feeling out loud

When I imagined being a mom when I was younger, I never really imagined what my kids would be like. I certainly never guessed that I'd have one that was so much like me that it would almost be painful to see.

My kids are a pretty good mix of Dad and me. But The Bean is more Dad, and Boo is more me. It took me a few years to realise how much Boo is like me. Mostly because I wasn't fully like me for most of my life.

As a very young child, I was loud and talkative and full of passion. I won't dwell on what turns out to have been a somewhat difficult childhood because of my dad's alcoholism or his later long, drawn out battle with cancer that left me and my mom on our own when I was 13. But those life experiences dictated that I needed to be quiet, to suppress my chattiness and to smother my feelings. Because those things were too big, and there was no room for them in our lives. Cancer took up most of the air time.

It took me years to find that loudness, the passion, the zeal, and the plain old self-confidence I was born with. It took a while, too, to really see it once I'd found it. Here's where I finally saw it: in a conversation about Boo.

Last summer I spent long, warm evenings falling in love. In friend-love with a lovely person who taught me a lot. He taught me that I can have a passionate disagreement about politics and still respect and care for my opponent. He showed me that exploring different parts of myself isn't so scary. And he reflected myself back to me.

Over a glass of wine on a patio one night, I was telling him about Boo (cf so vain).  About the kid's amazing self-confidence. About the passion. About how she just seems to get joy out of being obstinate. He chuckled, looked and me and said, "I wonder where she gets that."

I gave him a side glance, with a great big question mark.

"Come on!" he said. "She's just like you."

So she is, I realised in that moment. That's me I'm watching walking around out there, with this confidence. With those convictions. With the deep, deep feelings.

I have always been sensitive. I have always felt things deeply. But only recently have I rediscovered that and let myself feel everything just as it is. No more filters. So tonight I sit here, feeling everything quite keenly. Including a sweet sadness. I miss that friend. People come in and out of our lives, and I believe that we learn so much about ourselves if we pay close enough attention. I am thankful for the friend-love and the experiences. I am thankful for having learned that I, too, feel out loud like Boo. And I am thankful tonight for all those out loud feelings.

the letter

The Bean was accepted into the gifted program at her junior high school!

When we arrived home tonight after a lovely dinner and visit with friends, I noticed that there was a letter from the school board in the mailbox, addressed to me. I opened to read the happy news that The Bean is officially registered in the junior high school of her choice, that she is in the pre-Arts program, and that she was accepted into the gifted program.

As I read the letter out loud to her, The Bean's eyes lit up and she jumped up and down, so happy to hear that she was in. It was funny because in my mind there was no question whether she'd be accepted. This time last year, we got The Bean's "diagnosis" after a battery of tests over the span of more than a month: this kid is gifted. Oh, and she has ADD, but that's another story. To her, though, this was a big question that was weighing on her mind. She was hoping and hoping and hoping some more. And finally the day has come.

The gifted program will be great for The Bean, for more than one reason. The child is bored in math class and has been told by her sixth grade teacher that she could teach it better than the teacher herself. Last year, at the age of 10, she had the reading comprehension of a 12th grader. She makes connections between ideas that demonstrate a unique thought process that sometimes astounds me. So the more challenging learning environment will be good for her. But the smaller class size and the fact that she will be with the same people in the same class, more or less, for the rest of high school is a very good thing for her. She will be less anxious and less distracted by what class she needs to go to next. Routine is what keeps this kid on the rails. Familiarity allows her brain to slow down and focus in. This will be very good.

As The Bean jumped into my arms when she heard the news, I knew that this is what it will feel like in six years when she gets those letters from colleges or universities. Great surprise and relief on her part, a warm I knew you could do this on mine.

