by Heather Plett | Jun 6, 2008 | Uncategorized
We rush through the stages with the first one, excited for every new thing they do. By the time the third child comes around, it’s become old hat and, when we look back, we can barely remember when they cut their first tooth, when they learned to walk, or when they first said “mommy”.
Sometimes I’m caught off guard how much Maddie has developed while I was busy not paying enough attention. Today she was determined to cook me lunch. She had a little trouble with the can opener (note to self: buy a left-handed can opener if she continues to show an interest in cooking), but once it was opened, she emptied the soup into the pot, added the water, stirred it while it got hot, then ladeled it into my bowl. She also opened a can of juice concentrate, added water, stirred, and filled a glass for me. She was very proud to sit down with me and eat the meal she had prepared.
“Tomorrow, maybe I’ll cook you supper and you and Daddy can just sit and relax.”
Here’s hoping she’ll soon be cooking me the kind of meals Liz gets to enjoy when her kids cook!
by Heather Plett | Jun 4, 2008 | Uncategorized
Not that I necessarily thought she would have made the best president, but I’m a little disappointed we won’t see a woman leading the most powerful country in the world for at least another 4 years. Perhaps we can at least hope for the first person of colour. (We already had our first woman Prime Minister in Canada, but she didn’t last very long.)
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Speaking of woman in leadership, I wish it weren’t only the alpha females (the ones who seem to do the best at imitating the styles of their male counterparts) who rise to the highest positions of leadership. We need more women in leadership, but we need more variety in the leadership styles women bring with them too.
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Biking home from a soccer game last night, Nikki was in a particularly chatty mood (it helped that she won “player of the game” for the second time this season). “We’re studying the first world war in school right now. I told Madame I wished we would study the second world war instead, because that’s the one I know the most about. Like how Hitler killed 6 million Jews and blah, blah, blah (the details she spouts off don’t always stick in my less-detail-oriented brain). I was reading Grandpa’s history books the other night and…” That’s the detail that sticks in my brain because that’s the moment my eyes filled with tears as I had a mental picture of my dad delighting in a conversation about the war with his history-obsessed twelve-year-old granddaughter. He’d get that sideways smirk on his face and we’d all know how proud he was. I only wish it could happen.
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To the spammers who’ve taken over my in-box – I DO NOT WANT a blue sexy pill! I do not want it in the rain, I do not want it while in Spain. I do not want it with a mouse, I do not want it in my house. I DO NOT WANT it Sam I Am!
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The other night my sister and I went to a funky little downtown coffeehouse/art gallery to hear a musician who (whom?) I’d heard on the radio and was intrigued with. They had an open mike, so 4 different musicians got up to play, then they had an opening band, and then they had the two headliners. In all, we heard 7 talented musicians (almost as many musicians as there were audience members). A couple of them didn’t float my boat, but all of them were more talented than almost anyone you hear on pop radio these days (I have preteen girls and have to listen to WAY too much pop radio). It just doesn’t make sense that Britney Spears can make millions and these amazing musicians have to eek out a meagre existence playing hole-in-the-wall coffee houses. Where’s the justice?
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To the “competent” people at the “lovely” car dealership who have already “fixed” our blinking traction control light twice in a couple of months, charging us $340 each time and telling us it was two different sensors that both coincidentally broke within months and THEN having the nerve to tell us (the third time we brought the car in for the SAME blinking light less than a week later) that it was yet another “new” problem, but they would be SO generous as to give us 50% off the next repair job and only charge us $400 – DO YOU THINK WE’RE STUPID? Oh and the “free” oil change you so “generously” gave us when Marcel pointed out that you had very obviously charged us too much labour – can I watch you DRINK the oil instead? Just one more thing… about the “customer service” woman who argued with me on the phone and basically called me a liar, can you point out to her that her title means that she “serves the customer”? Maybe she needs a refresher.
by Heather Plett | Jun 1, 2008 | Uncategorized
Five and a half years have passed, and Marcel is finished University.
Fifteen years ago, I married a truck driver who was a high school drop-out. Now I’m married to a teacher with two degrees. I guess you CAN teach an old dog new tricks!
by Heather Plett | May 29, 2008 | Uncategorized
(I wrote this on Sunday night, but wasn’t ready to post it until now.)
I didn’t see it coming.
The weekend was full of celebrating. Little Jack had been born. He was healthy and strong. The tumour that had worried all of us since it was discovered on a 20 week ultrasound was disappearing almost before our eyes. The mark that was left seemed little more than a birthmark – a little anti-climactic after the months of tears and angst and unanswered questions that baffled even the doctors.
