Step on a Crack...

I try very hard not to let superstition creep into my life.

Lately, it's not working.

Leading up to my wedding, everything went wrong. It started with the date - we didn't get the date we wanted, but we got into the venue on the Labour Day weekend. Next was the dress - my Mom hated the first one I liked, and the dress that I absolutely would have killed for had to be bought "as is", and would have taken a lot of stress and work to make ready for a real wedding. Then, the invitations were wrong not once, but five times. They were even sent out with the incorrect RSVP date because there was just no time to have them fixed again. We wrote the correct date in pen.

There was the ex-roommate who turned into an ex-bridesmaid when she informed me she planned on driving five hours to the church the day of my wedding - meaning she wouldn't be present for photos, hair/makeup, the meet-and-greet or anything else to do with the wedding but the actual wedding itself. Then there was the fact that my in-laws dictated everything. The day of the wedding, I looked at my best friend and my Mom and asked, "Am I making a mistake? Were they signs?"

Maybe they were, maybe they weren't. The only thing I do know is our one year anniversary should have been two months ago, and I haven't seen my husband since July. Aside from a handful of texts this week, I hadn't even heard from him in four weeks - which is usually the case, just a text to say he's sent something for F. I've dwelled on not listening to my gut and reading the signs that were blatantly flashing before my eyes, and have wondered if I would be happier, if hearts would have been spared had I called off the wedding when it first crossed my mind - around the time shit started hitting the fan.

Yesterday, I felt that strange sense of "Is this an omen?" when I went to my apartment to find the door to my unit UNLOCKED. WITH MY STUFF INSIDE. I could feel my heart breaking - I have never felt so assaulted, so violated in all my life. All of my things were where I'd left them, but the building managers cared that little about my belongings that they didn't even lock the door that separated them from the world. I was furious. This was only exasperated by the fact that the apartment hadn't been cleaned, a jug of paint sat in the middle of my floor and there were still cigarettes and old coffee cups on my counter. What did I get myself into?, I asked myself walking down the stairs shaking with anger.

We had no choice but to my move my things into the apartment. I looked at my Dad and said, "I'm looking for a new place. I will not stay here." He agreed, wholeheartedly and within a few hours, I had found a few spots to look at on Sunday when I return to town. It was sickening feeling. All of my doubts about going back to school were blown up on the projection screen for me this last week. An apartment that wasn't ready, twice. Since telling a few people where the apartment was, I've heard everything from "I saw a car on fire in the parking lot there once" to "the cops are there every day".

Needless to say, I'm moving and trying to stay positive that this isn't a sign from some greater force that I'm not supposed to go to school right now but that's not going to happen. Shit happens, but always for a reason. Maybe the perfect apartment is just waiting for me to move in!

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.

Packed

Packing.

The last ten days have been, um, interesting. You so easily forget the little bits of emotion you've hidden away in your mind, in your home and its contents. As I took paintings off the walls of my house, I also ripped the bandaids that have been covering the wounds left from my break up, from watching my life crumble around me. I waited too long. I should have dealt with some of it sooner, maybe it wouldn't have hurt so much. Every corner of that house was filled with emotion so great I could feel it buzzing around me, step by step.

Each room packed with memories, both good and bad. Filled to the brim with love, happiness, sadness and anger. Have you ever noticed the way emotions can intermingle in a space, laying dormant until you return there only to be completely overwhelmed? That has been the last ten days for me. I have laughed and cried, loved and fought in that house - I put my entire being into that house, turning into our home. New floors, painted walls, new furniture... it was financially and emotionally draining, physically challenging and worth every minute, or so it seemed. As I looked at the bare walls this week, I felt like I'd had the wind knocked out of me. All that hard work, and for what? For me to hate being there so much that I'd packed up our clothes and moved back to Moms? For me to be so afraid of the way my life turned out that I had to get out?

Hidden behind floor lamps and rich, red drapes were unspoken fears: Am I making a mistake? Should I be letting this go? Every dish, towel and blanket I packed had a memory - however big or small. The blankets we bought as a couple, the ones we received as wedding gifts. When the urge to cry became so great I could feel the tears threatening to spill over, I'd make a joke or walk away. I'm just so tired of being sad.

