Birth Day

Eight years ago today, I gave birth to my little boy.

When my water broke at 5 am on Friday morning, I was worried a bit about the timing. My BFF, Shannon, was arriving on Saturday morning from the other side of the country to help out and be with me. I was single, and she was going to be my labour support and take care of me and the new babe for a couple of weeks. I knew I would manage if the baby came before she did, but I wanted her there, and she wanted to be there, too.

True to form, being tardy and into dilly-dallying, I didn’t go into labour until after she arrived, 31 hours later. Fortunately my mid-wife was calm and experienced and was prepared to wait for me to get on with things in my own sweet time, so I did not need any medical intervention.

Once it got started, shortly after Shannon’s arrival, labour was fairly rapid. I was thankful to have both Shannon and Erik as my labour supporters, since they were able to assess how labour was progressing, be in contact with the mid-wife to keep her posted on my contractions, run interference with the phone and visitors. It was they who recognized me move into active labour/transition and called the mid-wife; by the time she arrived a very few minutes later, I was ready to push.

In fact, I was so ready to have the baby, that the midwife sent Erik to her van to get supplies while she called the back-up midwife (Come now!), her husband (I’ll be late for supper) and the hospital (they have to be notified so as to be on stand-by), and to continue to monitor me. As it turned out, I was a fast labourer, but a slow pusher- it took me 1.5 hours to work Sam around those bones...

Sam was born at 18:06, Saturday September 30th, 2000, needing a little whiff of oxygen to pink him up before settling in to nurse and snuggle. He weighed 3350g (3.35 kg or 7lbs 6oz, if memory serves). He was a bonny baby, who has been easy to raise and continues to be a real charmer, inside and out.

Happy birthday, Sam!

Painful

I went to a Gathering in memory of Bruce today. I cried. 

I know Diane's pain, and today I felt it a little, too. It has been 6 weeks or so since Bruce died, and 2 years since Willis left us. Today both losses felt raw. 

Some of the folks at the Gathering knew Willis. Some of the folks, like Diane and her son, understood my pain. 

Diane did well today- brave and tearless. But the look in her eyes... the ineffable pain, the awful truth and depth of loss and bewilderment and agony. I had to look away. I wonder whether other people see what her eyes say. I wonder whether they can stand to look into the depths of that pain.

Diane had brought Willis's memorial bench to the Gathering, for extra seating and to have him close. It felt very right to sit on that bench, with my kids. I think my old neighbours, who loved Willis too, had been sitting on it when we arrived. 

Life and death. Pain and joy. Love and loss. Each is meaningless without the other, I think.

Time

I have tried in recent weeks to operate from a position that time and time-keeping are an arbitrary human/western concoction, and that I am actually in tune with universal rhythms and that it is okay to be that way. Unfortunately, my attitude is not making me on time, nor is it currently helping me to be okay with being late. Problem is, I’m up against a pretty big societal more, and I need to meet some minimum requirements for timeliness, or deal with the consequences of tardiness. I guess that’s my goal: to be on time, when I need to be, or be okay with being late, and accept the consequences of a society that says it is not okay to be late. 

There are two circumstances where I have particular trouble with being okay with being late. These are Sam’s school drop-off and Sydney’s daycare pick-up. The rest, I am either okay with the consequences of being late, or I will deal with those situations later.

I hope that exploring the history, emotionality and psychology around my tardiness, in story form, may get me to some peace and possibly changed action behaviour, as well as changed thinking/feeling behaviour. Ready?

There is a girl-child in a meadow, exploring. She is perfectly content. Time is immaterial, because she is busy with the world around her. Birds and butterflies dance in the sunshine, flowers buzz and wave, the trees are telling stories. The colours are vibrant and welcoming. The meadow is warm and safe. All the animals passing by are friends, and many of them choose to stay and rest in her lap, or at her feet. This is a happy place and a happy time.

There are no interruptions or demands here. Hunger seldom intrudes, and tiredness is resolved by napping peacefully. Boredom is a long way off. Loneliness is an occasional visitor, and may signal a time to leave the meadow for a bit.

The world outside this meadow is not at all pretty. It is, in fact, downright ugly. There is anger and violence and noise and chaos. There is no time for exploring or questions or safety. Everything is rushed and threatening or indifferent. There is no room for caring; there is too much judgement and not enough compassion. Why would she ever want to leave the meadow and be in the noisy, dirty, gray place?

Clearly, she would not choose to leave the meadow very often. The sad reality is that children are not allowed to make all their own choices all the time; sometimes, choices are made for them. Sometimes, when the choices are made with compassion and grace and gentleness and presented without rancour and stridency, other people’s choices are not so bad, and leaving the meadow is ok. Especially if the meadow remains to visit another time.