I was rejoicing to hold my new nephew. Rejoicing to see my sister welcome her son. Rejoicing to see my little niece so in love with her little brother. Rejoicing to see the family all return home to their own house.
I didn’t see the sadness coming.
It snuck up on me. The first twinges came as I watched my sister nursing her son on her couch in her home. I thought it was tiredness from watching a two-year-old for a few days, staying up too late to welcome the out-of-town family who’d come to rejoice with us, and living through the emotional roller-coaster as fear turned to hope which turned to joy.
The twinges grew when I climbed into the bathtub hours later. “I think I’ll have a hot bath,” I’d said. “I’m feeling a little tired and achy.” I thought it would be refreshing. I didn’t know that my body was trying to tell me to escape to a quiet place where I could entertain the feelings that were creeping up in me.
The first tears surprised me. “What’s this?” I wondered. “I’m supposed to be happy. My sister has a new son and he’s HEALTHY. It’s better news than we even dared hope for.” But then melancholy waved its hand in front of my face to get my attention. “Remember me?” it whispered. “Your old companion? It may be seven and a half years, and I may not visit very often anymore, but I’m still with you.”
Then deep and abiding sadness, my old friend, wrapped its familiar arms around me and I nestled in, letting the tears flow. Trying to resist the sting of guilt over what seemed like utter selfishness, I whispered my truth to the bathroom tiles. “My sister got to bring her son home, and I didn’t. The answer to her prayer was ‘yes’. Why did I have to live with a ‘no’?”
I climbed out of the tub and did the only thing I know how to do when sadness creeps in and consumes me – I went to visit my son. At his grave I sat and wept. I wept for the lost years, for the empty arms, for the milk-filled breasts that didn’t get to nurture my son. I wept for the lost potential, for the “what ifs”, for the “what age would he be now?”
As I wept, I recognized – and almost welcomed – the comfortable warmth of tears on my cheeks. These were not bitter tears – nor were they tears of jealousy. These tears were the healing reminders of what had grown to become a comfortable sadness. Adding to the mix this time were tears of joy for the little boy I’ll get the privilege of watching as he grows up – a little boy who bears the family genetics of both my husband and myself.
“Matthew, I miss you. I wish you could be here to meet your cousin.”
As I whispered my son’s name, I knew that I was rich beyond measure for the complicated sadness that had filled the hole his death left behind.
by Heather Plett | May 23, 2008 | Uncategorized
The lovely Abby fell asleep in the car on the way home from the hospital this morning, so instead of disturbing her sleep (since she’s had a fairly disruptive couple of days and needs some rest), I’m perched on a lawn chair near the car and trying to hold the laptop in just the right position to connect to the wireless internet.
It’s a lovely day today, in more ways than one. We’ve had too many cold, windy, dreary days lately, so this morning the warm sun is a welcome delight. And the sunshine mirrors our mood around here. It feels like just the right kind of “day after”.
I sat and held Jack for a long time this morning, and as I gazed into his peaceful sleeping face, I had to choke back tears. When you’ve longed for something so badly and you almost didn’t dare to hope for it, the blessing at the end of the darkness can almost overwhelm you. This family has known too many stories that didn’t end well, so we knew better than to casually assume “it wouldn’t happen to us”.
There are still many unknowns about Jack’s future, but I heard the doctor say this morning that “things have gone so much better than we might have expected” and those are words enough for me to hang onto this optimism.
Almost as good as seeking Jack look so beautifully normal is the sight of my sister looking like someone at peace.
Peace and hope are two of my favourite words today.
by Heather Plett | May 23, 2008 | Uncategorized
I have a new nephew named Jack. He’s beautiful. He has a full head of dark hair (not quite as dark as his sister’s, but still fairly dark.) In almost every way, he is so blessedly, beautifully normal. He cries like a newborn, nurses like a pro, makes little squeaking noises when he sleeps, wiggles and squirms – does all the things a newborn is supposed to do.
There is still no real news about the tumour (or whatever its technical name is) on his back, but the size of it is much smaller than I expected from having seen it on the ultrasound. And it doesn’t seem to be alarming the doctors too much, because for the most part, he is being treated like a healthy newborn, spending much of today in his mommy’s room, being passed from arm to loving arm of his mom, dad, sister, grandma, auntie, uncle, cousins, and friend.
Tomorrow some time, J-L will probably get a chance to post over at Jack’s blog, and you can hear about it from the proud daddy’s perspective, but as the proud auntie, let me just say that I feel so incredibly blessed today.
As I drove home from the hospital, I listened to Sara Groves sing “hope has a way of turning its face to you just when you least expect it”, and I wept, because after weeks of not knowing what today would bring, this feels alot like hope.
