What Was Lost

I picked my boy up from camp yesterday, weary from my day and the hot, summer weather we've all been wishing for lately. I was looking forward to a quiet, unstructured week-end for a change. As I headed towards the chalet, I heard a faint, familiar voice yelling "mummy", and spotted Sean with head counsellor, Meghan. She had her arm around him and as I got nearer, I noticed his flushed, tear-stained face. "Something happened," Meghan said, "and Sean is very worried you'll be angry with him. He cried a lot today." She explained that one of other kids had reared his head up abruptly, hitting Sean in the mouth hard, which caused his front tooth to chip. On cue, Sean opened his mouth to show me the damage and unprepared, I exclaimed in dismay, "Oh, no!". Immediately, his face crumpled and he burst into tears. All I could do was hold him and soothe him and reassure him that I wasn't angry, that it was an accident, that it didn't matter.

But the truth is, it did matter to me and I was angry. Not at him, not at the special needs child who could not control his impulses, not at the young counsellors who were devoting their entire summer to these kids as volunteers. I was angry at myself.

I was angry at myself for putting my need to do more, to be better than I am, to give what isn't mine to give, to fill a void that will always be empty because I choose to keep it that way, ahead of what may be best for my son. 

Throughout the evening, he stressed about the tooth, about my initial reaction (how I wish they had given me a head's up so that I could take it back) and what his dad would think. He pondered whether or not he would be able to crunch down on a hard candy ever again and asked me if the tooth could be fixed. I really don't know if it can. Yes, he frets, he worries, he makes mountains out of molehills, just like his mother.

Except I had to remain calm and nonchalant for his sake. I asked him if he wanted to go back to camp next week. He said yes, despite the fact that he had been kicked and bopped in the head and exposed to some serious meltdowns by the other campers this past week. Part of me is so proud of him. The other part, of course, wants to keep him safe and intact at his grandparents' next week. 

I left a message with the person in charge of the camp last night. Despite how he feels, I need reassurance that he is going to be okay. And then I bawled, for the piece of tooth that was now gone, for what was lost, for my son, and for me.

Anniversary

Today would have been my fourteenth wedding anniversary. The weather forcast predicted a hundred percent chance of rain that day and rain it did, bringing us good luck that would be short lived. The past few years have buffered the disappointment of a failed marriage somewhat, at least to the point where I can look back with detached sadness at the unravelling of my fairy tale, born of the silly, romantic notions of youth and carried well past its prime into my late thirties. I will not grow old with the man I vowed to have and to hold, before a God I didn't believe in, and it's better that way. We were the wrong people at the right time, succumbing to societal pressures and biological ticking clocks that drowned out the niggling little voices telling us to stop. I don't regret the marriage so much as I regret its bitter ending, the one that claimed a kind and loving man and a once foolish romantic in its aftermath. I'd like to think that something good came out of it, a beautiful boy and life experiences that would never have happened if we hadn't met. I hope that we can eventually be good friends and inspire our son to develop healthy relationships of his own. Perhaps with some healing, we can even dust off the disenchantment that comes with the territory and in the process, uncover our former selves. Better, more insightful versions, that is, who will bring out the best in a new partner and vice versa. I don't believe in forever but I do believe in love. Do you, dear reader?

Lists

Hey, I have one follower! I don't know why that makes me happy but it does. I enjoy sharing my thoughts and observations, particularly when it stimulates participation. I read Leo Babauta's blog entry on Why You Should Write Daily and decided that a few days a week is better than nothing. Here is the link.

The one thing I do not write down is to-do lists. But that doesn't stop me from making endless mental ones which is exactly what I did this past week while I was off work.  Taking stock today, I can partially cross off two items. So what did I accomplish during my time off apart from fretting over what wasn't getting done? Well, I took Sami for a decent walk at least once a day if not more (I'm not the only one who got pudgy over the winter months).  And I laced up my running shoes four times last week, hauling my spandex capris up and over this burgeoning muffin top of mine as I ran/walked/held on to the treadmill for dear life, panting to a new workout mix on my iPod. I also rediscovered the pleasant and calming ritual of making loose tea and shared some new blends (including orange-chocolate and chai) with friends.

Do you see a pattern here? Not quite the balanced lifestyle yet, but getting there. The problem with stay-at-home vacations is the tendency to feel as though we have to constantly be doing something or at least checking something off that infernal list. As a rule, I don't like to travel with an itinerary so why should living be any different? Ha!

In any case, it will have to do for now and saving the world will have to wait. As Leo Babauta reiterates in his blog, the key is to make small changes, stick with them long enough to make them habits and forgive the lapses.

Do you make lists? If so, do they work for you? Or do you have a different strategy? Feel free to share, lonely follower. :)

 

 

After the rain.

Wow! I found my blog. It's only been four and a half years since I was last here, with absolutely nothing to show for it. If you were to believe everything you read, you'd come to the conclusion I lead a very dull existence. Upheaval, in its throes, is sometimes too painful to record. Better to let the dust settle and the tears dry before sharing. Ah well, it's never too late to start over. I'll make a concentrated effort to post here more regularly from now on, at least once a year.