Birthday Girl

Today was my Sydney’s 4th birthday. We had a party for her, and 3 of her friends from daycare came. Unbelievably, we failed to have a camera between the adults, although cell phones did eventually make an appearance. Four 4-year-old girls make for an interesting “party”. There were plenty of tears, including Sydney’s and those of the girl sitting beside her while we were singing happy birthday; it was classic. I am so thrilled to have Sydney in my life. She is funny, bright, feisty, independent, cute… There is, however, nothing like the birthday of a child whose parent has died to make one contemplative.

There is a bittersweet-ness now to my girl’s birthday. There is a pensive tone to her birth story, now that her daddy is not here to share in the reliving and recounting of that day.

Syd was born with lungfuls of crud. She had a peaceful and happy home-birth, but couldn’t breathe properly, and continued to get worse as she lay with us. The midwives tried suction and kept her on oxygen, but after a couple of hours, gently guided me to the decision that she needed to be hospitalized. We went by ambulance. I recall shifting around on the bench in the back of the ambulance uncomfortably; they gave me a cushion to sit on, but it was challenging to go from pushing out a kid to sitting on a bench within a couple of hours. Sam insisted on coming in the ambulance with us. He was terrified about letting go of his new baby sister- it was very sweet and touching, and the ambulance attendants were very gentle and sweet with us.

The week that Sydney spent in the hospital was awful. I was terrified of losing her, but my job was to keep it together- falling apart comes after the crisis is past in my world. Besides, I had Sam to attend to from my hospital bed, and a husband who went into hypomania from the stress of a severely ill child. His other daughter, Hannah, was also hospitalized immediately after her birth, and at 18 months or so, was diagnosed with juvenile arthritis, which has never really gone into remission. It was an extraordinarily stress-full time.

The nurses in the intensive care neo-natal ward were awful, with very few exceptions. The attitude seemed to be “I love the babies; it’s the parents I can do without”. I had carried that kid inside me for 9 months, and being separated from her after her birth, and being told when I could be with her and what I could and couldn’t do with her, including holding her and nursing her, without sympathy for my angst and terror was one of the more awful experiences of my life. That said, I had a wonderful art therapist who helped me immensely through the post-partum depression, which was largely thought to have been precipitated by her near-death episode. The same art therapist was invaluable when Hannah moved to Vancouver, I got enraged, Willis got sick, and after he died. Yeah Linda!

Today, on her birthday, my aim was to be grateful for and joyful with my girl, especially as I am lately reading a heart-wrenching blog by a mother who lost her 5-year-old girl last summer. I try to be grateful that I got to share Sydney’s birth and the first years of her life with her daddy, as my friend Annie did not get to do with her Will. For the most part, I succeed in being grateful for the blessings in my life, but today, I also lament the loss of my husband and my little girl’s daddy.

Willis was a super daddy (all widows say that….). He was patient and playful and responsible and responsive. In many ways, he was a better parent than I. He would almost never lose his temper or raise his voice, and he had seemingly boundless energy. He adored both his girls, and his stepson, and I can only imagine how they will continue to miss him through the years.

Willis would have been in there like a goofy overgrown kid at the birthday party today, camera in hand, pushing past everyone else for an in-your-face shot that would have captured the moment perfectly. I miss that. I miss the genius of Willis. I miss the smell of him, and his overly loud laugh. What will the kids miss about him? Will having a loving step-dad present for the milestones in their lives fill in some of the gaps for Sydney and Sam? Willis was a step-dad to Sam, but Sam referred to him as dad. I’m not sure what their loss will look like over the years, and I hope that I can scrapbook with them a bit to help them remember when they need to remember.

Sydney talked about having the policeman bring Willis to her house for her birthday and put him on the couch for her birthday. Sigh. We talked a bit about his ashes, and how we could put the ashes on the couch if she wanted, but that dad couldn’t be brought back by a policeman to be with us again. Sigh. (I’m grateful she didn’t actually need us to follow through on this idea, because Willis’s ashes are still packed. I know they are in one of the boxes in the living room, but I’m not sure which box. The living room boxes will get unpacked when we get our new bookcases next week.)

Sydney’s birthday is almost the last of Rob’s and my “firsts” together. We have been together nearly a year, and what a year it has been. It has been interesting, and joy-filled, and tearful, by turns. In this last year, I “got” a new guy, a new family, and new house, and new car. We have a new rabbit, new furniture, new beginnings. I’m looking forward to this next year. I’m looking forward to these new things becoming old things. I’m on a roll here, in the last year, and I’d like the positives of the last year to be the ongoing theme in my life. I don’t really make resolutions, but a year full of joy and familiarity and not too much change would be a super thing.