Way to go, Beanie. Can't wait to watch you soar some more.

things I've learned from online dating

One Friday night, after much thought and consideration, I signed up with an online dating site. I answered some questions, chose some pictures, and wrote a short profile. Three short weeks later I took  my profile down. The whys and wherefores can be discussed another day. But in those 21 days, I learned a fair bit about myself and about life. Here are those things, in no particular order:

Being honest saves everyone lots of time
I realised very quickly that I had to be 100% honest about what I do, what I like, and what I want. Otherwise, I'd be attracting a guy that wouldn't be a good match. And when guys were honest with me, I could tell sooner whether it would work. So when Jason told me that his latest hobby is sport shooting - this just after he told me was going ATV riding with buddies over the weekend - I knew that our upcoming date was going to be a disaster. So I cancelled. He responded with, "yeah, I wasn't feeling the warm fuzzies either."

There are lots of people out there whose paths I will never cross
And for good reason: we have zero interests in common. Cf Jason, above.

Certain types of facial hair make me suspicious
Moustaches and soul patches. Take that for what it is.

Visual cues are everything
This isn't about looks - not exactly. How a person carries themselves, including what they wear, what kind of hair they have (and facial hair!), whether they are smiling, and so much more, provides clues to who they are as well as their interests. If a guy didn't have a picture of him smiling, I wasn't interested. If his smile made his eyes twinkle, I was smitten. How traditionally "hot" a man is doesn't really matter to me. How real he is, and how his genuineness comes across is key. And there are the guys who just don't do it for me. **I feel like this particular item on the list deserves its own blooper reel, complete with guys in mullets, and the one guy who is holding his pug while wearing a beige t-shirt with a larger-than-life pug face on it. The thing is, there is a woman out there for that guy. It's just not me.

I prefer men to approach me
This one surprised me a little. And it could be that in general men prefer to approach women, because I had a lot more luck with men who approached me first than with men I approached. In fact, of the dozen or more men I messaged first, only three got back to me, and those conversations fizzled immediately. Whereas the men who approached me were more interesting and the conversations went somewhere. This might also be that I'm not good at consciously picking a good match but I can attract one. The jury is still out...

There are more dudes with motorcycles, per capita, on that website than in real life
Just an observation.

Some people shouldn't be dating
I don't mean this in a mean way at all. But some people have to deal with their shit. There was one guy who introduced himself and we chatted a bit. I realised early on that we didn't share the same worldview, even though we had some other things in common. I let him down gently (but firmly - see Honesty, above) after about eight message exchanges over two days. His response was to go on a multiple-paragraph tirade on how I had no idea what I was talking about, that he was a great guy and I didn't know what I was missing. His response was very aggressive. I had dodged a bullet. That dude shouldn't be seeing anyone until he gets over his rejection issues.

I like a guy who can talk - but also listen
I kinda knew this, but I picked it up really quickly. One guy sent me one- or two-word responses to my questions. He had such a great smile, but I just couldn't handle what seemed like air-headedness to me. Another guy would answer questions in a sentence or two, but not ask anything back, thus killing the conversation. I really shouldn't have to work at it. Yet another man seemed smart and lovely, but I got the sense that he would never listen to me. He wrote me responses that took me 15 or more minutes to read. And there were so many questions. His messages seemed breathless in excitement. This guy would never shut up. There's got to be something in the middle, right?

I'm not quite up for the active search
I deleted my profile because while I'd like to date someone, I'm not ready to go after it actively. I've met men and been on dates, the old fashioned way. They obviously didn't work out (hence the online dating profile), but it was so much easier. So for now I'm just taking things as they come, now armed with the things I've learned.

she knows what she wants

I'm off to the outlets this weekend in my semi-annual trip across the border. Dad and I have inventoried clothes at his home and mine, and now I have a long list of summer clothes the girls need.

I sent The Bean an email asking what colours or types of clothes she wanted. This is the response I got:

In terms of colours, I won't like something neon or grey. A black and white tank for example, would be good. But not a crop top. Even if I have an undershirt under it, I don't want one. I'm just warning you that there might be a lot in the store. They're in style. And for the sundresses, please let them be just to my knees. No shorter, no longer. One maxi dress is enough. And I don't want anything with vertical stripes. For the swim suits, no stripes; I have enough of those. Unless they're diagonal stripes. That's okay. Oh yeah. And please match the bathing suits to the swim shirts. Thank you. I know I'm picky, but there's a lot of things I won't wear. And I don't like most stuff in style. It's ugly. 