Problem is, often, choices are made for children, for girl-child in particular, and these choices are not made gently and are not presented with compassion. Sometimes, girl-child is wrenched from the meadow, not by force, but with violence none-the-less. Sometimes, the consequences of refusing to leave the meadow, in a timely manner, under duress, are shattering.

It takes a lot of uninterrupted meadow time to make up from being wrenched from the meadow without permission, at someone else’s beck and call, without recognition that the meadow exists and is important.

The meadow is a special place, and girl-child has the right to be there. She needs to be there to refresh, grow, re-energize. Without the meadow, girl-child may die. Perhaps girl-child does die a little inside every time she leaves the meadow, without knowing whether she can come back, without knowing whether the meadow will even exist when she does come back.

The meadow is special; girl-child is special. Meadow time is special and necessary, and girl-child’s time there should be honoured. Not everyone is invited to have a meadow, and those that do should be honoured, not ridiculed, for having a meadow.

Girl-child should not be made to leave the meadow with the threat of violence, nor without permission or acknowledgement that she has been in the meadow and may need time to say good-bye to the meadow.

“I need you to finish up what you’re doing (even if it appears to be nothing), because I need us to leave/go somewhere/change activities in 5 minutes. I will not stand over you during that 5 minutes to insist that you stop your activity in my way. I will not hurt you if you do stop, nor will I hurt you if you don’t stop. I will try very hard to come to your level if you have not finished your activity in 5 minutes, and I will lower, not raise my voice, to help you change activities. If you need more than 5 minutes, I will try to be patient, and remember that I do not have all the answers and that my agenda is not the only one of importance in our relationship.”

Girl-child has the right to be. Girl-child is. I choose to honour girl-child for having a meadow. I will do my utmost to remember to leave the meadow gently, and to ask girl-child and her cohorts (offspring?) to leave the meadow gently. I will spend time in the meadow wisely. I will acknowledge to myself when I am in the meadow and I will feel the joy and the peace of the meadow. I will avoid living in a perpetual state of fighting to stay in the meadow without appreciating what it offers. When I do not remember to appreciate the meadow, and get lost in nothingness which is not refreshing, I will be gentle with myself. When I let myself BE, truly BE in the meadow, I will feel calm and refreshed afterwards. I will enjoy my time in the meadow. I will choose to spend time in the meadow. I will protect my time in the meadow, and I will remind myself not to squander time in the meadow. I will let writing and exercise stand for time in the meadow. I will come back to the meadow soon.

(YOU GO GIRL!)

Kids 'n' Critters, from home and away

• It's gooood to be home. 
  
• Rob and I have seen a counsellor to help us normalize life in a blended family.
  
• Even work is okay.
  
• I haven't actually talked to my mother since being home.
  
• The kids are getting along beautifully these days.
  
• We are over-run with eight-legged brethren.
  
• Back to school is good; morning "rush" hour, not so much.
  
• Life is good.
  

Rob and Oliver on the shore of Lake Ontario

Linus and a good-looking sandwich in Ottawa

Oliver and Sam at the War Museum in Hamilton

Sam and his cousin applying mud "masques" at the cottage

Sydney, thrilled beyond words with a pony ride at the "Ex"

It rained so much in the month before our arrival 

that my swimming hole was a rushing torrent

Loving her first roller coaster at the CNE

Egyptian artefact at the ROM

Pentax chillin' to tunes at home

Date night at the Lagoon- heron and geese

Not sure I love ALL creatures- 

this one is now safely outside instead of in the kids' bathroom sink

(several of his cousins have been rehomed, too)

A letter to a certain child

Dear Child,

You had it tough growing up. You really did. It is a testament to some real strength deep within you that you survived your childhood, and without resorting to drugs or other self-destructive behaviours. You did not escape childhood unscathed, though, did you?

I hear you. I wonder how many instances there were where you were belittled or criticized or judged and found inadequate? It still happens. It happens so frequently, that it is no longer possible to tell when it does not happen. The whole sum of the transactions are coloured in such a way that if there are positive transactions, you are not even aware of them.

When each transaction, even the innocent ones, contain a barb, perhaps not meant to injure, but nevertheless piercing and painful, it becomes very difficult to stay whole and sane, doesn’t it? You have done so well. I am so sorry that this has happened to you, and still happens to you. You are a lovely person and do not deserve ill-treatment.

