Sometimes you just have to believe.

It is almost Christmas and our summer trip is sometime behind us. The boys are already doing research on new possible destinations: Disneyland, LegoLand, Cruise ships, Edmonton—to see where their father grew up. And the list goes on, just like the Christmas lists they build and rebuild on a semi-regular basis. They believe anything is possible, even Santa, almost, still. I wish Santa had been on that first trip to Europe when they were two and three years old. The one where I vowed never to take the kids on an airplane again. Ever. The one where the couple in front of us shot me dirty looks, asked to change seats, and only spoke to me once saying, “You’ve got your hands full.”

The boys were bigger now, it would be better, like George Michael says, you “got to have faith.” The boys had, of course, done their homework, the biggest Toys R Us in the United States of America was in Times Square. We were on our way to Croatia via New York, for our summer vacation. We were ready, iPads in tow, snacks packed, and a plan: Fly from Vancouver to JFK, a Jamaica, New York hotel where we would nap, and a quick visit to Times Square, then back to our hotel and off to the airport to catch our connection to Europe.

As we descend into New York, the skyline comes into view and you really do feel as if you are heading somewhere magical, even though you are only here for one brief moment in time, you are here. “Let’s not sleep at all,” says my older son, “Let’s go straight to Toys R Us.” This is the same son who had us dancing a conga around our house on New Year’s Eve, hooting and hollering, “Let’s Party,” with his orange crush high in the air. My husband and I know we are in trouble. For a brief moment, I think it just might be easier to give in to him. We could do it, another few hours wouldn’t kill us, but actually it might.

I hand my son his iPod and quietly explain that we still need to do a few things before we make our way to Times Square. He flails himself through the stanchions while we wait for passport control and runs from us in the baggage claim area when even a hint of, “we might not make it to Toys R Us,” slips into the air. We finally get our bags and take our first steps outside where the air is hot and muggy; we can’t quite figure out how to get to our hotel and our son can feel the dream slipping away. He starts heading off towards the taxi cabs and raises his hand, “Taxi!” His brother pulls him back, and I finally catch up with him and I promise him that we will go. With my fingers crossed behind my back.

We finally get to the hotel and he rushes us through breakfast, and up into our room; just before he settles in for his nap, he raises his beautiful little head and says: “One hour, that’s it!” He is the first of us to fall asleep, deeply. We wake later than anticipated, each minute that passes means that we have one more reason to cancel our attempt into the city. There are tears, recriminations and time outs; for me. I had to take a step back, this meant everything in the world to these two little boys. They love YouTube and their favourite you tubers had been to this Toys R Us, our boys knew where everything was because they had watched their virtual tour guides show them. We had to get there.

Except that my husband has a gigantic migraine, I have the worst sense of direction and of course, the children, they are ready to leave. Even the hotel staff aren’t sure, regardless of which way we go, if we will make it back on time for our connecting flight. They go through confusing routes that we could take on the trains; and also mention that we could also take a taxi. They call Jimmy and he picks us up in his black SUV and we feel like movie stars. He takes us into the city, waits for us and brings us back. The boys whizz through Toys R Us, each buying something small and knowing exactly where to find what they are looking for. They are not fazed when there is no time for the ferris wheel, nor time to wait in the ice cream line-up. They are happy just to have made it there, even briefly. Sometimes you just have to believe, that’s when drivers like Jimmy show up for you. That’s when the magic happens.

This is where Jimmy picked us up!

Home Sweet Home

And we are home.   I've always loved coming home.  I can remember when I was a kid and my mom had to pick me up at one or two am in the morning from a sleepover because I just couldn't sleep.   I stayed some of the time, but an overwhelming urge to be home always took over.

Our younger son was particularly homesick and we kept telling him, "Home is wherever your family is," and yes, of course, it was true, we were all together.  But part of who we are rests in our homes even when we aren't there.  He missed our fish and I missed our dryer.  I think they call these creature comforts.  Well this creature has said thank-you to her bed and pillow each night since being home and is a little more excited to do laundry than anyone should be.

