That Scared Me!

We had a bit of a scare this week!  We had three boys in three different summer camps, I had corporate visitors descending and needed to look and act the part of some semi-together business leader, and there were a total of eight hockey games to attend in the first three evenings of the week.  Starting at 8am on Monday, it felt like most minutes were accounted for and we were working to a strict schedule to ensure that everyone made it to the right place at the right time with the right sack lunch and not dressed in last year’s Halloween costume. 

I could see the light at the end of the tunnel when on Wednesday I left work knowing we had successfully navigated a potentially tough 3-hour working session in the afternoon and that soon hockey would be on hiatus for a few weeks.  I love watching our boys play hockey; the games are physical, they require strategy and team work and the progress made by each of the boys is tangible week over week.  The first game was barely underway and our Number 7 had already assisted two goals and was aggressively pursuing the puck again with a member of the opposite team in hot pursuit.  It is unclear what happened next but he hit the wall and seemingly bounced back in slow motion and lay stretched out on his back and was not moving.  I watched but my legs were not working and instead I focused on a guy who leapt over the wall and knelt down and started gently feeling the neck and spine and asking questions.  I could hear him as he asked “Are you nauseous?  Can you tell me your name?”  I was in that dream I have sometimes where I need to get somewhere but nothing works and I can only watch as if from a distance, limbs not working and voice unheard.  The whole place was quiet and the rest of the players were on one knee as a measure of respect to the man down.  I finally made it from my traditional place on the wall to a new place that put me closer to my resilient little boy who was now crying and scared.  I wanted him to get up so badly but I did not know what to say to him or what to do.  Given that I have evacuated buildings in emergencies, witnessed people in the workplace in medical distress and taken the correct actions calmly and methodically, and assured my best friend at the time that we were not going to die in a plane that had an engine on fire even though I had no way of knowing that, I expected my bossy gene to kick in and to take charge; but this was different.

My thoughts were not processing and our boy needed someone to take charge and help him.  The man who had jumped the barricade to assist looked me right in the eye and firmly said, “He’s going to be fine but he may have a concussion and you need to take him to the Emergency Room to be checked out.”  All I could say was “Shall I do that now?”  I hope that man does not think I am an idiot but in that moment I was an idiot.  It is different when you are helping someone else.  It is easier to be calm and objective and it is reasonable to expect your brain to function but I was hearing instructions from a distance and I was not processing anything at my usual speed. 

We left the rink to a standing ovation and the fresh air of outside hit me and I came to.  We whisked our dazed boy, who was looking less pale and more like himself by the second, to the Emergency Room and started the endless wait that accompanies these visits.  After a while he put the precautionary barf bag they gave him on his head like a pointy hat and I squeezed my husband’s strong hand that had been cradling mine knowing there would be a full recovery, but we stayed for x-rays and got the all clear first.  Number 7 is well, no harm was done and it was all a distant memory by morning and I basked in the intensity and beauty of the love we have for our children.  I was reminded of some things this week, first and foremost that I am great in a crisis unless it involves our children!  Secondly, you can plan every moment until life happens and when you get thrown off course there’s nothing you can do about it.  Thirdly, I really love my husband and our boys and there is no other single thing that comes close to that :) 

Picture This...

Picture, if you will, a weary Mum with a pile of Christmas cards that need to make it to England before December 25^th or she will be officially disowned.  Strapped to her front in his snugly  papoose is a bouncy  4-month old practicing his latest plyometric move that includes pulling up his knees and then thrusting sharply down like a little rocket.  As he chuckles away and I check that we have everything for the third time, my 3-year old comes waltzing down the stairs ready for a trip to the post office.  When I had asked him to go and get ready I had hoped that shoes and a coat might ensue but apparently that was not the fashion of the day.  Grinning from ear to ear he had on red swimming shorts with waves climbing up the sides, a red sweater, white socks that were never intended to be knee socks pulled up to his knees, sunglasses, and the piece de resistance, furry red Clifford slippers!  Mustering an amazing amount of patience I calmly asked him to go and change into something warm so that we could leave.  I could feel my entire day getting off track and was already picturing the termination notice summarily ending all ties with my family and friends when those cards arrived on December 26^th.  A pair of beautiful brown eyes looked up into mine and a tiny but firm voice said “But I like this outfit!  It doesn’t matter what I wear to the post office does it?”  I was immediately transported back to the time when I told my Mum that God didn’t care if I wore jeans to church as long as I showed up.  I had been older but she let me get away with it and in that moment, probably heavily influenced by sleep deprivation, I was swayed too and with decisiveness I did not feel I said, “Let’s go!”

