Big Love

I have yet to find more than one other person who watches this show. I have to admit that when it first debuted last spring I was a bit skeptical. A drama about polygamy, what else could they say that all those ABC after school evening specials hadn't already pretended to dissect at length? Besides, I had already long ago made up mind about polygamy. Not my cup of tea. But one day I stayed tuned after The Sopranos and I was hooked.

I am not about to become a polygamist but I will say that if my son or daughter ever came to me and said they had a strong calling from God to this lifestyle I wouldn't be so black and white about it as I was before. Not that I am naive enough to believe that all polygamists lives in huge houses in the suburbs and run large chain stores. But I have opened my mind up to other possible types of relationships.Looking back now, I am surprised that I made up my mind so quickly and ignorantly about any type of relationship between consenting adults.

I dated "men" (I never really picked any good ones) until I was 20. But I had always secretly been attracted to women but felt shame for it. Until I met Dianne in the summer I turned 21. She was funny and outgoing, could talk to anyone about anything. When she looked at me with her incredible green eyes and spoke to me those fascinating lips, my insides turned to warm liquid. She was older than me and I was smitten! But I could never tell her; she would have run away screaming "Freak"! I found out she was a lesbian when I was giving her directions to my house one day after a softball game. I told to continue going straight, and she quipped the corniest joke at me "Never tell a lesbian to go straight." I was a bit taken back by her flippant way of announcing her sexuality to me and car full of girls. But mostly, I was excited.


We eventually began dating (I only brought my U-Haul on the 7th date. ;)) and I fell so deeply in love Dianne. I finally knew what it meant to love and want someone who loved and wanted you just as much. I came out to everybody with such excitement. I was so happy to finally be me. My friend Jill often joked that I would come out to the mailman if I was home at delivery time. We talked about the future all the time and when friends of ours found a sperm donor and gave birth to a daughter or their own, I began to see that life could be absolutely everything that I wanted.

But I was so young and she was done with all that I still had to go through. We lived together for three years and when we broke up I was devastated. It was like nothing I had ever been through before; we actually comforted each other through our break up. I dated a couple of guys after that to see if it was just Dianne or was I really gay? But then I began dating women again and I was sure that I was gay.

I was looking for Ms. Right when I met Jaimie. He worked with the cousin I was living with. Such a sweet guy, really easy to talk to. The more I talked to him, the more I liked him. But in that "I really love hanging out with you" kind of way. And one day I just looked into those hazel eyes of his and saw everything I wanted in a partner. I struggled with it for a long time. How can I be gay and want to be with this guy? As sensitive and caring and gentle as he his, he does still possess a penis. I was done with struggling. I had accepted me. I was gay. That's it.

Except I couldn't get him out of head, but he knew I was gay so I felt safe around him. And then one day I (drunkenly) told him that I would date him if he asked. He just laughed at me and kissed me on the forehead and walked over the other corner of the room. Phew, that was close! I pined and pined for him until I was fed up with my own self and I just up and kissed him. We spent three days in my bedroom just kissing and holding each other. Something deep inside me knew that I never ever wanted to let him go.

That was almost 7 years ago. And you what? I have not struggled with my sexuality one bit since then. Obviously I am not gay. But I am not straight either. Most people want to label me bi-sexual, but it always makes me think that there are two sides to my sexuality. If I am with a man the side of me that loves women won't be satisfied and vice-verse. But it's just not that way. As any truthful married person will tell you, you still notice the beauty in others but it's your mate that satisfies you. I often tell Jaimie that I am "Jaimie-sexual". Silly and school-girlish as it sounds, to me it is the absolute truth. He is my passion. He is my light, my dark and everything in between.

I truly hope that if anyone does read this they in no way think I am drawing a connection between gay relationships and polygamy. And even worse that I am doing it with a TV show. So not what I am doing. I am just surprised at myself. For so long I had to re-open my mind up to different relationships in my life that I am shocked that I put a black and white label on this one.