The truth is that right now, my life has a brighter future than it did a year ago. I have me back. I own my goals, my fears and my happiness. I always should have. It's easy to let ourselves go in relationships, easy to settle into the domesticated ebb and flow of parenting and marriage, but it's really hard to get it back once it's gone. Don't let it go. Let go of all the negativity, the sadness and anger of a lost relationship and relish in the joy and freedom of finding yourself. Reinvent yourself once, or twice or a million times, or stay the same.

Try, fall, and get back up and try again. That's what life is about.

Enough

I woke up this morning feeling pretty pleased with myself.

Two big suitcases sat jam-packed with my stuff against the wall, a third set on top of a rubbermaid container (mainly to hold said rubbermaid container closed), waiting to be filled. In a little under two hours last night, I managed to pack the clothes I like the most need for my first few weeks in the new place. How efficient am I? I thought smugly, and then I looked into my closet.

More clothes. Dresses, jackets, shirts, sweaters, shoes, pants, jeans, skirts... There is an entire wardrobe packed in my suitcases and another full wardrobe hanging in my closet. My bureau drawers aren't empty either. In spite of having not one but four white button-front shirts, last week I looked at one and thought how much I wanted to buy it. I didn't, and was reminded why last night. Given, some of the clothes hanging don't fit quite right but some were expensive items, and you never know when you might put on five or forty pounds, right?

More. It consumes our lives, day in and day out. We want more money, bigger houses, faster cars, better wardrobes, more vacation time. Some of us even lose sleep over it - I know I do. Want keeps me awake, need rarely does. Every now and again, want and need overlap for me. Going back to school is a great example of that. I could have done all of the schoolwork in the upcoming year in the time I spent worrying. All those hours didn't change the outcome though. They don't make tuition less and as far as I can see, worrying isn't going to make leaving any easier.

Wanting more this and more that has really only given me more stress, more headaches and less happiness. Worrying about things I can't have or can't change has only dulled my own life and taken away from all of the wonderful things I do have. What if, just for one day, I could swap wanting more with being happy with enough. I have enough. 

I have a roof over my head when thousands of others are freezing in the street. I have food in my cupboards, and electricity keeping my fridge running. I have an amazing support system of family and friends. I have a beautiful, bright and loving little boy and I have our health. New jeans or a shiny car won't make any of that better or worse.

When it's all stripped away, I really have it all - I have more than enough.

Ten

TEN DAYS.

Ten. I move in ten days.

If you didn't already know, I am flipping nervous. I have been preparing for this since mid-June. I'm torn between totally unprepared and chomping at the bit. Depends on the day time of day. In the line for cash at Wal-Mart today, the lady behind me commented on how cute the Thomas the Tank Engine plate set I had picked for Finley was. When I told her I had bought it as a special treat for when he visits me in Halifax, she stopped unloading her cart.

"That is going to be so hard on you, but good for you!"

Excuse me while I pat myself on the back and simultaenously throw up. It is going to be hard. It's also going to be pretty liberating.

A really good friend of mine also felt the need to tell me that, after reading my blog, I needed to remember that I'm more than a single mom. He's right, and I know it.

I've been using my single momdom as a security blanket. I've made it my identity. I've forgotten all of the other bits of me. I've put my hobbies on the back burner since those little feet hit the ground running. I'm going to miss him a lot, but there are a handful of things I'm going to really enjoy.

 -- The opportunity to do yoga whenever I want. This goes another step further in that I can enjoy my yoga practice for ten minutes or two hours, if I so choose.

 -- Running, sans stroller. Yes, I will have to bring the dog. She is a terrible running partner, but it's easier than the stroller, the constant stops to make sure he's not bored.

 -- Going to the ATM, alone. 'Nuff said.

 -- Not hitting the toy section of every. single. store.

Mostly... Rediscovering me. I'd be willing to bet that I've changed a little bit in the past two years. Actually, in the past six months. Definitely in the past six months. I can't wait to just be Ashley for a little while.