The Stable Bow

Yesterday was one of those tough days.

A day when reality was all about frustration, sadness, confusion, overwhelm … and whining.

Mama was all of the above.

Well, so was Primo, but with a day’s hindsight, it’s clear that Primo was my mirror.

A day later, I see that Primo was empathizing with me. Feeling my feelings, and not being entirely comfortable with them either.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t have his own feelings. He does. But kids (and I don’t know what the cut off age is here) have no filters, so when they encounter feelings, they feel them. That includes other people’s feelings, especially people they’re connected to.

Earlier this year I contemplated moving out of this house. I wanted a fresh start, didn’t want to live with the memories of life with their dad. I found an apartment and put down a deposit. But when I went back to look at it with my friend Peggy, we saw the threadbare carpet that they had promised to replace and the broken bits that the previous tenant said they’d never fix, and smelled cigarette smoke from a suite downstairs. I questioned my decision.

Was moving out of our house really the best thing for the children, or was I running away from my problems?

Primo always came to sleep with me in those dark days. The night that I discovered the unsuitability of the apartment, he dreamed this: we were lost and came upon two doors. We went through the first door and it was a trap! We managed to escape and when we got through the other door, we were home safe in our beds.

When he told me his dream early the next morning, I knew the answer: we would stay at home in our beds and deal with ghosts in the attic and skeletons in the closet and whatever other scary old patterns might arise.

And yesterday I was sad. I mourn my life as a full-time stay-at-home mom. I grieve the “loss” of my children. I am sad that they don’t live with me all the time. Anguish overwhelms me so that I often can’t work or focus when I’m not with them. It’s worse when the depression levels me even when I’m with them.

I ache to be with them when I’m not. I fear losing connection with them. I fear missing out on their milestones. I don't want to miss important information. Will they still learn my values, share my beliefs? What about when they want their mama? This is their time of life to have me.

They’re good company. I’m used to being with them. They make me laugh and love and sing. They leave a hole when they’re gone.

From my five and a half years with kids I know that there’s always going to be another chance. They are so real, full of life and love. They learn -- and teach -- every moment.

Life with kids, even if it’s not 24/7, is crazy. There’s always plenty of opportunity for learning and growth, for patience, and pleasure. Yesterday started in tears and ended in laughter. As our bedtime snack ended, Secundo’s clean up attempt inspired a Jackson Pollack-type design in milk and soggy rice crispies beneath the kitchen table. “But I just mopped that floor!” Andy exclaimed. And then he laughed.

There’s always ample opportunity to laugh. And laughter, as they say, is the best medicine. My day full of tears ended like this: on a bathroom floor slick with bath splashes, I turned to sit Secundo on the toilet and skidded on the wet floor. We never made it to the toilet. I wiped out with Secundo on top of me, in the middle of another expressionist painting, this one done in poo.

The laughter felt good, an antidote to the pain in my coccyx and the suffering of the day.

I am their mama. I love them when they’re with me and I love them when they’re with their dad. It’s not an easy balance. But it’s our life.

On Children
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Kahlil Gibran

Let Destiny find its way.

Kat: I’ve said before that Andy and I met in 1995. It was autumn, I was moving into my own place, a basement suite on Wolf Street in Banff. As usual for those days, I had no furniture. I walked into Yogi’s Second Hand Store looking for a bed.

Andy remembers that meeting: “The first time she came in the store my mouth dropped and my cock went rigid. She was stunning. I was too chicken to make any kind of talk, rare for me since things like this would normally be easy. Her beauty was mesmerizing; it stopped me dead in my tracks.”

Kat: Here’s how I remember it: The guy working at Yogi’s was really friendly. He seemed to go out of his way to help me out, promising to keep an eye out for what I was looking for, which was a bed. And he kind of stayed behind the counter most of the time I was in the store…

Andy writes more about that: “So we started a conversation about what now my mind can’t remember, but she was there for a while. Before she left it was arranged that I would come to her place and make a log bed for her to sleep on. She left. I sat there dumbfounded and in love. Yeah, weird, for sure. Maybe it was lust, probably was, but back then I didn’t really know the difference between the two.”

