Growing Old Together

Marriage. The very word can make a person smile, cringe, or cry. Marriage has brought some of us to our knees. Whether out of loneliness as we desire it, or because we have been heart broken at the loss of it, or as we plead for strength to endure it. And perhaps there are some -hopefully not too few- who are humbled to their knees out of gratitude that they still have it.

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Our younger, ignorant, but very much in love conversations went something like this:
Him: “I want to grow old with you. I bet you’d be cute with gray hair.”
Me: “I probably won’t go gray. But I’ll dye it white when I turn 50!”
Him: “What if I grow a wart on my face? Will you still love me?”
Me: “Well, I suppose I’d have to. But do I have to look at it?”
Him: “Yes. And kiss it.”
Me: “No way! Get it removed dude!”
We laughed and held each other. I secretly hoped he’d never grow a wart.

A few years passed. We had a baby boy. Time went on and…he grew a wart. Not on his nose (phew!) but on his hand. It was so random! Where do these things come from? And isn’t he too young for warts? A dear friend that we went to church with told us about the ultimate cure for warts: duck tape! It did the trick.

I share this silly little experience because my epiphany was that life just isn’t what we think it is going to be. Over the years I have come to understand and find humour in the saying “Well that didn’t go as planned!”

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Many years before I found my husband I was engaged to someone else. I remember that after our breakup I had told a friend that I felt like I was going through a divorce and he took the children we were supposed to have away from me. Now as I think about my own words I say; How ridiculous! What a stupid thing to say! DIVORCE?!?! What a heavy word for a relationship that was incomparable to MARRIAGE! Surely any idiot would know that MARRIAGE is more than a few hours of dating a week and a few phone calls (or nowadays texts). The heartache I felt back then was real, but it would be like a shallow pond in comparison to the deep oceanic devastation I would feel if I were to ever lose my husband.

As a Christian, I believe that marriage is ordained of God. It is a covenant bound promise between two people with God. Spouses SHARE everything. That old boyfriend and I shared NOTHING. My husband and I share, create, build and care for this home, we had our children, we share each other’s milestones and those of our children, we even share our sicknesses (thanks for the germy kisses babe!) Together we share the RESPONSIBILITY to nurture our relationship with each other and our children. We share all kinds of experiences TOGETHER. We are there for the big things, the little things and the inbetween things. We also share hundreds of stories, and as we continue to grow old together the stories keep coming.

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A pretty typical random ‘boring’ memory like this one:

{Sometime in 2016}

Our 3 kids will be accompanying us on our date. So really it’s a family outing but I refuse to say that and I firmly told the husband to make sure to call this a date despite our entourage. Like a typical day, some things came up and he went to do some stuff while I got myself and everyone else ready. Soon, I hear him come in through the back door and our two sons, age 5&7, both bombard him with:

“Daddy! We are going on a date with you and Mommy!”
“Yay! A date because we love you!”

To which I hear my husband reply to them,
“Don’t tell mommy but I got her a present, shhh! It’s a secret!”
“What is it?!”
“A secret!”
Of course I pretend I didn’t hear a thing, but can’t stop smiling and my heart dug itself a little deeper in love.

We pull into the parking lot and in our usual routine unload the kids. There’s something to be said when you have been with someone for so long that you don’t feel the need to vocalize each other’s tasks or voice what you’re doing and what you expect them to do next (because I was young, opinionated, and temperamental). Nah, that happens in the first few years. The expectations, the negotiations, even the arguments. Right now, we are in a comfortable war free zone… as he shouts from the other side of the van, “Don’t forget your Mary Poppins bag!” I forgot it ONCE. So clearly I’ll need a reminder for the rest of my life. “Did YOU lock the car?” He’s never NOT locked the car but he might one day so it’s best to prevent it now. He rolls his eyes at my comment and I pull up my chin a bit higher. Hmph!😉 {we joke about these things}

