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.

Making the Change

Sometimes the happiest endings come from beginnings filled with sadness.

It's hard to believe that two years ago, I was relishing in the glow of newlyweddom (it's my new word; deal with it). It's harder still for me to wrap my head around the fact that just one short year ago I was in the preliminary process of the whole back-to-school-mama business. I'm not even sure I was truly convinced I'd do it. And here I am, about to graduate.

I'm incredibly fortunate to have had this opportunity and I know that. Many don't. I'm blessed with great friends, wonderful parents and a community who stood behind me to offer support, words of kindness and consolation, cups of coffee to wake me up and shoulders to cry on when needed. It hasn't been easy, but we did it.

When my plans to move to Ottawa came crashing down on my head and I found myself, clutching Kleenex and sobbing in my supervisor's office, asking for my job back I felt like my whole world was about to implode. It was like I was perched precariously on the verge of total devastation, and unable to get away. It was a bad feeling. And then one day, I came home from work and got in the shower and let all of the sadness and bad feeling go down the drain with the suds from my shampoo.

Less than a year after totally uprooting my life and challenging myself in ways I didn't think I could (and would rather not ever do again), I'm working in a field that I love and have been for nine months. I won't stay here forever, but it's a perfect fit for me right now. I made the decision to be happy, and though there will always be bumps in the road and obstacles to overcome, I've made it to a place where happiness really is my reality.

But it's easy to get lost in sadness.

I know this because I've done it, and it was a long, hard battle to get out of the rut I had settled into. It's easy to stay there. It's easy to mistake comfort for contentment, or happiness. We settle for what we have, rather than dare to dream. Change is scary. It's hard, it's the unknown but it's almost always worth the journey. 

Thumbs Up for Thursdays! (August 15)

I can't even believe it's the middle of August. Summer is almost gone, you guys!

This Thursday, I have a pile of clothes on my floor like you wouldn't believe and I haven't even begun cleaning or packing for our weekend in CB! Gah! As always, life with a toddler is busy and occasionally crazifying but we're plugging on through! Woohoo. With little progress being made on the job front, it's been hard to keep a positive outlook but your day is only as good as you let it be so...

Without further ado, here are some things that earned a Thumbs Up this week!

1. Cool evenings. Although I'm bummed I didn't get to wear some of my new shorts (warm weather, come back!!), I can't complain about cool weather at bedtime. The cooler air makes for a comfortable sleep - and after a week of not sleeping well, I'll take whatever zeds I can get.

2. I still have my job (kind of)! Yay! After giving notice a couple of weeks ago, I definitely wasn't expecting to be glad to still have my part-time position, but when plans changed I was pretty thankful to be able to stay a little bit longer. In the meantime, I'm glad that I have half of my day to spend job hunting.

3. F started taking himself to the potty, which means Mommy is off the hook for quick runs to pee. As a parent, there's nothing better than seeing your child find their confidence and independence and this is a huge feat for F! Only a couple of months ago, I was seriously afraid the kid would never give up his pull-ups and now he's too cool to have his Mom in the bathroom with him. #Winning.

Switcheroo

A very dear friend of mine recently announced that she's going back to work after two and a half years spent raising her beautiful daughters, and her joy made my heart smile.

Her Facebook wall was overcome with congratulatory well-wishes, and "you go girl" boosters. It especially touched me because I've known her since we were just kids ourselves, lucky enough to have mothers who could be home with us... and now, we're fortunate enough to be mothers ourselves.

Being a young mom comes with a different set of rules and a pile of extra perks that, in the midst of all the chaos, can be kind of hard to see clearly.

In the wake of everything that happened since I hit my 20's, I've become an entirely new person and it's exciting, liberating and absolutely terrifying at the same time. But I love it.

I ran into another old friend not too long ago and he told me that it was nice to see I'd "reclaimed the old me".

Hardly.

The old me is gone. Long gone, and I'd be willing to be she's never coming back. The old me thought that she was just a Mom now. She thought that her tomorrows were filled with ho-humness, but luckily for the new me there was still some spark in there. It's that little spark that helped me find my way to the spot I'm in today.

Being a Mom is great, but I'm more than that and realizing this simple fact has been incredibly liberating. It's been a long process - the better part of this year. It started way back here, when I decided I was ready to take the first few tentative steps. It has taken me to heartache, and to emptiness, to a heart so full I thought it might burst.