I love the combination of self-awareness of what she wants and the slight condescension that is starting to emerge - telling me what is in style nowadays, and all. I'm wondering what stores she thinks I'm going to?

the wisdom of children

I have a nasty habit of fretting over the things I'd always hoped I could give my kids but couldn't deliver on. Like a backyard, or a swing set, or a pool, or a big house, or…. any number of things that I pictured in my view of The Happy Family.

Yesterday, we went to the Great Glebe Garage Sale, an annual pilgrimage northward to buy funky old books and yummy baked goods, and to take in the festival atmosphere. As we crossed the Landsdowne bridge over the canal, we saw a man carrying one of those plastic frog sandboxes over his shoulder. Boo pointed it out and laughed at the over-sized haul.

I asked the kids if they are ever sad or disappointed that they didn't have a sandbox or a kiddie pool in a backyard when they were smaller.

The Bean simply said, "no." Boo gave me this look that only nine-year-old Boo can do: it's an are-you-nuts look.

"Why would I be sad about that?"

"I don't know," I said sheepishly, thinking, well, I'm a little sad that you didn't have that. "Maybe you would have had more fun," realising as I said it how dumb it sounded. We were at the park all the time, which was way more fun than just about any backyard, and it included more kids.

"Well, I wouldn't want to have had one."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because I would be a different person."

Here, I had to stop walking down the sidewalk. I just looked at her, likely looking rather perplexed because she immediately explained.

"Every little thing counts, Momma."

Here I stand before you, exactly who I am because of every little thing that has happened in my life. And I am thankful for every last bit of it. Because frankly, I like this person. Thanks, Boo, for the reminder.

fragile

It is the hardest thing to admit, even to myself, but here it is: I'm fragile.

I'm floating along happily in my life, knowing that my house needs a few more walls painted and maybe a little TLC here and there. I call up a couple of contractors to get a sense of what work and money are involved in a potential reno of my back room. It doesn't look good. And whamo! I'm not floating along happily anymore at all. I begin to worry. I'm hurt. I'm scared. I'm anxious.

It happens in other areas of my life, too. I think things are going okay, then the smallest things derail me.  With the back room, I could just shrug and say, well, that will have to wait. But I don't. I fret. I wonder how long it will take me to get there. I worry it'll never happen. I actually worry the house will fall down. Good gracious, how did I get to be like this?

I realise that I'm still recovering. Still getting my feet under me. Be gentler on yourself, my friends say. Don't try to do it all. But if I don't, who will? How in the world do people do this on their own?

The poor kids wonder why I'm suddenly teary or silent or frustrated. They offer hugs. Those hugs go a long way, kind of like glue for the soul. To mend this broken mama.

to be so loved

There is a school of thought, and an entire series of books, dedicated to the notion that people have different ways of expressing their love - different love languages. I have tried and tried to decipher my "one" love language, and I can't. But I do know that I have a dominant one: physical touch.

I'm a very tactile person. When I walk into a clothing store, before I can take any item seriously, I have to touch it. That's what gets my attention. I've always been like that. So it's no surprise that it's how I show my affection. Anyone who has seen me with my girls could have guessed it, too. I hug them, tug them, pet them, grab their cheeks and chins, smooth their hair. I can't stop from reaching out to them if they are around me.

Boo is very similar in her "love language." The Bean is less so, in that way. But what they both do that is the same as me, is that they are very demonstrative. At 11 and 9, they still show me how much they love me far more than I would expect. Every morning, we walk to the bus stop, and every morning just before they climb into the bus, Boo asks me to "wave out the window." So I dutifully stay put, instead of jumping on my bike or running to my own bus stop, and wave at her and The Bean as they wave back to me from their respective seats in the bus. And I don't just get a wave. I get excited, wide smiles. I get blown kisses from both. Every. Single. Morning.

It has been like this forever, since that day that Boo had to scramble up onto the first step of the bus when she wasn't quite four years old. So I take it for granted. But our new neighbours, whose kids take the same bus at our new stop, comment on it. Every. Single. Morning. I get told, "wow; it must be nice to be so loved."

And so it is.