The Worst Day of His Life

I broke up with Richard.

It was a hot summer, we were just getting to know each other, and I had doubts.  He was kind.  He was sincere.  He was great with kids.  He was fun.  Maybe a bit too kind and sincere.  Maybe a bit too good with kids and a bit too sincere.  No one is that perfect (of course, this was before The Apple...another time).  There was a catch, and I wasn't going to get caught.

I'd been there before, and I  knew better.  I was nobody's fool, and I wasn't about to wait around to be broken up with.  So I beat him to it - I broke up with him before he could break up with me.  Ha.  I won.

That summer day in 2001, the week after we jumped from a plane (it was held together with duct tape, literally, so you can take that into account), I drove over with my mind made up and my heart in my throat.  It was the right thing to do.  He knew right away that something was up.  The quick side hug, the stiff sitting on the couch, the, "So, um.  I wanted to tell you something."  And it was done.  Free.

He didn't say much.  He asked why, and I honestly wasn't sure but I made up some fool excuse.  He accepted, and then he got up.

He walked me to my car!  The man, who'd just had his heart trampled, walked me through the front door, off the deck, and to my car.

And stepped in dog poop.  For real.  The man, who'd just had his heart trampled, walked me to my car and stepped in dog crap.  *This is always where Richard stops me in my story with, "That was the worst day of my life.  Those were my favourite shoes."*  He groaned, disgusted, "Careful not to step in the dog poop."

The man, who'd just had his heart trampled, walked me to my car, stepped in dog crap, and warned me about it.  Most men would have pushed me into it.  He cared for me and my shoes.

He opened my car door, closed it gently behind me and leaned into the window.  He wished me a safe drive home.  I stared at him, stunned at this man who walks me, warns me, and wishes me well when he's been trampled and shat upon.

At home my mother confirmed my fears.  Fool.  Absolute fool.  "They're not all going to break your heart, Emilie."  I had done that enough for myself.

Months or years later I asked him about that night.  He'd gone to his best friend's, who'd greeted the news with, "Aw, that sucks man."  They'd driven around for hours, and the next summer that friend stood up with us at our wedding.

All these years later I think of the times that man has walked.  Not only on the night he stepped in dog poop, but all the others.  The time he walked me out of the church, dressed in white.  The time he walked me across the parking lot, suitcase in hand, pausing for contractions that brought our daughter to us.  The times he walked to me with an apology, and the times he rocked me with forgiveness.  The times he walked the bedroom floors with our infants and allowed me to sleep a little while longer.  The time we strolled my favourite trail, the pain almost intolerable, because he knew it meant so much to me.  The time he took one step, scars raw from surgery, me unsure next to his walker, the pain fresh but the hope burning.  Every walk from the house every morning of the week to feed his family, and every walk back to the kitchen to have lunch with a flustered wife and four kids, because it matters.  Every walk to the kitchen sink, arms wrapped around me, "C'mere".

It was the worst day, but it was followed by so many good walks.

St. Paddy's

I really like St. Patrick's Day.  I might even love it.

I fill it with rainbow cakes, and green milk, and shamrock crafts.

We make a leprechaun trap every year.  Even my love life is affected.

Have you ever noticed that Richard resembles an over-grown leprechaun?

Me and O'Richard

This is not a coincidence.  It's why I married him.  

Exactly 14 years ago to this very day, give or take a few months, Richard and I

met at the Civic Centre gym.  He turned on the ginger, and snap.  It was a done deal.

It's been a few months.  I figured I should update this thing, but now that I'm here, I'm at a loss for words.

I got nuttin'.

I seriously need to get a life.

In short form (boring form), here's the last few months.

The kids grew, school kept on keeping on, my coursework is almost done, all hell broke loose, we struggled, we came together, we struggle again, friends came, friends went, Rich and I went on vacation, Rich got a promotion, I stopped working, I got bored, I quit Facebook, I began searching for a hobby, I taught myself to crochet, Maddie got an e-mail and Pinterest account, we went to the dentist, we started remineralizing, I'm going on an adventure...

So, yeah, that's it.