But now, I'm ready to just be a 25-year-old woman, and it's about time that my blog reflects the new Ashley.

My life has petered out to normalcy (HA!) as I've fallen completely in love and gotten my feet beneath me - in fabulous heels, no less - but I have some hilariously blog-worthy moments that I felt could never be shared on my "Single Mommy Blog".

Not any more. :)

Time Flies

March is disappearing before my eyes, and I can hardly believe that the day that F meets my new boyfriend is right around the corner. Sometimes I feel as if it was yesterday that I walked through the doors of my Public Relations class at Eastern College. Other days, it seems like it was only yesterday that I held F for the first time. Time is slipping by so quickly I feel as if I'm constantly playing catch-up. 

Neither one of them are babies now.

The hardest part of being away from F over the last few months was the uncertainty surrounding when I will see him again. Nova Scotia winters can be treacherous and unpredictable (much like myself, actually), and the drive is long. I haven't seen him in almost 3 weeks, and it's absolutely killing me. It's with the support of amazing friends, the beauty of technology and a lot of mind-busying tactics that I've survived thus far and I'm sure I'll rely on them in the future, too.

When I was a girl, my parents often lamented that time goes faster as you get older and I think they were on to something. The days have turned into months and into years so fast that memories blur together - or are we just too busy to slow it all down?

I'll never pretend to be an expert on anything, really. I'm not the world's best mom, friend, daughter or anything else but I know how much it hurts to miss moments you can't get back. I've spent the better part of the last three years wishing I could turn back time and spare that extra moment to give my Papa a hug and tell him that I loved him before I left his hospital room that night. I wish I could go back and say the "thank-you" and the "I'm sorry" to so many people that should have been said in that moment. Now it's too late.

I'm guilty of sitting at my computer or looking at my phone when F wants me for something. I'm guilty of letting precious moments escape me, allowing time to fly by taking memories along with it. I'm guilty of half-assing storytime, distractedly building a puzzle with him and pretending to listen to his story while I do something else that is way less important than what my little boy is telling me about what has just transpired between his stuffed animals and the train set.

Time isn't going to slow down. Life isn't going to wait, but we can.

We can make the choice to unplug. Slow down. Relax.

Over the past two weeks, I would have given my left arm to have a few minutes of blissfully uninterrupted time with F and I've realized that I too often let those moments slip out of my grasp. He's never going to be 3 again. He's growing up so fast I can't keep up with him, and the moments I've let pass me by are never coming back.

When I go home this weekend, I'm going to unplug and slow it all down. I'll turn my phone off. I'll leave my laptop in my bag. I'll read every book F wants to read, complete with funny voices. I'll take pictures of him. I'll kiss his fingers, his belly, his toes and his little ears as I help him dry off from his bath and get dressed. I'll have crazy dance parties in the living room, build a fort under the blankets in bed and I'll even sing the Barney song with him. I'll take him outside when he wants to go out and play. I'll roll around in the snow.

And I'll make a pile of memories to make up for some of the ones I've missed out on.

Unchanged

It's amazing how quickly things can change.

Back in October, I wrote about my feelings on being adopted. Just a few days later I shared the excitement of knowing my birth mom had happily received my letter. When I first wrote my letter, I didn't really know what to expect. It was emotional, to say the least, and terrifying every step of the way. I anxiously prepared for the worst, and I am thrilled at the way things have turned out.

It's been two weeks now that I've been in constant contact with my Birth Mom (BM), my siblings and one of my uncles and I've never felt so at ease - though the fact that I'm on anti-anxiety medication may play a role in that. It's weird to go from feeling unsure of who you are to feeling complete so suddenly. Learning about the quirks I share with people I've never met has somehow given me and understanding of who I am and the power to become who I really want to be.

It's even more amazing how, in spite of everything that goes on in our lives, that any of us can remain the same.

A few friends have expressed concern that I might suddenly change - or have a total meltdown, which admittedly could happen - as my world begins to catch up to speed in the aftermath of finding my birth mom. By my own admission, I've been hiding in the woodworks for the past week or so just trying to catch my breath and steady myself. But I'm still me. I'm still all of the things I was before.

