Laughing at Bats

This evening Secundo and I watched the sun go down at Willows Beach while Primo hunkered down by a tide pool and counted snails. I swept my eyes across the water, saw it go from pewter gray to purple, and in between that crazy shade of pink sunset blue that disappeared in seconds. Ahh. We packed up our nets and bucket, and two sandy, blackberry stained boys and I headed across the beach.

“Mama tar,” Secundo said, pointing from the breakwater. “Go home.” He’s making two word sentences now. We piled into my Subaru, grabbed handfuls of cashews, and drove to our little yellow house on Cedar Hill Cross.

At our new table – Andy brought one truckload of stuff with him this week! -- we drank warm milk with caramel flavour, then brushed teeth and washed sticky hands. I saw that the soles of their little feet were dirty as they climbed into bed. Who cares, I thought, it’s summer.

I read Secundo a book about earth movers while Primo made hand shadows on the wall. “This is a hermit crab, Mom,” he said. “And look at this, it’s Scooby Doo!”

Then it was bedtime. “Turn out all the lights,” Primo said in a voice that slurred. He sighed blissfully when the room went dark. “My stars are glowing.” And so they were, on the ceiling above his head, a crescent moon too.

Secundo took a little longer. At 10 pm he said “Poo” and we went to the bathroom. He deposited some in the potty then wandered around saying “Honey,” in his little Vienna boy’s choir soprano voice. “Honey. You know what? Honey.” He’s so damn cute I could just cry. And usually I do.

They came back to me today. After two nights and three days with their father. When I cuddled Secundo to sleep I didn’t recognize the smell on his head. An unfamiliar shampoo, or maybe his caregiver’s perfume. God, it’s hard to let them go.

Yesterday I went climbing with Andy and Shannon. Pulling myself up a rock face, balancing and pivoting 10 metres above ground, using my toes, my fingertips to hang on – this is a new passion for me. Andy loves climbing and he thrives on instruction, so he makes a great teacher. He promised to have us climb until we were exhausted. But after only three climbs, my energy flagged.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Secundo. My two-year-old. Not with me. Two nights away every week. Soon to be three. It stops my heart beating, and I gasp for breath when I think of it.

“I can’t have fun,” I said to Andy while I was belaying Shannon. “I feel so guilty when I’m not with them.”

I saw a shadow cross his face.

I pulled Shannon’s rope taut and watched her struggle on the rock. “I’m going to put my toe on that? It’s not going to hold me. And that little chip? It’s not possible to hang on to only that.” Fear. The unknown. Difficulty.

“Try it,” Andy said. “You can do it.”

“I can’t!”

“You might be surprised.”

She did it. Dug in her toe and hauled herself up with her fingernails. She was so proud of herself.

That’s what I do every day that my kids aren’t with me. July was particularly bad. The feeling of missing them was torture. I cried a lot.

“But it’s all so good,” Zana said. “It’s all so much better now.”

Yes, it is. Yes. Yes. Oh, yessss. And I will not tell you it doesn’t hurt. It just feels wrong when they’re not with me. Sorry.

Andy and I had dinner at 8 pm last night. Just the two of us. White Truck chardonnay. Halibut in a maple syrup tamari lime sauce. Steamed veggies. Fresh brown bread with butter. Yum. Then we made a fire. Made love. More yum.

But before the fireworks, I shut down, couldn’t keep my mind off the boys. I knew they were safe with their father. Well taken care of. Absolutely fine. And still, my mind went there. Is Secundo away from me too much -- he’s only two? Do they have enough of me? Do I have enough of them? This isn’t OK. How do I live with this?

I know it’s not easy for Andy when I go into this funk. He loves the boys. He shares the pleasure and delight that he takes in them. “I never wanted kids,” he tells me. “And I’m so happy that I’m not missing out on this!” He says it’s beautiful to fall in love with them as he falls in love with me. He is patient and sympathetic, and he wants me to move on, to be happy, to have fun.

Me too. And I am. But this is going to take the time it takes.

My friend Judi says it’s impossible for me to let go. A mother can’t. It’s simply not possible. All I can do is trust that all is well. And find a tiny hold on the rock where I can place my fingertips and pull myself up.

So, that’s what I do. Give Andy one last kiss before he drives his Tacoma back to Canmore where he will put the finishing touches on his house so the new owners can take possession of it in a week. Then he’ll move here to be with us. Forever.

As soon as my work is done, I cycle off to fetch Secundo. “Mama!” he runs to me, his two-year-old feet are getting more and more adept each day.



Ahh. Bliss. It feels so right when he’s with me. When we are together, it doesn’t matter that we were apart. He is fine. Glowing, bursting with life. Tonight at the beach he watched bats fly for the first time in his life, and he laughed. Threw his head back and danced his hands in imitation of their erratic flapping flight. Then let loose with that glorious, gurgling chuckle that makes anyone in a three-metre radius laugh along with him.

I did. So did his bro.

This is my lovely life and I am swimming in every beautiful wave of it.