12 years

Enough to make your flesh thick
Jowels sag
A kind of weight that is
Both corporeal and literary
Responsibilities of every matter
In every manner
A kind of gravity that drags
Sucks the feet into the dirt
The arms fleshy
The breasts sagging

Enough to heap upon heap
Of expertise
Of externalities
Of to dos and timelines and expectations

Enough to know lightness of being
Carefree, the world your oyster
Exploration easy, commitments few
Responsibilities only those you want to take up
And not those saddled upon you

Enough to know that money comes and goes
Friends are your family
Lovers many
The future uncertain
But certainly good

The X List

I think sometimes of making a list
of my frenemies and nemeses
The people who I didn't trust
Or I know turned on me
Or who I just didn't get along with
Even though I'd tried

Something more than just a growing apart
Or a mutual spacing that, if we were in the
Same place
Same time
We'd likely hit it off just fine

A list isntead of glorious relationship failures
Though by no means limited to romance

And I wonder if other people have similar lists
Do others have such colossal pools of burning fire
Blowouts
Blowups
Blankets of silence thrown on once close friendships?

Is this part of being human
Are we supposed to leave everything on good terms
What does it mean, really
That we don't get along with some people

Maybe it never really settles with me
Because of my Protestant indoctrination
To love everyone

In fact that doesn't seem limited to one faith
Seems lots of folks believe
That we're supposed to be kindhearted, generous, forgiving, gracious

So what of all those who are on the X list?
Are reparations meant to happen?

AC, BC, EP, FK, RN, TC, AL, RM, DM, RL, RB, TR

Maybe we aren't to make amends

Maybe


THIS


is where it ends.

Holding my breath

Please oh please
Please oh please
With sugar on top
Whoever You are
Please oh please
Make this thing happen
Please
I promise I'll never ask for anything again
I think
And if I do
It really won't be as much as
I'm asking for this
Fingers crossed
Holding my breath

Thank you

For your pudgy legs
How you hate it when I comb your hair
For always standing up in your chair
For tossing the things you don't like to eat onto the floor
How you bust a gut at your brother's antics
For beaming with joy when around other kids
For the pathetic yet hilarious way you say "yea..."
For the hugs you circle around my neck
For how you demand baa baa each night, over and over
For how you love to put your own boots on, usually on the wrong feet
And how you follow the cat around

Thank you for all the ways you are you
For all the ways you are so bright
And all the ways you light up my world

My little girl
My smart, strong, wise girl
My funny girl
My roll with flow girl
My jumping off the coffee table girl
My rolling down the slide girl
My girl with evermore words
And an ever widening picture of the world

I love you and thank you a million times over
For these two years with you

Love letter from mother to son

My son,

You are presently 5 years and 2 months old. In many ways, I marvel at how grown up you are, how adult is our relationship - maybe in its quality of mutuality, respect, compromise (?). At the same time, you are a little boy, lovely in so many dimensions, profoundly "normal" in the ways that spare me much of the worry and concern levied on other families. You have friends who you like and who seek you out; you play by yourself with an imagination bigger than the universe; you seek opportunities to explore and engage in your world; you are deeply attached to your family and have a clear sense of familial loyalty. You recognize things that are for your own good and are often very flexible when circumstances are inconsistent or unpredictable. You play with words, looks for ways to be funny, and look for opportunities to make others laugh. Your observations are often spot on and your wisdom oftem alarmingly disarming. You can be deeply generous as you spontaneously create love notes for your friends and family, set aside toys for other children, invite your sister into your games which, as a 21 month old, she evidently attends to in a different manner than you. It often feels like a true privilege and honour to be a participant in your growth and development.

All this said, there are times (which feel all too frequent, really) when I feel I don't quite measure up to you or your needs: when I am impatient, angry, too tired to respond to you with kindness and mercy. There are times when I feel perplexed or uncertain how to proceed, how to parent. You are my first child and I genuinely find myself figuring it out as I go along. Luckily you, as most children, are more resilient than my blunderings, more forgiving than my errors.

What I guess happens to most parents also happens to me, as I too am a deeply "normal" parent - sometimes worried, often unsure, and, at the worst of times, questioning who you are and pessimistic about who you will become. This is our unfortunate tendency to project into the future, to imagine worst case scenarios, to think that because, at 5 years old, when you are ornery or belligerent or selfish or dishonest, that you will grow to be callous, cruel, malicious, alone. The thing is, though, that these things are not connected, because the aggravating behaviours of 5 year olds are about building confidence, and the heartbreaking behaviours of the maligned 35 year olds are often rooted in a lack of confidence, a poverty of belonging. In addition, the behaviours of children are so often so closely linked to their development needs - for independence, for connection, for belonging, for differentiation. You are you, you have always been you. And still, that you continues to grow and change. (Likewise, the me I am changes too, although at this point, far more slowly and less noticeably!).