We miss having the Adriatic close by and what the boys referred to as "The Rocky Beach," are we going to the "Rocky Beach," they asked or "Katarina"- the island we went to almost every other day.   We miss having ice-cream together every night.  We miss being together more.  With home, comes the things that have to get done, like going to work for eight hours.  But work we must.

On this trip we realized that we really can live together in a fairly tight space, with limited clothes and entertainment options.  That we can share meals with family and friends and be okay with others doing things for us.  We laughed, we paddled a small boat around the island of Katarina where we took turns jumping in the deep see through ocean with the open Adriatic on one side and Rovinj on the other.  Sometimes we cried like when our goggles got lost in the ocean, or as we started calling them, Gurgles.  Why?  No reason, it's just our thing.

We saw dolphins, real and wild, on an evening boat tour around Rovinj and the surrounding islands. While the rest of the boat was full of adults and a few, unbelievably well behaved kids, we were shushing each other and asking, pleading, begging and maddeningly asking the boys to stop playing Star Wars with their hands, their feet and some really cool light sabre noises.  In their defense, they were little angels for the first set of dolphins, but we should really know that imaginations have no timetable when Darth Vader makes an appearance.

That night, after dinner my son asked, "Are you still coming for ice-cream," as I was still sulking a little, "Of course I'm coming for ice-cream," I said as I hugged the two of them, "Weren't those dolphins really cool?"

Darth is demanding the return of his gurgles
 as he patiently stands guard above The Rocky Beach. 

On the road...

Sometimes life hands you a fork and you have to choose which road to travel.

We've dug in and we have made it here, to Croatia, as a family.  Right now we could be anywhere, the boys are playing Angry Birds and the husband is working on the computer.  But when we step outside and one minute away the Adriatic is waving, you definitely are here.  Rovinj, Croatia.

This trip was not years in the making but months in the wishing.  My father made it entirely possible, we have him to thank for our accommodations - he has a beautiful house where we are staying no charge, and for so much more.

We are lucky.  The travel part though, that was hard on everyone.  My older son does not do well without sleep and he slept very little, there were tense moments, particularly in passport line ups and security checks where he was acting out and I was on the verge of tears.  We chose to forgive each other, I him, and, him me.  "I'm sorry Mama, I love you," accompanied by a big hug can cure just about anything.

There were moments made possible only be the divine cosmic connection of kind people and the right timing.  We would not have made it to Times Square if it were not for the kindness of Jimmy, a taxi in to Manhattan and out, in time to make it back to the hotel and to the airport.  At the airport, we had some confusion over boarding passes as we are not experienced travelers, and only through the kindness of a Delta airlines agent who helped us step by step to check in properly, did we manage to properly get our boarding ducks in a row.  And at the end of the line, my dad waiting for us.

My little travelers.

It's already here.

I read a book recently, The Mindful Way through Anxiety, by Lizabeth Roemer and Susan M. Orsillo, there are a lot of exercises and a lot of work that you need to do if you really want to free yourself of anxiety. Oh Wait, they are very clear that you can never free yourself of it and that even by trying to free ourselves of it we are just inviting the same wall to hit us in the face, on the way down, every time.

Okay.

I am an anxious person, in this day and age, who isn't? And if you aren't you are probably letting it all hang out with your middle finger at the car in front of you when they are not going fast enough for you or running the stop sign on the way to work in order to ensure that you don't have to face your boss, late. Ever.  Or you might be the quiet kid in the corner who chooses not to talk to anyone about anything because if you don't speak, well, then you don't have to get judged.  Except that people do judge you.  This is coming from personal experience when I tried to stop speaking in grade nine, "weirdo," they whispered, yup that was me, but like a true nineties movie with the right kind of heroine, my best friend, pretty, popular and a dancer materialized like something out of a fairy tale and I never had to eat lunch alone again.  Until I wanted to, and I did.  Because, like all of us, who are a little weird, I beat to the sound of my own drum and would often eat by myself in restaurants and read for hours at cafe's, alone.  I didn't mind being on my own.