I will be glued to the TV tomorrow night to watch the season finale of Big Love, hoping that Bill will leave Niki and Margie to go back to the monogamous marriage that Barb so desperately wants again. All the while still hoping that Barb can reconcile her decision to live as a polygamist and be proud of herself and sister wives for all they do to keep their family going. And still saying to myself "I could never share Jaimie with another person!" Ahh, the dilemmas TV characters bring to my Sunday evening.

Sometimes I get it

Do you ever just feel like you are always chasing something? A better job, a bigger house, a better relationship?

I LOVE a chase. I always have. It's what makes me bound out of bed in the morning. Being a Leo (of which you can tell I take great pride that my mom managed to push me out on the final day of Leo greatness), I want big and shiny. When I get big and shiny, I want bigger and shinier. I am not really a perfectionist, I just like life to be intense and fiery and shiny.

I have often thought that if you give up chasing then you give up on life. I thought that to "learn to be happy with what you have" was code for give up and just accept mediocrity. And I want nothing to do with mediocrity. Except for some reason, today I understand that being happy with what you have is intense. It means being happy while you strive for something else. That takes courage, and I fancy myself the kind of lion who does not lack courage. But is it fiery to be happy with what you have? The love I have for sweetheart burns with more heat than it did in the moment I said “I do”. I ache to have another child, but the love I have for beautiful daughter is so shiny it's almost blinding.

Be happy with what you have. I get it.

You just can't plan for pads and purses

Note: I found this in a diary I kept while I was pregnant. This happened three days before Amelia was born.

I have to tell it’s so weird to have the doctor check your cervix for dilation. I had talked to myself for a week to prepare myself for the internal exam I was about to experience. I had imagined it step by step and had worked out my breathing pattern for each step. Deep cleansing breath as I lay down. Releasing breath as I did the heels together and open sesame thing. A few quick shallow breaths to clear out the lungs. Then out comes the nasty speculum and I would concentrate on the holes in the ceiling so I wouldn’t pay attention to the sound of the freezing cold jelly being squirted on the offending apparatus. I swear, they have warmers for diapers wipes and for ultrasound jelly; is there some reason the doctor can’t have a warm place to store his giant industrial size tube of no name lubricant? Then a slow deep breath as he came at me with that horrible thing and you can imagine the rest.

I had a plan, I was confident and I knew I could survive this horrible indignity. I hate internal exams; I always tense up and it becomes way more painful than necessary. So I get in there and he says well, let’s get you undressed and check out your cervix. Ok, I have to stop here. Let’s get you undressed? He’s going to help? Thankfully, he leaves the room and I take off my pants and fold them neatly and take my underwear down and hit the first hitch in my perfect plan.

I am wearing a pad because I have this horrible leaking of pee for the last two weeks. Every time I go to the bathroom and I sit there for five minutes to make sure that this bladder is empty. Yup it’s empty, I wipe and stand up and a drop falls to the seat. So now in order to preserve my panties (and my dignity) from some foul odour, I am wearing pads so thick that they could be diapers. Panty liners just didn’t work. Not absorbent enough. Anyway, now I am faced with trying to fold my panties in a neat little pile to tuck inside my pants. But the pad is a little wet from trying to aim my pee stream into that little specimen jar. It’s bad enough when you are not pregnant but my bulge is so big I can barely reach around to wipe myself, much less practice aim. I didn’t sit long enough and I am sure more came out than usual. Well that’s just gross. I can’t fold my panties because the pad is so thick it just doesn’t bend that way. Plus if there is any wetness it will just touch the back of my panties and then why I am wearing these horrible things anyway? Well I could throw it in that garbage can in the corner. But then that is way to close to his desk and what if he sees it or worse, SMELLS it? No, no good. Well I have to hurry now because he’ll be knocking on that door any second and I am standing in the middle of the room in my pink sweater and black socks and no tiny white sheet to cover up. I could put in my purse and throw it out later. Yes, that’s good. Except that I can’t find any tissue in my purse to wrap this thing in. I scan his office and not a tissue box to be found!!!! How can that be? Now I can hear footsteps outside and he is talking to the nurse. So I stash the horrible thing in my purse and almost slip in my leap to the exam table and barely get that square of fabric over myself before he knocks and enters.