Affirmation?

The internet is an amazing, wonderful place. Or maybe a thing. Since it doesn’t actually have a location, per se, I guess it can’t actually be a place, can it?

But,

What I wanted to say was that I have been spending more and more time (1) reading blogs, and (2) exploring FaceBook. It’s actually getting scary. My kids are starting to act out or act up to get my attention whenever I look in the direction of the computer, but that seems to be a price I’m willing to pay (sorry, kids!) to get in some reading time.

We widders seem to have a curious inability to read for long periods of time; I haven’t been able to manage a whole novel since Willis died. Other stuff, the lovely short snippets from an intelligent woman’s blog, are ideal for engaging my mind and imagination (sorry kids!).

I’ve been following the exploits of the shepherding and fibre arts community- I love hearing about a lifestyle I covet (farming), without being remotely disciplined enough (or practical enough) to make such a lifestyle work. I also have issues around working hard, too, and I’m pretty sure that farming is hard work…

All this voyeurism of other peoples’ lives leaves me wondering what I AM good at, or maybe just what I AM. I’m not a writer, except in an absent-minded kind of way. The other things I dabble in, like sewing, or animals, or painting, or computers, or reading, or photography are all things that these women I’ve been reading or bumping into on-line delve into with passion and discipline and ability, and I just don’t measure up. Not that I need to (measure up, that is), you understand: I’m just about grown-up enough to avoid believing that my self-worth is reliant on my ability to be as good as, or better than, someone at something…

**********

Naw, it’s for sure: I do NOT measure my self-worth by comparing myself to others- afterall, there will always be greater and lesser folks than myself. I know, “fer sher”, that although I avoid dishes and housework, and embrace procrastination and tardiness, I AM good with MY kids, MY animals, MY Rob, MY grief, MY work. The one thing I have locked up, that I do better than anybody else does, is be me.

We got the house!!!!!

Whooo hooo!!!

Our house?

I’ve been on quite a journey for the last 9 months. In the middle of January, I was so lonely. I’d been widowed almost 5 months, and I felt as though I had proved to myself, and whoever else might have been keeping score, that I had proved that I could “do it” on my own. I was managing the solo-parenting, I was managing the grief, but I was bone-deep lonely. I started looking around on Lavalife, just to see what (who) was “out there”.

Pretty quickly, I saw that if I wanted to find someone to hang out with while I was hanging out with the kids, I would need to put up a profile. I was surprised with how much interest there was in a recently widowed woman with two small kids, but I guess there are men who have been sufficiently bruised by life’s turbulence that they are not total “DGI’s”. (Don’t Get It)

Rob and I met in person after a few days of corresponding through the site, with all four kids in tow, on February 4th. A few more days of lengthy phone calls late into the night, and we were truly “hooked” on each other. In the magical haze of new love, we made plans to join our lives and families as soon as possible.

Getting Rob’s house ready to sell took him about 5 months; it has been on the market for two-and-a-half months. In the time it has been on the market, we have received 5 offers on the place. Offer #1, a few days after listing, was insultingly low. Offer #2, two months after listing, was even lower. The counter-offer (offer 2b) was still lower than offer #1. Offer #3 was adequate, and we accepted it. The home inspector for these purchasers found what he reported as several problem areas- unfortunately, he failed to note that the upgrades that Rob has completed on the place actually corrected these problems, and turned them into assets, but the damage was done and the offer was withdrawn.

Offer #4 was made by the same folks who put in offers number 2 and 2b: offer #4 was LOWER than offer #2B- wtf??? We already knew they were prepared to pay more. Fortunately, at the eleventh hour, as Rob and I were deciding to move into his house for the winter, offer #5 came in at list price, which we accepted with alacrity. What a ride to get to a place where we could consider doing some serious house shopping of our own! Although the contract on the accepted offer is to be finalized on Wednesday (the day after my birthday), we think this one is going to be fine.

So….

We went house-hunting on date night, and we found a house we love. We went again in daylight to see it today, with all four kids, and our very tolerant realtor. We put in an offer, which the realtor is presenting RIGHT NOW, at this minute. By the time you finish reading this, we may know whether we got the house….

Friends

Recent posts of Shel's and Alicia's on this subject got me thinking.

Amongst my online cohorts are people who are friends, and people who might become friends with the passage of time. There are a number of people with whom I have had only peripheral contact, but whom I admire because of their resilience, compassion, skill or attitude.

In my offline life, I have friends of various categories, too. One of these friends is my boss. (She doesn’t like it when I call her that…) I’ve worked with her for 12 years- it’s a fairly small business, so for the most part, we’ve worked quite closely during that time.