Some of the time.

Not everyone likes to be alone, and not everyone has anxiety.  For Sure.  But like Oprah's "What I know for sure," (I love Oprah- big surprise!), I know that, The Mindful Way through Anxiety, helped me figure out that some of the time I liked to be alone because it was easier than putting myself out there and some of the time I tried, okay, all of the time I tried to control being anxious.  They have a beautiful saying in that book that goes something like this, "It's already here," essentially whatever you are feeling, fighting against, enjoying etc, it has landed.  You are in the middle of it.  Writing an exam: It is here.  Child having a tantrum: Oops it is already happening.  Broken Foot:  Yup, here it is.

You get the picture.  We are already in the middle of whatever it is that is going on.  Rather than fight it, ride the waves of whatever it is you are feeling, not trying to make it 'better' or 'worse' but just being in it. It is not an easy practice, like today when my nine year old was having no part of stopping his video games.  He was resisting loudly and I resisted loudly.  Translation, we yelled. Then we made up. Life went on.  Next time we will both do better.  Maybe.

Dogs live in the moment.  Joy is a good belly rub.

I broke my foot yesterday.

How can I count the ways of my gratefulness, I am reaching for the stars and looking for places where I can usurp some strength because I am tired, it is only Day #2 of my broken leg, I mean broken foot, and I am ready to park myself in bed and not get up. For six weeks.

But unlike when I had cancer and unlike when I had a fracture right after I had cancer.  I have kids, but, wait, even then, I kept moving.  I moved out of my parent's house and into my own apartment barely sprouting a shade of something that looked like hair on top of my head and I used crutches and went to work and had baths at night.  Somehow I don't remember the tired, I must have felt it, the fatigue, the crutches.  I only remember the perseverance.  I keep going.

I always keep going.  I made cookies tonight and a homemade quiche last night.  The boys say, "We are glad you were not seriously injured," and, "Can you pass me that Mama?" It is not hard to say "No," and they get up and they get the door and wipe the table and bring their lunch boxes into the kitchen.  And I get up and I help them get ready and I pack their lunches.  We manage.

I had a three hour nap today.  How am I going to work on Friday?  Go to my Margaret Atwood dinner tomorrow?  I will go and I will do it.  This is the leg that had cancer and I worry, of course, that it won't heal, but if it could heal after the cancer, I am sure it will heal now.  I kept the air cast from back then, I am having flashbacks.  My mind likes to go to the anxious place where the What If's live.

What if I actually did my very best to move slowly and carefully on my crutches and take good care of myself, then in six weeks, I will keep going, just a little faster.  Only 39 days to go.  But who's counting?

Boundaries

Let’s talk about boundaries, you and me.  No, not you out there, but from you to you.  From me to me.  What promises do we break to ourselves daily?  How many times have I told the kids, “Five more minutes and those five minutes have turned into an hour, sometimes even two?”  No wonder, then when I really want them to get going in five minutes, they don’t.  I get mad. And then I break another promise to myself.  “I will not yell today,” and dang it, like my nine year old is given to saying lately, I yell. 

I am getting better.  I am yelling less.  I am working on creating my day rather than getting through my day.  Every moment is an opportunity.  My Nicolas and I had a blast in the line-up at Costco together the other day.  Things did not start off so well though.  There was that moment where I had expressly told him not to get into the Costco cart, and when I turned to get the bananas the nimble limbs of intent that he is, had gotten himself into the cart.  I scowled.  I turned my lips down. “Mama are you mad?” he asked.  Of course I am, looking at him as if he had just told me that he had given me poison to drink.  Down one aisle, “Mama can we start again?” and up another.  I started to walk away from the cart, “I told you not to get in the cart and you did, I don’t even know what to do.”