I'm still a MacInnis - unless I plan to have that expensive, ghastly-scar-leaving tattoo removal - and I will always be a MacInnis. It's kind of like a gang. There's no getting out! (Just kidding - we're so awesome, people keep trying to get into the clan)

In spite of wearing high heels and living in the city, I'm still a rubber-boot wearing girl who snorts when she laughs and prefers beer and lobster over pasta and wine. Well, unless the pasta includes lobster. And I've never turned down wine before.

Although I've been lucky enough to gain a whole new family, I like my old family just fine and they are irreplaceable. People like Mom and Dad, my grandparents, aunts, uncles and some (alright, all) of my cousins are few and far between in this world.

Empty

I finally ran out of steam today.

This month has been one of the most emotionally draining I've ever experienced, falling only behind the month that I lost two family members and welcomed F to our lives. The move to Halifax would have been anxiety-ridden enough, but the series of upsets, next-to-impossible events that have occured and the absence of F has weighed heavily on me. In the past eight weeks, I have made seven round-trip drives between Cape Breton and Halifax. I've moved into an apartment, and then into another. I've had my life stolen from me, lived in a hotel for a week and managed to get to school every day. I have met about fifty new people, thirty dogs, walked all around the city, been out on dates, drank too much, slept too little, been up at 5:00am and spent hours on the phone with F, the police, my family, friends, lawyers and everyone in between. I even spent a week sitting on the floor watching my television, using my iPhone data plan for internet and drinking out of paper cups because I had nothing else. It was an experience, and instead of sitting down and relaxing for a little while, I pushed on through.

I forget to settle down, sometimes. I stretch myself too thin, sign up for everything and forget to take care of myself. I'll skip meals, skimp on sleep, try to carry more than I can physically lift and ultimately, I crash and burn. The worst part? I know it's coming. I know I need to slow down and sometimes, I even need to stop. I need to eat, sleep and relax here and there. I can't fuel my body on coffee alone, or run on four hours of sleep a night. I have sat in my classroom feeling shaky and foggy. I have spent afternoons curled up on my sofa watching a movie, unable to keep my eyes open and yet I'll go out for a glass of wine or meet a friend for coffee at 7:00pm. Don't stop. Keep going. Keep up the pace.

It has become a compulsion, an addiction and I fear the fall out I may face if I do slow down. What if I stop and can't start again? What if I slow down and fall behind? What if I sit, and can't stand up again? It's not even logical and it's driving me crazy. It's sucking the life out of me, and I can't possibly keep it up. I'm empty.

I know I'm not alone in this. We are all guilty of forgetting about our wellbeing. We get busy as parents, take our work home and push through our exhaustion for a bigger or better paycheque. We spread ourselves so thin that we lose our zest, our flavour as individuals. It all goes back to an inability to say "no", a fear of being inadequate and a sense of needing more for me.

My challenge is simple, and I hope you will join me:

Choose one day a week as your day. Do the bare minimum that day. If it's work, go to work. If it's school, go to school. Make simple meals: take something out of the freezer, or make it leftover day. Stay in. Set your bedtime one hour earlier. If possible, turn off your mobile phone - even if only for one hour. Take a bath, read for pleasure or meditate. Do a quick, simple yoga practice if you can. Light candles. Rest, recover, rejuvenate. It does not make you a failure. It doesn't make you selfish, lazy or weak. It makes you aware of your limits and gives you the opportunity to heal.

Stay strong and be positive!

XO

Big Girl Bed

In under three hours, I'll be saying those little big words that break my heart and kissing F goodbye. Just the though of saying those words so soon after arriving home makes my heart ache and my nose tingle in the way only noses can tingle before you cry. I'll see him again in a few days - a week at most - but I'll miss him dearly until I see that big smile and bounds of energy running towards me for a hug.

I can still remember the first time I held F - he was twelve minutes old before he was laid in my arms. I held him for less than ten minutes before he was whisked away to the nursery for his first bath, J and both of our mothers in tow. It had been a long day, spent walking around the hospital and anxiously waiting to become parents and grandparents. My own wellbeing was in question, and so I spent over an hour hooked up to monitors waiting [im]patiently for my blood pressure to return to normal. I wasn't even allowed to stand up, much less walk to my room so I sat anxiously in the wheelchair as a nurse pushed me through the hallways to the Mother-Baby unit.

