selfishness of love

A few years ago, as my girls had passed the pre-school years, I began yearning for another baby. My partner and I had taken some pretty permanent steps years earlier to avoid unexpected surprises. The urge was strong, nevertheless. We even discussed - well, I urged, he reasoned - having things reversed. He would ask me, "but why do you want another one?"

The answer was never strong enough. Because I want a cuddly little baby to love and hold and care for, isn't exactly reasonable. But I got to thinking: does anyone ever have a child for a logical reason? I know many people who think that couples who are childless by choice are selfish. I came to the opposite conclusion: having a child is a selfish endeavour. There is no logical reason to want to create another human being to be on this polluted, violent, fear-filled earth. Whatever the reasons cited, they are for the parents' benefit. (As a sidebar, I always tell the kids that I had Boo so that The Bean would have someone to play with. But that's selfish, too: it keeps The Bean happy and keeps me from having to entertain her endlessly.)

That's not to say that we shouldn't continue having children. And it's not to say that being a parent isn't the best thing that ever happened to me - because it is. But that's the point: it's the best thing that ever happened to ME.

So it got me to thinking about romantic relationships. I've been single for a little while now. I have moments of wondering if I'll be single for decades like my mom was; after my dad died, she was single for 18 years! I tremble a little at the idea. I don't want to be alone. I want to be in a good, caring relationship. But… again, the main reasons seem selfish. I want someone to talk to at the end of the day, I want to be held when I'm sad and to have someone to toast my accomplishments. I want someone that I can care for and who will care for me.

I get bogged down in these thoughts, and it reminds me of a Friends episode where Phoebe is convinced that people never do nice things for others; they do them for themselves. Because it makes them feel good, one way or another. In her view, there's really no such thing as a truly selfless act.

Here's the thing: I think she's right, in a way. I love being helpful to others and taking care of my kids and my friends, and a partner, and even strangers. It makes me feel good. That's the point, though. I think that the good feeling is there so that I'll do it again. It's what makes us human. We're all connected to each other. We thrive in community. We're hard wired to take care of each other, to want to connect and be with one another.

I write this on my one evening of the week that the kids are with Dad, and I am alone. In a quiet house. Wanting to be with them. But also yearning for a partner. Selfish? Maybe. But I am ready to open my heart and care for someone, and have him care for me.

freedom

In Sunday school class this past week, the kids were asked to describe what freedom means to them. Here's what my girls wrote:

The imagery in both of them floored me. We need to ask kids about concepts more. They get things far more than we imagine.

so vain

For a few weeks now, I've been composing an entry in my head. It was entitled "Boo's self awareness." I was going to write about how she knows how smart, pretty and funny she is. But also about how she knows she is a diva and can be a handful. With her self awareness comes this amazing self confidence. It's really not the kind of confidence that can be taught. This kid was born with it. When she started walking, she had this amazing swagger; spine erect, shoulders back, she walked around like she owned the place. I laughed about it then, and still do.

I was going to write about how the other day she was setting up her Playmobil barn set, with the kids and all the animals inside - even the mice and the birds - getting ready for the imaginary coming storm. "Because," she said, "I'm like that. I like to take care of people and animals, and make sure everyone is safe and comfortable." What child knows herself to notice that she is like that?

And I was going to write about how she looks at herself in the mirror, not scowling or questioning, but fully, completely happy and satisfied with what she sees. I said to her a couple of days ago as she peered at herself in the full-length mirror in my room, "you know you're beautiful," not as a question, but more as a matter of fact comment. "Yeah," was her unselfconscious response.

These thoughts of her self confidence were on my mind, and I was feeling pretty proud of her, in the midst of an episode that shocked me a bit and caused a huge revelation.

Boo was saying something about how she's pretty, and I jokingly started singing Carly Simon's "You're So Vain." Boo asked me what vain meant. As I started explaining it - it's when a person feels that they're really beautiful or really good at something - something made me stop. Wait a second. I want her to know that that she's beautiful and good at things. That's not vain. Or if it is, then vanity can't be a bad thing.

Until relatively recently, I didn't think, not really, that I was beautiful. I didn't like my body. There were parts of my face I'd change if given the opportunity. I wasn't confident in many of my abilities, either. I was always taught to minimise my successes, achievements, gifts. And now that I am proud of what I have accomplished thus far in my life, happy with my body and how I look, I find it hard to admit it. Because so few people seem satisfied with who they are. We're sold a story that who we are just isn't good enough. That's why the beauty industry and the weight loss and fitness industries are doing so well. And the self-help sections in book stores are full of "be a better person" advice. I'm not saying there isn't always room for improvement. But at some point, isn't it okay to say, "I like who I am"?

So I stopped myself from finishing my thought to Boo (and The Bean, who was also in the room) about vanity. I just told them, "be proud of who you are; it's okay."

The teen years really are just around the corner. I wish I'd had half the confidence Boo has (and I am working hard at instilling it in The Bean). Because all too soon, there will be girls who will say, "she thinks she's SO special (or SO pretty)," which is meant to minimise who she is, take her down a peg. But I want her to think to herself, or even perhaps to say, "damn straight I am" and mean it. And own it. And walk around like she owns the whole place.

respite

It is the January thaw. Without fail, every year, there are days in the middle of the deep freeze, when we get a respite of a sort. If you can call freezing rain and icy, impassible sidewalks and streets a respite. The thaw wreaks havoc in all kinds of ways. I remember living in an apartment where the stairs to our second floor flat were enclosed but unheated, and apparently not waterproof. The constant thawing during the day and freezing at night turned the whole flight of stairs into sheer ice. The bottom six or seven steps were a frozen slide. It was awful.

At least then we were renting. And while we weren't in control of when it would be fixed, at least we didn't have to pay for it, and we weren't responsible for the logistics. Now, the thaw has wrought havoc on my house. The house I own. The one for which I have complete and sole responsibility.

The roof is leaking. The roof, which I know was done in 2008 and appeared to be in good condition in September, is leaking. I have a hunch that it's the central drainpipe (it's a flat roof). And I have the good fortune (cue sarcasm) of having the drainpipe on my side of the semi-detached home. So my kitchen wall has a single tear of a dried, rusty stain on it. And my brand-new ceiling in the upstairs hall is showing signs of dampness.

My first reaction was, perhaps obviously: Are. You. Kidding. Me! I would have thought that my next would have been to cry, but it wasn't. Perhaps after having seen the guts of much of my house, seeing more isn't so daunting. I honestly believe that it's all fixable. I don't have endless buckets of money, but it's all fixable. But I am feeling down. I haven't much energy left for the logistics of it all.

Moments before I discovered the damp ceiling, a neighbour I met only this afternoon dropped by to invite me and the kids to dinner a little later in the evening. I accepted. Then I discovered the damage, and I so did not feel like going. But it was a blessing. I met a very kind man and his two lovely children - a girl Boo's age and a boy of 14. The six of us got to know one another over a delicious meal, and not once did I think of my house and its spilling guts. A respite. A real one.

Wish me luck. I hope I can sleep tonight. I have a tendency to let things roll over in my mind again and again to the exclusion of sleep (I didn't have one peaceful night's sleep through the two months of intense renovations). I need to learn to let go of it. Goodness knows it'll be there in the morning.