“And so this is Christmas
And what have we done
Another year over
And a new one just begun….”

When the unraveling begins, and the world is spinning so fast you can’t tell up from down or right from wrong, there’s just no way to predict where you’ll end up when the vortex finally ceases.

When you’re deep in it, it’s impossibly to see beyond the immediacy of the moment, there is nothing beyond NOW. You know, of course, that there will be collateral damage, but even the most somber imaginings don’t have the power to pull you from the necessity of just taking one more breath, one more step, of getting through just one more day.

Step on a butterfly and change the future. Of course. If even the smallest of actions can alter the course of a lifetime, what of those that fracture a family? And what if you are the one who faced the truth, spoke the words, made the choice?

What then?

And so this is Christmas. Today I will say goodbye to my girls and send them back to the house that never had a chance to become my home. When I kiss them goodbye I’ll know that I won’t be the one to help them put out cookies and milk for Santa. I won’t be there to remind them to include a carrot for the poor overworked reindeer. I won’t tuck them into bed, and kiss them on the nose and recite from memory the familiar words of ‘The Night Before Christmas’.

I wont be with them in the morning, awake far earlier than I deem acceptable because my excited children can’t bear to wait another minute. I won’t see them open the presents I bought to fill their stockings, or see their reactions when they tear into their gift from Santa. I won’t hear their squeals of excitement or witness that gleam of magic in their eyes.

This is my eighth Christmas as a mother, and it will be my first without my children by my side. A part of me cannot bear to imagine tonight and tomorrow morning, and another part of me cannot help but play it through my head over and over again.

Last night at midnight I found myself on the floor of my bedroom closet, door closed so that the sounds of my heartache would not be heard by anyone else in the small two-bedroom apartment we now call home. Hot tears slid down my cheeks and emotions shook my body, crying not just for tonight and tomorrow, but for all the countless moments of our lives that we will not be together. Crying for the reality that my girls will forever be moving between two places, instead of resting securely in one. Crying for him because of all that he has lost in the wake of my truth. Crying because the costs are so much higher than anyone could possibly have imagined. Self pity, grief, and endless, all-consuming guilt – it’s a vicious combination.

But all that has to be put aside right now, because right now they are with me – bubbling with anticipation, ready to bake holiday goodies, decorate the tree, wrap last minute gifts. In the dark of my closet in the middle of the night it was time to let my tears flow and succumb to the shadows, but now it is time to lift my head and open my eyes to countless blessings, to hold my girls close and to bring them as much joy and gratitude and peace as possible in the hours that they are here. To open my heart and knock down walls between love past, love present, and love future and to let all of those pieces mingle and flow.

And so this is Christmas….and it won’t ever be the same again. But within the changes, within the loss, within the grief – perhaps there is beauty to be found, gifts of a different kind, wholeness hiding amidst the broken pieces. All I can do is hope.

Yesterday my cousin Scott married his partner Maxime in the same country church where Sam and I exchanged our vows eight years ago. The church, with it’s weathered white paint, deep red carpet and dark stained pews, has hosted the weddings of my parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles and most of my extended family. This wedding was a little more high profile than mine - given Scott’s political status (no former Prime Ministers on my guest list, I’m afraid) and the fact that - oh yea - he married another man.

Scott is a damn fun guy to be around, always the life of the party. He can’t sing worth a damn, but insists upon doing so at every available opportunity (usually Johnny Cash). He’s got a dry humor that can keep a crowd laughing (or groaning) in spite of themselves (check him out on the Rick Mercer Show**) and I’ve never heard anyone massacre the French language quite like him. He is passionate about his political beliefs, his feels strongly about the environment and like most members of my family, is damn effective at arguing his side of whatever debate he finds himself in.

I remember him as a shirtless, gangly teenager, mowing my grandparents lawn in the summer, or making my cousin Jennifer and I laugh (I thought he was just old enough to be cool, without being so old as to be considered a boring adult). He couldn’t be at our wedding, but he gave us free use of his fabulous house on the shore for the entire weekend. I remember just how proud my grandfather was of Scott and his accomplishments, and how he predicted that he would go far.

I am so happy for Scott that I don’t think I really have words to express it. I’m amused by the news coverage, because honestly, in a perfect world this would not be news at all. I’m proud that my country is one of only five in the world that has recognized legally and politically that EVERYONE has a right to enjoy the benefits of marriage. As a Canadian living in George Bush’s America it’s sometimes hard to remain optimistic about the world my daughters will grow up in. This gives me hope (although reading some of the comments below those articles reminds me that bigotry, hatred and small-mindedness can be found everywhere).

Congratulations Scott and Maxime, may your marriage be blessed with much joy

_____

** I couldn’t get the Rick Mercer link working - will add it when I can get it to work.

Sure looks like they both had a hard night - doesn’t it?

Important Note: Jules is wearing her very first advocacy t-shirt….a gift from Anna. It says “Human milk for baby humans. Cow milk for baby cows.” A lactivist at 8 months!