I can still see him wrapped in soft, white flannel looking absolutely perfect and knowing he was mine. I sat on my hospital bed, still hooked up to this monitor and that monitor, watching everyone else hold my baby. We took photos, I ate my first meal of the day, and we laughed and cried together while my heart burst with love and pride. Within a day or two of my return home, after J had gone back to work in the city, I gave up on F's bassinet: he hated it. We set up his crib, and he hated that too. Finally, after making several trips between my bed and his crib and bassinet, I stripped my bed of pillows and blankets and I laid him next to me. He was asleep within minutes, and our co-sleeping arrangement was born.

I was on the receiving end of a lot of flak over my decision to co-sleep. I had never realized the way my sleeping habits affected those of others (nor did I or do I care). F rarely has nightmares, and has never been afraid of the dark. When he turned two and we had our own home, I bought him a toddler bed and hoped he would sleep in his own room. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn't. While I enjoyed having the bed to myself, I always missed him and from time to time I slept in the toddler bed with him. Sharing my bed with him this weekend, after a week of sleeping my my new queen-sized bed alone, was wonderful. My own "big girl" bed will be extra lonely tonight.

The moment of "good-bye" is anxiety-ridden and downright frightening. My heart will break into a million pieces when I put my car in drive and knowing that doesn't make it any easier. But, it's not just leaving that scares me. It's coming home, too. Two weeks ago, F saw his father for the first time in months and referred to him first as "man" and then as "guy". He eventually settled on calling him Smokey, the nickname all of J's friends and family members refer to him by. My son didn't even know his father. What if I come home one day and he doesn't know me? I don't think I could possibly cope.

What if the hurtful words slung at me earlier this year are right: what if I'm a bad mom for going back to school? As much as I've missed F, I've also enjoyed time on my own. I've enjoyed meeting new people and - dare I say it - going out and having fun. For the first time in 4 years, I have been able to explore myself and grow as a person. In spite of missing F every minute of every day, I'm enjoying myself: I love my class, my apartment and my new friends. Even though I miss him, I'm the happiest I have been in years, and as much as I decided to go back to school for me, I'm back in school for him.

When all is said and done, I hope F realizes that I had to go to make his life better and I hope that one day, he will be half as proud of me as I am of him.

Hanging On

How do you let go?

I struggle with letting things go. I always have, and I probably always will. I struggle with letting go of hair or body products I don't use, clothes that don't fit and emotions and memories that bring me down. In the end, it leaves me with clutter and baggage.

 I try my best to let things go, from the clothes that no longer fit to the emotions that are eating me alive. I try to push forward and press on but it's hard sometimes. Sometimes, I just give in. Give up. I go back to my habit of holding on, clinging to the things that weigh me down and suck the light out of my life. I let these painful memories and aching emotions drain the happiness from my new life, and it's slowly going to drain my spark from me.

When the realtor called to say there was an offer on my house - the house my parents inherited and helped me fix up - I felt an odd mixture of joy and fear. When my parents came back from their meeting and said they'd made their counter-offer, I selfishly hoped the other person would turn it down. He didn't. Within minutes, the phone was ringing with the good news. I stood in the kitchen shocked, a wave of cold fear washing over me. It's really good that it's selling. It means my parents will be able to do the things they've wanted to do. It means I won't need to take out the second instalment of my loan, and that my baby brother will have his car on the road soon. It means my parents no longer have the burden of a second home, but it also means that someone else is going to live in the home that I worked so hard to create. They will sit in the living room I painted, cook on the stove I cooked on and their child will sleep in F's bedroom and it hurts.

I sit here staring through watery eyes as I imagine this young family living out my dream in my home and it's all I can do to not cry out. I sit here, my face awash with silent tears knowing that I need to just let it go, that I need to start over. I shouldn't be sad, but I am. I should be leaping for joy but I'm not. I'm hanging on to something that isn't even there any more.

 

I'm hanging on to the memory of a dream I didn't get to hold.

Bestest

Hiccups.

They happen at the least convenient times, don't they?

Not just the "hic-cup!" ones either, the ones that you can't stifle no matter how hard you try when you're sitting in an exam or church. I mean the kind that throw your entire system out of whack, like when your apartment isn't ready and you can't move in. That kind. You spill coffee on yourself the one time you wore a white top (am I right?), or got mud on your nice, clean pants. The phone cuts out just at the moment you finally got through the 20-minute wait with Bell custome service. It rains and your hair looks like more poodle than volumous the day of your interview or hot date. They happen to us all, some more easily straightened out than others.