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And then there’s aging together.  We have been married almost 9 years. We met as teenagers, fell in love as adults and here we are. I am convinced we are entering the category of being officially an “old” couple. Old(er) couples probably stand in the cleaner aisle for a good half hour discussing what is the best way to disinfect the house without poisoning the kids or risking long term health damage. Or perhaps we can use vanilla freshener for the car but a different one for the bathroom so when we are in the car we don’t think about the bathroom? Oh and have you seen the commercial for that new bleach toilet cleaner? Sounds effective, smells  good but is probably deadly since we have little kids and yes they have either touched or tasted the toilet water at least once. Yes I agree that these conversations are gold.

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I am often impressed by the wives of couples who have been together for DECADES. They really know their husbands! From knowing which belt loop they always use, to knowing which tie they prefer with what suit, they can recite their husband’s, and his parents’, medical history, they know what drs they need to see next and sometimes make doctor/dentist and other appointments together, and they even know what to put on their husband’s plate at a potluck dinner! But there is more. It is knowing their body language, reading the look on their face, or sometimes even now as I walk into a room I can just sense something is wrong and he’s about to tell me why. I recently read a quote somewhere about how a mature love is the best kind of love. It is deep and takes time. Years worth of time.

Growing old together is very emotional. We all change. We grow up (some of us anyways!) and hopefully we get wiser. That wisdom comes from experience. We hope that our spouse will continually love us as we change over the years. Sometimes we make foolish mistakes. As a spouse we need to understand, and I mean truly take to heart, how imperfect we all are. We all do stupid things, say hurtful things and we all need to forgive and be forgiven for something. All of us. Except me, I’m pretty close to being perfect and I’m pretty much always right- hahaha! Just kidding! I have my own faults, ugh, I don’t like admitting them but part of my growing up process has been just that.

So here we are. Nine years later. Nine years of being “us”. Nine years deep in love. Nine years worth of stories told and stories buried. Nine years of our hearts dancing around each other. Actually more than nine. Our love story started a decade before we married. All of my heart believes he and I were always meant to find each other. Be together, stay together and grow old together. Through everything this life or people throw at us. We hold onto each other. The more we do, the stronger we are. Nine years going on forever.

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Rebels in Larsononia

You can call me Sergeant Mom. Here in Larsononia I have two rebels under my watch.

Rebel A has been guilty of excessively kicking people, stealing from and nearly deafening Rebel E with his skills of high pitched screaming. He also has trouble following orders. He has been given the benefit of the doubt with his warm cuddles.

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Rebel E has been found guilty of consistently not following orders, picking fights with others and vandalism around the house. Although he has trouble following orders, he enforces his own rules on Rebel A. He has been given the benefit of the doubt with his random hugs and I love you’s.

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It is a hard battle in Larsononia keeping the peace between these two rebels. The objective of my assignment is to guide them into the direction of friendship and hopefully mould them into decent citizens of society.

After some extensive research and a meeting with Director of Home Dad, we have decided that the best way to achieve the goal of friendship is to establish unity between the two boys. We mapped out our plan and put it in action.

Report One-

Incident:

Rebel A had a Buzz Lightyear toy. Rebel E tried to take it. Rebel A screamed and both boys fought over the toy. They were told to put Buzz in Mom’s room for timeout. Then both boys had to sit on the floor quietly in timeout and look at their Mom as she spoke.

Dialogue:

To A- “Buzz did not belong to you. Screaming was not the right way to deal with E.”

To E- “Taking toys is not nice. You need to use words. Next time, E, you offer A another toy and accept his decision. Be patient. Help your brother make good choices.”

To A: “Next time, A, you offer E to take turns with the toy. Help your brother make good choices.”

To both of them: “Say okay.”

In unison: “Okay.”

They were then told to stand and shake hands. Affection such as hugs is not promoted as part of disciplinary action. However, it is also not forbidden. If they choose to happily hug and tell each other they love each other, it is permitted.