I turn around and nimble limbs had gotten out of the cart, he was coming in, for a hug.  I hugged him back, seething turned to self-flagellation, “Why did I get so mad, I am such a terrible mom, he could have hurt himself getting out of that cart.” And then I stopped and I chose, in that moment, I chose to have fun with my son.  He is who he is.  And he is amazing, and yes, most times you have to ask him something a few times before it registers and sometimes you have to get him to focus so that you know he understands and a lot of times he is not going to listen because he is a kid.  My kid.  He loves hockey, he loves it when I watch him play, he is extremely sensitive to the fairness of things, and has to ensure that levels of pop that are delivered to his brother and him are the same, along with chips, chocolate and any other type of dessert or treat.  Fair.

And so I need to work on being fair, with him, and figure out what works for him and what doesn’t.  I like to say, “Where are the boys that belong to me?” when I am picking them up from somewhere or getting them ready, but they don’t really, they belong to themselves and it is my job to figure out what their boundaries are and work within them.  And what they need.  He is my child, time out only works for him if he has done something a few times that we have asked him to be mindful of, like being respectful of his brother’s boundaries and yelling never works, because he can out yell and out stomp anyone in the family – and frankly I think the neighbours don’t want to hear us anymore.  And yes, I still worry about the neighbour’s and what they think.  That is a post for another time.  Maybe in five minutes.

Fresh flowers are a gift I give to myself regularly, for so long  wanted to buy them but wouldn't  because I thought they were a waste of money.  Now I see them as an investment in beauty, a commitment to creating in the moment, life is fleeting.

Angels Among Us.

December was a busy month of tending to the children and enjoying Christmas.  The boys were happy with their gifts.  Santa came and ate his chocolate chip cookies and drank his milk.  I went to midnight mass for the first time in eight years.  I still have two cards to send off to family.  Yup, amongst all the chaos I just didn't have time to send them. Maybe I should go do that now.  But then I still wouldn't write this, so for now the cards will have to wait another day.  There really should be “Happy Belated Holiday Cards,” just like there are birthday cards.

But first my Christmas story.

We had one big snowfall in the month of December and it landed on the boys’ last day of school, just before their winter break.  I had a fleeting trepidation about taking the car but decided that it would be fine as it wasn't all that far to go.  We got stuck twice, the first time I managed to steer us through but the second time we were just not moving. Full Stop.  The boys were getting concerned.  Fear.  A man came out of a neighbouring office building with a bag of salt and directed me, this way and that way.  I still wasn't going anywhere.  His intentions were completely pure, he was only there to assist us and help us get moving.  He didn't give up and brought out a second bag of salt, saying “Looks like you are just making ice, he directed us again.  He smiled and finally got us on our way.  The boys rolled down their windows and of their own accord said, “Thank you for helping us.” 

By repeating the same motions I was sliding back and forth on the same patch of ground even though I thought I was moving forward.  We repeat the same actions day after day and think we are moving forward but where are we moving to?  Sometimes if we are not careful we are creating ice and we are not going anywhere.  If you are an Olympic figure skater or a beer and ice weekend hockey player with a pretty damn good life, then slide on.  The rest of us may get stuck without even realizing it, until the paralyzing fear hits us, we are not going anywhere. 

When my car was on the hill, people were walking past us, other cars were moving around us.  If I didn't know any better I might think I was moving right along with everyone else.  Once I realized that I was actually in the middle of the world spinning my wheels I began to feel fear, along with my little boys, “I’m scared Mama,” they said.  Being stuck, I imagine, is one of the roots of claustrophobia, all of a sudden you are not going anywhere and the walls feel like they just might be closing in even if there are no walls around.

I wanted to park the car in the first spot I could right after we got going and walk the rest of the way to the school.  I told the gentleman who was helping us that as soon as he got us going I was going to park and walk the rest of the way.  He said that once he got us past this hill, “the rest of the roads will be fine.”  He was right.  Sometimes we just need a little help to get us going and to keep us going, fear doesn't have to stop us in our tracks.  Getting help, asking for help and accepting help that is offered, without strings, when it shows up for us is a gift.  Thank you kind stranger who helped me get the boys to school that morning.  We were only five minutes late.  Better late than never.