Already my breathing pattern is off as this is the most exercise I have had in months. So as he measures the baby and listens for the heartbeat, I try to get my breathing back on track. Baby measures like he has dropped and heart rate is good. Yay! Now, releasing breath to put heels together and open sesame. I am back on track. I can do this. I hear the snap of the gloves and the squirt of the jelly. One, two, three, four holes in that square. Oh gross, a water stain. Now a slow deep breath and, woah!!!!!!!!!! No speculum! Just his fingers inside me. Oh God I am so not prepared for this. He pushes a little harder and then tells me to make two fists and put them under my butt to tilt my cervix up a bit. Ok, I am not prepared for this change in my plans. I am also not prepared to have him right next to me and looking at me while he’s got his fingers in there!!! I am very comfortable with the sheet over my knees and not seeing him at all.

Finally, after what must be an eternity, he looks at me with this pathetic look and says “No dilation at all. Closed tight as a drum and cervix is still thick.” Ok so now not only am I horrified with this sudden change in plans but now I feel like I failed my final exam to graduate from pregnancy into motherhood. Fingers still you know where, he informs me he is going to try stretching me a bit. Yuccckkkk. Finally he gets his fingers out of me and I look down at this sheet and it’s got jelly stains on it!!! Must my body leak everything? He babbles for a few minutes about induction as I stare at this jelly covered sheet in my lap and then tells me that he is surprised at how small my pelvis is for someone my height and stature. But the only way I will know if I can push this baby out is to try. Is it considered good manners to tell your female patient that she is small in there just 2 minutes after you have had your fingers in there? He leaves and I quickly get dressed (but not before I try to fold up this jellied sheet because I don't the nurse to think I am a pig) and march right into the bathroom and empty my purse of everything but that horrible pad and toss the purse into the garbage. Damn, I liked that purse too; it had a lot of hidden compartments.

So much more

You know when you are a part of something that is going to be not at all what you expected? That’s what my weekend was like. This weekend was supposed to be the weekend that we had a garage sale in support of Shona and her family. And while the garage sale did happen, so much more happened. I travelled back in time, I healed part of myself and I was once again humbled by humanity.

On Friday I came by Shona’s with some dear friends to drop off some items for the garage sale. OH. MY. GOD. There was so much stuff!!! We had three garages full of items for the garage sale. Saturday was wonderful. We had a steady stream of buyers and well-wishers for Shona. We raised just over $2500 for Shona and her family. I can’t even begin to put into words how amazing it was to see people open their hearts to Shona’s family. To be in the middle of all this love was the kind of day you remember forever.

Getting to be a part of Shona’s journey is sometimes selfish for me. I can look back now and be amazed at my mom. Through different eyes, I can see now just how courageous she was. But when I was in the middle of it, I could only curse her for not going up and down the stairs every day. I could only lose my patience after trying for the 20th time that morning to get her to drink a glass of water. I could only cry in my bed a night wondering how was I going to take care of a tiny baby, take care of my mother and stay married to my sweetheart.

But now, I can see that it took courage to smile everyday. It took courage to delight in a friend’s phone call. It took courage to eat the some time inedible dinners I threw together. :) It took courage to look in my eyes and rub my belly and tell me my “baby was a girl because I was going to need a girl.” It took courage to delight in every twitch of my belly and every ultrasound picture I plastered on the fridge. All the while knowing that she may not live to see this baby in my arms.

I know this took courage because I know Shona. She is such an amazing woman. I lie in that same bed and moan about Jaimie and I losing our jobs, and then I think of Shona. She too is worried about bringing money into her house. But she is fighting for her life. She is a single mom. She doesn’t lay her head against a warm chest every night and have someone say “everything will be alright.” She is courageous. Sometimes it is just courageous to wake up in the morning and eek out a smile.

I love being a part of Shona’s life. I love her warmth. I love her humour. I love her heart. I love her fight. I love her courage. But most of all, I love that she is going to kick the shit out of this cancer.

Shona's Story

As I promised in a previous post (little "c"), here is Sweetheart's story about our dear Shona.