Abuse is a funny thing, isn’t it? It may not look like abuse from the outside. It may not feel like abuse in the moment. But the accumulation of years of put-downs and jeering comments is truly devastating. I’m sorry you still have to be dealing with this. This is not fair, and is undeserved.

You are very special. “What has she done now?” is a question that does not reflect the reality of who you are. It reflects a perception of inadequacy which exists solidly because of the deficits of the questioner. Other people can see and do see and do love the good that is within you, without treating you as though you are the total sum of your habits, quirks, idiosyncrasies. Some people even love those things about you; in fact, many people love you because of those habits, quirks and idiosyncrasies. I am one of those people.

In fact, it is those characteristics which make you interesting and successful and YOU. Please believe that it is those character traits which come under the most attack that I love best in you. Sometimes these traits are challenging, even for you, but please do not allow yourself to be diminished because some other person says you are not good enough. No one else has the right to judge you or to bludgeon you into different behaviour.

If you are behaving badly, in some way, which does happen from time-to-time, please know that guidance and correction can be offered in a loving and supportive manner. When you are chastised for some behaviour, please believe that that chastisement, while hurtful, does not offer up a reflection of your worth as a person. Truly, you are a good person. Your entire goal in life seems to be to help people and to build them up. I so wish that you could be such a cheerleader for yourself, and that when you are such a cheerleader, that you could hear and believe in the messages you give yourself.

Let’s try. Put on your best calming, reassuring, loving voice. You are an amazing “whisperer”. Do it for yourself now.

• You are an exceptionally kind person. You would never intentionally hurt someone. When you do hurt someone unintentionally, you try so hard to make it right, as soon as you are able. 
  
• You are so honest. It is quite amazing to watch sometimes.
  
• You listen amazingly well. You hear so much more than is being said. 
  
• You care so much about people. You like people, and people like to be with you because of the way you make them feel.
  
• You always look for the good in any situation. You can find a positive attribute in the most dire of circumstances. Good for you!
  
• Do you see how well you communicate with animals? You know how to love and speak lovingly to them, and they hear that and respond. You do this with your family sometimes, too, and it always works well when you do.
  
• You are so willing to learn.
  
• You work so hard at being considerate.
  
• You are so playful.
  
• You are amazingly strong, and amazingly resilient.
  
• You wrote this for yourself and from yourself recently: “ 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.” There is so much wisdom in this. You are wise beyond what you give yourself credit for.
  
• You are often a truly amazing parent and spouse. You are always willing to work on becoming better, which is perhaps the more impressive attribute. Please give yourself credit for being willing to change and to grow.
  

2 years ago...

I'm thinking of you today, sweetie, and remembering and missing you. 

I have really loved you, ya know? 

I hope you are doing okay and are looking after yourself and our friends from the co-op

- they miss you too. 

The kids and I are well, but ... it's not the same without you. 

Please, be well. Know you are loved and remembered.

Willis Lloyd Staples

December 12, 1965 - August 24, 2006

Always something

Every time I tell my mother anything about my family, she has a comeback about how I should be raising my kids. She certainly thinks I should back off my step-kids and get my 4 year old daughter to grow up, emotionally. 

She is so critical and ready to find fault with me. I know she had a hard upbringing, and has had a lifetime full of emotional trauma herself, but I'd like her to find some other way to deal with it than tossing it my way. 

She thinks that whatever slights get handed to my kids at this stage are insignificant and that they are resilient enough to shrug off ill-treatment. If that was true, I would not be so screwed-up now (and neither would she, perhaps). I cannot let her get to my kids the way she got/gets to me- I simply can not and must not.

She was talking about guardianship of the kids in the event of both Rob's and my deaths; she thinks that she and my dad should have physical custody and that my brother and sister-in-law could be their back-up. She says the family/household rules would have to change, but that they would do okay, and at least they would be with family. 

I am horrified by this idea; enough so that I will choose a different executor/executrix for my will as soon as I get back to town (I have never and would never have my parents responsible for the custody of my children- shudder). 

My mother says that if she could have my kids for a week, she would have their fussy-eating, tantrums, whininess, tattle-telling and various other sins trained out of them, without once laying a hand on them. I have no real objectivity here, but I don't think my kids are that bad (nor are my step-kids, although I am, no doubt, harder on them than on my own kids).

I'm no disciplinarian, and I know I make mistakes with my parenting and step-parenting; I really hope I am making different mistakes with my own children than were made with me; and I really, fervently hope that my children will not be as damaged by their upbringing as I was by mine. 

I wonder whether we could stay at my brother's house for some of the time during our next visit. I know I would drive them nuts, but it might be safer than staying with my folks. That is such a sad thing to say.