To Everything There Is A Season...

Summer days at the trailer have always been about sand and water and being a "fun" mummy. I pride myself on being entirely present for the Reds in ways that I am not, in our "regular" life:

At the trailer, we eat more snack food, read more comic books and play more games.

We stay up later, around the campfire and I let them eat marshmallows by the handful.

The Reds are still - or were, until this summer - charmed by the idea of sleeping in a bed that magically gets pulled out of the couch.

We spend long afternoons at the water's edge, playing in sand and paddling out into the cool lake whenever the sun's rays get too hot.

I do not spend a single minute on the computer, shushing their requests with a harried, "In a minute, guys...just give me a minute here!"

I don't have a cell phone to distract me from being their mum, entirely present in each and every moment.

And I love every single one.

On Monday morning, I gulped down my coffee, eager to greet the day with them.

Hauled towels and noodles and water-wings and snacks down to the water, prepared for a full day of making memories for my sons.


Instead, they met two brothers around their age.

Instead of watching them play at my feet in the shade of a tree, I watched them race off to play in the full sun with their new friends.

Instead of piling muddy buckets upon muddy buckets and digging out moats for sandcastles, I settled back with a book...and didn't turn a page.

Instead, I nodded when the Reds bounded over, pleading to visit their new friends' cabin ("It's number 8, Mummy, in case you need us for anything!") and felt my heart swell...and quietly break.

My sons are indeed making memories.

They're just making ones that don't always include me.

I smiled bravely and waved back when they stopped and turned in unison, waving,  as though they sensed the shift, too.

The Reds at the Buck, in Buckhorn, Ontario

And then they were off, out of my sight, their laughter drifting back to where I sat, thinking, "But weren't they just born?"

And you?

What are your bittersweet memories of letting your children go grow?

Moe is 40!

She was the "new girl" at my high school. Pretty, blond, quiet. I think we might have chatted a time or two during Family Studies class, but I didn't know her, as a friend, when we were paired up for a project.

Our task - at the age of 16, in 1991 - was to visit a group in Toronto (the "BIG city" then, to my small-town, teenaged mind) that supported women seeking an abortion. Tentatively, as we made our plans and got permission from our parents to drive to Toronto, we became closer; chatting on the phone, spending time during the lunch hour hanging out by my locker.

Her name was Tracy, but I called her Moe. Still do. In fact, for years and years, my parents had no idea of her real name, assuming it was Maureen.



Me, Jen, Moe and Mel: Prom. Happy. Young.
Holy crap, look how YOUNG we were!

Anyway, in Toronto one Spring morning, we found the building, the floor, the people we needed to speak with. Armed with spiral notebooks, questions and nerves, we sat down with the staff, prepared to learn how to best support a woman who had made a difficult decision.

Suddenly, Moe shot up out of her seat and fled the room. I blinked in surprise and turned wide eyes to the women gathered near. "Uh....I don't know what she's doing. Sorry. I'll just ask her questions, OK?"

Even as I stammered through and tried to focus on the answers, I wondered where she'd gone, worried that she had. Began to feel sweat trickling down my back and then suddenly, I couldn't see. The room narrowed and then pitched and I knew that I HAD to leave. I tossed a quick "Thanks so much for your time!" at the bewildered staff and staggered from the office, blindly.

Felt along the cool wall of the hallway, knowing that an elevator waited nearby. All I could think was, "If I can just get outside, I'll be OK."

"Moe?" I croaked, pressing my face to the wall, sinking to the blessedly hard floor, terrified that I was having some kind of seizure, maybe a stroke.

"Here," she whispered, mere feet from me, huddled on the floor, too.

"What's happening?"

"I don't know. I just had to get out. I can't see!"

"Me neither!"

And we burst out laughing, groped for each other and held on tight. Eventually, my sight returned and hers did, too. Weak-kneed and trembling we made our way to the elevator, for all the world looking like two drunken tarts leaving a bar at last call.

Back on the street, we gulped in as much fresh air as we could, still clinging to one another and giggling.

19, at the airport, waiting to board my plane west...
 

Today, my Moe turns 40. Almost 25 years later, we still cling to each other and laugh like crazy - at stuff that's funny, at stuff that really isn't, except to us:

Between us, we've loved the same boy (that was awkward, but it's funny now) had four children, a few broken hearts, some husbands, some weddings, lost our minds, ourselves, each other. Her son was born on my wedding anniversary, my son was born on hers.



Me and Moe, October 4th, 2003

We've driven miles to hang out for a few hours, spent countless more on the phone, laughing inappropriately. We have cried, we have fought, sobbed with and for, hugged, fed, snuggled and propped each other up. She is my touchstone, in almost every memory I have and the keeper of my deepest, most delicious secrets.














