fifty three weeks

A year ago, I was packing the last of my things for my move.

So much has happened in the past year that I can feel my head begin to spin just thinking about thinking about it all. I remember my own rush to get things packed before supper - I didn't want to worry about anything on Hallowe'en. I just wanted to enjoy trick-or-treating with F. I can still feel the ache in my heart knowing I had to leave him behind for a while. I don't have words to describe that, even today.

I remember waking up on November 1 and packing the "big stuff" onto the back of Dad's truck, and sharing the drive to Halifax. I remember discovering my apartment door unlocked - and furiously looking for new apartments on the drive back to Cape Breton that night. You don't need to ask how angry I was when I found that same door unlocked shortly afterwards, though both episodes pale in comparison to the hissy fit I threw when I discovered that every single thing I owned was missing from my apartment the week I was due to start classes - just one week later. Sometimes, I honestly don't know how I stuck it out. And by sometimes, I mean all the time. I really must be crazy.

"It's just a year," everyone said.  "It'll fly by. A year is nothing."

In many ways, they were right. It was just a year that flew by. But it wasn't nothing. It was two broken hearts and months and months of heartache. It was tears and sorry and it was laughter and joy and excitement and pride. I didn't think this much could be packed into one year. It was wiping tears from the end of Mom and Dad's driveway to the ferry once a month, and sobbing in the parking lot of the apartment the following week after saying goodbye to F.

The last year has been pretty crazy. A year ago today, F and I dressed as a James the Tank Engine and a Fire Fighter respectively, and we had a fun night. He's not so into dressing up this year, but he rocked his costume at his Hallowe'en party yesterday but told me he's already done all the trick-or-treating he wants to do. Today - one year later - I'm wearing a tutu at the best job I've ever had and he's probably eating a bowl of fruit at daycare with his friends. A year can be huge. It can be life changing.

And it was.

Kidcation

I am kid-free for two weeks.

There is a bittersweetness about my apartment without F. On the one hand, it is so nice to come home and turn on a grown-up movie and lay on the couch filling out job applications and writing in peace and quiet. I'm tired. In the morning, there is just me. At bedtime, there is just me. It's so easy. There are no toys to pick up, no crumbs scattered across the floor, and I haven't tripped over a rogue shoe yet. But, in the silence and cleanliness of my apartment there is such an absence that it feels unnatural. It's a flashback to when F and I were apart over the winter.

Last night, I left work tired. I'd had a monumental wake up, and I was looking forward to getting home and making a light dinner. Maybe a cup of tea. I sat in my car and turned on the radio. I turned onto the street, and made my way for about 3 minutes before it dawned on me.

I was on my way to F's daycare.

I did a U-turn on the quiet, residential street and pulled over. I could blame it on tiredness, or I can blame it on the way the sun was hitting my eyes but they filled with tears. I miss him... and that's a blessing. I am fortunate to be given the opportunity to miss him. I'm lucky to have parents who are so happy to hang out with their grandchild that they've given me two weeks to be a "free" agent.

And as much as I miss him, I know I'm going to enjoy a quiet week.

Unless of course the cat wakes me up at 5:05 am with a monumental crash again. #notokay

A Classic Monday

The sound of a glass shattering is a highly-effective alarm. 

If you don't believe me, I'll lend you my devilish playful kitten for a night and you can perch a glass of water on your nightstand. Just be aware that you might not be able to set your wake-up for a specific time, but I am considering recording the sound and selling it on iTunes. THAT is how I'll make my millions.

The last 24 hours were pretty typical of the end of weekend/beginning of work week turnaround. As I was preparing to go to bed, I felt the telltale tingle of a cold sore brewing on my lip and rushed to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription to nip it in the bud. It meant sitting in their waiting room for 40 minutes. Then I laid in bed, contemplating my exciting news (an update is coming, I promise) and worrying about not falling asleep, and being tired this morning.

For the record, I am fucking exhausted this morning. 

So far, my two week kidcation is not off to a good start, but I'm optimistic that it can only go up from here. 


If not, I might just stay in bed for the next two weeks.

But, right now, it remains to be a classic I don't want to wake-up kind of Monday, and in spite of my best efforts, two coffee and a fantastic breakfast, I'm still struggling with a major case of the dreaded Mondays.

How I feel, and kind of look. Our glasses match.

FaceTimed

My three year old has his very own iPod Touch.

Yep. F's actually shockingly tech savvy, bless his little heart. It was a two-pronged decision, buying the iPod. He calls it his phone and it's a lot like Mommy's, only without the option to call random people and waste my daytime minutes or run up my long distance. The children's apps make everything from grocery shopping to waiting at the doctor's office a little smoother, but I consider my phone an extension of myself and sharing just couldn't be done any longer.

I also imagined hour-long FaceTime conversations with F, like the ones he used to share with J a year ago. I can see him carrying my phone around the house, showing his Dad his toys, the dog, and blabbing away in his own little language. It was going to be great, and the money well spent.

That was a bust.

For the fifth time tonight, F had more interest in using the potty (another battle of ours) than he did in speaking to me.

"I don't want to talk to Mommy," he started, turning his back to the iPod as my Mom held it for him. "I don't want to. Go away, Mommy. I don't want to talk to you!"

Enter broken heartedness here.

Screenshot from a successful call last week.

Both of my parents rushed to create excuses and try to gloss it over. He'd been away from his toys all day, he was hungry. Maybe it was time for a bath and bed but none of it helped my hurting heart. Is he mad at me for being away? Is that even a reasonable thought? Probably not.

I thought about going home this weekend and while I'd really like to, 12 hours of driving for a day and a half with F is a lot. Saying goodbye for another week is just too much. Maybe I'll catch him at a better time tomorrow when I call his "phone".