I knew I was going to be vilified in the post office; what kind of mother lets her child go out in public looking like that?  Maybe someone would take pity on me and realize that it was not my fault that I was a terrible mother who clearly could not stand up to her children and insist on appropriate attire.  I would hope that everyone else in the entire city had already completed their Christmas mailings and if there did happen to be anyone in the post office I would not make eye contact.  Of course when we arrived the place was packed with people all the way back to the door.  This was going to be brutal and there was nothing I could do but take my place at the back of the line.  It slowly started to inch forward and Bouncing Boy finally tired himself out and started to nod off.  At that moment Fashion Boy spotted the Christmas cookies laid out to reward their patient and disorganized patrons.  He moved out of line and only turned back to demurely ask if he could have a cookie…please.  The “please” caught the attention of the lady two in front of us and she turned to compliment him on his manners at the same time as catching his eclectic ensemble.  Without missing a beat she said, “I love Clifford!”  A little girl in front of her turned and loudly complained to her mother that it was “no fair” that she was not allowed to wear her slippers to the post office.  The cool young man in his 20s in front of her turned and said “Cool Man!” and my boy triumphantly shot me a glance before helping himself to a cookie.  My desire to make my boy conform rolled over me like a wave and was replaced by a desire to let him be himself. 

Flash forward ten years and last week that same boy learned he needed glasses.  I did not expect this to go well because since his Clifford days he has become self-aware and somewhat naturally influenced by the unwritten rules of middle school and trying to impress girls.  When I arrived at his brother’s hockey game I saw him at the same moment he saw me.  My jaw dropped and before I could stop myself I said, “You look gorgeous in your glasses!”  I don’t now if a mother is really supposed to say that to her son but he looked so mature and confident and that triumphant glance he shot me was a replica of the post office episode.  He’s growing up and sometimes I think he’ll actually turn out alright if I don’t get in his way!     

Well Adjusted Divorced Parents - Is There Such a Thing?

I read an article recently that I connected with; the writer’s style is warm and familiar without being self-serving and her story rang true line after line.  I did find one statement I do not agree with but I am glad I came across it because it made me think in more depth about the lives of our children post-divorce.  She offered that she had  “…yet to meet the divorced mother or father who feels like a good parent, who professes to being happier with how their children are now being raised.[1]”  Instinctively it did not ring true for me even though it may for other divorced parents.

I broke this statement into two, the first part suggesting that it is difficult to meet a divorced mother or father who feels like a good parent. Quite honestly, I think it is difficult to meet any parent, regardless of marital status, who feels like a good parent all the time!  Generally it is the self-inflicted role of parents to badger ourselves constantly asking what we could have done differently.  We learn to live with the feeling that getting it right sometimes (heavy emphasis on sometimes) is quite an accomplishment. 

The second part of the statement suggests that parents may feel unhappy about the post-divorce circumstances that must be coordinated to raise their children.  Certainly it is far from ideal to ask children to manage schedules and belongings and rules and emotions from house to house and I bet there is not a parent out there doing this that is excited about it.  Having said that, children learn to manage different environments from an early age when they go to friends’ houses and when they start school, for example.  While I am not thrilled that our boys have to navigate these sometimes treacherous waters, I am proud of them that they do and think they sometimes manage it much more gracefully than this adult!  I am in no way, shape or form advocating divorce but I have to say that I am happier with how my children are being raised now because the relationships that have supplanted the traditional seem to be so much healthier for them.  Without each of these amazing parents and stepparents and family members in their lives they might never have had a window on how good relationships work.  They might never have seen two people working together as partners, lovers and friends.    

Fundamentally, my husband and I share the same value system which means that as parents we do not have to try very hard to be united.  We support each others’ decisions, together we address behavior that disappoints and vent quietly out of earshot, and we communicate and over-analyze our concerns and triumphs about our family in the quiet times after their heads have hit the pillows and they are fast asleep.  I am happier with the way they are being raised because they are receiving examples of well adjusted relationships from all sides, not just us, and that will help each of them demand the best from their relationships and from life.

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[1] Article adapted from “In Spite of Everything: A Memoir” by Susan Gregory Thomas

July Boys

We have two boys with birthdays in July; one will be a teenager this year and the other hits double digits.  I do not know where those years went but I have realized that a mother’s aspirations for her children change over time.  Before they grace the world with their presence, I think most parents hope for greatness and possibly fame and fortune for their children.  Once they arrive I, along with many others I would guess, find that we want them to be happy and fulfilled in what they do and healthy in their approach to life.  These are loftier goals and the foundation has to be the love, direction, and consistency we give them as parents.  That is not a guaranteed plan for their success but it is the best I have come up with and we get quite a bit of practice with four boys!