"My wife and I first met Shona while interviewing potential daycare providers for our daughter, Amelia. We had diligently set up a series of interviews with potential candidates, of which we were about halfway through, and we were already beginning to despair that we would never be comfortable with any choice. We had interviewed the overzealous instant huggers, the stay at home extra income moms with children bouncing of the walls and even one lady who didn’t even acknowledge that there were children in the room. All well-meaning people, but to us it was beginning to look like “Goldilocks and the Three Bears” without the “just right”.

Then we interviewed Shona. We were a little apprehensive from previous interviews; however, Shona’s warmth, experience and chemistry with the children already in her care instantly set us at ease. We sat on her basement floor and talked while the children played around us; Shona stopping once or twice to read a story or redirect play. It was obvious the children adored Shona, but the real surprise was watching Amelia smiling as she joined the others and began to play along.

Over the next six months, we adapted to our new routine and Shona’s home became an extension of our own. Each morning all the children would excitedly accompany Shona to the front door to welcome us with a toy for each of Amelia’s tiny hands. I am still amazed at how the children took care of each other and learned things from one another, thriving in the security and happiness of her home. Shona’s own two children Cassandra, 11, and Gavin, 7, also generously shared their home and mother: eager to lend a helping hand anyway they could. Often we would arrive at the end of the day to find the children all playing together with Cassandra affectionately watching over like a protective mother lion and Gavin entertaining; always willing to perform any stunt to elicit a giggle from his adoring audience.

On May 31st of 2006 Shona was diagnosed with Stage 3 breast cancer. The oncologist has told her that it is unlikely she will be able to work for at least a year, possibly longer, while she undergoes an extensive treatment and recovery program. Anyone who knows Shona knows that she is more comfortable giving to others than receiving herself; but, as a self-employed single mother she will be forced to rely heavily on government assistance, private charities and the kindness of friends to help keep her household going.

When I think about the service that Shona has provided to our families and community, working as a caregiver or part time with the Children’s Aid Society, it seems appropriate that the community return the same care to her in her time of need. Without the essential work of people like Shona, the rest of us wouldn’t be able to work and support our own families. This past week, Shona was presented with a quilt put together by her friends as a symbol of our love and support; however, we also realise that Shona needs to focus on getting well without the stress of financial uncertainty. With this in mind the group has planned several events in order to raise money to assist Shona and contribute towards the national community efforts to find a cure for this disease that has affected so many people’s lives.

Event 1 - Garage Sale
When: Saturday, September 16th from 7:30 a.m. - 1:00 p.m.
Where: 26-28 Jackman Terrace in Kanata (close to the Kanata Leisure Centre)

“Everyone is invited to drop by – there’ll be coffee and goodies, lots of items for purchase, and a small raffle for a $25 gift certificate at Tommy’s Restaurant, a Hershey’s Chocolate Shoppe gift basket, and a one-hour massage with Bruce Ford at Absolute Massage Therapy.”

Event 2 – CIBC Run for the Cure
When: Sunday, October 1st at 9:00 a.m.
Where Parliament Hill

Be a part of the team by joining “Shona’s Friends”. Please register at CIBC Run For The Cure"

Even if you are not in Ottawa and can't come to our garage sale, my wish is that you help someone in your community. Battling a life threatening disease can have this awful “I am all alone in this world” effect on a family. Getting a smile, a hug, an offer of help or just some home baked banana bread can lift you up for that one day. And that one day will carry you through the next month. One day at a time really does work.

Body parts

Note: Yeah so its a few days later and I still didn’t post Shona’s story. It’s coming, I swear. Sweetheart has taken longer at this than expected. But he was laid off on Friday so I am cutting him some slack.He promises I can post tomorrow.

So, body parts. I always thought I would be the kind of mom who is very comfortable with her body and have no trouble answering my children’s questions. Then I had a child. Amelia follows me everywhere. And a few months ago started barging into the bathroom. At first I was upset but then I thought, well isn’t this supposed to be good for potty training? So I let her come in (only for #1. I need alone time for the other). This is how our conversation goes:

Amelia: wha doin Mommy?

Me: Mommy is going pee pee (because I can’t bring myself to say urinate and I am sure she can’t pronounce it quite yet. Plus the thought of a 2 year old shouting “Urinate” in a public place while toilet training doesn’t seem that endearing to me.)