Moe,

All these years, you've had my back, even when - perhaps especially when - I didn't have yours. You are loyal and kind and funny as hell. How I love that you have known me for all the person(s) I've been and that I have known you for the same. This friendship took root when we were mere children and I am so lucky to say that it has grown - as we have - into a wondrous, rich and layered one. 

That our children will know and discover the world together - as we did - makes my heart happy. Thank you, for all of it: the past, the present, the future.

Mostly, thank you for and long drives to nowhere and the journey to here. For calling me, for taking my call even when you're mad, for making me laugh so hard I stop breathing. For snuggling with me, pouring me baths, sending me your book drafts, trusting me with your heart, your fears, your dreams.

You are my Moe-Moe. You are 40. You are fabulous.

And I love you.


Lizzie-Girl

Another Summer's Promise...

...almost gone.

It has been a long, hot summer here.

A long season of waiting: to hear about my husband's new job, to hear from my dad about my mum's condition after an awful car accident, for the weather to break, for rain to fall, for our camping trip - our first as a family - for school to start...

We are jostling about, as a family, trying to figure out who we are, as individuals, as a unit and growing pains - for all of us - are indeed a reality. Together - and apart - we are navigating new waters.

Because of that, I feel especially blessed to have had this entire summer with my sons - watching them grow beyond me and into the men they will all too soon become. I am grateful for each cool morning at the skatepark, just me and them. Ice cream treats. Cuddles and books under the shade of a tree. Afternoons at the beach, watching Matthew learn to swim and Luke make friends all on his own, out of his brother's shadow.

I feel so lucky that we've had my mum for one more summer - witnessed a living miracle as she emerged from the wreckage of her car with a broken leg but an unbreakable spirit.

She is home now, cheerfully getting on with things, embracing the little moments:

 

 

 

 

The summer offered up some big moments, too...

 

Celebrated with my awesome Across-the-Road-Neighbours as  they pledged their love one sunny day in August. As their Mistress of Ceremonies, I am thrilled to honestly say that it was one of the best weddings I've ever been to:

 

Mr. and Mrs. Lindsay, making it official! xo

 

 

Watched the Reds' jaws drop just last weekend, as the watched their beloved Kindergarten teacher make her way down the aisle to her future-husband. She was a vision in white and rendered the boys silent with awe. Her happy tears at seeing them there, sharing her special day, made all of us fall in love with her a little more:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mostly, as summer draws to a close and the bittersweet ache of that throbs in my throat, I am thankful to my boys, who brought bring laughter and light to each and every day.

 

 

 

 

 

Without them, I would be lost. With them, I am profoundly blessed and acutely aware that these perfect, magical moments are precious and fleeting.

 

 

 

These are the days...

 

 

Eight Against the North: Adventure in Algonquin Park

The plan - such as it was - seemed fairly straightforward: drive to Algonquin Park, paddle for a few hours, pitch tents, sing Kumbaya, play some cards, have a few drinks, repeat for four days.

 It was with high hopes and light spirits, then, that the 8 of us, friends since high school, unloaded our packs by the water and waited for Wog to retrieve our permits from the check-in point. While we waited, we divvied ourselves into three canoes: Mark had a broken arm, but could still steer, so Slight-Goddess and I opted to switch off, while her husband, Clarence, went with another couple, to help even out the disproportionate weight in their canoe. G and A would paddle alone.

Piece of cake, we thought. Even when Wog returned with a warning from the Algonquin staff (No fires, it's been too hot and dry and the portage points may be a bit longer, due to low water levels) it didn't occur to me that anything could go wrong.

Ahem.

Day One: When the Algonquin staff said, "Portage distances may increase due to low water levels" what they meant was:

"You will spend four hours portaging through swampland, scale three beaver dams and stumble into your first campsite 10 - 10! - hours from the time you left, which is, incidentally, six hours longer than you'd planned, sorry about that."

That first night, I was so worn out I didn't even care that we'd pitched our tent on an incline and I kept rolling over onto a tree root. None of us felt like eating, which was a blessing really, as the fire-ban would have made cooking impossible and no one was up for a game of cards. Instead, we threw ourselves into tents and sleeping bags and fell asleep praying for an easier tomorrow.

Day Two: Pack-out went smoothly and we were a chipper bunch, paddling happily into the wilderness. We laughed and called out to one another, saw two moose and a loon family. Indeed, as I trailed my paddle in the water, felt the rising sun on my back and listened to my friends' happy voices, I forgot all about our dismal beginning and was content.

Photo by: TriMuskoka.com

Cue "something's-gonna-happen-to-ruin-this-idyllic-scene" music now...

Just as we'd found a decent pace and had settled into an easy morning of paddling, we struck land.

Again.

