Thursday, October 6, 2016

Time is Time

Hi Friends,

“Time flies.” “These days are gone in the blink of an eye.””Where has the time gone?” “You fall asleep at 6 and wake up 60.” “Enjoy your babies, before you know it they’ll be grown and gone.”

As a mum, I hear these phrases, or others just like them, almost daily. I hear them from family; friends; older, more seasoned mums; well meaning strangers at the grocery store. Heck! I’ve even heard them pass from my own lips. I used to experience a pang of sadness at the thought of losing time, growing older, my little people leaving me, but recently I’ve decided, no more.

Time is time, it ticks by second by second. It always has. Most would agree that time seems to go faster as we get older, but that’s just it. It “seems” to go faster. The experience of time is all about perspective. The more I think about time, and more specifically, the passage of it, the more I realize that time doesn’t “go” anywhere. These moments, memories, they’re mine to keep. They surround me all day every day. When I wake up for G’s 3am feeding, there they are. The very first time I held her in my arms; lugging her carseat to her 6 month doctor’s appointment; that horrible time she face-planted onto the hardwood floor. Or watching K in the rearview mirror while sitting in the drive-thru at McDonalds, there they are. My McDonalds breakfast on the way to the hospital to have him; his first Happy Meal at the Walmart in Etobicoke; that time he chucked his happy meal toy at the baby’s head while she was grabbing for the blocks he was playing with. I’ll carry these moments into old age. Sure, some will fade, some will blend together, some will be misremembered in a slightly better light, but they will be there.

Time doesn’t fly. It just sometimes feels like it’s speeding up because I’m making more and more memories. With two children, comes ten times the experiences. No two days look exactly the same, and while breakfast 5 years ago probably consisted of coffee and toast en route to school, this morning’s seemingly innocuous breakfast presented a handful of memories because three of us were a part of it. That’s not a sad thing, hell, that’s a fantastic thing! It means I’m doing more, experiencing more, living more. I will not be sad about that. Will my heart ache a bit when K and G move the last of their things out of our future house? Probably. But I’m excited for that heartache because it will not only mean I’ve done my part to encourage them to set and strive for their goals, but I’ve lived long enough to see them go. Is that morbid? Maybe a little, but it’s the truth. Each day I’m here to make memories, is a day I’m grateful for. Even those days that start at the crack of dawn, where neither child naps, K doesn’t make it to the potty, G refuses to eat anything that hasn’t been forcibly removed from my body, D calls to say he’ll be an hour late coming home from work and the the PVR deletes all our saved episodes of Paw Patrol off the box. Because those days, they go on FORREVVER, and in those moments I get to experience this particular time in my life in slow-motion, and I’m reminded that time doesn’t really fly at all. Time is time. It’s happening, it’s real, it’s trudging along relentlessly, but it definitely does not fly. The tough days are there to remind us of that, that those years that seemed to have slipped away, have not “slipped” anywhere, but are stuck in my memories and the memories of my kids (and all over my kitchen floor.. which reminds me, I should really bust out the Swiffer).

So I challenge you, the next time you feel the urge to blurt out “time flies” or some similar sullen sentiment, stop and really think about it. What have you been up to? Has it really flown? Is it really “gone”, or do you see those years in the faces of everyone around you, in your accomplishments, in the things you hold most dear in life. Time gave you all of that and it’s passage should put a smile on your face.

Until next time friends,

-A

Lasts

Hello friends,

Have you ever thought about how many “last times” you may have experienced without even realizing it? Since becoming a mum, I think about random things like this fairly frequently. There are the big “lasts”, like your baby’s last nursing session, the last time your toddler wears a diaper, and your baby’s last awkward stumble before their first steps. But recently, I’ve been thinking about the little, seemingly insignificant “lasts”, like the last time you’re asked to cut the toast in 4s, or the last time needing to bring the sippy cup along on an outing, or the last time you have to prompt your little one to go to the washroom when they wake up in the morning. These “little” lasts often slip away undetected. While mummyhood has brought this life truth to the forefront for me, this phenomenon is a shared experience and is not unique to parenthood.

This morning I was thinking about my sisters, as I often find myself doing in the quiet moments of the morning, and I really missed them. I started thinking about how it feels, some days, like I know more about the lives of the cartoon characters I watch every morning than I do about my own sisters’. I was thinking about how many “lasts” I experienced with them without even realizing it.

I recognize that it would be unreasonable and overwhelming to realize and react to every single “last”. One could go so far as to say that it would be impossible even, since most lasts cannot be realized until long after they happen. Also, having 3 sisters so close in age, meant many of our “lasts” under the same roof took place during our most turbulent teenage years. If there’s one way to make sure you won’t remember a damn detail about any particular event, have those moments happen within the context of 4 hormonally charged teenage girls. That being said, there are a few “lasts” that, if I could time-travel, I would like to go back to and take in fully. Specifically, I would like to go back to the last time we all went to bed under the same roof, as housemates. We all fell asleep, knowing that the four of us would be waking up together, safe and sound. We knew what each other liked, and didn’t like. We knew what we would be up to the next day. We knew how we all felt about almost everything. Was I comfortable that night? Did I know it would be different from then on out? Did I wake up first to snag the shower? I can tell you one thing for sure, I didn’t fall asleep appreciating the relationship I shared with the three best sisters a second, middle child could ask for.

