Bread Crumbs In The Butter

A letter to myself

Dear Chantal,

I hope this letter finds you well. If memory serves, I think it does even if I tend to sugar coat some of the period of time that represents who I am sending this to.

You're a new mom! Which means you made it through eight months pregnancy. We told everyone who would listen that the baby was coming early and they looked at us like we had two heads. Take that, suckers!

I know you spent a good part of your morning somewhere between tears, fear and a genuine fixation with what is happening to your body.  I'm hoping this letter will shed some light and give you hope? I can tell you, the scars on your stomach are not going to go away, but they will fade. You will still look at them quite often and wish them away, but you won't sob. In fact, you'll earn quite a few more. I won't freak you out with how many pregnancies just yet, because I know what Kristyn was like as a baby and chances are you started your day with puke in your hair and that's enough for now.

Would you believe me if I told you that sixteen years from now you will be starting your day with a hot cup of coffee before your children even open their eyes?  You'll shower alone and style your professionally coloured and stylishly cut hair and put on clothes you probably would now call too dressy for church. You will go to work and be in your office putting out fires before your kids even pack the lunches that they themselves made. Your house will be messy and you will be behind on the laundry because time improves us steadily, but it doesn't work miracles. Besides, that's why you will have four kids.

I'll let you chew on that for a bit.

Four kids.

As I write this, all four are not only still alive, but healthy and amazing.  I can't wait for you to see what we created.  They are the four most foul smelling, ridiculously smart, hilariously exhausting, fascinating people on the planet. They yell at each other constantly and trust me, they get really mean. Even the mean part will impress you because they can be really witty and cutting to each other. I can't even begin to hurl some of the insults they've thrown out.  They are energetic and expresessive and engaging.  A couple of them are more reserved than the other two but even they are outgoing and confident to a degree twelve year old us would be jealous of.

We have done an amazing job.

When I sat down to write this, my intention was to advise you to slow down some and to work on your neurosys and worry less, but I know you will calm down some.  The more kids we had, the more me that we became.  As the years go, you will go from the worry wart who calls your obstetrician's office with every twinge to the woman who gives birth in her master bedroom one freezing cold night in 2003.  Those solid food charts on the fridge? They won't last. In fact, I'm not completely unsure that your son's first solid food wasn't something he found in the yard as we raked leaves. I would have written it was strained peas in his baby book, but truth be told, I never bought one.  We only have three on the shelf and only one is written in.

I'm not saying you or I become lazy, but what you're about to embark on requires not only guts and a firm stomach, but all of your focus and attention too. You're going to feel completely insane for a few years and I'm sorry.  You're even going to break a few of your precious cardinal parenting rules. Meaning yes, you will yell and cry and swear and your kids might even see you drink a bit too much and yell "In your face!" as she beats someone at cards. 

You are going to face some heavy stuff. Conversations you tell yourself you are prepared for now, but nothing, and I mean nothing, makes you ready for some of the things you are going to say, hear and do. I'll tell you this now, don't worry. You'll do it and do it well. I know I still have a ways to go, but I'm pretty sure the us from sixteen years in the future is writing a similar letter with the same words of encouragement.

Love,

Chantal

ps - Waking up in the morning and your first thought being "God, how long until bedtime?". Yeah, I'm sorry to say that hasn't gone away yet.

 

Secrets

I love secrets.

My own.

Yours.

Friends of yours.

People I don't know.

Let me clarify, I'm a horrible secret keeper.  Which is why, as a rule, people don't tell me their secrets. I don't blame them.  The secrets I love are the anonymous ones.

I remember the first anonymous secret I ever saw.  It was on the back of a bathroom stall at a rest stop on the 401.  Kristyn was a baby and we were driving to meet my new nephew.  It said:

"He's sitting in the car waiting for me and I am going to tell him I love him.  I know he does not love me back."

Even though it was clear that it had been written a long time before I had read it, I couldn't help but spy on everyone I saw in that rest stop.  Did they write that? How did it go? Do any of these people have secrets like this?