A Time to Rest

I've made this observation before, but it still rings true.  I reread the posts on this
blog and I am amazed and baffled at how different life is, how different I am from
the six years ago.  I had begun this online journal as a way to chronicle my journey
as a midwife.  It was intended as a window into our lives so that family and friends in
North America could be a part of our adventures in the Philippines.

And then, that didn't happen.

It became a window into our lives in New Brunswick.  Close enough!

That's minor, really.  I think on how I began as an electrologist, then as a doula, then
as a student herbalist.  My electrologist business lasted  seven years and came to an
end after Gen was born.  It was too busy, it was crazy.  My doula business puttered along
until a couple years ago when a boom bumped my births up to fifty plus visits per year
with clients.  I came to a pretty abrupt halt this summer, deciding that it was just too much.
Being a doula is hard physically, emotionally, financially, familially, and socially.  Seven years as a birth attendant seemed enough.

Now, I am nearing the end of my course as a Certified Women's Health Educator and Community Herbalist.  I can't help but think, now what?  It's almost a certainty that I can't build a career from this, at least, not in this area.  I have a vague idea of workshops and online webinars.  I have a vague dream of a strawbale apothecary, consultation room, and herbal cafe.  Likely as not, that will remain a dream.

I should be disappointed.  I should be downcast, feeling like I've wasted all this time and money on an education that won't be used.  I suppose I am, but the bigger feeling is one of suspense.

I had worked hard to build my electrologist business.  It was a huge leap of faith to shut my doors, and yet, it worked out.  My salary was matched almost dollar for dollar with a promotion for Richard.  My doula business was (literally) blood, sweat, and tears, and publicly announcing my step back was suicide for my doula work.  Yet, it coincided with a very surprising turn of events which will replace all our family has lost from my not working.

Perhaps I will be a practicing herbalist.  Maybe I will hold workshops and herb walks, teach how to make ointments and lotions, or put together formulations and health support plans for those in my community.  Then again, maybe not.  Whatever happens, though, there is that faith that things are working out just exactly as they should.

Short Stories

I love short stories.  I think it is the concentrated goodness, or the cutting to the chase that is necessary to cram an entire story into a few pages.  Perhaps I love them so much because I am in fact a commitment-phobe, a little gun shy when it comes to fully commiting to any long-term relationship.

This brings to mind the time Richard and I broke up, or rather I broke up with Richard.  Aptly entitled 'Richard's Worst Day Ever, and Then There Was the Dog Poop', it's my kids' favourite story.  We'll get to that some other time.

Yes, the short story relationship is probably the best one out there.  You get the best of the story, skip the unnecessary details, and get right to the point.  No idle talk, no messing around, and if there is idle talk, you know it's in there for a really good reason.  There is no wasted ink in a short story.  It's all good.

I've lost track of how many books I've begun to read, only to lose interest after a couple chapters.  Worst, to lose the actual book after having invested my time and interest.  Doubly worst, to have forgotten the book on the deck and to have it torn to shreds and eaten by a raccoon (5 books this summer).  With short stories, you sit down, you read, your life is forever changed, and you're done.

Short stories.  If I were to be given any book as a present, I would hope it was a collection of short stories.

Going to Town

When I was a girl, I used to ask my mom (okay, I harassed her, not asked) to go shopping

all the time.  I didn't really want to buy anything, and I had no money to do so anyway.

I just really enjoyed going to the mall and looking at all the pretty things.  

She always said no.  

Why?!  Didn't she want to leave the house and peruse all the fancy things that we wanted but

couldn't have?  Didn't Woolworths have that irresistible pull on her, too?  Wasn't she just dying

to watch me try on shoes and outfits?  

Her no always baffled me.  That is, it baffled me until I became a busy mom of four.

Need something picked up from the store at a moment's notice?  It's urgent?  There's a deadline?

Well, no problem!  Ask a mother of four to pick it up for you.  This is how that 10 minute errand will go....

1:06 - Get the phone call.  My mission is to obtain a prized food item at a ridiculously low price from the under-stocked store.  Every other mother in town is on the same mission.  We must suit up, man up, and get ready to push and shove our way to the display at everybody else's expense to claim the Holy Grail of grocery items.  

1:07 - Realize that our one car is gone.  To work.  With my husband.  Duh.

1:08 - Call the husband at work.  He can make it back at break time if I promise to make it snappy and get him back to work before his 15 minutes is up.

