The simple things in life

Me: Isn't the sky beautiful this morning buddy? (refrerring to the pink blush that spread across the horizon as we arrived at school)

Hayden: Pitty mummy, vewy pitty. Makes the birdies happy.

Me: You're right - the birdies are singing away. They must like the pretty sky too.

Hayden: Makes mummy happy too?

Me: Yes buddy, you know, it does make mummy happy.

Hayden: Pitty sky make mummy and birdies happy. Dat makes me happy. Tank you sun.

I love my husband

Last night I came home after a particularly long and intense day in the office feeling pretty sorry for myself. It was a thinky kind of day - all day - and I was exhausted both in mind and body. Adam came home about half an hour after Hayden and I had settled.

Adam: How was your day?

Me: Crappy. I feel like I've been scrambling all day. I had to

Adam: Wait a second. Instead of telling me what went wrong, tell me three good things about today.

Me: (thinking) Well...Stacey told me that she really missed talking and joking with me when I'm this busy, the recognition team surprised me with a pizza lunch and I found out one of the girls on my TTC board just got a positive pregnancy test after months and months of trying!

Adam: See! I came in and you looked like a bus had hit you. Now - you're smiling.

Man....I love my brilliant husband.

As you wish....

Today marks three years of marriage for my husband and I. It's been three years of big changes, tough decisions and a lot of adjustment. We've gone from being a carefree couple to a dedicated family and homeowners. We've grown from two wild and crazy kids living together for kicks into a partnership that epitomizes trust and support. We've moved cities together, birthed our son together, bought a house together, survived job loss together and through all of this, we've developed an amazing love together.

My husband is not perfect. But I dare say he's pretty close.

When I met him, eight years ago, I had a funny feeling that he was the one. It didn't fit with the warnings that he was a dirty dog and a love 'em and leave 'em kind of guy. I had a promise to myself when I was a teenager that I would not make love with more than five guys before I got married. It was a secret way to keep my raging adolescent hormones in check and to weigh the benefit of a night of passion. I felt it was no coincidence when Adam became my fifth.

We had good years and bad through our dating relationship. We even broke up for a few months one year but the fates had other plans for us and brought us back together again. Boy am I ever thankful for that.

Adam is the kind of husband who knows when to quietly hold you and when to offer advice. He understands that a foot rub and takeout can erase lingering grumbles over a bad day at work. Adam knows that romance is the way to my heart and still buys me flowers for no reason at all. He is the one who suggests romantic candlelight and long nights of kissing and caressing. He has a powerful need to protect his family, but he also gives us the room and freedom to make mistakes and to solve those problems on our own. He is generous almost to a fault, giving whatever is needed to those he loves without a second thought. He is a loving father who is firm but silly, gentle and strong. Before anything else, he puts his efforts and love into his relationship with Hayden and I. He makes me feel special and cherished and beautiful and clever and funny.

Adam can fix nearly anything in the house, from building a new door frame to redoing the ancient plumbing in our centrury home. He's probably saved us thousands of dollars by not having to call in the professionals. Adam also does nearly all the housework, including dishes and toilets. He never makes me clean up after I've made dinner and sometimes even does both the meal and the tidy. He helps with laundry (and usually does most of it), grocery shopping, gardening and he does our finances. These are mostly little things, but they're the things that drive most wives crazy. By taking care of all of the daily mundane chores, Adam makes me a better person. He frees me up to do what I love: take care of my family and bundle them up with love.

Babe - when I married you three years ago today, I knew that walking up the aisle to a storybook love song was setting the stage for our lives together. And I think that it's come to fruition. We have conquered the bad guys together, avoided tragedy on our path, built our castle and are now living in the happily ever after.

Thank you for always being my Westley. I will remain forever your Buttercup.

From bebe to little bird

Hayden has made a huge development leap this week. He's gone from using one word to describe multiple items (bebe = sippy, birdie, blanket, berry) to using full sentences (I did it mama! More pears pees mama.) and parroting any word you throw at him. Suddenly he can make himself understood without frustration and he beams with pride when he masters a new word or sound.

For me it's a bittersweet growth. I'm so delighted that we can have actual conversations and he can easily tell me what he wants. It makes our interactions really full and rewarding. He gets frustrated less and shares more of his world and inner thoughts with me. But at the same time, it makes me realize that my baby is a baby no more. He's got a mind of his own with expressive thoughts about life. He is becoming more independent and adventurous every day.

I think every mother goes through this mourning. Accepting the loss of being the centre of your child's world. Mourning the days when you provided everything for them, food, love, warmth, comfort, security. Suddenly it seems that their eyes are open and they realize that there are other ways to fulfill these needs, including doing it themselves.

I'm determined to squelch my selfish thoughts of keeping him my baby. I remind myself that these verbal skills and independence are wonderful and liberating stepping stones that pave the way to becoming a confident child. Any time I feel that ache for infancy, I have only to hear him declare "I ya you mama" to know that my little baby is blossoming into a wonderful little man; That our nearly two years of unconditional love and attachment parenting have helped him to grow from a demanding, high-needs infant into an courageous, inquisitive and loving toddler.