My Mom is the ultimate in straightening-out of things. From stained shirts to ripped pants, the woman can fix pretty well anything except a broken heart, but she's pretty good at helping you put the pieces back together. I'm not even half the Mom she is, and I mean that in the least self-depracating way possible. I've got 21 years to go before I can truly compare myself, but if nothing else, I hope F thinks I'm as great as I think my Mom is. She is funny, kind, intelligent, able, and down-to-earth. She has bent over backwards for my brother and I a gazillion times, loved us when we were hard to like and stood up for us when she probably should have knocked us on our asses. She's that kind of Mom. The kind of Mom that every child should have.

We've had some rough times, she and I. I've loved her and been royally pissed at her a million times over growing up, and we still argue. We're really different. She is reserved and neat, and she's almost never on time - early isn't in her vocabulary, but I adore her. I have pushed her patience, let her down, made her angry and probably made her question her own sanity about four hundred times in the past year alone. Throughout every up and down, she's been right next to me. Even though I can't imagine how I've done it, I've somehow managed to make her proud twice that many times in the past year. She listens to me rant and cry and laugh and pretends my (not so funny) jokes are funny. She is my fashion consultant, voice of reason and biggest cheerleader and I sure hope that she knows she's my best friend. If she doesn't, she'll know soon when I approach her with the usual, "Hey, want to hear the blog post I just wrote?".

She's not alone in her awesomeness, though. My Dad is pretty awesome too. The pair of them have bailed me out more times than any of us can remember, and I pretty much owe them an Island or something to that extent. They have moved me to and from the city, into new apartments and back into my bedroom at their house. They've let me sit and feel sorry for myself, dragged me out when I least felt like it and held my hand through the storm. They've changed F's diapers and cleaned up Daisy's messes. I'd be totally lost without them, and the most amazing part?

They didn't have to do a single bit of it. They didn't have to be my parents. They wanted to.

"Speak Now..."

"...Or forever hold your peace"

I wonder how many brides and grooms have held their breath as the pastor spoke those lines at the beginning of the marriage.

I remember hearing those words at my own wedding, wondering if any of my friends would speak up. The friends whom I had told I was unsure, the friends who promised it was just cold feet. I knew my parents wouldn't, they had voiced their doubts and feelings as to "why this couple should not be wed" privately. I needed a friend to say it, someone other than my parents to hit me with a dose of reality. "Something's missing, there's just something not right here". Would I have called it all off? I don't know.

I can still hear my Mom saying those words, looking at me with pleading eyes - begging me to see what was in front of me. I wasn't really happy - did I love him? Yes. I still do, but we weren't right together. The painful truth is this: had we not shared a child together, we would have long since been absent from one another's lives. Our split took a toll on me. I'm sure it took a toll on him too, but I don't know his side of the story. What I do know is I spent the next six months waiting for him to come around, to tell me he was sorry and he wanted to make it work. To be the person I always dreamed he would be: F's father. A true Dad. I'm still waiting for that.

I was mad at him for not fighting for us, I was pissed off at his ability to go drinking and partying while I sat at home crying into a glass of wine over reruns of Law & Order: SVU. I picked him apart, as if pointing out his flaws was going to make it any easier. It never did. I magnified all of the things he did that I hated, the things that annoyed the Hell out of me. I left the house with my brave face and my big girl underpants on. As angry as I was with the breakup, I was more angry with the friends who - months after my breakup - dared look me in the eyes and say "I always had a feeling", or my absolute favourite: "I saw this coming a mile away."

WELL, NOW'S A GREAT FUCKING TIME TO TELL ME.

My heart was broken, my life thrown upside down and you felt now was the time to tell me about your feeling? Your premonition? Super duper. Thanks. If you felt that way, why the Hell didn't you intervene and tell me? Didn't I deserve to know? All that those words have done in the months since my breakup is hurt me more. Remember that integral part of the paragraph the minister read? "Speak now, or FOREVER HOLD YOUR PEACE." As in shut your piehole and keep that little gem of 20/20 hindsight to yourself. I don't need to hear it now.

If you love your friend, tell her now. Don't let her make a mistake. If you're not going to tell her now, keep you damn mouth shut two miles down the road when the inevitable finally comes to a head because it's too little too late. It doesn't help to hear about your feeling when her heart is broken.

Oh, and don't bash the other person because they just might get back together, and then shit will be super awkward.

