Words

I lost my words for the past few weeks.

I'm not really sure what happened - perhaps I was just too tired, or maybe it was all the stress I've been feeling lately. Whatever the cause, I think it's finally gone. And that makes me really, really happy.

Know what else makes me really, really happy? This guy.

Last night, after a great walk and play date with new friends and after I had finished writing the first blog post I've written in weeks, F and I curled up together with a soft blanket well past our bedtime to chat. The nights of just F and I are on hold for a while, you see, as Little is coming to stay with us once again. 

F suddenly sat up, very concerned, and asked if we had remembered to put the chocolate milk back in the fridge and I couldn't help but laugh out. It was so unusual.

F is rarely concerned about issues like whether the milk is in the fridge or the light was turned off before we walked out the door. He probably couldn't care less most of the time. So, after reassuring him that the chocolate milk was, in fact, safely stored away in the refrigerator, I snuggled him a little closer and told him I loved him.

But why, Mama?

And then it hit me: I tell him all the time how smart he is. I tell him I love him. I tell F all kinds of nice things, but I never back it up - which is pretty silly, because there are millions upon millions of reasons why I love him, why he's smart and how he's a great guy. So I started telling him.

And it turned into a little game.

"I love you because you are thoughtful and funny. I like the way you think about things and ask questions so you can learn. That's why I think you're so smart."

"Mama, I love you because you do fun things with me and take care of me. And I like that you play with me a lot and we go for walks and you buy me toys all the time!"

I got a little teary-eyed hearing F say some of the things he said, and it made me realize how grown up my little boy has become. In a lot of ways, he's much older than four - he regularly helps me get dinner ready (as in, he MAKES the salad) and we have grown up conversations more often than not. It was the perfect end to a day that had gotten off to a poor start.

And the next time he's acting his own age, throwing a toy at me or trying to pull the cat by the tail, I'll savour that moment and try to wrestle him into the pants he doesn't want to put on, just the same.

Corn Flakes

Papa loved Corn Flakes.

As a kid, I never understood their appeal but I would proudly sit next to him at the old kitchen table and dig into my bowl as he did, while he sipped his tea, knowing full well that he'd soon put on his boots and cover-alls and walk up the hill to feed the animals. I can still see his worn plaid shirts and Dickies and hear him singing funny Gaelic songs when I close my eyes.

We ate lobster together. We laughed together. We restored the horse harness he'd built with his father and grandfather together. We daydreamed and picked berries and sat on the step watching lightning together. He was everything a grandfather was supposed to be, and then some. My favourite memory of all is seeing him hold F for the first time. His great-grandson. His Dandy Boy.

I'd lost people I loved before, but nothing compared to the loss I felt when Mom woke me on May 3, 2010. I knew before she spoke and the pain and emptiness has stayed in my heart since then. To know Papa was to love him, and his funeral proved that: it was standing room only. He was buried on the Saturday before Mother's Day, and so it's a holiday that brings mixed emotions each year. I spent my first Mother's Day with a broken heart. 

While picking up groceries last night, I spied Corn Flakes - the Family Size box - and memories of Papa flooded my memory. F was too young to remember him, but it's never too late for him to know the man that shaped our lives and loved us so much. I couldn't help but smile as I put the box of bland cereal into my cart and pushed on.

And after eating my breakfast this morning, I can safely say that I share Papa's love for lobster, coconut cream pie and Corn Flakes. 

Different

"I feel bad saying I'm tired, I can't believe I'm complaining to you."

"I shouldn't say anything, I know I'm lucky to have her Dad with me."

"Do you ever sleep? Seriously, when do you sleep? When do you have time?"

Yep. I'm busy. I work full-time. I write part-time. I have a preschooler, who I raise alone. I volunteer. I'm on an advisory council. I might be picking up another part-time job. It's called life and while it might not look just like yours, I'm not comparing because it's really apples to oranges, isn't it? Let's just stop comparing.

When Mr Hockey Coach exclaims that he's tired and I nod empathetically, he immediately retracts his statement because he "can't be tired" because he's not me, he's not raising a kid. Wait, what? No, honey, you can be tired.

When my girlfriend vents about how hard it is to be a working parent, she suddenly bites her tongue and says how lucky she is to have her partner with her - someone to share the load. But it's still hard. Parenting is hard. Juggling your workload is hard. Maintaining a social life is hard. It's all hard.