I was in the kitchen the other day while Bella and Julianna are down in the family room. Suddenly I hear sounds of great annoyance, and the following tirade:

“BABBBBBBBYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!

I am SO tired of this.

Stay away from ME!

Stay away from MY TOYS.

YOU have gotten very troublesome.”

I guess that Bella has learned a universal truth – that younger siblings are much more enjoyable before they are mobile.

Let the fighting begin.

We’re playing even teams now. Two adults. Two kids. Fair enough odds. We’re larger and we’ve got the benefit of (questionable) parental authority, but I pretty sure they’re faster and smarter. Overall it seems we’re pretty evenly matched.

When it comes to childcare, Sam and I can tag team the girls. Our motto has become “Divide and Conquer” (if not conquer, at least momentarily subdue). Even though it often feels as if the balance has swayed, and the power lies fully in their court, at least we can split up and concentrate our efforts on one child. One on one usually seems doable.

A normal evening in our house, for example: One of us eats and takes care of Bella’s dinnertime needs, while the other amuses Julianna. Then we switch. We go for a family walk – Sam carrying Julianna in the Bjorn, and me trying to keep Bella somewhere close to the sidewalk and away from passing cars. At home again, Sam gets in the shower with Julianna, while I get Bella her bedtime snack and help her get dressed for bed. Then we switch-hit, swapping girls. When Julianna has had enough of the shower I get her diapered and into her pyjamas, while Sam finishes washing up. Sam reads Bella books and tells her stories while I nurse Julianna (hopefully) to sleep. Then, for the final inning, we take turns dealing with the inevitable wake-ups (Julianna for her binky or more loving, Bella for water, or the bathroom, or a closet-monster-check or because she wants to ‘talk about things’ or for more loving).

Whew. Game over. One team out for the night, the other ready to follow. We’ve almost got it down to an art form.

However, I must ask - since we tentatively plan on trying for a third child somewhere down the line – what on earth do you do when they outnumber you? Frankly, just contemplating the logistics terrifies me a little. I’m thinking that they learn to realize quite early on that they’ve got you beat and to use this to their advantage at every possible opportunity – yes? (In this instance I believe I subscribe to the ‘children as manipulative beings’ theory). If they are smaller, faster AND outnumber us – I’m thinking that parental authority becomes even more tenuous…thus the yelling, counting and threatening begin in earnest. Is this not so?

Oh mothers of more than two - especially if you’re of the AP/GD mindset – please tell me how you do it…
Jeanette

I would have been happy had the new girl turned out to be a boy. I really would have. However, she wasn’t, and I’m simply thrilled that I’ve got the two girls I dreamed of having. Being a sister is a huge part of who I am, and how I identify myself. I so wanted that for Isabella, and I hope with all my heart that she and Julianna one day enjoy a relationship as nurturing and strong as I do with my sister Lynn.

Lynn and I are 4.5 years apart in age, very close to the separation between Isabella and Julianna. Sure, we had our fights. They were all her fault. Every single one of them. When I came home from university on break I had to move into her room, more than once she took every one of my belongings and flung them out into the hall. Can you imagine?

However, for the most part we’ve had a good relationship, one that has grown stronger over the years. I believe it is because enough space separated us that we were always at different life stages, never in competition for the same things. On the surface we have diametrically opposed personalities, but underneath we are frighteningly similar, in the way only people who have grown up together really can be.

There is a constancy, a certainty…a sureness to our relationship that can never be duplicated in even the closest friendship. We’ve been partners in crime, heartfelt confidants; each other’s ground in a chaotic universe. She knows all (okay, maybe most) of my secrets, and I know all (okay, maybe most) of hers. I can be silly and wacky and weird with her, the way I’d never let myself be with anyone else. She knows I can be pushy, obnoxious, and selfish. I know she can be stubborn, cranky and lazy. She calls me “special”, and I don’t think it is a compliment. I hit her a lot. She annoys me frequently and I piss her off just as often. I also know that she’s got the biggest heart in the world, and she seems to think I’m okay too. Whatever. It works.

I’m a preacher’s daughter, and a nomad at heart. We moved every four years or so growing up, when my father was called to a new church. I learned at a fairly young age that most people come into and out of your life, that friendships wax and wane, that very few human connections last a lifetime. I have a hard time letting people into my heart, and I’m better than I should be at letting people go.

But my sister is forever.

I know that there is no guarantee that Isabella and Julianna will grow up to have the same kind of relationship – but at least they’ll have the opportunity. There is something so precious about the bonds of sisterhood, something than cannot be replicated in even the closest friendship, nor can it be reduced to logical explanations or defined in words. I feel blessed that I will get to watch a new pair of sisters grow up together, to laugh and play and learn from one another, to define their own relationship on their own terms, side by side - taking on the world.

Yes, I would have been happy if Julianna had been a boy – but we would have been having three children for sure!