Since then, I've been hungry for stuff like that.  Thankfully, that thing called the internet that was just sort of sputtering along in 1996, took off.  Now there are several website out there for me to get my delicious fix of secrets.  Sites like PostSecret, Group Hug, True Mom Confessions and my personal favourite True Wife Confessions.

I've never confessed anything personally, my life just isn't that interesting.  No one wants to read that I always save the best pork chop for myself or that when the kids were babies and I was home alone all day I would do a rapid clean up in the last half hour of the day so John would think I had slaved.

I find these confessions comforting.  They help me see that no matter what I've got going on, someone has it much worse and I should be thankful.  It also makes me feel way more normal to know that I'm not the only wife who occasionally imagines what her husband would wear in his casket.  Know what I mean?

Thirteen years later though, I wonder if that girl finally confessed her feelings and how it went.  I wish I knew, but somehow I know it wouldn't be the same if I did.

Suck It Up

I don't typically use the doldrums of January and February as an excuse to dive into a funk.  Usually, I can look past the long nights and cold, short days and see that spring is coming faster than anyone realizes.  I chant out that soon we will all be complaining about the heat, having soccer every night and mosquitoes.

This January though, I let myself slip in a bit.  I spent a good portion of that month complaining about the size of my ass, but not really doing much about it.  I stayed up too late watching absolutely useless TV (people, I watched Jersey Shore!) and woke up in the morning dazed, confused and frankly, pissed off.

November and December were shitty months for me.  I started the holiday season feeling optimistic and invigorated about my job.  A job that seemed to be moving from a means to make some extra money into an actual career.  Then, it all went pear shaped.  I won't go into details just Google the company I work for, if you know, and feast your eyes.

I've pretty much lost my faith in the idea that if you work hard, maintain loyalty and treat people well, you will be rewarded.  An only slightly jaded but still optimistic me turned into a crabby, sensitive and frankly, whiny me.  I spent most of January asking "Why me?".  Everyone loves a girl who wallows in her beer.  I've been really popular.

Now I wonder, why not me?  Maybe this is how it was supposed to happen.  I'm home more. I'm working out more.  I'm working just enough to get to see all of my favourite people and maintain my seniority, so who cares?  So I'm not someone's boss.  I am learning fast that it might not be all it's cracked up to be.  Besides, I have four people here who still need me to the their boss.  They need to go back to having a Mom who forgets things because she's a scatterbrain, not because she's too lost in her own misery to even fathom it.

That last part sounds glum and full of doom, but it pretty much sums it up.  And now I'm telling myself what I would tell anyone of you should you talk like that.

Suck it up, buttercup.  Get at it and pull your head out of your ass.

Adequate/Inadequate

Adequate:

I've been working many hours and will be soon working many more hours. The money is great.

Inadequate:

It's on days off like today that I realize how much I miss when I am at work. Doing laundry so they don't have to, making their lunches, meeting them from the bus and walking lazily up the driveway chatting about their day.

Adequate:

I am absolutely adoring ball hockey and so far our hectic Thursday schedule hasn't stopped me from making it each week.  Outdoor soccer has started and I feel really proud about the new team we are becoming.  I am loving getting to play both sports this summer.

Inadequate:

I often wonder if I give up a part of my parenting and feel intense guilt for putting myself first. I wonder why I can't choose just one.  That the answer is "I just don't want to" either makes me feel very confident or very shitty.

Adequate:

My kids are happy, healthy and very unpicky eaters willing to try anything.  More often than not lately we are choosing whole, organic foods grown or raised right around us.  I'm being more conscious about not wasting - even composting!  I've recently discovered that farm fresh local eggs make the most amazing fried egg sandwiches ever!

Inadequate:

I've fallen off the wagon of meal planning and smart food shopping. I've spent too much money on food lately (that we don't necessarily have) because I'm flying by the seat of my pants.  When I do this I feel rushed and confused. I need plans people!

Adequate:

We are insanely busy and so far everyone is getting there. We are lucky to have the help of friends and between John and I we have managed to reciprocate as well. Everyone is enjoying their summer activities.

Inadequate:

I am so over-tired, over-committed and over-cranky that I sometimes yell and lash out when I shouldn't. I have spent a lot of time apologizing to my kids about my outbursts, which makes me feel like something you leave on a boot scraper.

