Almost three weeks ago, Ethan and Eleanor went to their mom’s house, and we haven’t really seen them since. I wrote a blog about how much I was missing them, and since then it has become very apparent that someone else is really missing them too.
Siobhan spends her days with Tom’s mom, and she told us the other day that Siobhan goes over to our family picture and points at the kids and whines. Hearing that broke my heart.
Then Tom told me that she brought him by the hand to open their bedroom doors the other day and she ran in thinking they were in there, and was quite disappointed to find they weren’t there.
Today, Ethan and Eleanor returned home and Siobhan, quite literally, did a happy dance.
She is just as excited as we are to have them home
I like to look at houses. It’s not that I am unhappy with the house I have, it’s just something I like to do.
If a house on our street goes up for sale, I have to go online and see how much it’s selling for, look at the pictures, and compare it to our house to see if I think ours would sell for more or less.
I also go on MLS.ca to check the local listings, again, not because I want to move, but I do like to see if there are any five bedroom houses on the market for good prices. Since we have more children than bedrooms, a five bedroom would be cool, and if it had a pool I wouldn’t complain either.
It’s just a fantasy though because Tom has no interest in moving AT ALL.
When I raised my eyebrow at Tom for checking out a young lady the other day, he equated his checking out women to my “checking out” houses. He said he’s completely happy with me, but still likes to check out the market.
Yeah, I didn’t really buy it either, but don’t tell Tom that I sometimes check out guys too or it may result in him starting to check out sports cars... and that won’t be good for anyone!
Remember when you were little and life was all shiny and new? Innocent enough to believe that a rabbit left you chocolate eggs, and a fat guy in a red suit slid down your chimney to leave you gifts? Remember that?
Then, as you got older, that shiny new life got a few dents in it, a scratch here and there. You know, you’re first heart break, a pimple, a fight with a friend. You learned about betrayal and discovered that life really isn’t fair.
In your teen years, there was a lot to contend with; pressure on all sides. Pressure to do well, to get a job, to be cool, to smoke, or drink, to go further than you were expecting.
Sometime, between your teen years and your adulthood, you had your first sexual experience. How awkward was that? Exposing, to another person, the body that you had managed to find an infinite amount of imperfections in, being touched for the first time in places that you were told were not to be touched.
Not just awkward either, but scary. All the what ifs. What if your parents found out? What if it hurt? What if you were no good at it? What if people thought you were a slut? What if you got pregnant? What if this wasn’t true love.
Rarely is it true love that first time.
So then you move on, feeling slightly used, and wondering if anyone else will want your imperfect body. Wondering if you will ever find true love.
Somehow, you manage to get into college or university despite the fact that most of your time was spent obsessing over one crush or another and not doing homework.
There too, you wonder if Mr. Right is sitting next to you in English class, if you have chosen the right path for yourself, if you will succeed, make your parents proud, if you will one day be a responsible adult who owns a home and a car and has 2.1 children. What sort of statistic will you become?
Then you graduate, and this is it, the real world. Why didn’t anyone prepare you for the real world? No-one said anything about wanting to move back home, about missing your childhood. No-one told you that it wouldn’t be fun to be an adult. Where did all these bills come from?
You wished all your young, innocent years away wanting to be in this very spot, and now you would like nothing more than for your mom to make you a nice home-cooked meal and tuck you into bed, but instead you make KD and watch a crappy movie before tucking yourself into bed because you actually have to be up in the morning to go to a real job where, if you decide to skip, they will fire your ass.
Somewhere along the lines you meet, and possibly marry, the person you think is Mr. Right, and then you spend some time wondering if you were wrong, if that other guy is Mr. Right, if you can possibly live with this same person for the rest of your life. Will they be a good father? Do you even want kids?
You will either remain married or get divorced. You will either have children or not have children. You will question each of these choices a billion times, and you will adapt to which ever choice you make.
I would love to shelter my children from all of the above, to keep their lives shiny and new, but I can’t.
Life happens, and you live it. It’s not about right or wrong choices; it’s about living the life you have chosen and making the most of it. No matter how damaged and scratched up that life of yours becomes, it is your life.
You may even find that those scratches make for an interesting life, that they happened for a reason, and that even imperfections can be beautiful.
I can’t make my children choose the things that I believe are right. I won’t be there when they have those difficult choices to make. What I can do, is let them know that I will be there, I have been there, and I will always be proud of them.
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