Kat: I walked out of there feeling good. Friendly guy, a person I could trust. Nice to have a man looking out for me. I was pretty guarded back then, but I did count on his help with the bed. Little did I know that he was already imagining sleeping in it with me. Guys!

Andy tells more of the story: We became good friends but to this day it is still a blur. I remember spending time with her, always laughing but not really getting into anything too deep. By deep I mean really opening up to each other in telling our feelings, thoughts about life and relationships.

Kat: Yeah, we had fun. Nothing serious. We painted my place and he always fooled around and laughed. Once he painted over my back with a roller – I think I was wearing only a sports bra, or something like that. I didn’t want to get paint on my clothes, and I knew intuitively that I was safe with Andy. I think we were siblings – maybe twins – in another life. We just get each other. And we’re unbelievably compatible. Our values match on a very deep level.

Andy: Then one day she came in and told me that she started dating this guy and that we would have to cool it down.

Kat: I met Steph. In those exact days I was on the hunt for the father of my kids. Andy never wanted kids. He tells me we talked about that. I don’t remember the conversation, but it must have registered. At that point in my life, kids – well, kid -- were the bottom line: I was ready to meet the man who would bring them to me.

Andy: It hurt so badly, but I didn’t show it. I stood tall and took it like a man. Ha, more like a fool. What does that mean I took it like a man? It means I didn’t show any emotion. Now I think that it is a fool who doesn’t show emotion, not a man. A man is someone who allows his feelings to show whether it is sad, happiness, excitement, or weakness.

Kat: After I told Andy about Steph, we spent one more evening together. I owed him a massage, and I remember that experience. I honoured Andy that night for being a good man, for being my friend, and I was sorry that he wasn’t the one. But it wasn’t our time.

Andy: I went out to Vermillion Lake. Magic and I just sat in the weeds and thought! I'm sorry. It's too bad. I was really happy for her. But I'd be lying if I didn't tell you I wished it were me. Destiny? What is it?

Kat: Yeah, destiny. Good question. It’s a beautiful mystery. I don’t want all the answers.

Andy: Here’s what I wrote to her then:
When I return from seeing you
I sometimes feel so confused.
When times get rough
I fall back on my senses.
I can't help but feel so in love with you.
It's hard to play cool
but when you've fallen in love
it's tough to keep it in tune.
It's strange the way things turn.
One moment you feel so strong
then the next moment you feel so weak.
Don't give up because time will tell.
I must learn not to push a good thing,
take it as it comes.
Let Destiny find its way.
You see her walk,
you see her talk,
you see her smile,
the only thing you think of
is to make
and keep her
always so happy.
For when she's happy you're happy.

I've got to stand tall,
keep my senses in focus.
Don't let time beat you ... Don't give up.
Time will tell.
There's a time and place for love.

Nowhere in life is it written when or where
but try to grasp that moment when it's there.
For if you don't you will never feel her love.

The thing that can be so special
is when you both can feel so in love
and feel as one.
You look across a crowded room
and she gives you a smile.
That only you two know
that a love so strong is there.
It's nested between your hearts and souls.
Only the two of you can feel

Kat: And here’s what he wrote to me now ...

When I return to Canmore after seeing you and the boys
I feel so strong and happy.
When times get rough,
I fall back on my senses and know how much I am loved.

I can’t help but feel so in love with you.
It’s hard to play cool, but really who cares.
I’m just me with you.

I find that we are always in tune -- now and back then.

It’s strange the way things turned out.
One moment you think about life one way and the next the other way.
There are moments you feel strong and moments you feel weak.

I never gave up hope.
I did not push and I waited and our destiny found its way.
I see you walk.
I hear you talk.
I see you smile.
And, I will always make you happy.
For when you are happy I am happy.