You know me and change

I'm wallowing.

I know I'm doing it, but it's hard to stop when it can feel so oddly good.

It gives me a reason to eat chips for supper, like I did last night.  I can drink too much beer on a Tuesday night and tell myself it's because things suck right now and I deserve it.

I can stop running and working out and rationalize that my time and efforts are needed elsewhere.

Then one Saturday morning, I will wake up and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and see it. Not only do I feel the wallow in me, I can see it.

This just has to change.

Yes, things are hard in the Hubert household. John and I have been fighting like crazy about money, compromise and who has it worse right now.  Have you seen two grown ups argue over who had less toothpaste? It's pretty sad.

Our house is going up for sale and that has been a lot of work. When you're asking a certain amount for a property, it's gotta look like it's worth it. I can tell you that after four weeks, one staging expert and a whole lot of elbow grease, this house looks amazing. Not in a way that makes me want to stay, because the mortgage still gives me heart palpitations - in a way that reassures me this is the right decision.  It does not look like we live here anymore. It's a beautiful house, but it's not my home.

I'm feeling good about the whole thing and that's huge right now.

There have been small glimmers of stuff that makes me smile.

This week, we scraped up enough to purchase our first actual bed. Not just a mattress on a frame (cause we have a really great mattress), but a bed.  It's made of actual wood and rails and posts. Four posts!  I need a stool to get into it.

Meghan won third place at the Renfrew Rotary Music Festival. The adjudicator told her she had the best rhythm of the bunch. It didn't drown out the melody. She was thrilled.

Ball hockey has started again. How much I love this sport is impossible to describe. Soccer is my thing, but the pace and agility of ball hockey pumps me up for days.

I'm muddling through.  Hopefully soon, we'll have started another new chapter and I'll go back to regaling everyone with my filthy mouth and crazy ideas.

Look Back

Right around this time of year, John goes through his usual list of all the bad things that happened to us in the last twelve months. Being a bit of a natural pessimisst, the year he's referring to is always pronounced as "our toughest year yet." (This is, of course, forgetting the year his mother died or the year we lived in a tiny sweathole apartment, worked four jobs each and both went to school full time.)

I usually smile and nod and remark that I too can't believe we made it through such a year.  This year though, I had had it.

"Stop that! This year hasn't been so bad.  Neither was the one before it.  When you think about it, we're pretty damn lucky to have what we have.  Name me one good thing that happened this year!"

... and he did it. Reluctantly at first, but once I started throwing things out there, he came around and started to get really excited about the good things that had happened this year.

Which is what inspired me to break it all down.  The good and the bad. 

The not so good is pretty self-explanatory.  In February of this year, Alex was in CHEO for 6 days, receiving and IVIG transfer for Kawasaki Disease.  There were some issues with John's business. We were audited.  Reunion and Studio 60 were cancelled before I found out how each show would resolve. Sure, some things sucked.

On the other hand ... Alex not only came through just fine from Kawasaki Disease, he has no lingering issues because of it. Gossip Girl has filled the space in my life that 90210 reruns were trying valiantly to fill, but just weren't cutting it anymore. I got an awesome job with Canada Post and I'm enjoying working outside the home. John is spending a lot more time with the kids and helping around the house.  John is also employing the best group of people we've ever had. I think things have been pretty effortless for a few months now and we're just moving along.

So, I want 2008 to continue where 2007 has left off.  Except, I still want to aim to drink more water, not bite my nails and pay less attention to Britney Spears getting her frappucinos and beating down he paparazzi.  Okay, I probably can't live up to that last one, but you get the idea.

Calm Down

You just can't get any better than this right now.

Do you ever catch yourself saying "When things calm down" to other people? 

"We'll get together when things calm down."

"I'll organize those photos when things calm down."

Last June I realized that I had been saying that for the last few years.  Every weeknight, every weekend and every minute of every hour we had was booked up. Solid.  I told myself it was because my brain couldn't function without being busy, but the truth was, I just didn't know how to say no. I was so focused on giving my kids all of the things I never had, that I wasn't giving myself anything in return.

We scaled it back this year.

