Sometimes good things happen to those who don't wait

We have celebrated almost a decade of Christmases together. My wife and I. And every year, somewhere around December 14th, we find ourselves sitting on the floor in our PJs, drinking wine, and opening all our gifts. We have never once made it to the 25th with presents from each other left to open.  We are impatient and curious people. That's just our nature.

Actually, I should be a little more honest. That's MY nature. The second I have my presents bought and wrapped (which usually happens a few days after I see that all of my presents from Tracy are bought and wrapped) I start suggesting that we should open them all. She'll ignore me for a few days. But I'm like a chip in the windshield that starts to spread. And she's just like the window - both will eventually crack.

So, when it came to choosing a donor/father for our child I really struggled with the idea of not knowing the guy. One day we were scanning profiles from the sperm bank. Which, quite frankly, is the strangest online shopping you will ever do. We decided that we would only look at "open" profiles which  meant that when our child turned 18 he/she would be allowed to contact the donor (although we were told that we wouldn't know in advance if the donor would be interested in forming a relationship with our child or simply exchanging a single letter).

It wasn't, at all, that I thought that using a known donor would be a better choice. That decision has turned out wonderfully for my family but it involves a significant amount of risk (for all parties involved) and google will tell you that it often turns out horribly wrong. If we hadn't found our Andy we would have absolutely gone the sperm bank route. And, trust me, I know from experience that there are not enough Andys out there to go around.

But if I couldn't wait two weeks to open a GPS system, a homemade gift certificate for a massage that doesn't seem to actually ever be valid, and a box of wine, then how on earth was I supposed to manage waiting 18 years to know more about where 50% of my child's DNA came from? The thought of it made me itchy and panicky.

Tracy was open to the idea of using a known donor/father but her deep sense of skepticism meant that she was doubtful that we could find someone she could trust enough to let him take such a vital role in our family. And as the non-biological parent she knew trusting another person to play the role that she so wished she could play in the creation of our family would be a big leap.

As you know, it was love at first email with Andy and we've counted our blessings every day since I took that first risk and hit send.

Last weekend we made the trip to Cincinnati to spend some time with Andy's family and childhood friends. At some point I stopped trying to count my blessings because there were just too many. I was on the verge of tears most of the weekend as my heart swelled with joy watching my son, his father, and the rest of his extended family interact. Even now as I write this my keyboard is wet with tears.

Mac often takes a while to warm-up to new people and since it has been almost a year since his last visit with the Halls I assumed he would be pretty stand-offish. But within minutes of being there he had latched onto Andy's dad, Bopa to Mac, and was busy helping him feed birds and inspect the grounds. Bopa had so much patience with his little apprentice. Even with a sore hip (scheduled to be replaced this summer) he crouched down to let Mac "help" with his grown-up tasks. Something as simple as carrying a patio umbrella across the yard gave Mac such a sense of pride. And as I watched them together I made a mental note to myself to slow down and let Mac "help" more often.

I always enjoy watching Andy and Mac interact but those visits are usually on our turf. It was so sweet to watch Andy introduce Mac to his hometown friends and family.  

With Andy's niece Monica

With Gramma Jo

With Andy's niece Claire

Andy's brother Dave, niece Christie, and sister Carolyn 

With Andy's niece Christie 

Checking out the dogs with Andy's brother-in-law Bob

And I know y'all are waiting for the pictures of Andy and his mini-me. 

Andy, Mac, and Andy's husband Raf

Tracy and I watched as Mac slipped seamlessly into this family like he had always been there. And we followed along behind him finding our place too. 

See those collage frames on the left? They are filled with pictures of Mac hanging in his Bopa and Gramma Jo's house

Some people are patient. They can let beautiful gifts sit wrapped under the tree and wait to open them when the time is right. But spending time with Andy's family made me realize that I'm glad I'm not one of those people. 

A Quick Update - Back from Cincinnati

We have just arrived home from a fantastic weekend (horrendous travel stories aside) with Andy's family in Cincinnati Ohio.  A better post will come later in the week but I thought maybe you'd like a little preview of the cuteness.

Mac had so much fun puttering in the back yard with Andy's Dad Tom. Or, as Mac calls him, Bopa.

Uh, Dad? This is not how the cool kids wear their jeans. You are totally embarrassing me. 

Mondays with Mac goes to Stars on Ice thanks to Jergens Canada

You know how in a relationship there is usually one person who is right ninety-nine percent of the time? It's predictable. I mean, it's simple math really. Ninety-nine is a much higher number than one. But the person who is wrong ninety-nine percent of the time still seems to think that each and every disagreement is going to be that one percent. But it almost never is. Because that's how math works.