I ya you too heartsong. I ya you so very much.

The Poppas

I think that Hayden is an incredibly lucky little boy. Not only does he have two loving, emotionally stable parents, he also has four grandparents and four great-grandparents. Everyone lives within an hour's drive from us (save for one set of great grandparents in BC) and they are all involved in his life. Everyone is still married and in relatively good health. That seems like a prize-worthy thing in these times.

My parents and Adam's folks both adore Hayden and take every opportunity they can to see him. (I sometimes think of my mum as a panther, crouched and silently waiting to pounce on an opportunity to visit.) They smother him in love and are much more lenient then they were when Adam and I were growing up - these are a grandparent's unspoken spoiling right according to my father-in-law.

In response to this love, Hayden refers to all four grandparents as the poppas. There is no differentiating between genders, families or the fact that they have all chosen different grandparent names (Gran and Poppa for my folks and Gram and Grampa for Adam's). He can say these words, but when he sees any of them or makes reference to them, they are Poppa. I think it's hilarious and quite telling that he considers them all with the same attachment by using this standard moniker.

I'm so pleased that Hayden will grow up feeling the love of family around him. I have to admit that when I was a young girl, I envied the relationship my peers had with their grandparents. Baking cookies, learning how to knit and sew, figuring out how to thread a wiggly worm on to a hook, these were the things you learned from your grandparents. My maternal grandparents lived in England and I met them only a handful of times in my life (my paternal grandparents passed away before I was born). My grandfather passed away when I was a teen and I never felt that I knew him. When I turned 21, my mum took me to England to celebrate. I was able to meet my Gran and connect with her as an adult. It was a bittersweet time as I realized that the two of us would have been fast friends but never had the chance. We laughed so much together and the three of us (my mum, my Gran and I) seemed to be cut from the same cloth. When she passed away a few years ago, I mourned her loss not just for the person she was, but also for who she represented: my only living grandparent and the only one I ever had a real relationship with.

Part of the reason we moved from Ottawa after Hayden was born addressed this loss. By picking up roots and replanting them closer to our families, Hayden would have a whole other generation to draw experience, knowledge and love from. He would know his grandparents - all of them. And they would know him and be able to play an active role in his life. This move was the gift of family. I can only hope that one day Hayden looks back on his life and realizes what a precious gift that is.

Warm and gooey about my girls

You know, in all the hullaballoo of the heartsong hand incident, I never did blog about why we went to Ottawa in the first place.

Adam and I lived in Ottawa for about eight years. It was in this beautiful capital city that I met my very best friends. These were the friends I had longed for all my life. The kind of friends I could count on through thick and thin and back again. They never judged me, never made me feel insecure and always made me feel loved and supported. These women helped me to grow and stretch my wings in a strange city. They were there for me through a break-up, my marriage, my pregnancy and the birth of my heartsong.

It was visiting these wonderful friends that drew us to Ottawa last weekend. And on the Friday we arrived, I was enveloped in the delicious giddiness this circle of friends always brings me. We had a girly night with strawberry daiquiris, gales of laughter and lots of love.

It made me long for the closeness I had with these friends. As much as I love them all, 500kms makes it hard to keep in close contact. I'm often torn between the desire to live close to these girls in an absolutely beautiful city and living in Southern Ontario where I'm close to my entire family. I wish I could just pick up my family and move them to Ottawa - that would be ideal. But we'd have to win a big lottery to make that happen. (Remind me to buy a ticket.)

And so despite the fact that our weekend ended in disaster, it did begin exactly as I had dreamed. And I do have those warm, gooey memories to carry me through these tough times.

To my favourite girls - Dana, Josie, and Krista, thank you for being such wonderful friends. You are always quick with a smile and a hug and being with you just makes me feel a special kind of love. I think that friendship love is unique because it's a chosen love. At any time, you could check out of the relationship, but you chose to stay. And that just makes me feel priviledged that you chose me. I love you girls!

The fireworks of love

The story of how Adam and I met and fell in love is filled with fireworks. He is one of the rare men left in the world that understands that the way to a woman’s heart is through romance.

When I finished college, at the tender age of 23, I decided I need to take a break from writing. My two-year journalism degree left me feeling creatively empty. I serendipitously took a job as a waitress in a new restaurant in town, Café Francesco, to restock both my financial and creative banks. This café employed only two cooks and two waitresses to run the show (along with a very colourful owner who tried his hand at both of these things when the mood suited him). My partner in waitressing drudgery was a striking young woman named Virginia. She was still in high school and earning some money for college, where she wanted to become a nurse.

Virginia and I became fast friends. We relied on each other every day to juggle the many demands of a small operation. When business was slow, we divided our tips equally to balance out the good and crappy tippers. When business was overflowing, we passed off making salads and bussing tables to keep the flow smooth for the customers. (Now bear with me – Virginia plays an important part of the romantic tale.)