I stand tall.
My senses are always on.
I never gave up hope, and time was on our side.
What is time?
Love was found!

Nowhere in life is it written when or where you will meet.
But, I grasped that moment when I found it.
Now, I know what love is. It is Kathleen.
We have found that love and feel as one.

I look across a crowded room
And she gives me a smile.
That smile tells me that I am hers and she is mine.
It is nested between our hearts and souls.

Not only do we feel it,
but also the world sees it too.
----------------30---------------

Prayers I Didn't Send

The plant is an ivy
of some kind.

Even I
hardly a scientist
can identify it.

It grows at the side of
the dusty road in tropical
coastal rainforest Cahuita:

a hardy little plant,
a tenacious climber.

It's not climbing yet:

one rooted leaf
releases another shoot,
and the new leaf pushes up out of the dirt
in a pot on my kitchen window ledge.

It is a cutting from a plant
I gave Andy 11 years ago.
He took good care of it,
and now we stand,
and watch it grow,
his arms around me,
my body pressed into his.

Cordated leaves unfurl,
open into pretty green hearts
as alive and fresh as
the perfect children
who live with us --

two boys
gorgeous little men to be
who come to me with their boo-boos.
Not that finger,
this one!
I kiss it better;
what power I possess,
their mother.

Ha!

I drop to my knees,
give thanks.

“Romantic love pales in comparison,”
I wrote to Andy in the beginning,
“to the love of a child.”

Their love is given
pure and free and whole,
as big as their open hearts.

The forgiveness in their love
is what Christ taught.
70 times 7,
and that’s only today --

there is always another opportunity
to try it again,

always another chance
to get it right
next time.

Day by day
their faces open,
their eyes widen,
their hearts reveal

secrets of the universe
undreamed of
and hoped for.

“Maybe we just haven't found the right person yet,”
he wrote back. “I like to think one can have a significant
other that would feel the love just the same.”

“The child comes to us,” I responded.
“And it’s our job to accept him, as is.
Can romantic love do that too?”

“I never gave up hope,” he reminds me.
“I did not push and I waited
and our destiny found its way.”

Here,
in this home,
in this life
the little plant,
the young boys,
the two of us
find space to be
ourselves.

I turn around, face him:
“I love you," I say.
“You are the answer to prayers I didn't send,
you make dreams come true that I haven't dreamed yet.”

"Shh," he presses a finger to my lips.
He points to the plant.
Steadily, it grows,
another leaf, and then another,
the pulse of life recorded
in its progress.
Love in the very definition
of this emergence.

“But to be forgiven, you must first believe in sin.”
Jewel

How I Used to Feel

Today I remember how it used to feel.

Becoming a mother was not easy for me. Giving birth, that was not the difficult part. No, redefining myself as mama, giving up what has to be surrendered to take care of needy mammal human babies, that has been the challenge!

Primo is 5 and a half, Secundo will be two this week.

My life now is different than it was when I started on my journey of motherhood. I no longer live with my boys’ dad, and for the next few months I’m still mostly a single mother when the boys are with me, which is 70% of the time (for now). Their dad and I uncoupled and adjusted rather quickly to being parents rather than spouses, and I have a new man in my life who knocks my socks off. He loves me, he loves the boys, and he’s moving here to be with us in September.

I am so much happier. I have time to myself, clear spaces where I do not have to focus on the children and can allow my mind to dwell in the deep places my soul wants to explore.

I am their mother when they are with me, and also when they are with their dad.

Mostly I enjoy this, and flow from being the mother on duty to being the mother at a distance. But sometimes guilt gets in the way and when I’m alone I sob and grieve. I know I am not alone; other mothers in my situation do the same. It’s normal. It’s getting easier. I’m letting it take the time it needs to take.