Where they ought to have been a narrow, yet deep channel to paddle through, there was instead, swampland. We'd have to walk it. And so, grumbling and groaning, we hoisted canoes and paddles and backpacks and soldiered onward, determined to make camp by lunch.

By 2 pm, we'd scrambled over two more beaver dams, traipsed through wilderness so wet and humid I kept asking if we weren't in Vietnam and if so, would someone please shoot me and Sonja lost her shoe in the mud. For good.

About 3 kilometres from our campsite (according to our map), we decided to leave one canoe anchored to a beaver dam, haul everything else to the site and send Mark back for the canoe. Though I went to keep Mark company, it soon became apparent that I was only holding him back, so I sat down on yet another beaver dam, promising to sing loudly until he got back. There's nothing like raising one's voice in praise, surrounded by the beauty of an (almost) unspoiled and rugged land...

I feel certain that the only reason that moose slurping water at the edge of an inlet about 800 metres away only left - crashing through the brush at an alarming speed, given his awkward-looking body - to gather more wildlife friends for the impromptu concert, not because he didn't appreciate my voice.
But I digress...

Day Three: Holy hell. It was hot - a steaming, humid blanket of hot that pitched everyone into a foul mood before we'd even broken camp. Like petulant children, we bickered as we shoved our canoes into the water, dreading the unknown challenges ahead, hoping it wouldn't be worse than the day before, which of course, it was:


During Portage #377,  the strap on my backpack broke just as Clarence began to complain of chest pains. G. and his girlfriend got into an argument when she swung the canoe she carried too quickly and almost knocked him off his feet. Sonja had long ago fallen into a broody silence, no doubt  missing her lost shoe and her air-conditioned apartment while the rest of us wondered - sometimes aloud - if we'd be fined for lighting a fire during a fire-ban, in case we needed to get Clarence helicoptered out of the park.

And then, dear readers, there were the leeches.

(I Googled images of leeches to share with you here, but was so overcome, I couldn't pick. You'll just have to go ahead and google 'em yourself. Don't say I didn't warn you...)

Did you know that when water levels are low, marshy, swampland left behind is hard to slog through? It is. Did you also know that when water levels are low and one is forced to slog through marshy swampland on a sweltering hot day, one must also watch for leeches?

I did not. Not until several of our motley crew stopped and began peeling the black, still-moving slugs from between their sandaled toes. Oh. my. GOD.

Moving swiftly, so as not to draw the leeches' attention my way, I dug into my pack for a pair of socks and jammed them onto my feet. I spent the next three hours shrieking with horror at the leeches that had suddenly found their way into my field of vision and dreaming of a tall glass filled with ice and Coca-Cola and a straw...

The cure for all that ails...Coca-Cola!

Wanna know what happened next?

Come on back tomorrow and read along as our Trip from Hell Eight Against the North: Adventure in Algonquin Park (also known as "How Kool-Aid Saved My Life") went from bad to worse...

Seven Super Shots (A Photo Essay...Sort of...)

My awesome blogger friend, Pam of Writewrds has graciously issued a lovely photograph-challenge to her fellow bloggers, as per this challenge from Hostel Bookers 7 Super Shots. It pretty much rocks socks and I am delighted to take part.

The challenge:

1. Choose 7 of your own photos, one for each of the following categories:

• A photo that…takes my breath away
• A photo that…makes me laugh or smile
• A photo that…makes me dream
• A photo that…makes me think
• A photo that…makes my mouth water
• A photo that…tells a story
• A photo that…I am most proud of (aka my worthy of National Geographic shot)

2. Write a short description for each image.
3. Write somewhere in your blog post: ‘I am taking part in HostelBookers 7 Super Shots‘.
4. Tell us you have participated and tweet the hashtag #7SuperShots
5. Nominate 5 other bloggers by including a link to their blog in your post.

We will be retweeting and sharing the best posts from participating bloggers

A photo that takes my breath away:

Meeting Luke, my second son and my very soul. Before he was born, I worried that I wouldn't love him (or her, I didn't know "who" I was growing in my belly, but secretly hoped for another boy) as much as his brother. And then, I held him for the first time here and all those worries simply melted away. To him, I whispered, "Hello, Luke. I've been waiting to love you my whole life."

I dunno if this counts, actually, since I didn't take the photo.


Hmmm...well, here's another one that I DID take:

Fearless boy - he marched right up and gently, oh-so-gently reached out. My heart was in my throat watching him, but seeing the joy that lit his face throughout...oh, my.







A photo that makes me laugh or smile:

This is Luke, in his glory. That devilish grin shows who is he is, most of the time and the messier things get, the happier he is. He is all about the mess, this kid. God, I love him.