Amelia: Oh.

Crouches down and looks. You know. There.

Amelia: wha dat?

pointing and getting closer to me.

Taking a deep breath.

Me: That’s mommy’s vagina.

Amelia: ya. gina. (pronounced j-I-na)

Ok, that wasn’t so bad. She even realizes that she has one and tells you about it each time you change her diaper. However, when we are in a public restroom she will keep asking “wha dat Mommy?” louder and louder until I say, “that’s mommy’ vagina”. And I can’t whisper it either. She will get all mad and shout “wha dat?” So I have to say it loud enough for all the other users of the restroom will hear it. And then she will start singing loudly “gina, gina, gina”.

Sweetheart laughs hysterically at me every time she comes in the bathroom with me. Until. She followed him into the bathroom the other day so he opted to sit on the toilet rather than stand. And it went a little something like this:

Amelia: wha doing Daddy?

Sweetheart: Umm, Daddy’s going pee pee. (then shouting downstairs, “Joanne come and get her please, she’s in the bathroom with me”)

I naturally take my time going up the stairs.

Amelia: Hmmm. gina.

Sweetheart: Uhhh…Joanne!

Amelia: (getting mad) gina. gina. gina.(pointing angrily at him)

Sweetheart: Umm, no Daddy doesn’t have a gina.

Amelia: (getting really mad) gina. gina. gina. gina. gina.

Sweetheart : No, Daddy has a penis.

Amelia is quiet for a second and then places her hands on hips and commands….

SHOW!

little "c"

cancer.

There I said it. I refuse to capitalize it. Although really, do you have to capitalize the beginning of a sentence if only contains one word? Is it really a sentence? And why do people call it the “big C”? I say we start calling the “little c” and start taking away its power.

Anyone reading this knows me a little bit; I doubt you came here by accident. But just in case you were the one person looking for a waste management consultant I will give you a little background (or go here for a fantastic WMC, Tony Soprano).

cancer (specifically breast cancer) has touched my life so many times. It started way before I was born when my mom was 16. Her mom was struck with the disease and died one year after her husband's passing. I knew it all my life and although it seemed a little sad to me, it didn’t really have a huge effect on me. My mom was never the type to cry that she missed her mom on birthdays, Christmas or the anniversary of her death. She didn’t really talk about her or my grandfather. I know she missed her all her life but she never really harped on it. Or maybe we were just too self-involved to see it. But come on, we were 10 and who isn’t self-involved at 10?

Ironically, when I was 16 my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was horrible. But we never really knew it. My mom was honest about her diagnosis, but assured us that she would have chemo and radiation and all would be fine. We believed her, how could we not? She was Mom.

She was tired, sick and lost all her hair. But she wore blush, a wig and would only vomit in her bedroom (behind closed doors) in a pail that she could then dispose of herself. She had great friends; the kind of friends who save your life with the power of their love (I have a couple of friends like that and I thank God each day for them). She went into remission one year later and stayed there for 6 years.

Then. They found a few “spots” on her back and liver. But they stayed small and didn’t move despite all odds. Then when I was 30, the day before my wedding, we were told in no uncertain terms that the cancer had started its attack again. She was carried out of my house on a kitchen chair to a waiting ambulance because cancer had started to crack her spine. My husband and I cared for her for 16 months until she died in my arms with her head resting against my pregnant belly. Although we knew she wouldn’t be with us for long her death was instant and shocking. Exactly two months later (to the exact minute), my daughter was born.

I didn't have my mom at my wedding but at least I got to go see her that day. What a sight we made prancing through the halls of the Ottawa General Hospital that day. I knew she wouldn't be in the delivery room holding my hand, but I thought that I would at least get to place my tiny, perfect baby in her arms and share a knowing smile with her.

cancer has taken so much from me and my family. And now it has struck again. Amelia’s caregiver has been diagnosed with a very aggressive form of breast cancer at the tender age of 39. Please come back tomorrow when I will post a beautiful piece my sweetheart has written about her and how you can help in some tiny way to make a difference.

I miss you Mommy.