As you may have guessed, in this scenario, I am the ninety-nine percent and Tracy is the one. At our wedding shower our friends played one of those games with us where they ask each partner questions about themselves in private and then they ask their partner those questions in front of everyone to see who knows the other one better. You know what I'm talking about right? So Tracy got very few of the questions about me right. She knew my eye colour. But she messed up my shoe size. Which is hilarious because WE HAVE THE SAME SIZE FEET AND SHARE SHOES. Maybe tests aren't her thing. Anyway, when it came to my answering questions about her it went something like this:

Friend: Kristin, what is the farthest distance Tracy has travelled?
Me: Calgary
Friend: Incorrect. The answer is Florida.
Me: But Calgary is farther than Florida isn't it?
Tracy: I forgot that I lived in Calgary.

So, ya, I think it's safe to say that I know my wife better than she does.

Now, let me get to my actual point. When I got an email a few weeks back from Jergens offering me free tickets to see Stars on Ice I was totally excited. Getting really cool free stuff just for telling stories about how sweet the top of my son's head smells, or what it's like to get pregnant from an artichoke jar of sperm, will likely never get old. Getting offers for really stupid free stuff (like anything that "my husband will absolutely love!" or perfume for babies) does get old. But that's the topic of another post.

I forwarded the message to Tracy to see if she wanted to go. She did not. But a quick scan of our friends told me that everyone else was otherwise engaged so I told her she had to go asked her again nicely if she'd like to come and she happily agreed. When the tickets and lovely large souvenir book arrived in the mail there were four 7th row tickets in the envelope so Mac and Auntie Tata came along as well.

Tracy was certain that Mac, at 21 months old, would be unable to sit still and we'd be ducking out in the middle of the performance embarrassed by our loud, ants-in-his-pants, child. I told her that I thought the music and lights would entertain him. Y'all can use your math skills to predict who won this disagreement.

crappy cell phone picture because my giant 70-200 lens couldn't capture his cuteness

He loved it. He sat in our laps for the first half of the show and was completely mesmerized by the lights, music, and beautiful movements.  During the second half he stood in front of his seat and danced along with skaters. It was so freaking cute. No longer a baby, just like Pinnochio, our little Mac is turning into a real boy.

His favorite part was probably three-time national bronze medalist Shawn Sawyer's performance of a caterpillar-turned-butterfly.

But the show certainly wasn't just for toddlers amused by bright lights. It was fantastic for adults too.
Kurt Browning was the veteran skater who brought-it with his trademark energy, talent, and class.

And there were some damn sexy parts too.

But perhaps the coolest part for me was that there was a girl from my hometown, Meagan Duhamel, in the show. This might not seem all that exciting to you if you are from a large hometown. But I grew up in this tiny little place called Lively (a town that is much less energetic than it's name implies).

Meagan and her partner Eric Radford won bronze in the 2013 World Championships and made folks from both of their small hometowns very proud. At the show we all sat with jaws wide open as Eric lifted her in ways I can't even life my toddler.

Although, in my defense, my toddler doesn't have back muscles like that to hold himself up with.

As the show came to an end we were all on our feet clapping. And then Tracy turned to me and said "wow, that was awesome. I'm so glad you made me go." Y'all saw that coming didn't you?

So our many thanks to Jergens for sending us to the show. We loved it.

Tickets to Stars on Ice were provided by Jergens. However, all opinions are my own.

NBA player Jason Collins comes out. And I give y'all a lesson in speaking Homophobese.

This week NBA player Jason Collins publicly came out of the closet and in doing so became the first openly gay player in the league. More than that, it is being said that he is the first male to be actively playing a major North American team sport to announce that he is gay.

What is most shocking to me is that he is the first. That can't be right can it? And if he truly is the first that makes me so sad. He's a brave man who deserves our respect.

But here's the kicker: we should all be pissed off that he is considered brave for coming out. For doing what so many of us have done and continue to do on a daily basis. It shouldn't require bravery to be open about who you love. But when you're an NBA player, apparently, it does.