Report Two

Incident:

Rebels A and E were caught hitting and kicking with no remorse. They refused alternative activities. E was very angry. A was very complacent.

Dialogue:

Me: “That’s it! RUN!”

The boys ran laps around the living room, the dining room, ran obstacles of alternating between crawling and jumping. During this course of action I would use words like:

“E run with A.”

“A run with E.”

“Run together.”

“Help each other.”

When this was complete, E stated he felt happy again and would like a reward or treat. This was my reply:

“Your reward is the good feeling you have. Let that be enough for you.”

Conclusion-

Progress is being made. Although it has taken months of vigorous work and extensive amounts of patience.

Percentage wise, Rebel E is more quick to offer other toys to keep or obtain the one he wants and Rebel A is now considering alternatives to kicking.

Will report again in five years time.

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She Changed Our Lives Forever.

The blog went quiet soon after we found out I was pregnant. My pregnancies are always rough.

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2015 proved to be one of the most difficult years of my life, for many reasons. There are days I’d rather forget. There are things in the past I need to bury, left quietly hidden in the shadows or deep under a mountain, and eventually becoming the unseen ground I walk on because I am now looking up and forward. In contrast, because of her, it has also been one of the most wonderful years of my life.

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When everything around me felt like an emotional storm, complete with screams and tears, she has been my calm. I hold her and I can breathe. I watch her and I can smile. My sad tears become happy tears because she has been here to help me through it all. I had no idea this kind of joy existed. My heart literally feels warm and slightly giddy, like a love bubble invisibly bursting through my chest. So grateful she is here with us, making our family smile more than we have ever done before.

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The Yellow Mailbox

If you ever drive through a small town called Canale, go down Main Street, past the corner ice cream shop with the flags, make a right and then look left behind all those trees. There is a house with a yellow mailbox. If you see a blue house with a sign that reads ‘Pure Maple Syrup’, you’ve driven too far. Just drive around the block and try again, this time slow down.

Yes there are a lot of trees, but if you do slow down and pay attention, you will see the yellow mailbox. How does the mailman get to it? He does, trust me. Now that you see it, park your car back at the ice cream shoppe and walk.

The mailbox is not your typical American standard. This one looks foreign, a rectangular box with the word “POST” on it. The box is clearly aged and worn, most likely from the weather but the colour is still fairly bright. Perhaps protected from the sun by all the trees and their shade.

Near the mailbox starts a narrow gravel and dirt trail. If one were fortunate enough to visit this place, they’d see how the trail widens as you go along. Soon it becomes a path of pebbles and suddenly the thick trees thin out to an open clearing. You’ll find yourself standing on a path made of stone octagons leading to a garden of flowers and small trees and bushes. At first glance, depending on how familiar you are with gardening, it is all just breathtakingly beautiful. Another glance, and you may see the neighbouring strawberries next to the flowers. Or the pears on the tree. The bushes of rhubarb. The pretty plants of basil and carrot tops.

 

Screen Shot 2014-06-16 at 22.17.45As a guest, one shouldn’t linger too long outside someone’s house, so please resist standing still for too long. Keep walking to the front porch. There is a round table and some chairs with brightly coloured cushions that seem to have recently been occupied. And next to the chairs is a very large yellow rose bush that could easily eavesdrop in any conversation had on that porch. There is a scented floral wreath on the door. A real flower wreath. Like a braided flower crown hanging sideways. So many charming details. You are not dreaming, this place is real.

Go ahead and ring the doorbell. The lady that lives here is very nice.

To be continued…

 

(photo credit)

 

A Plate of Oatmeal Cookies and Dinosaurs- My Housewife Life

In this big vast world, full of countless roads with houses and even more people in those houses, is a place few people have seen. My home.