Little Dreams

I am a "go big, or go home" kinda gal.

It doesn't always work out in my favour.

I think it's a societal thing, really, but I'll go ahead and take full responsibility for my impossible-to-keep-up lifestyle. Why volunteer for one organization when there are five who need an extra set of hands? Why aim for a five pound weight loss when you could lose twenty? Rather than taking the small, necessary (and feasible) steps toward something, I have a really bad habit of leaping off the edge without thinking things through. W'hoops. Needless to say, I've landed on my ass about 77 billion times.

At some point, though, I think reality has caught up to me. Instead of setting outrageous goals I'll probably never really achieve, I need to make smaller ones. I mean, not even mega-planes can fly forever without stopping to refuel. Cars need to pull into rest stops for oil changes, new tires... why is it so hard to accept that I have to do these things too? I can't race through a day without stopping for at least one meal or bounce through my week sans sleep. Instead of taking over the entire universe in a day, I have to break it down into one region at a time.

Dreams don't have to be gigantic, they can be as small as a pin. They're mosaics, made up of millions of little pieces: more attainable pieces, pieces that fuel you and motivate you to accomplish that next goal and catch that new dream. Some dreams take days to realize and others will take years. Some will take minutes, seconds even. Some are the result of good fortune, but most are the result of hard work and dedication, love and conscientiousness.

But, you'll never realize a dream you gave up on, so go for it! You won't be sorry.

Sketches

I am terrible at puzzles.

I always have been. Growing up, I opted for a notebook and pencils over things that needed to be assembled. Blank paper is my friend: I can move the pencil across it and draw my image or use words to paint a story for my reader. Anything that involves following directions or precise shapes and sizes is just no good for me. Besides, if it falls apart there's only one way to put it back together. I like to mold it a little, switch it up... make it mine and make it fit. There no way you can fit a square into a circle, and I hate that.

It's devastating when something we love falls apart - whether it was the puzzle you spent hours putting together, a model airplane or your life, it all hurts. The time and energy is gone, you can't get it back. Pieces get lost, broken beyond repair and then what? Your puzzle is incomplete, model is flawed and life is empty. That's when grabbing that blank piece of paper comes in handy. Start over. Sketch it out yourself, make it your own. If it's not what you want, you can always erase or add to it. The possibilities are endless.

It doesn't have to be perfect, just yours.

Eruptions

We've all been there: so overwhelmed with anger and frustration that, in spite of our best efforts, we just can't hold it in for another second. And then it happens, as we are powerless to stop it: we lose our shit.

Yesterday was what you might call a let-down. Big disappointment. I'll go one step further to call it an absolute piss-off. I drove five hours with my Mom and F to the new apartment. The building manager looked at me like a crazy person.

"We didn't have an appointment for today, did we?"

"Um, yep... I was supposed to take ownership today... I called twice this week to confirm. My power was supposed to be hooked up yesterday..."

Meanwhile I'm looking out the window at tenants in the building across the driveway smoking. In their apartment. Wait, didn't I sign a lease that stated I absolutely could not smoke in the building? Why is she still looking at me like I sprouted a second head? She scrambled around her office looking through paperwork, occasionally glancing quizically at me and then announced, "I don't know why this wasn't written down."

I watched her write it down the day of the lease-signing. I spoke to her last week. I called again this week, twice. Once to confirm my move-in date, the second time to confirm that the power corporation would be setting my power up. Somehow, she missed all of that.With a sick feeling in my stomach, I started wondering if I had made a mistake. Is this what I'm going to be contending with in this building, with this company?

The truth is that the series of events that led up to my gasket-blowing started long before my meeting with the building manager. I was overtired, feeling unwell and stressed out about moving. Finley was feeding off of my anxiety and acting up in the way that only two-year-olds can. I awoke yesterday with a heavy heart and a sense of dread. I snapped at Mom, Dad and F. I grumbled the whole way to the apartment, my bad mood stewing.

When I went to let myself into the apartment, I was greeting with the smell of fresh paint. YAY! They told me they didn't think they would bother repainting it when I had asked (three times). Sense of happy disappeared when I got completely through the door and saw that the apartment was in complete disarray. Shelves were laying on paper on the floor, wet paint all over them. The walls were tacky with their first coat of paint, but the ceilings looked fantastic! Cigarettes laid on my counter top and the lights were on. No one was there, but it was pretty obvious my apartment would not be ready for me to move in.

