a need to visit the potty.
by Heather Plett | Mar 14, 2005 | Uncategorized
It still doesn’t seem fair. It doesn’t seem fair that my kids won’t hear him make strange cat-like noises when he’s lying on the couch on the edges of sleep but still trying to interact with his grandchildren. It doesn’t seem fair that they’ll grow up and not remember how much joy they brought to his life. It doesn’t seem fair that he won’t give them any more pony rides. It doesn’t seem fair that “Red Bowler” and “Lucky Swimmer” won’t be heard from his lips anymore.
It doesn’t seem fair that other children still get to sit on their Grandpa’s knees. It was at the baby dedication on Saturday that the unfairness hit me once again. Jo’s dad got up to read a poem – “Grandpa Grumps” – about how delightful it is to become a Grandpa. Of course, my eyes turned into watering holes as they still have a tendency of doing when I remember that he’s gone. I miss him for MY sake, but I think I miss him even more for my KIDS’ sake. At least my memories of him are well formed and will always be with me. Their memories of him are already fading. They won’t get to know how wise he was, or get a chance to have an adult perception of him.
While the poem was being read, and my eyes were filling with tears, I looked back to see if I could catch Cynthia’s eyes. I was sure her eyes were welling up too. It’s even more unfair for her. She’ll bring a baby (or two or three) into the world, and won’t even get to see her baby in his arms. She won’t get to see the grin on his face or the sparkle in his eye. Her child won’t get a Grandpa nick-name.
It’s just not fair. Grandpas are supposed to live forever.
by Heather Plett | Mar 11, 2005 | Uncategorized
Today is D Day. I’m not sure what the D stands for in this context, but it has that certain ring to it – a monumental day that you’ve been building up to.
Maybe I should call it P Day. It’s the day I meet Paul, my Mom’s new boyfriend. Everyone else in the family met him while I was wandering around Africa, and all I had to go on were their brief descriptions of him on the e-mails I picked up in internet cafĂ©s. Now I get to meet him myself, form my own opinions, and then somehow prepare myself for Mom’s expectation that I tell her what I think of him.
It feels like a little too much pressure being the ONLY one who has yet to make his acquaintance. I’m having mini panic attacks thinking about it. This is probably the man my Mother will spend the rest of her life with. Yes, it’s true, they’d only spent a few days together and were talking about marriage already. How’s THAT for a heavy message to get when you’re in Africa thinking more about whether you’re getting a sunburn than about the realities of home and family?
So far, everyone has described him as fairly likeable and, in the words of my eldest brother (the man of a few words) “he’s a nice enough guy”. I have this fear that when he walks into the house, the pressure will get to me and I’ll clam up and not be able to say a word in his presence. Or worse yet, the opposite will happen and I’ll talk a blue streak out of nervousness.
It’s all fine and good that Mom should find another man – someone to bring her happiness and companionship. But no one can prepare you for the day it happens. As far as I know, they don’t write self help books for adults whose parents start dating when the other parent dies. Part of me feels like a little kid – “Hey, get away from my mom! She’s MINE and you can’t share her!” Part of me feels like a Mother to my own Mother – “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? I mean, after all, we really don’t know very much about this young man. Are you sure his intentions are honourable?” Yup, I’m schizophrenic. (But at least I have each other.)
And next week, they’re off to Minneapolis to meet one of HIS daughters. Mom could soon have 4 step-children, and a whole whack of step-grandchildren. I’m a little sad for my kids as well – that they may have to share their grandma with too many other kids. Now that she’s become a more regular presence in their lives, I don’t want that to change.
Aaaahhh! Yes, I’m resisting change and I wanna stomp my foot like a 2 year old!
by Heather Plett | Mar 9, 2005 | Uncategorized
They want me to be an elder. Someone at church actually thinks I’m grown up enough to be called an “elder”. The thought makes me quake in my boots for more than one reason: 1) I’m too YOUNG! I haven’t even successfully figured out how to be a full-fledged ADULT yet – how in the name of all that is grown up in the world could I possibly be an ELDER? 2) At this point in my life, my faith feels WAY too shaky to take on the role of someone who’s supposed to be a leader, a mentor, a role model, and a spiritual advisor.