While the rest of the world was moving, I was quietly sitting still, on the couch, stroking my two year old son’s soft brown hair. His forehead was slightly too warm. I have been indoors with sick kids for two weeks already. It was a cold white winter day in this part of the world, and the snow was shovelled high on our road. My older son was finally feeling better. He had put both legs in one pant leg and dumped every toy he owns on the floor as proof of his new found health. My younger son had taken over the “sick seat” on the couch, cuddled next to me. It was nearing lunchtime.

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Twenty minutes later I smelled something burning. The timer had not yet gone off! I took out the cookie sheet of oatmeal cookies. I can only describe them as a solid mass of something “edible”. The balls I had rolled were melted into one big thin sheet of cookie. Once cooled, they were not bad. A bit chewy but the flavour was okay. However, my enthusiasm skills clearly need practice as my boys were not convinced that this offer was so grand after all. What kind of mother am I? How do I fail so badly at cookies? Especially when my kids have been so sick?! Note to self: always have a batch of store bought cookies hidden somewhere as back up. I’ll just scrap the idea of trying to make EVERYTHING from scratch. Reality check here, just having a reality check. Both boys refused to even try the cookies.  Guess who ate half the batch by herself?

So the excitement of the cookies was short-lived and we were all back on the couch. The sickly two year old had fallen asleep. The four year old grabbed a dinosaur fact book and wanted me to read to him. His favourite pages are the ones that show the internal anatomy of the dinosaur and the page that shows the extinction theories. He loves fire and hot lava. As I read, my four year old burped the word “ouch” in my ear. I looked at him. He was already looking at me, small corners curved up, pleased with himself and his recently discovered talent. Will I ever get used to spontaneously burped words in my ear?

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I looked outside our front window. The snow kept falling. The occasional car drove by. I am a stay at home mom. I should not feel so insignificant but I often do. There are moments, like today, when I ‘let’ the world go on without me, I stop chasing after it. I realise I am wanted and needed right here, taking care of these special little boys. Not much happened today, but that is what it is sometimes.

And in this house, our home, that sits on a street I never knew existed until I moved in, is our world.

I Used To Dream Of Paris

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Years ago while living in London, I got bit by the travel bug. While working and pursuing a degree, I booked flights to places like Greece, Spain, Italy, Turkey and Sweden to name a few. I loved experiencing their food, the textures of the land, their skies and the sounds on the streets whether it was quiet or busy or just the sound of the sea. My bucket list of places I wanted to visit was a long one.

When I met my husband, he also wanted to see the world. I imagined us going to the same places I had already been to, and then we would explore new countries together. Our dreams were big, ambitious and I was excited! We chose Paris as our first destination. We looked at hotels, things to do, and train tickets. But we never booked anything.

With marriage and family life, we knew we may have to hold off for a little while. And that was okay. We were happy to be blessed with our two little boys. When our second son was born, my husband was diagnosed with a rare neurological condition. And sometimes life does that to us. We make plans, dream, achieve some goals, and then we get thrown a curveball. We never made it to Paris.

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I recently had a conversation with a friend who said:

“YOU WILL DREAM NEW DREAMS”

She was right. The travel bug got buried. My dreams no longer contain stamped passports and foreign cheese. Living on the other side of the world now, my bucket list has changed. Every country has delicious food to be savoured. No matter where we are, every sunset on the horizon is beautiful. It’s not where we are, it is who we are sharing it with.

The other day as I walked down the picture frame aisle, I saw a lovely picture of the Eiffel Tower. The image of my husband and I sitting at a table eating bread and cheese al fresco at candlelight crossed my mind. I picked up the picture. $6. Cheaper than a flight! I added it to the cart. I went next door to the grocery store and picked up a few items for dinner. That night I fed the kids early so my husband and I could eat alone. I propped up the picture of the Eiffel Tower on our dining room table. I also placed a small vase of greenery as part of the centrepiece and lit some candles. Candlesticks that looked similar to the ones we had for our wedding. I had a bread basket with cut up baguettes, and a serving tray of different cheeses including Brie. I even put on some makeup and my jeans. Would our conversations have been so different if we were actually in Paris? Would the bread and cheese taste that much better? I’m sure our dinner would not have been interrupted with the children running back and forth to get their noses wiped, or to stop them from hitting each other or to suddenly run one to the potty. What I am sure of is that, whatever candlelit dinner I am having, I am sharing it with the best company: my husband!