We're still busy and the kids are still active, but there's more time for everyone.  Our new rule to live by is "No activities on the weekend" - especially Saturday or Sunday morning.  I am at work for 7am every day. Sleeping in until at least 8am has become sacred.  We putter around the house, go shopping and play board games.  John and I have started to book sitters (mostly my Dad/Stepmom or my Mom) and are spending Saturday nights hooking up with friends. We're having fun. Together, but separately too.  I'm still running and playing soccer. He's still hunting and playing hockey.

I feel so ridiculously well-rounded right now, I could burst.

The Men In My Life

I find people to be less expressive about fathers than they are mothers.  I suppose it's the soft, nurturing nature of mothers, but fathers seem to get less sentiment on their big day.  I figure most Dads probably want to hear how appreciated they are and a new socket set is not necessarily the way to go.

Today, in honour of this gorgeous and sunny summer day, I'm going to post a tribute to two very important men in my life.  My Dad and dad to my own children, John.

I've posted before that my father and I haven't always had a solid relationship.  In fact, for a few years, it was non-existent.  When your parents are divored it becomes hard to maintain a successful connection with your non-custodial parent.  Other circumstances made it almost impossible for a long time.  However, in the last year or so, my father and I have grown much closer.  Two years ago my children didn't even know I had a father. Today, their Grandpa is a big part of their lives.

My father and I are very much alike.  Not only do I have his eyes, but I have his personality.  A good deal of the time we spend together is spent laughing.  We have bitter, sarcastic senses of humour and tease our spouses incessantly.  It's nice to see glimpses into myself and see where I came from.  He's a very smart man and I respect his opinion on a lot of things.   My life is so much better with him in it and I feel like I've finally been able to let my bitterness at his role in my childhood go.  I'm no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop or for him to dissappear.  I think he's hear to stay and we're both making the effort to keep this going.

When it comes to John, I see Father's Day a bit differently.   It's a time for me to think about what kind of father he is to our children.   Of course, I always knew he would be a great father, that's why I married him.   When I consider his relationship with his own father, I see just how different he is than how he was raised.  He is very affectionate with our children and quite hands on.  He's always the first one to put a pillow between us and heave a frightened child into our bed at 2am.  He wrestles them until they cry from laughing so hard.  He teases them and makes fart jokes.  He cuts their fingernails because he knows I'm afraind to. He pulls out wiggly teeth because he knows it grosses me out. He takes them to soccer games and picks them up from school.  He brings them to dance competitions when I can't go and comes back with hilarious play-by-plays of what went on.

He pretty much leaves all of the major parenting decisions to me, because he trusts me as their mother.  He's not afraid to give me his opinion but he always says that he chose me as their mother because he knew I would be great at it.  It's stuff like that makes me love him like I do.   

My own father is very important in my life, but John is probably the most important father in my life right now.  I can't think of a better teammate in parenting.

Happy Father's Day!

Definition

At a girls only poker night, the girls and I spent a lot of time talking (naturally).  I don't remember how we got onto the subject, but the discussion of "definition" came up briefly.  We moved over the topic quite quickly because I believe we started reliving how we knew our husbands were "the one" and everyone loves to tell that story (none of us really knew though).

Definition is something I think about a lot (and I don't mean how defined Ryan Reynolds is, but while we're there, YUM!).  I'm not speaking specifically about how we define ourselves but how we are defined to others.  How we are characteristically identified in social situations or groups. Do you know what I mean?

It's how you introduce yourself in crowds.  How you know the bride at a wedding shower. Your "About" page. That little tagline you put after your name that sums you up.

I'm always defined as "The Woman Who Has Four Kids". Always. I mean, how can that not be my definition? It's a bit of a traffic stopper.  That fact always gets greeted with oohs or aahs or groans. Generally the sentiment is "better you than me!" or "you must be so busy!".

After that, I can usually count on including "The woman who's husband sells stuff... just stuff.  She plays soccer and runs and lives in the big house just outside town near the hydro line."

So right now, at 31, that's my tag line. My defintion.

What's yours?

________________________________________________________________________________

What mixin' in my mixer today? Streusel Topped Blueberry Muffins. John is not a breakfast eater, but he always grabs on of these in the morning. Yum!