Nope. Wednesday. Great. My plans to get the apartment ready before I started classes on November 1 were thrown up in the air and smashed into smithereens. The only bonus is that a full carload of stuff has been unloaded into the middle of a bedroom and thus, that work is done. Angrily, I locked the door and drove away from the apartment. We went to the mall to walk around after five hours spent in the car, only to have Finley launch himself into the world's biggest meltdown. As I drove down the highway I could feel my frustration boiling over, and then it happened.

MOMMY MELTDOWN

I cried and grumbled and yelled and then I felt instantly better.

For how mad I was about leaving the apartment, I felt like a million bucks (except for cramped legs and a soreback from sitting in a car for nearly twelve hours). I got to sleep in my bed, snuggle with my dog and after F's bad mood had also passed, we bought a new movie for the car DVD player.

Once again my plans fell through and things looked bleak, but once the cranky skies cleared I was able to reroute and snuggle with one floppy eared dog. Just one more blessing in disguise to add to the list.

7:55





This moment played through my mind a million times last night. I can still see the lights of the delivery room, feel my mom's anticipation and J's tension. I can feel the fear I had when the whisked my son away from me without even letting me see him, and the relief that washed over me when I heard his first cry. Overdue, I had spent ten months feeling him grow, three days waiting to deliver, and one full day walking around the hospital trying to get things moving and ease the pain of the contractions. When my water (hilariously) broke in the hallway, I laughed so hard it's a wonder I didn't deliver then and there. At 7:30, my Mom went to find a nurse. At 7:40 I announced that I was delivering that baby. At 7:55, I was a Mommy.

 

 

 

It was the happiest and the scariest day of my life all at the same time. Everything changed in a minute. My life had new meaning, a new purpose. I had purpose. I felt the type of love that only a mother can feel, and it filled my heart so much I could feel it bursting. It now breaks about five times a day as I watch that little baby running around like a bull in a China shop. From small and helpless to the three-year-old teenager, I've cried when he cried, felt his pain when he fell, laughed at his smile and laid silently with him for hours. He is my greatest accomplishment, the wind beneath my wings and the roots that keep me grounded all at once. He makes me want to be a better person. It's almost 7:55PM on Thursday night - F was born on a Thursday night. Every time I catch the clock at 7:55PM, my hear skips a beat. It's my absolute favourite time.

 

My last full week with him has come to an end. Tomorrow morning will be a busy one, getting ready and hitting the road. In a week's time, I'll be alone in the new apartment. How do you prepare your heart for that hurt? How do you talk yourself through it? I am terrified and I'm not sure if I can, although I also thought I couldn't possibly raise a child at all, much less be doing it alone.

 

But, maybe I'll surprise myself. I do that a lot.

2.6 Seconds

I am envious of my not-quite-three-year-old's short attention span.

Yep, I said it. I am envious of the very same attention span that drives me completely bonkers 2.5 million times a day - and I mean certifiably crazy-pants kind of bonkers. From putting on socks to picking up toys, the kid switches tracks faster than you can say "attention". It's exasperating and hilarious at the same time.

Earlier today, I decided to approach the subject of my impending move.

"F, can you come and sit on Mommy's lap?"

"OK, but we need to rescue my toys. And then we need to play with Thomas and Edward and Gordon and have you seen Daisy Doo?"

This my friends, is what I'm working with.

I tried not once, not twice, but about thirty-seven times today to explain that we're going to be making some very big changes.

"Mommy is going to go back to school to make things better for us. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mommy. I want to make things better for you. Where did Daisy Doo go?"

In a split second, this kid can go from all serious to mischevious and back again. That was about the time I realized it. The thing I've been both praying for and secretly fearing:

He's going to be just fine.

This is what my heart looks like - Blue eyes, blonde hair and a mischevious grin.

Yeah, he's going to miss me and saying good-bye will be hard on us both, but he's got a million and one things happening in his little life all day every day. He's got his toys and his imagination pulling his attention all over every minute of his little life. It's not going to be so easy for Mommy. I'm going to be living five hours away from my heart.  For the first time since he was born, I'm going to be alone. Sleeping alone, eating alone, watching TV alone.

I'm going to miss him, and unless I can adopt his 2.6 second attention span, I'm going to be one sad little Mommy.