Reflecting on that particular moment this morning had me wondering though. How did my parents feel that night. Did they recognize the significance? Was that night within the realm of our first steps, a big “last”? Or was that night a night to be filed away under the same heading as the last time we all needed help buckling our seat belts, a “little” last? I can’t remember a single thing about that night, but I suppose my sadness about that is stemming from my mum perspective, as a sister I think I should cut myself a little bit of slack. I’m thinking about it now, right? After all, I suppose there are some pros to not remembering the details, one being that I can remember it as favourably as I want to. I must have fell asleep happy, thankful and full of love, definitely not angry, jealous and nervous that my eldest sister would find the shirt I stole from her, stained and threw crumpled in a ball under my bed…

Anyway, I guess I just wanted to share that as a mum, I’m seeing the world differently yet again. Lasts happen more frequently now since not only do I have my “lasts” but the lasts of my two tiny people to think about. However, I’m not going to focus on them, because life is happening so fast, and with every last there is a far more exciting first to celebrate. I should have plenty of time in the very distant future to misremember all these lasts in the most rosy light. I also need to call my sisters. Unless I’m planning a move to Adventure Bay, I don’t think my relationship with Ryder and the Paw Patrol is going anywhere.

Until next time my friends,

-A

No Longer the Target

Hi friends,

Yesterday I closed a chapter of my life. I have to admit, it wasn’t a surprise. In fact, I’ve seen it coming for a while now, and am more surprised I was able to drag out the last few “pages” as long as I did.

Yesterday, with the help of my mother-in-law I went shopping for a couple of hours, alone, and with no real purchase in mind. A pre-babies activity that I enjoyed as much as my post-baby self does hot coffee and those 15 minutes in the morning before either child wakes up. After rushing around Old Navy, scooping up 8 items to try on, discarding 5 and purchasing 3, in a matter of 15 minutes, I settled into the fact that I could slow down, I would not be receiving a panicked call to come home immediately. So I did. I strolled in and out of stores, picking up, putting down, sifting, flipping, folding, holding up, hanging up, and responding to salespeople inquiries with “I’m just browsing”, ah… it felt good to be back in the…

Wait, what the heck is that? And that? And that? Do people actually wear these pants? Why is this front table full of circus clothes? Is that a, no. It can’t be? Oh my god it is. A burgandy bodysuit. Holy shit. I’m not the mall’s target audience anymore, am I?

I paused for a moment, looked up from my mall-strolling daze and realized I was in a place I barely recognized anymore. For the past three years, I’ve been so absorbed with all those adorbale baby and toddler fashions, that I didn’t realize that grown-up style was evolving (as it always does). Because I missed the last 3 years of subtle change, yesterday’s good look around was an insane wake-up call. I felt old.

That being said, it wasn’t a bad feeling.

In fact, it was quite liberating. I didn’t feel the desire to ransack that rack of 40 dollar crop tops and “distressed” (read: went through a freakin’ woodchipper) daisy dukes, looking for an outfit that would look semi-ok on my flat chested, 4-pack in a good light, pasty white, dark haired, 15 year old body. I also didn’t feel the need to update my closet with the most current styles to keep up with Trendy-McGee, who has been getting all the looks by all the guys on campus. I was no longer the display table target audience, but that was because I no longer needed someone else to tell me how I wanted to look.

I glanced down into my Old Navy bag at my three pairs of new pants. Navy, Khaki, and Grey. A practical, comfortable, predictable blend of cotton and spandex…completely Mom-ish. Nothing too exciting, but they fit really well (aka came up high enough to contain my lovehandles and mom-pudge), were versatile (could go from park to date-night) and, not that it really mattered but I had planned to spice them up with some fun tops and colourful accessories. I smiled at my purchase. Not because they were going to make me feel like those 18 year old models in the posters or because they would make my butt look as fabulous as that mannequin’s, but because I knew I would feel good in them. They were going to be hugging my imperfect mum body while I made so many good memories.

It took almost 29 years and two babies to realize that I’m comfortable enough with where I’m at in life that I don’t need to use the latest trends to try to prove myself to anyone. Don’t get me wrong, I still want to look good, and I still love shopping (and buying new clothes), it’s just that I know what I like and what I don’t. I thought for a moment about how I might even be ready to invest in some quality pieces (you know, the expensive kind that will last longer than 6 washes), but then I looked down at the peanut butter finger prints and random mystery stain on the jeans I was sporting and decided I have a few more messy toddler years before that dream becomes a reality. Baby steps.

Until next time my friends,

-A