NINE

I had the pleasure of taking these two cuties to Ripley's Aquarium this weekend. As we wandered around looking at the exhibits, it dawned on me that this place was more than just a venue to look at sea creatures, it's a microcosm of the ocean... but more importantly, it is a microcosm of life.

A large group of people above the water contains the same variations as the creatures we marvelled at in the tanks: they were many different colours and species; some fish travelled in schools while others travelled alone; some creatures worked together to better the environment and others were just there because they literally had nowhere else to go.

When this shark swam by, I was like, "Look at those teeth!" then, "Yeah... too bad people who are predators don't have their sharp whites out there like that so everyone knows up front who they are and what they are about." Don't worry... I said it to myself!

"What about the baby sharks?" You ask.  I have to admit to finding them cute but Athena almost touched one by accident when she reached into a tank to pet a stingray. The baby shark was swimming underneath and slipped out just as her hand came down. Human sharks can be like this also...hiding in the shadows then slipping out at opportune moments looking all cute and safe. "Don't touch the shark," the Aquarium employee shouted, startling us all. Thank God for his warning. Even when we watch for danger we don't always see it right there, hidden in plain sight.


We were patient and waited. When the coast was clear, we did pet the stingrays. So smooth and cool to the touch and much like many people I know, safe to hang out with if you don't ruffle their feathers but trigger their defences and you'll know it when they sting you.

Jellyfish too though they don't have to be triggered... they are just always going to sting you, no matter what, if you get on their wrong side, which is well...just about every side.

If you think the Aquarium lesson ended when the exhibits were over, we had to exit through the gift shop, a place full of shiny things designed to catch your eye but which on closer inspection prove themselves to be mostly junk. Rather than grab at the pinkest, cutest or shiniest thing, if you take your time to search, you can usually find something of substance and value hidden amongst the rubbish. I set out to encourage this...

But then I remembered that she's NINE! Unicorns, the tooth fairy and Santa exist... I am still almost always right. I remembered that my bed is the comfiest place for her to sleep and she hasn't realized that she really is too heavy to be sitting on my lap. So I bought the stuffed seahorse with the hearts and pastel colours that made her voice rise two octaves when she talked about how much she loved it. I also bought her a handful of candy from the bulk station just because I wanted to see her smile her crooked smile and skip her crooked-legged skip all the way back to the GO station. I bought them for her friend as well because I know the only thing better than having one happy nine year old is having two.

I filled the empty shopping bags with their discarded jackets, balancing the weight of their baggage from a pace behind. I watched their free arms swing while their others clutched the seahorse tight to their sides, the stuffed heads bouncing in their little-girl grasps and smiled inside knowing there is still so much time before she understands even half of this - thank God.

Happy Birthday!

EIGHT!

It's hard to believe that today this beautiful little girl of mine is eight. I look at her every day and know my life has a purpose. Know there is a God.  

I was in a marriage which in spite of its beautiful beginnings had started to suck at my soul. One night, as I lay in bed I prayed a prayer I remember still: "God, if there is any other soul meant to enter this universe through me please send it now. I can't hold on much longer."

Shortly after, I found out I was pregnant with this one. Though her birth added strain to an already strenuous situation, it also added joy, much love and laughter.

A few more years of struggle would pass before I left but when I did, I left with four little souls that the universe will use as it needs to. 

Athena is sensitive, kind, loving, creative.  She is joy personified. I love the twinkle in her brown eyes. I love that her body can barely contain the spirit within. She says the unsayable. She thinks the unthinkable. She questions the universe in ways that make me think hard. She feels a deep connection to the universe and to God.  Though her head is always in the clouds, she is rooted in love in a way that gives her the confidence to be who she is. 

She is a living reminder that prayers get answered. A reminder that I need to remain open to God's purpose. A reminder that even as love changes, it can create beautifully wonderful things. 

There is a reason that she was born Thanksgiving weekend. 

Happy Birthday Athena and Thank You!

Fourty-Five

 WOW 45... I Remember when, at 15 I moved to NJ to live with my Aunt and Uncle to ostensibly get to know my American relatives better but in reality to break free from the limiting role my siblings had put me in and recast my role as, not the youngest sister, but as me.

Auntie June and Uncle Kevin seemed ancient back then yet now looking back I they were even younger than I am now.

I never would have guessed that breaking free of other people's image of me to stand in the light of the truth of who I am would become a lifelong journey.

At 45 life is an interesting mix of predictability and beautiful surprises. I am grateful for the people I am surrounded by; for every moment I have spent mothering, friending, cooking, cleaning, driving, teaching, learning and loving.

I used to think that I gave too much of my time and attention to causes and people who didn't deserve it, now I realize that few of us (me included) deserve the mercy and grace others extend.

I used to believe the choices my kids make should reflect the values I instilled, now (thanks Zoe, Antonios, Miles and Athena) I insist that their choices reflect who they are and who they want to be in this world.

I used to suppress the part of me that wanted to connect with God, now I actively seek out and pay attention to the Divine.

At 45 I am old enough to know that freedom is more about the ability to be who you are than the ability to go where you want.

Until I sit down to capture a moment, create a poem, or offer encouragement and support, my 15-year-old self would hardly recognize this me. A me who willingly admits to not having the answers; who makes the bed even before leaving the bedroom; who has learned to celebrate as vigorously as she grieves; who doesn't need to hide her tears; who voices her opinions and who actively explores her spirituality. A me who has learned that no matter what the problem is, love is usually the answer; who belongs wherever I choose to find common ground (there is always common ground). A me who believes you can never be grateful enough for the gift of life - regardless of its condition; as long as you are alive  you have something to offer.