We’ve become family. She stood up with me at my wedding to my late husband, Willis. (We were married on October 10th, 2003- happy anniversary, baby.) She attended the homebirth of my daughter, Sydney, and was Sam’s support person during that time. She came up to the hospital after Willis was killed.

We’ve cared for each other’s children, we’ve run a Sparks (the youngest denomination of Girl Guides in Canada) unit together, I was there when the family’s beloved and ancient cat finally slipped away. I have listened to hours of complaints and frustration about her projects, children, various staff members.

Sometimes, we annoy each other like crazy. Sometimes, our individual insecurities cause us to doubt the strength of our friendship and our loyalty to each other. She was experiencing one of those angst-filled moments recently. Life had been piling up its usual debris on her doorstep, and she was dissolving into tears. As I hugged her, she lamented that she had feared that I would be “poached” by a recently ex-staff member, and could switch allegiances and workplaces. I assured her that this was not going to happen; the difference in the quality of medicine alone in each of the locations would assure this. The next part of my response surprised me (and her, too!): I told her I loved her. It’s true, but it’s still slightly shocking to me that I would say this out loud.

I have other friends I know I feel love for; there’s no very good reason I don’t say this to them. Given how fragile life can be, and how alone we are on our journey through it, it makes sense to say out loud how much we appreciate and care for our friends. I hope I have the courage to say it aloud to my friends: I love you.

Meanderings

I looked over at my "evil" neighbour's car today, and instead of cursing it, as I have been for the last month, I felt some peace. Sam reported that she waved toward us this weekend, as we happened to cross paths in the parking lot. Perhaps she feels less rage herself. I have no interest in friendship with her, but a certain peace would be a good thing.

Even if Rob and I manage to keep ourselves and our behaviour focused on the important things once we move in together, how will his boys, ages 9 & 11, do with sharing their space? If we move into Rob's house, we would take over the tenant's suite in the basement, and it would make fine, new accommodations for the boys. They would each get their own bedroom downstairs, and they would have a bathroom, and their animals. I think it sounds okay, but it's a lot to ask of them- to share their house and their dad with the rest of us.

We have another offer coming in tomorrow- the fourth offer. This is actually the same couple who made offer number 2, which was insultingly low. Their counter-offer response was pretty bad, too, so we went our separate ways. They know we accepted offer number 3, which was withdrawn after the inspection. They may have guessed at the magic number- if they match the amount of the offer we accepted, we'll take it, and work on Plan A- buying a house together. If the offer is crappy, I'll be blogging some more about Plan B- moving into Rob's house...

I made myself a "star chart" today- my tardiness is becoming problematic again, and this is one suggestion of how to train myself into better habits. I was having a lot of trouble coming up with "rewards", or positive reinforcements for succeeding at the incremental steps needed for punctuality. The chart outlines a bunch of those steps, and I'm gonna, with the participation of the kids, give myself a star for each step I accomplish towards my goal of punctuality. After maybe 5 stars (to start with), I get to give myself a bigger reward. I'm gonna have to get the kids to give me ideas for those rewards, too- sad, really, that I can identify so little that might motivate or reward me. I hope that it will become self-rewarding, or habitual soon, but in the meantime, I'm open to suggestions of nice rewards for good behaviour...

Evening Pages

It's hard to write after the kids are in bed, 'cause I'm tired, and all the bright ideas I had earlier in the day have fled. That said, I know I fritter away a lot of time on the computer, and if I could pull together a little more organization and discipline, I could get my chores done, have time for writing and frittering, if I so desire.

I also could just write- although a morning pages idea is not realistic for me, an evening pages might work. I should just pour myself onto several pages, and then start marshalling myself to write properly.

I'm amazed at how many women are out here in blog land writing amazing blogs. Who knew? The internet, originally the domain of men, has spawned an entire generation of strong women writers, who can write from home (or wherever), and publish themselves from home, if they so choose.

Rob suggested this morning, since the house is not selling, and we are going down the drain financially waiting for it to sell, and since we are not enjoying living in two houses and having to cart ourselves home at the end of a pleasant evening, that perhaps, just maybe, we should give his tenant notice and all move into his house, at least for a while. We could continue to fix up his house, and try again in the spring to sell it.

It's a good idea. The mortgage would be manageable. The moving would be easier. The repairs are a known entity. The commuting would be easy. BUT

It's Rob's house. It used to be Rob and Sarah's house. It has been Rob's bachelor house with his 2 boys for the last 4 years. I don't know whether we each have the strength and flexibility to reduce our own need for control, and reorganize the house to become “ours”. Does the benefit of being able to live together outweigh the challenges of setting up a home together in a house which has been Rob's home for 10 years? Maybe. I'll sleep on it and let you know.