Every morning, a member of Virginia’s large family (4 kids) would drive her to work and drop her off. On one particular morning, her brother followed her into the café to sample our delicious but expensive coffee. He was dressed in grass-stained jeans, a dilapidated hat, a ripped and stained shirt and his face was bristling with a weekend beard. He sheepishly ordered a coffee from me and was back out the door without so much as a glance (though he did leave a dollar tip on a $2 coffee). I noted his gorgeous blue eyes and buff build but soon got busy with the demands of opening for the day.

About two hours later, a clean-shaven, impeccably dressed, drop-dead handsome man entered the café. He ordered a coffee and we exchanged some flirty banter before work got in the way. He left with a smile and a wave and I immediately reported the incident to Virginia. I had no idea who he was – which was rare in our small town where everyone knows everyone. She assured me that she would keep a look-out for this hottie.

Later that afternoon, the café phone rang and Virginia answered. I could tell by her tone that it was someone in her family calling. With an exasperated voice, she bantered back and forth on the phone for a few minutes before hanging up. With a smirk, she turned to me. “I know who he is,” she proclaimed. Then added almost disgustedly, “It’s my brother.” I was happy to know the identity of the mystery man and also pleased to know I had an inside scoop as to who he was. Before I could ask her anything, Virginia placed a hand on my shoulder and assured me “I told him you weren’t interested.”

Now at this point I was flabbergasted. She knew I thought he was attractive, why would she kibosh this potential summer fling? Granted, I had just come out of a rather serious three-year relationship where I was badly burned. Perhaps she didn’t want her brother to be my “rebound romance.” Virginia didn’t wait long to explain, “I know you just broke up with someone and you’re vulnerable. My brother is a complete dog. He’s a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of jerk. He’s had so many girlfriends over the past year that I can’t keep count. And he never keep them around for long.”

Perfect! I thought. All I want is a bit of loving to boost my self-esteem. The last thing I was looking for was any semblance of a relationship. This “jerk dog” sounded like just the kind of medicine I was looking for to help to mend my wounds. Virginia was truly hesitant and must have told me a dozen stories of why I should avoid her brother at all costs. Despite her arguments, she relented and revealed that he was calling to find my number as he wanted to take me out that night. Virginia insisted that we double-date so she could keep her rogue brother in line.

Adam picked me up in a dusty, stick-shift sedan later that night. He came in and met my parents (a rule in our house – even for a co-worker’s brethren) and surprisingly, made my mother all blushy and giggly with his banter (this is a woman who can see cow-flop from a mile away and treated most of my potential dates like they had just escaped from prison). He opened my car door for me and was a gentleman right from the start. Given that I knew about his “jerk-dog” history, I kept an ounce of scepticism about this chivalrous behaviour. We stopped for gas and while he was paying, I took a moment to look around his car for clues to his personality. I found no rogue panties from past conquests – check. Found no porno mags peeking out from under the seat – check. And hmmmm....what's this book left on the back seat – A JOURNAL. Now hold the phone Alexander – this boy writes for pleasure?! We may have something here. Being a writer myself, I was caught off guard by this random find. The scepticism took a step back.

Adam returned and we soon picked up Virginia and her beau. We drove to Toronto, and I have to admit that Adam’s rather aggressive driving (which hasn’t changed by the way) had me white-knuckled the whole way there. We parked about a block from Ontario Place and sat on a patch of grass to watch the Benson and Hedges Fireworks Display. It was breathtaking. We could just hear the music and had an amazing view of the sky. At some point during the night, Adam took my hand in his and I noticed how strong and large his hands were.

When the show was over, we piled back in the car and drove back home. Adam dropped off Virginia and Darren and we continued towards my house. He asked if I’d like to go and get a drink somewhere but I declined. When we pulled in my driveway, we sat for a few minutes chatting. I could tell he was sizing me up for a kiss, so I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek (and I couldn’t help but notice just how wonderful he smelled and how smooth his skin was). I said goodbye and left him without having even taken a base. Mama didn’t raise no fool and I knew that to truly hook that fish, you had to leave them wanting more.

It worked. We went out the next night and two nights after that. On our third date, we returned to my house and sat on our back swing until the morning birds started to chirp. We talked about life, love and our wildest dreams and desires. I was snuggled closely to him for warmth and to breathe in his scent. As the sky began to lighten, we exchanged our very first kiss. It was a toe-curling, novel-inspiring, electrifying kiss that lasted forever and yet, not long enough. He was gentle and firm, holding my head tenderly in his hands like the leading man in a chick flick. It was the second time in our short romance that I saw fireworks.

The rest, they say, is history. But it’s my history. The pages of our love story are filled with these tender moments and tear-jerking crises that make us who we are today. From many Valentine’s days, birthdays and everydays filled with thoughtful gestures that would make Harlequin quiver, to the day he proposed in the most perfect and lovely way, Adam has made my life one fit for a fairytale. Indeed our wedding day was exactly that. But that, my kiddies, is a story for another day.