If I have 45 more years or a day I want to spend my time accepting and loving and perhaps putting a few more words on paper because there are always more words.

Twelve

Time frickin' flies...

Twelve years already since, a little freaked out and alone, I drove to Groves Memorial Hospital in Fergus and had this crazy kid.

Twelve years of trying to figure out how (sometimes if) his brain works and how (sometimes if) I need to mother him.

Twelve years of watching him interact with the world and figure out how he can influence it more than it influences him.

Twelve years of seeing him master his body and use it to perform feats which have often stopped my heart and started my mouth to yelling.

Twelve years of getting to say good morning and goodnight and wipe that look off your face before I do it for you.

Twelve years of laughter and tears and love and pain which has sometimes engulfed him but has never broken him.

Twelve years of noting who he looks up to and why.

Twelve years of wondering which bone he will break next and how.

Twelve years of being grateful that I didn't crash my car on the way to the hospital.

Happy Birthday young man, let's see if we can get you to thirteen intact!

Seven

 SEVEN!

At 7, she is funnier than I care to admit, more dramatic than Meryl Streep, smarter than she has a right to be and sassier than I could ever imagine.

Athena  is starting to lose her baby parts. Tooth by tooth she takes baby steps closer to the adult world. Year by year she takes giant
steps from the shelter of childhood.

For now, the magic of life still clings to her. The certainty that she is loved and loveable are the cornerstones of her universe.

One day last week as we walked to school hand-in-hand she suddenlty stopped on the sidewalk and waited for her dead weight to halt me.  When the limited length of our arms forced me to turn I
found Athena looking at me thoughtfully. Satisfied that she had my full attention, she raised her right leg and ever so dramatically allowed it to dangle before swinging it forward and deliberately stepping on the crack.  Perplexed, I watched her crumble in a fit of giggles before regaining her composure and asking in a sweetly syrupy voice: "So Mom, how is your back today?"

Every day is like that. Every day has a moment when Athena's unexpected sassiness or flare for the dramatic stops us dead in our tracks, breath held as we wait for the pause to be overtaken by the fit of laughter which always lays on the other side.

And just when you think you know all there is to know about this remarkable child, she displays a deep sensitivity for the environment and humanity creating insightfully heartfelt prayers which I wish I had thought to pray myself.

Happy Birthday Little Girl!

Eleven

 

What do you believe in when you are eleven?

Santa, the tooth fairy, and the switch witch have been demystified. You are now one of the keepers of the magic who can help create the facade for those younger than you.

By eleven you have figured out that your parents are far from infallible and their expectation that you act more like a young man and less like a toddler is sometimes a pretty tough row to hoe. You're pretty sure that your parents love you but you're less sure that they always know what's best for you. In your mind, they proved that when they made you come in from hanging out with your buddies to spend time playing your guitar and proved it again when they made you go to your grandmother's even though you wanted to play soccer.

This week, this little guy turned eleven. We celebrated the way that we always do with the birthday boy choosing what we would all eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  Miles arrived home from school all pumped up for hamburgers which he, for the first time, formed with his own hands .  His willingness to participate came complete with the requisite sounds and expressions of disgust.

Usually the birthday person gets to choose the activity we engage in.  Birthday or not though, I had a parent's meeting with Miles' soccer coach. In spite of playing just one season of house league, his skills were outstanding enough that he had made it through five tryouts and landed a spot on the select team for 2015.

I dragged him away from friends and off to the meeting with me where he sat alternately fidgeting and silently begging for access to flappy bird on my smartphone. Forty-five minutes after the meeting began it ended.

"Race you to the van," he said when our feet hit the pavement.

 So we ran in the darkness, laughing while the cool evening wind slapped at us.

"I win," he declared delightedly when I caught up to him.

"Yes you did," I conceded graciously, it wasn't that long ago when I had to deliberately hang back to let him win.

On the way home, we made a quick stop at the grocery store.

“Race you,” he said again and again we ran. This time, however, he ran past the entrance to the store and off to a place I couldn't see him.

“Hey!” I called. “I win...you missed the entrance.”

He came racing back and entered the store behind me.

As we walked the aisles he asked “Mom, can I have 5 or 10 dollars of my own money?”

“What for?”

“It's not what you think," he said. "When I ran past the entrance, I saw a homeless woman.”

I was a little ashamed that I had immediately thought he wanted the money for candy then touched by his ability to see this woman when so many people find the homeless invisible.

When we got to the register I realized that I had only a ten dollar bill with me and I had left my bank card in the van.

“I can't give you ten,” I informed him. "I can only give you the change."

"Can you use your bank card and give me that ten?" He asked eyeing it.

"I left my card in the van.  It's the change or nothing."

"Ok."

When we left the store, I handed him the $7 left from my purchase. He pointed to the homeless woman who was seated on the bench of her walker holding a sign that said “Please help." I deliberately stood back and watched him deposit first the bill then the $2 coin into her outstretched hand.

The woman thanked him then made eye contact with me and said “Thank you.”

“That was his money," I informed her with pride. "His money that he earned, not mine.”

As he walked from her to me, I noticed a little swagger had entered his step.

“Thank you and God bless,” the woman called out after him.

He stopped and turned to throw a hearty “You're welcome," over his broadening shoulders.

Together we walked to the van in silence. I looked at my son.

“Not everyone would do what you just did. Even some adults with more to give would walk past that lady and not want to help her.  I am proud of you and proud to be your mother. No matter what else you believe in, believe that you are a good, kind and loving person."

In that moment we both knew it was true. I hope that it remains so forever.