It does because after someone like Collins finds the courage to come out an asshole like Chris Broussard, a writer for ESPN Magazine, gets airtime to say shit like this. In case you don't speak homophobese I'll translate for you:

I think that being gay means you'll probably end up in Hell. Because the bible told me so. I know, I know, you're going to say "judge not lest ye be judged" but it's not like that. I mean, we've had LUNCH together. LUNCH y'all?! Let me be clear about this: I ate food next to this homosexual. So I'm not judging. Really. And while we're on the topic of judging. I'm totally sick and tired of having my homophobic, ignorant, word-vomit be construed as bigoted. It's like reverse discrimination or something. We're the true oppressed minorities. We're here. We're anti-queer. Get used to it. I mean I tolerate his disgusting existence so the least he can do in return is tolerate the fact that I think he's disgusting. It's about give and take. Here's the truth: living an openly homosexual lifestyle means that you hate God. And it's not just gay people either. Pre-marital sex-ers, adulterers, they are all going to Hell unless they repent. Basically if you do anything the bible says not to do you should be prepared for a warm afterlife. And BTW I don't shave my face. My goatee just totally grows like this on it's own. Weird right? And this suit I'm wearing? It is absolutely not a linen-wool blend. So there. 

Or you can watch it in it's original homophobese below. And when you are done feel free to sign this petition and tell ESPN to stand up for people like Jason Collins and the rest of us less-athletic queers.

Spring!

These are the thoughts rolling around in the minds of the people in this house. I'll let you guess which belongs to Tracy, Mac, and myself.


SPRING! SPRING! SPRING! Goodbye annoying snowpants that seem to magnetically pull both toddler legs into one pant leg. Goodbye bucket of single mittens missing partners. Goodbye sun-less dinner time. Are these boys going to wake-up soon? Did they nap this long all winter? Where should we walk to today? Fergus do you want to come for a walk with us? Oh, you do? OK boy you can come. This sun feels so amazing. I've never been happier to say goodbye to winter. I wonder if I should think about lowering my anti-depressants?

--------------------------------------

Huh, my wife seems to be in a much better mood lately. And the house is cleaner and she's making dinner more regularly. I wonder what that's about? Did she increase her anti-depressants?


--------------------------------------

OMG THAT COLD WHITE BALL-MAKING STUFF IS DISAPPEARING AND LEAVING BIG PILES OF WATER EVERYWHERE! AND MAMA LETS ME JUMP AND SPLASH IN THEM! THIS IS THE COOLEST THING EVER!

Remembered Always

April 15th, 2012

The week of busy, of rushing, of go-go-go, is finally coming to an end. I think we just planned an entire wedding in the span of one week. My future sister-in-law has bought a dress and shoes and all of the sparkly wedding bits that will decorate her on the day she marries my brother. We've made guest lists and to-do lists and to-buy lists. I've made a master list of the lists. It's over and I finally have Mac all to myself again. In this week of wedding planning extravaganza my major contribution to the upbringing of my son has been to pull my boob from my shirt when needed. Instead of spending his days in my arms, as he usually does, he has been passed from grandmother, to aunt, to friend, to random sales lady, and back again. And when I finally get a moment to myself to wind down I realize that my arms have ached for him. So I pull his warm little body next to mine and curl myself around him as I try to quiet my mind in preparation for sleep. But for some reason I can't turn my thoughts off. I think of all the parents who have lost their children and I wonder if they feel an ache in their arms.  At first I try to chase those thoughts away. But then I force myself to give them my full attention. I can't complain about imagining that loss. So many parents are living it.


April 16th 2012 - 7:00 AM

It's Monday which means blog time. I'm exhausted from the week of wedding planning and all I really want to do is hold my baby. But that's why I called this blog Mondays with Mac. I knew that by giving myself a hard deadline each week I'd be forced not to let procrastination, that old temptress, take over. So with the baby happily tucked into the carrier against my chest I sit down at the computer to write. I'm still thinking about the strange ache I felt in my arms last week. "Mama arms"- I coin the term and realize that I have a topic for my blog. I write about the busy week and how I missed my baby. And then I write about all of the parents who have lost their children. I write about my wife's friend who lost twin sons, and my grandmother who lost two adult children, and the bloggers I follow who write about the loss of their children, and my heart breaks for them. I sit at my computer and I cry. I ache for all of the parents with aching Mama (and Papa) arms. And I finish the post by writing "You are in my thoughts today."


April 16th 2012 - 12:00 PM 

The green light flashes on my phone and I turn it on to read the single worst text I have ever received. My friend, who has just amazingly grown two perfect babies in her womb for the last eight months, has lost one of her children. Her pregnancy has been pretty normal, in the world of twin pregnancies at least, and this is a devastating shock. No heartbeat. No signs of life. Alive two days ago. Gone today. My heart drops into my stomach and then leaves me entirely. It is flying across the country, landing in a hospital room in Nova Scotia, sitting next to Katie's bed.