I'm one "try being a single parent" meme away from my head exploding because we're all comparing apples to pineapples and watermelon to walnuts and it's gotta stop. It's useless. It's tiresome. It's time consuming. And we single parents aren't superior to the stay-at-home moms or the work-at-home moms or the parents who have a partner to help raise the kids. (Sorry, single parents. Our shit stinks, too.)

I have friends who are stay-at-home moms, and their lives are busy and rewarding and they are no easier and no harder than mine. They're different. Same goes for my work-at-home mom friends. Shit, I've got friends who don't have kids whose lives are as busy and hectic and stressful and awesome as mine. 

We all have routines and when they are interrupted, it throws us off. 

We all have challenges. We all have needs. We all have ups and downs.

I'm not invincible. I just have different priorities. Not bad. Not better.

 Just different.

Little Change

Although I wasn't totally sure we would, Little, F and I survived our three-week sleepover and I'm confident in saying that none of us were too much worse for the wear. It was a long three weeks at best, but between hiccups and tears I think we had a pretty great time. But something strange happened - F really changed.

Even when F's sperm donor father was in the picture, it was usually just F and I. Even when we lived at Mom and Dad's, it was F and I. Just the two of us and our own whacky, little dynamic. You probably didn't know this, but F and I can be home for hours at a time and not even notice one and other. We can also spend hours snuggling and so focused on one and other that we miss everything around us. It's pretty special - and while our dynamic is unique, I think it's safe to say most parents share a similar bond with their kids. They're the centre of our universe while simultaneously being an enormous pain in our asses. Amazing, no?

Needless to say, the addition of Little to our routine was a real switcheroo.

And it was hard. On all of us.

Because he wanted any attention at all, F misbehaved to make sure he got it. Because he was lonesome, Little often came into the middle of the few stolen moments F and I tried to share. Because I work 40 hours a week in an office, plus write my Frenzied Fashionista posts, plus I work out every evening, plus I try to have a social life and see Mr. Hockey Coach, I found myself getting short with both boys and my patience was pretty thin at the end.

But then, F just changed. His temperament was different - he listened better. He got himself ready for bed. He asked to go to bed at a reasonable hour. He ate his dinner at the table, put his plate in the sink and he was more helpful than ever. I said thank you more, I was angry and frustrated less... wait, did I change?

The differences between Little and F were stark, and I found myself appreciating some of F's quirks more than ever before. Perhaps my appreciation sparked the change. But more on that later. I've got one last night of child-free bliss to thoroughly enjoy...

Cookie Dough and Merlot

You may already know this, but F and I have recently had an enormous change in our lives.

A few, actually, such as Mr Hockey Coach finally meeting him and my new job throwing a real curveball into our schedules. But the biggest adjustment we've recently made comes in the form of a sweet little boy from preschool. And lemme tell you, it's an adventure.

Little and F became fast friends when we switched preschools in November 2013 and, as they say, the rest is history. It didn't take long before we had "double dates" to the Discovery Centre and dinners out, and the friendship and support that I've found in Little's dad has been great. He picked F up from school for a few days while I was navigating through rush hour traffic. F spent the night one night so I could go out with Mr Hockey Coach. You get the drift. So it was a no-brainer for me when Little's dad was in a pickle for child care.

We're on day five of 18 right now, and I'd be telling you the biggest lie if I said it's been easy. It hasn't. The boys - though friends - are as different as night and day. They've been bickering and tattling and whining. And we already know how I feel about my parenting skills. Little has been (understandably) lonesome without his dad and F has struggled with the change in schedule, too. 

When Little was especially sad last night upon getting home from preschool, I searched for the right words. The right activities. And then it hit me. Like all sadness, the pain of heartache can be cured by chocolate chip cookies and I just so happen to love baking. Slightly frazzled and with a list as long as my arm of things I needed to do, I marched to the kitchen without even changing out of my work clothes and we whipped up a batch of chocolate chip cookies as a team: Little, F and I.

And then, after the cookies were eaten and I'd finished my yoga practice, and (almost) all of the tears were wiped, little teeth were brushed and pajamas put on, I found myself standing alone in my kitchen with a glass of red wine eating the ball of cookie dough I'd saved in the fridge.

Because that is parenting. It's Cookie Dough and Merlot.