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I used to dream of Paris. But before my dream of Paris, I dreamed of love and children. And here I am with them. They are my dream come true. And if the travel bug bites again, I am glad to now realise that adventure doesn’t have to be so far away. Sometimes just a short drive away. I just need to appreciate what is already around me.

(Photo credit- paris) 

(Photo credit- bread)

Apple Pie

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I recently discovered a wonderful part of the grocery store. I’ll tell you how I missed it before. In usual grocery shopping scenarios, I have my two year old in the front passenger seat of the shopping cart and my almost same sized four year old in the main basket. I try to busy them with a new $1 or less toy. If they are good they can keep the toy, maybe.

Somewhere close-by is my husband pushing around the other shopping cart which has the actual food and household items. More often than not, at some point during our ‘hopefully less than two hours’ long adventure, a tantrum explodes. They want out, they want to run, they saw chocolate or marshmallows or a cereal they need right now or they won’t know how to cope with life. This causes stress of course on us parents. Some customers nod their heads and smile in understanding, giving us the reassurance that it’s okay. Then there are those who shake their heads with annoyance. And those are the ones that make our blood boil.

There have been innumerable times when I went running down the aisles grabbing whatever I can from my shopping list and tossing it to my husband who was trying to find the best deal of everything. Oh how I miss the luxury of Tesco online shopping! I congratulate myself on those occasions where I have been able to block out the tantrums and carry on shopping. When I have been able to ignore my children’s unsafe and out of budget demands, I like looking at foods I enjoy. Walking slower and really seeing what else the store is selling.

I found myself noticing a corner of breads and smaller aisles of baked goods. As I got closer to the treasury of pastries in front of me, my stomach sinks with regret. Why have I not prioritised this corner of delicacies before? Why do I not take more time to enjoy this shopping experience and treat myself and the family? I stop at the rows and rows of pies. I love pies! Big pies. Mini pies. Seasonal pies. Boxed pies and fresh pies. I feel like a foreignor when I say America is crazy for pies! I’ve never seen so many pies in other countries. Pastries, yes, but not pies. Chocolate mousse pie, apple Dutch pie, peach pie, cherry pie, strawberry pie, banana cream pie, lemon meringue pie and more. And this is where I get asked the famed question: what’s your favourite?
This question has always stumped me. Why have a favorite when they are all so delicious? It is easier for me to answer- which one do I NOT like? I don’t know! I suppose I will just have to sample them all. One of all the minis please!

But let’s think a minute. I love apples. There are always apples in my house. I make apple crumbles more often than I do pasta dinners. My go to snack is applesauce or apples with peanut butter. When I’m not feeling well, an apple cures me. I can eat apples everyday. Does that make it my favourite? Not necessarily. Put a fresh strawberry next to a fresh apple, and I’ll choose the strawberry. Does that mean strawberries are my favorite? Put a key lime pie next to the strawberry pie and I’ll choose the key lime because I have yet to try a key lime pie! Oh my goodness, I need a buffet of pies!  So there I was in front of the pie section wanting to take one home with me. One. I want all of them! If I were to claim that apple was my favorite, then people may be surprised if I chose the peach! I don’t pick favorites. I pick moods. I fear having a favorite would run the risk of being stuck to one thing. With food, horizons should be broad. Very broad. I’m so glad I discovered the corner of the store that was always there. And if you’re wondering, I chose the chocolate mousse pie! This made the boys very happy because mommy always shares. And chocolate is always good leverage for bribery🙂

Next week we will indulge in the bread section and maybe take home some new cheese to eat with it! Love food!

Photo credit (apple pie)