I sob. Hard ugly cries. Her words make her seem brave and strong. She's in shock most likely. And since her son is still living in her womb I imagine that her body is not yet letting her feel the full impact of the trauma.

Never one to be short on words I struggle to find the right ones. I'm sorry seems too miniscule. I'm sorry my grocery cart bumped into yours, I'm sorry I forgot your birthday, I'm sorry I'm late for our appointment... but I'm sorry your child has died? No that doesn't sound right. But there really aren't any words that matter. I know she doesn't give fuck about my words right now. And I can swear because I know she would. She's probably so fucking sick of hearing I'm sorry. There are no words that will help. No words that will comfort. So I write some anyway, knowing they are useless, but necessary nonetheless.


April 10th, 2013

It's a cold spring. I don't know if the groundhog saw his shadow or not. I don't much care. But I'm cold.  Which allows me to believe that it's still winter and not yet spring. Can it really be April already? Has it really been a year since Caroline died? It seems impossible. And yet I look at the photos of her brother and there he is - happy smiles and big toddler teeth. Somehow a year has indeed passed.

She doesn't feel strong, my friend, I know this much. And she's sick of people telling her that she is. It's not strength that keeps her going. She's angry and sad and a million other emotions I can't comprehend. But she's still breathing and there's strength in that. She's made it through the first year of parenthood and the smiles on her son's face are proof of how much she has rocked it. She's also muddled through the no man's land of bereaved parent and new mom. It's hard to find a place to be between the grieving parents envious of her healthy son and the rest of the new moms who exchange birth stories like baseball cards.  

As the date approaches we talk a lot about Caroline. Even though I know it's the wrong thing to do I'm always cautious to mention her name. What if in that one single moment she wasn't thinking about her terrible loss and I just reminded her? I tell her about the blog I posted last year just hours before hearing of Caroline's death. And then I backtrack. I tell her not to read it because it will just make her feel worse. And then she tells me what I already knew but somehow couldn't really accept. "It doesn't make me feel worse," she says. "There's no such thing. People always worry about reminding me, or opening up wounds. Please don't ever worry about that. My wounds are always open, not a second goes by that I don't think about her."

Her words hit me over the head like a hammer and I feel bad for all of the times I didn't say her name. All of the times that I saw a butterfly, thought of Caroline, and didn't tell her. This time I heard her. Really heard her.


April 15th, 2013

It has been one year since Caroline died. One year without her precious soul on this earth. And today I will say her name on repeat. I will tell Mac about her. I will say a prayer for her. I will say a prayer for her parents and her brother. I will morn her. I will love her.  And I will remember her. Always.

Like Tin Men we Walk Around Heart-less

"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." 
--Elizabeth Stone 

There is a pretty famous quote about parenthood that says that when you have a child you make a choice to forever walk around with your heart outside of your body. Like Tin Men in the Wizard of Oz we walk around fearful of the things that can happen to our hearts when they move outside of our field of vision. A lonely little heart out there all on his own. Does he miss me? Is he safe? How can my heart be expected to survive without me? And then we find people who can hold our hearts for safe keeping. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends and trusted child care providers. We wonder if we have made the right choice. Will she protect my heart? Will my heart be safe with him? Some of us are devastated to learn that answer to those questions was no. And that is the haunting part of having your heart walk around outside of your body. The horror of the possibility of that reality is enough to keep the rest of us up at night with worry.

I've been lucky enough to answer only yes to those questions. My heart has travelled to different cities and gone on many adventures beyond my view. And he has remained safe and protected. And now that I understand what it means to hand over your heart to another person for safe keeping I take it as an honour to be allowed to protect someone else's heart.

Jordan, or DieDie as Mac for some reason only intelligible to toddlers calls him, is someone else's heart. Sometimes his parents hand him over to me for safe-keeping. Those are Mac's favorite days. Each morning he wakes up and asks DieDie? DieDie? and if I have to tell him that there is no DieDie today his little heart breaks. For a minute until a truck or a cookie gets his attention.

So I cuddle him, that heart that belongs to someone else, and I love him like I would my own heart.

This week DieDie's mom is gone on a much needed and much deserved vacation. And as much as I know she is looking forward to the drinks and the beach and the sun and drinks, I also know that it will be difficult to board a plane without her heart. So before she left I helped Jordan to write a letter to his mom.

Enjoy the beach Amy! Your heart will be here safe and sound when you get back!