A photo that makes me dream:

Both boys sleep like this, relaxed and chilled. When Matthew was a baby, I would sit for hours, watching him and dreaming of who he might become. Six years later, I sometimes sneak into their room and watch them still...


A photo that makes me think:

The world is a brighter place, because of him. For him, I want the whole of it. To it, I say, "I offer you my very heart. His name is Matthew. You're welcome."



A photo that makes my mouth water:

Summer evenings, cicadas singing, friends and family gathered, heart content, belly full.


A photo that tells a story:

The original Elizabeth McLennan (my husband's grandma) and Poppa, shortly before he passed away. Theirs was a quiet love, grown more tender as the years passed. This, dear readers, is what love truly looks like.


A photo that I am most proud of:

This is my favourite spot in my house - the front hallway. Light fills this space with warmth and welcome and unlike the other rooms, where chaos reigns...here, peace hovers.

* * *

Ok, bloggers! Now it's your turn! Get in on the action - here are my five picks, all five of whom are local Belleville/Quinte bloggers and all five of whom I've recently met (and adore) in real life:


Jenn from "Cleverly Disguised as Cake" (On Twitter: @mindthecompany)
Mandie from "Voices in My Head" (On Twitter: @mandieh03)
Jennifer from "Thinking Christian" (On Twitter: @jennifer4tc)
Christina  from "Life With The Drama Queens" (On Twitter: cdavies1975)
Sara from "They Call It Gumption" (On Twitter: @SaraHamil)

Bring it, Bellevillians!

Four Days Without the Internet - How I Survived It!

This week, by the numbers:

1. Successful shopping for "back to school" clothes. Me + my mum + her charge card = One VERY happy and nattily-dressed Bellymonster.

2. Times Luke peed through the bedsheets at my parents' house.

3. Needles I received in order to start school in September. Ouch!

4. Days I've been without a working computer, courtesy of a busted video card. Or so my husband claims. I think he's been surfing by questionable sites, but he claims not....either way, four days with NOT 'net was harder than I imagined, until suddenly, it wasn't.

5. Loads of laundry I washed, sorted and put away at the beginning of the week. Go, me!

6. Loads of laundry I REwashed, REsorted and added to because Mark discovered that I'd been "washing" everything in fabric softener, not detergent. Yes, I AM a domestic goddess. I'm just not a smart one!

7. Times I have decided upon and then cancelled plans for the Reds' birthday party. How the HECK did time get away from me like this and how do I claw some back?

8. Times Luke used the phrase, "Mummy, stop it. You're freakin' me out!" when I leaned into kiss him goodnight.

9. Times I have said, "I am grieving the loss of these halcyon days," when asked how I feel about the Reds both being in school next week.

10. Days until Luke starts school (note to self: step up the potty-training efforts, slacker!) and I do, too.

And you? How has your week been, by the numbers?

Gone Fishin'!

My friend Erin rang just now, inviting us to camp at their brand-new trailer. So, while waiting for the laundry to dry, I am feeling blessed and lucky to have such generous friends.

And not just because it's so  freakin' HOT outside and the lake will be a welcome respite.

Erin, as you might remember, is mum to William, Sweet William and Pinky, both of whom I've written about here at Life With Bellymonster.

The trailer we'll be calling home for the next few days is the one given to Pinky by the Make-A-Wish Foundation: Pinky, as of June, is now cancer-free after two years of treatment.

It will be wonderful to watch them all frolick about in the sunshine: happy, healthy miracles.

Enjoy your week, my friends. See you at the end of it!

Love,
Belly

Boy: n. A noise with dirt on it

Dear North Key Construction,

First, allow me to compliment you and your crews for all their hard work here on Charles. The complete reconstruction of our street is ongoing and while it's messy and dusty and a bit tricky to drive through, it's also long-overdue and absolutely necessary.

In the meantime, your crews are prompt, professional and friendly. In fact, watching them progress down the street has been fascinating - for me, as a homeowner, but more so for my two young boys.

It's like "Mighty Machines" come to vivid life.

Better still, there is dirt. Lots and lots of dirt.

A pile of dirt, actually.

Whether by design or sheer dumb luck, our lawn was chosen as the spot for dirt. Every morning, a huge pile of dirt gets dumped in front of my house. By nightfall it's gone, much to my sons' disappointment.

But this Friday, the cheerful front-end loader guy asked my youngest son if he'd like them to leave the pile of dirt for the weekend. Luke, gobsmacked, could only stare as I nodded, most enthusiastically.

Yes, please!

This then, is how the dirt pile on Charles looked this afternoon:

By the time this enormous project is complete, my street will be beautiful and all of us will be pleased and grateful. But until then, thank you for making two little boys - and their Mama - very, very happy.

Love,
Bellymonster and the Reds