Size 12

Entertainment Tonight is one of my late-night indulgences.  When I can't sleep, I flick the television on and can find it in less than five seconds.  Tonight was no different.  I was hoping to get the newest gossip on the Britney and K-Fed divorce, but instead was greeted with the lastest "ET: Expose". 

"Ugly" Vanessa, ET's Hidden Camera Expose

Scandalous. Shocking. Totally done before.

The expose itself required Vanessa Minnilo to don a "fat suit", which is exactly as it sounds.  Designed to add curves and lumps to her usually stunning, yet reasonably curvacious body, her reaction to the suit was obvious and not surprising.  What happened next did.

Vanessa asked someone off camera what size the skirt she was about to put on was.

"Size 12" the woman stated, with a bit of disdain in her voice.

Vanessa's reaction was immediate and harsh, she appeared, to me, to recoil in disgust.  My own reaction was just as immediate. My heart sank.  A size 12? A size 12 is worthy of such scorn?  I'm a size 12!  My bloid boiled and I went from heartsick to just plain mad.  What is up with that?  Since when is a size 12 considered "ugly"?

The makeup artists and wardrobe people went on to finish Vanessa's "ugly" look.  They added extra weight to her neck, changed her nose to include a bump, added freckled and blemishes and the final touch; a long brown wig.

It occured to me right then. They didn't make Vanessa Minnillo look ugly, they made her look normal.

Gone was the unattainably perfect hair.  No more puckered lips and sensual eyes. Her pre-childbirth body, still tight in all the places it was meant to be was nowhere in sight.  Yes, my friends, that is what counts as "ugly" these days.  Isn't that what it pretty much comes down to?  If we don't all look like we wake up each morning ready for a photo shoot, we're just not worth it.

My first reaction to the size of Vanessa's fat skirt was to be ashamed. I wear the same size as that suit and I was not happy about it. I was embarassed and sad. For a few minutes I felt unworthy and no longer proud of the body I have.  I went from amazement at birthing four children and being a size 12 to shame for being a size 12 in general.  What is wrong with that scenario? I was angry and pumped. I'm a confident person and genuinely happy with how I look. How dare someone try to make me feel like that's not enough?

Two days ago Kirstie Alley sauntered onto Oprah's stage wearing a bikini. She looked confident, proud and like she knew she deserved to be there.  A woman who is the same age as my mother went on national television in a bikini and what did most editorial media focus on? Her thighs. Or the fact that she didn't remove her wrap to show her ass. Or that she's lied about how much she really weighed when she started her program. She lost over seventy-five pounds. She lost a ten year old! And her thighs are what people are focused on?

There are so many campaigns on the internet and in television that promote real beauty. I am totally on board with them. I applaud them. Logically though, will this really change anything?   Will there ever be a time when a brown haired woman with freckles, pimples and a size 12 skirt is not considered ugly? I'm going to go with "No" and that's too bad, but it's life.  This is our world.  In 2006 a very small perentage of the population gets to decide what is beautiful and a large part of the population is not included. Practically, tangeably, currently, there really isn't much I can do to change that.

What I can change is how I react. Just because beautiful is being shoved down my throat in a size 2 skirt and bleach blond hair doesn't mean I have to believe it. Can a gorgeous woman with a small waist parent four children, balance her own hobbies and career and just try to keep it all together on a daily basis?  Of course she can!  Is she better at it than I am because of how she looks? No way.

So many times I've looked down at my stomach and I've felt depressed. It's stretched, the skin hangs and it's scarred permanently.  It's the one thing I would change about my body. I pull my shirt down over it. I don't look at it if I don't have to. Among all my family and friends though, the only person it bothers is me. So why am I so worried?  It doesn't make me less of a Mom or Wife or Friend. I can honestly say that the things I dislike the most about my body are the things that have brought me to where I am.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitter. Not at all. Not anymore. I love fashion magazines. I love hollywood gossip. I love watching movies and the red carpet and ET. It's all wonderful entertainment, but that's all it is.  It doesn't define my life, I do.  All six feet, one hundred and seventy pounds of me.