February 17, 2014
Mid December my dad sent me a casual text asking about our trip to NASA for Red’s birthday, followed by “what are your plans for Christmas?” We had just been talking about what to get for him for Christmas! I replied that Paul didn’t have much time off and we would enjoy a quiet Christmas at home, and asked about his plans. He replied just as casually that he hadn’t been sure, waiting to see whether his parents would be in town or up north. He then asked whether we would like to go up for Christmas. Within an hour he had purchased tickets for the four of us to go up. Then he said, “you asked me what I wanted for Christmas, just show up. If you really want to put something under the tree I’ll give you a bottle if wine you can wrap.”
Friends, Christmas of 1997 is the last Christmas I have spent with any member of my family. I can’t express how overwhelmed I was at the prospect of going to Canada for Christmas.
Paul and I had been talking in hushed and covert language as we worked this out to avoid getting anyone’s hopes up in case it wouldn’t work. When it was settled I started to cry and my sweet Red, putting together what little he understood, said, “we would miss you for Christmas, but I understand you wanting to be with your family.” He was overjoyed to learn we would all be together.
The following two weeks were hectic. December is a crazy month anyway and with the ice storm at the beginning of the month many events were smushed together later on. I admit I didn’t always carry The Christmas Spirit with me and sometimes grumbled at the additional demands placed on me and my time. Knowing I was leaving town, leaving the country, kept me from doing something regrettable. I almost didn’t get packed before we left but I didn’t care!
It was a perfect trip.
There was real snow on the ground, unusual for Vancouver, which melted the following day. We saw all our family living in the lower mainland, including both my brothers on that side; the three of us have not been together in probably right years. We took the boys up to Grouse Mountain for some good winter memories and showed them the Observatory where we had a pre-wedding dinner/reception.
It was not a long trip, but finally being able to relax and be with family was so centering. I had fooled myself to soothe myself that it didn’t matter when I saw my family, but it was different to be with them for Christmas. The holidays really are special.
I wanted to keep that newly rediscovered peace with me for ever. It was the best Christmas.
February 4, 2014
I bought the cheapest three-shelf bookcase I could find this afternoon and hastily assembled it before piano lessons. I pinterested it a little, modpodging some sheet music wrapping paper I had picked up last year to the backing. As I attached the backing, however, the entire unit was slightly askew, making the backing crooked. Not only did the bookcase sit slightly awry, but the sheet music was most definitely slanted.
It would not do.
I couldn’t live with it. Nor could I even wait until tomorrow. So while my children were getting ready for bed I pulled apart a piece of cheap furniture which, once assembled should never be disassembled. I made a slight mess of things and had a few moments when I regretted my decision. Why couldn’t I just accept the imperfection?
I happened to be texting my smart friend Rachel as I did this. My afternoon with the bookcase was a literal metaphor for her afternoon. We commiserated that we can both forgive others or even not even see their flaws at all, but our own? They are massive and glaring. There is no ignoring or forgiving our own.
I would not rest. Fortunately before I passed the point of no return I discovered my error, caused by the thick pile of the carpet. I was parenting from the other room at this point so I stopped to tuck the boys in.
Tonight after pajamas and teeth and scriptures and prayers and songs I said the following to my children as I turned off the lights, “okay, go to sleep. I love you. I’ll be hammering in the next room but not for long. Good night!”
(You can send my parenting awards directly to my home.)
I did it. I fixed it.
This won’t do at all. It does nothing to reduce my delusions of grandeur. This is not the disaster it was supposed to be. Heaven help us, all I can find is one tiny flaw.
Two flaws, actually, because I also need more music. I think I’ve got boxes of music at Mum’s, but who knows when I’ll get those?
January 23, 2014
I hadn’t had cake in ages and have almost never had cakes with fondant. Last night I thought I was satisfying a craving when I indulged at an event. Instead I am all but cured of such a craving for ever. I’ve had stomach pain all day.
I feel like there is cement in my insides. Not the rumbling of food gone bad, just a ball of non-food where food should be. I am certain it is the fondant. It was not the carrots or blueberries. It was the foreign matter which tasted bad going down and which I should have stopped eating immediately. Instead I digest remorse.
Now I know: the rule with fondant is look but don’t touch.
January 18, 2014
One day does not a recovery make, but I think I am re-entering the land of the living. I feel ready to nap sick people amounts now instead of dead people amounts. I have even started the laundry and washed the dishes. Don’t look now but taking down the Christmas tree is on the schedule for this weekend.
January 16, 2014
If sleeping is healing I’m going to be bionic by the end of the month.
January 14, 2014
No good day goes unpunished and today certainly brings yesterday’s steroidal high into balance. With the odd two weeks behind me I’m fragile and paranoid. Every little thing could be a warning sign for something else or it could just be me recovering. How am I to know?
So high from the steroids was I yesterday that I awoke at 5:30 on my own, felt no desire for a nap all day, and took a Benadryl at night just to help me wind down and sleep. Today I napped, no assistance needed.
My index finger and thumb have felt quite strange all day. The very same finger that started this all two weeks ago. It takes all my energy to focus on how the rash is fading (though not as dramatically as it came on) and not pay attention to my hand or whether the cough is settling in for trouble. I have to shut my mind to the constant voices that tell me this is an ominous start to the new year.