Waiting.....

2:30 - start getting the kids ready to leave.  Wash hands, wash faces, get snacks.  Where are the shoes?  WHERE ARE THE SHOES??  Where's the other one?!?!

2:50 - Stand outside so as not to miss the 'bus'.  If the husband leaves at 3 pm, he'll be here at 3:07 pm, leaving us 8 minutes to transfer, drive back, and drop him off at the door.

2:58 - Kid 2 is hungry.  Run inside for a snack.

2:59 - Kid 3 has to pee.  Runs inside.

3:00 - Husband should be leaving work.  Kid 4 has to pee.  Squats in the driveway.

3:01 - Run inside with Kid 4 at arm's length.  Change her.  Start laundry.  

3:05 -Waiting.  Waiting.  Don't get dirty!  No, you can't get another snack.  Hold it in!!

3:07 - Van arrives.  Throw the kids in.  Momentarily panic as both drivers try to figure out if husband driving is faster, or the wife.

3:09 -  Emergency stop 200 ft from the drive.  Forgot to buckle Kid 4.

3:11 - Stuck behind a tractor.  Turn up the radio to muffle any adult words from the driver.

 3:16 - Drop husband off at work.  Hope no one notices the 16 minute break.

3:24 - Meant to go to the Superstore, but went the 'scenic' route downtown instead.  

3:25 - No, we can't go to the library.  No, we can't get Timbits.  No, I don't have money for the second hand book store.  No, I said we can't!  

3:47 - Quiet in the back of the van as the kids munch on donuts and read library books.  Driver is hoping the extra caffeine from the coffee will take care of the jack hammer between her temples.

4:06 - Drive by the Dollarstore on the way to the Superstore.  No, we can't get a toy.  No, it will just break the first time you use it.  No, I'm not paying for more junk I'll just have to pick up off the floor anyway.

4:22 - Kid 1 is pouting, Kid 4 is wailing.  Plastic pieces are strewn throughout the van.  Kid 3 inquires about Dollarstore warranties.

4:29 -  Pull into the Superstore.  March the kids in single file to the front doors.  

Bedlam.  Mass hysteria.  

4:32 - Carry Kid 4 so as not to lose her.  Kid 1 has her stiff upper lip on, while Kids 2 and 3 hang on to my skirts to battle the crowd.  Freezer empty.  Display case empty.  Staff looks like they'd rather be anywhere but here.  No radio to turn up.

4:38 - Realize it's time to pick up husband, and supper should be on the table in less than half an hour.  Buy some cheap frozen pizzas and a throw together salad for health reasons.  No, we can't buy Kinder Surprise Eggs.  No, they're illegal in the USA.  Seriously!!  Yes, we're Canadian, what's your point?!

4:50 - Back to the van.  Where are the keys?  WHERE ARE THE KEYS?  Not in the ignition.  Dump purse onto pavement.  Got 'em.  

4:52 - Emergency stop.  Forgot to buckle Kid 4.

5:01 - Screech to a stop at husband's work.  He knows enough not to ask.  

And that is how an entire afternoon is wasted, and how the pharmaceutical industry makes so much money off nerve pills.

I Can't Live Without You

My facebook status today read:

"What one thing can't you live without (and don't say food or air!)?"

Top runners were Jesus, God, freedom to worship, family, friends, love, books, the church....

Initially the answer to my own question was that I just can't live without a really good paring knife.  My sanity, and therefore safety, is also dependant on a pen and notepad - though any scrap piece of paper will do.

I'm reminded of a show I watched where the wife and husband are trying to reconnect by having a deep talk.  She says, "Let's talk about our fears.  Sometimes I get so afraid that we're drifting apart, and that we'll run out of things to say to each other.  My deepest fear is that we'll grow old and grow apart and that you'll look at me and wonder why we're still together, and that secretly you'll resent me for taking the best years of your life.  I couldn't bear that, I'm so scared of losing you.  What are you most afraid of?"

And he says, "Sharks."

It was interesting to see who cherished what, though.  I can't say that I was all that surprised by the answers.  After all, we live what we love.

I really do like paring knives and gel pens, but I'll give it some deeper thought.  I'm thinking my answer might change a bit once I do.