One of the few good things i can say about having shared custody of the children is the time it gives you. Time that, on occasion, is not filled with a yearning to see them.
Yesterday found me in the company of good friends, good food and floor tickets to see Kings of Leon in vancouver. I had a really good time in a whirlwind 24 hour trip. The show was good and loud and very rock and roll. And loud.
Today found me digging around in the dirt under my house searching for hidden treasures. The kids and i have met most of the neighbours already. Parkers little buddy from kindergarten lives right across the alley and the kids spent most of afternoon running between the houses, giddy with anticipation for the day we finally move in. A painful wait of eleven days while floors are torn up, foundations are poured and a beautiful eggplant coloured roof is put on.
Magical days.
i have been thinking about these old houses and why i love them so. i think it is a desire to adopt a history that is not mine. these lives lived in them. happiness and sorrow all bound in horsehair and hay insulation. the struggles and the stories. the children raised, the families built.
do you remember that house we looked at in oak bay, two blocks from willows. right after or before we moved in to taylor? it was six bedrooms and two kitchens. it was $300,000. my god, i loved that house. i wanted it so bad. you thought it odd and uncomfortable. i wanted to flip taylor and buy that house. i think i should have been more vocal. it sold this summer for 1.5 million. though i wouldn't have sold. i heard voices in that house. i drive by it every time i am in victoria.
i thought i loved campbell, but it was a desire to reclaim my youth, and as it turns out my youth is drowning in bad memories, and campbell only brought those home to me every day.
i have realized that i am searching for a home, have been for a long time. my rental feels like home, and i am sad to see it go, but, now, i own a home with a history so much better than my own.
my favourite house with you, the one with the best, most intimate memories is cook street, an old home. i remember every day we spent there. those were our golden moments, i hold them close to my heart.
1. rainfall giving me a few days off from watering the garden.
2. old diners in old towns with old staff and old customers.
3. entire days of children in good moods.
4. the giant zucchini we are growing in hopes of winning a ribbon at the Fair.
5. snake charmers and bearded ladies.
As i sit here a mother deer and her little baby nibble on my greens just outside the window, they are both beautiful and gracious and gimpy and clumsy. A getting to know. A learning to nurture and mother.
My youngest daughter has life-threatening allergies. In many ways, after eight years, it's not that big a deal. It is part of our daily lives, but we are all used to it. We are cautious, but carefree. We have our own set of rules and boundaries that keep her safe.
Last night i went out for dinner and then went to watch some friends rehearse their songs. It was fun and carefree. I was thinking, wistfully, off and on about the kids and missing them as i do when they are not with me. Feeling slightly off, like being in the wrong place, or the right place without your clothes. I thought i was having anxiety because my chest kept getting tighter and tighter. It was hard to breathe. I headed for home thinking i could use the puffer and take some holy basil and feel better.
The thing was, i didn't feel better. I kept feeling worse and a peek in the mirror returned upon me a face stricken with bright red welts. Welts that ran down my neck and arms. Definitely not a panic attack. Allergy! The thing is i am totally prepared for this situation with my daughter, but not myself. At this time panic set in for real. Like the high maintenance machine that i am, my body has found another way to befuddle and amuse me in a way that is totally not funny.
So long story short an epipen was injected in my thigh and i got better. I just need to find out why that happened and what the hell i am allergic to. Oh, and purchase more epipens.
Stress has been eating at me. Eating away my insides. When i think of all the things i have to do, my giant to-do list that sits unchecked day after day. I am paralyzed into nothingness. Phone calls not dialed, not returned. The daunting inbox.
When i flip open my notebook, see all i have to do my bowels turn and i find myself running for the bathroom and then lay spent on my bed. Picking up a book to escape in instead of that damn list.
The kids bounce in and out of my room. What are we doing, where are we going, what should we do?
And again we escape on fun adventures. Days in the city, in the movies, at music festivals. Late night skinny dips in the lake.
And that list sits there. Goes unchecked.
The other night i just simply broke down. Tears flowed. I cried in my friends arms. I can't do this. A simple "yes you can." Yes i can.
And we danced in the kitchen to loud music, singing as loud as we could. I crashed in a heap in bed. I woke. I woke and knew i could do it.