A mixed bag

Today's is a two-part post. We travelled to Ontario today. The traveling itself had crappy enough moments to make me fear and dread my arrival; as is often (but not always) the case, the anticipation of said arrival was worse than the event, sort of.

Here is my in-the-moment take during traveling:

I feel absolutely alone in this experience, and yet I know others have been here before me and will also come after me. Being a solo, as opposed to single, parent is god-awful. I truly hate it sometimes. It makes me miss Willis, and lament my lot in life in a big way. I don’t give in much to boo-hoo-hoo, poor-me sentiments often, but sometimes, that self-pity is the only gentleness and compassion I can conjure up for my situation.

The specific situation is thus: I am currently on a plane, in the midst of traveling for 10 hours. My children are with me. I had about 1 hour of sleep last night. For many, a plane trip might present an opportunity to catch up on sleep, reading or writing. My children are almost-eight and four. They need activity, stimulation, companionship. Ten hours of watching video is not going to happen, nor should it. I brought a supply of new toys and activities and snacks, but boredom and mischief are setting in. I’m going somewhat mad with the effort of keeping these two children, with such different interests, from creating a ruckus on the plane.

I have, nominally, a traveling companion on this journey. Rob is here, too, with his 2 boys, aged 10 and 12. His boys have never flown before. The youngest was experiencing, as is normal for him, acute anxiety. We had anticipated this, and used medication and some desensitization to good effect, and he has done very well. Both of his boys are calm, occupied. One of the activities brought for Sam was a new DS game. Oliver also has a DS, but he doesn’t want to play right now.

I’d like to change seats with Rob for a bit, but neither he nor his kids are at all interested in that. Much as Rob loves my children, he has no interest in scraping them off the walls and ceiling at the moment (or at any time, really). He is older, his kids are older, he has done this before. When he did this age, though, he had a partner. Now, when he needs a break from his kids, he can count on them being with their mother 3 days a week. He used to get child-free time, but not so much since I came along.

I wish I had someone else who had equal responsibility for my kids. Sometimes, parenting them is just so overwhelming, and I long for a partner in the process. I kinda of have a partner, but in many ways, I do not. I chose this for myself; I had Sam as a single parent, so I feel I have little right to complain about this sorry situation. That said, my blog is my place to say whatever needs saying, and right now, in this moment, I’m saying that I wish the buck stopped somewhere else.

Soon, we will land, and a whole new set of circumstances will present themselves, rife with their own challenges. For instance, Rob and his kids are going to stay with his parents tonight, and my kids and I will with mine. My parents no longer even have an animal with whom I can commune when it gets tough. I may be here a lot this week. Wish me luck.

Then we landed. 

I met Rob's parents for the first time, and we all (me, Rob, the kids, my folks, his folks) headed to their house for a meal together. Their house is full of ornaments and treasures, lovingly displayed on a variety of surfaces throughout their home. I have a four-year-old who loves shiny, sparkly objects. O.M.G. Stress level looking astronomical here- what have I done to myself? Who's got my back?? Yargh! 

As I was trying to talk myself down on the plane, I came to the realization that in actual fact, my kids have my back. It goes kind of like this: I'm theirs- they're mine. This is absolute and unchanging. Even when Sydney screeches that I am a "bad mama", I know that my love is unconditional, and that, no matter what, we have each other. And I know that my kids have an extraordinary amount of wisdom in them (as do all children and animals, if we care to listen). I don't know all of the wisdom yet, and maybe I never will, but some parts of it are unassailable and oh-so-obvious in hindsight (and Robert Fulghum was right on it): love is an amazing force; joy can be found almost anywhere, anytime, in playing and listening to each other; laughter is infectious and tickling games create solidarity; when in doubt, a hug is never a bad idea.  

So, with this in mind, as the house became an increasing minefield, Syd and I went outside. There is a playground around the corner from Rob's old house, and we walked there and played enough to be able to come back in good humour, and enjoy the meal. We enjoyed our "new", extended, stitched-together family. We got a glimpse into Rob's childhood. It was good. Then it came time to leave. Again, really questioning why I thought it would be a good idea for my sweetie and I to be in separate houses. With whom would I get to unwind and review and replenish at the end of the day, with my guy and his kids at his parents' house? Okay, maybe I never thought it would be a good idea, exactly, but the best we could come up with at the time. 

So, off we go, with me imagining that my own "homecoming" with my kids (although we have done it many times before) would be tense, awkward, full of half-seen pitfalls. That my parents' house would be unfamiliar and uncomfortable and not home. Here's where the anticipation was so over-the-top, compared to the reality: 

My parents' house is home; it is familiar (we are, afterall, family), and it is lovely and welcoming. The house has been lovingly updated over the years, the garden is a garden-tour quality showpiece of barely-tamed wilderness, and I can hardly wait to show it off to Rob, his kids and his parents. I know there will be challenges ahead- my mother and I do the mother-daughter thing very well, but this home is a pretty decent place to call home, at least while I am away from my own home-on-the-hill.