Last night Silas woke just as I was going to sleep. Do you know that feeling? “Sleep deprivation is a recognized form of torture,” my friend Mandi always says. Melting into sleep, hovering over the abyss of dreams and unconscious, I was awakened by a cry. Heart racing, mouth dry, I stumbled out of my bed to fetch the boy and carried Secundo back with me. Hoping he’d fall asleep easily beside me. But he didn’t.

He cried and cried and cried. “Wa wa,” he called, and he drank when I brought him a cup. Still he didn’t settle. “Bump bump,” he begged, and patted his own bum, indicating he wanted me to pat him to sleep. But that didn’t work either. “Doh!” he ordered when I asked if he was hungry. So we went into the kitchen, but he didn’t want food. He just wanted to be up. He looked out the window and said “Doh, car!” as the traffic light went green, and “’Top!” as the light went red. I see.

So, back to bed we went. Tears. Weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth – and not just him! I got angry. Remembered the five years of torture where I was the one who woke at night and got up early and attended to the children all day and did the night time stuff too. Often without a break. (There were reasons the marriage didn’t work…)

Two hours later we were finally asleep. And four hours after that, we were awake again – this time for the day.

Oh, it reminded me of my previous lifetime. How angry I was – at their dad, but it showed up as frustration with the kids. I know a lot of people have trouble parenting because their marriages are not healthy. I know many moms who lose it because they just don’t get the space and support they need.

The nuclear family sucks as a model for raising kids. It works for some, but not for many. In other times and other cultures, many more than two people raise the kids. Grandparents play a valuable role in spelling the parents and supporting the household. Extended family, community, and a network of like-minded people all contribute. All this is necessary, and frequently missing in our affluent, comfortable, easy society.

We all spent the morning being sleep deprived. I am out ahead enough to appreciate that I’m no longer depressed, I’ve caught up on lots of my sleep, and my bubble is usually in the middle, like the carpenter’s level that indicates when things are in balance.

But I did worry about Secundo’s behaviour. When their dad recently observed Secundo performing a tantrum, he was taken aback. “I’ve never seen that.”

Oh, really? What’s up with that? Is it something I’m doing wrong? (The guilty mother’s universal question.)

“They’re going to have very different lives,” my mom said when I called her this morning. “They live in two different worlds. They’ll have differences in behaviour because of that.”

Makes sense. Though there is no other separation in our family, she gets it.

And then she called back to say: “In my experiences, children were always much more free with our mothers. It’s not that we were scared of our dads (although in some cases, this was true), but we were differently behaved around them. With our mothers, we were ourselves. And didn’t hold back.”

I’ve noticed this. Look, I’m 43 and I still call my mommy when I have a problem. You should have seen me wailing away in the initial adjustment period of uncoupling.

I hold the space for my children to express themselves. I honour their feelings. What I want most for my kids is for them to be themselves. I don’t let them get away with disrespectful behaviour – that would be spoiling them -- but I don’t shut it down at the source.

Mothers and fathers play different roles in kids’ lives. When we are healthy versions of our selves, we can parent wholly. Co-parenting has an extra layer of challenges related to the disconnect between households; their dad and I work hard to be strategic and to communicate. Information flows between us. We do not have rigid boundaries.

Though I feel like molasses and fog today, I am not anxious. When they spend Monday night with their dad, I will sleep. I will have space to do yoga, meditate, write. Their dad will take good care of them. In September I’ll no longer be a single mom and the boys will have another loving caregiver in their lives.

We’re redefining family to suit our needs, and to reflect our family values, and it’s working for us.

He watches the plant.

This is what he shows me:
a green tip pokes through black earth
reaches for light.

At its vertex, a drop of water
perches;
a jewel in its elemental setting.

As we stand together
at the window
we can see
the green shoot

grow,
curl,
unfurl,
open.

This is how he is fascinated by me,
this is how he observes me --

with curiosity
and diligence

and beautiful attention.

He is not looking for flaws,
he sees perfection.

This is love.