In recognition of their unique personalities and with love for the two birthday boys, I want to share this poem that I wrote several years ago for them.  It was recently included in a project the oldest completed as a homework assignment about his life.  Parents were asked to write something for their children; it was a perfect opportunity to let the birthday boys read it.  The soon-to-be teenager seemed relieved that he would soon have a completed project to hand in since he was waiting for me but I also know him well enough to have observed his surprise and happiness that his Mum loves him so much.  Mr. Double-Digits is very confident that Mum loves him but basks in being reminded and had tears in his eyes when he read it and it earned me a big hug!  At the end of the day, that is really what it is all about – our children should know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are loved and cherished by those who were given the honor to guide them.  Happy Birthday Boys! 

How much do I love you?

With every fluttering kiss on your damp foreheads while you sleep at night

Every time you try to sneak up on me

Whenever we sing at the top of our voices in the car

Each time we snuggle on the couch and read to each other

When I hear belly laughs from the tub and the water sloshing over the side

With every flower and rock you have presented to me

When I hear the excitement in your voices that “Mummy’s here”

Even after you’ve made your own PB&J sandwiches

I’m so proud of my two little men

You have no idea how much I love you both

I didn’t understand it either until I became a parent

You flood my heart with a myriad of emotions

Overwhelmingly you are the best thing that has ever happened to me

You teach me to slow down and be with you

You forgive me without demanding an apology

Your desire is to shine in my eyes

And how you do!

Know that when I get it all wrong and I’m trying too hard

It’s because I too want to shine in your eyes

I want it all to be perfect for you

For you never to be harmed or damaged by life

For you to know that I will always be here to protect you, console you, cheer for you

And let you know when it’s time to brush yourselves off and face the world again

You can do and be anything you put your minds to.

Know this above all else,

I love you unconditionally, my beautiful boys.

The Freedom of Cycling

For my latest adventure I worked around other distractions to honor my commitment to myself to ride. I really needed to ride for my sanity and I was determined that nothing was going to stop me.  It was incredibly hot and I was terribly disillusioned with the amount of cycling I have been doing, or not doing, lately but I had to get past this, get out there and just ride.

I have been overcomplicating something that I love.  I have been worrying about my lack of strength, the frequency with which I was cycling, and the absence of the enthusiasm to ride that I have always felt until now.  The heat was oppressive and I started to dread the climb ahead of me a long time before it actually began.  I was mapping out in my head the ups and downs and twists and turns so that I could mentally prepare, however, I was merely succeeding in frightening myself.  With each revolution I became more and more convinced that the climb would defeat me and that I would unceremoniously melt on the side of the road.  As I started around the corner and up the first relatively small climb I inhaled deeply and took in more dust than was necessary and quickly spluttered and made myself really nervous that I was going to be the only cyclist to ever fall off their bike because of a coughing fit.  Thankfully the distraction of my own stupidity served to make me forget the hill and I found myself on the better side of it much sooner than I expected.  I now realized that what was gigantic in my mind was not quite so in reality and so I pedaled on, still very hot and told myself to “pull myself together”.

I stopped briefly at the fork in the road and now I was full of dread.  This is by no means the hardest ride I have ever done, not even close and I have conquered it before, but my fears were killing my confidence.  Those fears were yelling derogatory things at me that I believed: “you are so out of shape”, “you can’t make it to the top”, you don’t have the strength to do this”, and more.  I love the peace that cycling brings but this was like being packed in a busy bus on a never-ending journey with nay-sayers.

I rounded the last corner before the climb begins and realized this part of the hill was manageable and forged ahead of my thoughts, cycling over them and leaving some of them flat on the road behind me.  I knew the hard part was still to come but decided not to worry about it and my breathing transitioned from short jerks to smoother, albeit labored, passages.  That last part was not so bad and now I was nearing what I thought was roughly the halfway point in the climb.  I was still breathing and I had not melted and I realized my legs felt good so I concentrated on them less and looked out across the edge.  The city lay stretched out as far as the eye could see and I remembered that same feeling I had when I read Tess of the d’Urbervilles for the first of many times when Tess caught a glimpse of her own insignificance.  In a magical moment my ride became about my insignificance instead of my potential failure.  The release from the pressure I had put on myself made my legs feel stronger and my breathing more willing to feel the pain of a good effort.  A car passed me cautiously and two corners later when I reached the top a wonderful angel called out of the car “You must be very fit to make it up there!”  I waved and smiled since I was barely able to breathe but I certainly could have mustered up the energy to sign an autograph if she had asked!  In the critical moments of that climb I regained my confidence and rediscovered the peace and freedom that cycling brings with it.  I am insignificant and I am back!