Why I find myself writing this letter and thinking of you in this light, my love, is because this past week I've found my own back raised, my fangs exposed under a perceived threat to you, a judgment about who you are and a predetermination of who you will be. And this judgment is levelled because of you and my behaviours over the last months; behaviour that in your case I would consider entirely in the realm of normal and parenting that I would judge as doing its very best and that, in the big scheme of things, is pretty top echelon. I've found myself preoccupied and ruminating about this accusation that you are mean, rude, cruel, unkind and that this is the produce of my poor parenting and that your future life track is in jeopardy. (As I write this, I find the conclusion drawn all the more preposterous!) In addition to my discontent with the accuser's audacity and gall, I find myself more acutely watching you - with me, with your sister, at school, on the playground. I'm watching to see if you are those dreadful things, asking others questions in an attempt to discover if indeed you have some dark nature to which I have been oblivious. In turning stones, I'm still finding only a lovely 5 year old child, innocent and earnest.

What have I learned in these last days? That you remain you, that you should stay as you are. I've learned too that you will make mistakes (as do I) but that the point isn't their absence, it's how we respond to them and what we learn from them. And I've discovered that if you are being threatened, I'll stand up for you, unconditionally, and I will be willing to forsake friendships, give up the riff raff who think they are better than you. My commitment, my loyalty, my duty to you is to keep you connected to those who are kind, loving, accepting, supportive. These people, in your world, are legion. And I've learned that the universe of critique of others' parenting is rife with pitfalls, difficult and uncharted terrain.

My promise to you, my son, is to be in your corner always, to believe the best in you, to do my best to help guide you and nurture you as you grow, including helping you learn from the countless times you will stumble and fall. And when you lose your temper, when you say unkind things, when you lash out at those around you or patently refuse to comply, I will do all that I can to respond with patience, a listening ear, a consistent hand, a loving embrace. Lots of love, predictable boundaries, and tons of curiosity, compassion and teaching. If you'll allow me, I'll do all I can to provide you with these most essential things.

I love you, son. You are my delight.

Mom.

Ah yes, that too

I vaguely remember a Star Trek episode
(Next Generation, of course)
Where Picard had to deliberate
On the capacity of people for evil
And the capacity of people for good
And how, in fact, to hold the two together?

Star Trek, being TV Hollywood
Of course takes the easy way
And lets us go to bed assured
That the good will win out in the end

At times I feel weepy at the tragedies
The way we do manage in fact to be
So awfully cruel
Still, the are warm winds too

To what extent did Y go to give the babies
Something they're unlikely to remember?
How much effort did she put in
Personal time and sacrifice
Only to show that she cares about our little ones
And to show that she loves them to them

And that dad who was just here
He looks ragged and worn
He's been through a lot, probably seen a lot
But when his young son feeling out of sorts
He'll go to the ends of the earth
Do what he can
Keep him under his wing

My mom sent me an old letter
Almost 10 years old
That was sent to my dad by a former colleague
Where the guy comes out of the closet
Tells my dad because he wants him to know
Even though he suspects he already knew
What courage and desire to entrust someone
With the very "who" that you are

I don't know
I try not to be sentimental about these things
But the risks, the self-sacrifice, the generosity
That too is part of who we are
And how we are
And on this night, it's something quite luminous

Rage against

You need to fill in a time sheet if
you are sick
you want to switch shifts
you want time off
if you work overtime
if you are being paid from another cost centre

And make sure that they are
recorded
initialed
approved
faxed
entered

If a 10 year old child arrives 90 minutes before your shift
Even if it's getting on to midnight
They are to wait
Even if they're tired
For the next person
Or else you might work overtime
Which you'd need to get approved
And record
And initial
And fax
And enter

If a 16 year old is coming from a hospital hours away
And they were sent to you
So they've been through a wait
And a screen
And a discharge
And a travel
But if it's 90 minutes before your shift
They are to wait
For the next person
Or else you might work overtime
Which you'd need to get approved
And record
And initial
And fax
And enter

And if a kid needed a place to be safe
You need to ask a doctor
To ask a doctor
To page a doctor
To tell a doctor
To have the doctor come in
And talk with the kid
And fill out the papers
And fill out more papers
And call security
And call a nurse
And walk them up
And make sure you
Record it
Initial it
Fax it
Enter it

And if a kid needed someone to talk to
They talk to the first person
Then another
Then another
Then you
And you ask them the questions on the form
And maybe a few others
And you record it
And initial it
And file it
So that it gets faxed
And scanned
And entered

But if a kid needs a bus ticket
Or a hug
Or a friend
Or an ally
Or your opinion
Be careful
Or don't do it
Because you'd have to record it
Initial it
File it
Fax it