It’s the second point that gives me the most trouble. A few weeks ago, while I stood staring at all those Christian books of seemingly great yet unattainable wisdom, my faith came tumbling down around me like the proverbial house of cards. I wasn’t expecting it to topple like that, so I was rather surprised to see it lying there on the floor. I guess I was still attached to it, though, because I couldn’t quite leave it behind in that bookstore. It stuck to my shoes, and I’ve been dragging it around ever since, kicking it now and then to make sure it’s still alive. Sadly, though, I haven’t managed to rebuild or revive it yet.
I thought it might reappear in Africa. I thought I might find reason to pump some air into it – either when I needed something to help me cope with the hardships in the drought-stricken and AIDS-afflicted villages, or when I wanted someone to thank for the beauty of the Serengetti (it WAS pretty awesome!). Unfortunately, it didn’t happen. In fact, the opposite happened – what little life was left in it got trampled by the anger and frustration I felt for what the church has done in Africa, and what it’s doing in Canada to our young people. It was at a church service, in fact, that my faith took the most severe blow.
It wasn’t an ordinary church service. Our group held its own little church service in the open-air bar of the safari lodge we were staying at just outside the Serengetti and the NgoroNgoro Crater. First of all, the mini-sermon was delivered by Solomon, a Kenyan lay minister who was travelling with us on part of our trip. The theme of his talk was how God will provide everything we ask for. He spoke with conviction about how God would provide EVERYTHING – a good wife, a good home, good children, etc. – if only we ask him for it and are faithful. It made me feel a little sick. In other words, us rich Canadians sitting around the circle were better at ASKING because God was blessing us more? Dan challenged him and asked what about the person dying of AIDS? Solomon said (again with conviction) that if the person with AIDS repented, then God could still bless him and he could be healed. In other words, AIDS was directly related to sin in a person’s life. No WONDER so many people are afraid to admit they have AIDS and it keeps spreading further and further if people will shun them for sinning.
I felt my anger boil inside me as I listened to Solomon talk. I wasn’t angry AT him, I was angry FOR him. I was angry that the missionaries who’d brought their tainted religion to his village had taught him lies and half-truths. They’ve painted a picture of a judgemental, unjust God who blesses white people more than Africans. They’ve painted a picture of a God who has to fit into a box created by western religion. They’ve taken SO much from the African people. Church and faith have to be this stifling experience just because that’s the way church happens in Europe or North America. Blech!
My anger extended from their to the young people in our group. What really frustrated me was Rachel’s (the 19 year old) concern that she couldn’t sing the song that moved her most because she was afraid it wasn’t “religious” enough. I told her ahead of time that I didn’t think she had to worry too much about religion. I was glad when she decided to sing the song she originally wanted to, but it saddened me that young people feel they have to mold into our idea of church to fit into “religion”. What does that have to do with GOD?
Oh yeah – there was a third thing at the service that ticked me off. Someone had decided we should have communion. While I didn’t have much trouble with that in principle, it DID bother me because I knew we had at least one person in the group who didn’t have a faith in the same version of God as the rest of the group and wouldn’t be comfortable with taking communion. It felt horribly exclusive to pass the bread around the circle and have only one person refrain from accepting it, so in silent solidarity, I let it pass me by as well.
So here I am – not sure anymore how I define God and what kind of relationship I want to have with him. I know my anger is directed at the CHURCH and not at God, but I’m still having a little trouble separating the two. And next week, they want me to sit in front of the leadership of the church and tell them why I should or shouldn’t be an elder. First I have to figure out why I should or shouldn’t be a Christian.
