Wings (Not the TV Show. Not Bette Midler-Related, Either)

When my dad was alive, I could fly. I don't mean literally, of course. I didn't even realize that this was true figuratively. It's only now, more than half a decade later while I'm putting myself back together, that I realize I was able to live like I did because of my dad.

I laughed loudly. I loved fiercely. I met everything that came my way with a smile an eyes that wouldn't avert. If I could fly, then my dad was a perfect and magical parachute that would activate upon emergency. With backup like that, I could never fall.

And then my dad was gone.

The problem wasn't that I could no longer fly: it's that I realized how far the ground was. The next metaphor isn't falling, but of smashing into the closest wall of rock and holding on with everything I had left. It wasn't crashing, it wasn't flying and I hadn't even realized what I'd done. I was still alive, right? Wasn't that the only goal?

It's not, and I remember a time that I didn't believe that. So, I had to reassess.

My had never been some last ditch, "break glass in case of emergency" existence. He was someone who didn't have wings of his own but had learned to take flight because of me. Apparently love can work in that direction, too: compensating for the shortcomings of his own parents and the insecurities that stemmed from them, and turning him into someone who would never let me fall. He wasn't a parachute: he had been beside me all that time.

Flying is still a possibility. I'm just doing it alone now.

Well, that's not true. Most importantly, I'm the assumed-parachute as I do my best to make sure my son will live as bravely as I did, and hopefully go on even better once my time here is done.

There's also the fact that I've never truly been alone. I continue to be blessed with wonderful people all around me.

And that's how this post wraps up for now: with a smile, a Mexican buffet, two shots of Olmeca tequila, and being hit in the head with a ball while I was concentrating on catching a frisbee. It was wonderful, mind-dizzying madness, because for the first time in a long while, I was happy and not apologetic about it.

This is how I'm going to make things from now on.

Writing as somebody who is actually comfortable with herself...

Some of the angry and vocal members of the body-positive crowd need to learn the difference between acceptance and complacence.

I'm thinking of the people who get angry when any woman mentions that she'd like to lose weight, or just dissatisfaction with her body. This is, supposedly, buying into society's ideals, bowing to patriarchy, and misogynistic. Women who are not happy with themselves as they are bring down all women!

I call shenanigans.

Five points if you get this South Park reference.

It's possible to be happy and still want to do better. It's also possible to accept oneself while wanting to change. I'll use myself as an example.

Acceptance: That cute little sheet of a tummy with an almost emerging six pack? Gone. By the end of my pregnancy, my stomach aspired to be as big as a hot air balloon. You can't stretch skin that much and have it snap back into its former shape. If I wear shirts that are too snug, I still look like I'm about four months pregnant.

I suppose a tummy tuck is an option, but I'm okay with my stomach the way that it is. It marks a very important time in my life. Besides, when Bug is a defiant teenager who asks me what he's ever done to me, I'm going to point to my stomach, fake some tears and cry, "This!"

(But seriously: my stomach doesn't bother me.)

Complacence: My ass and thighs are big and flabby because of pregnancy and childbirth.  It has nothing to do with the fact that I eat poorly, have no concept of portion sizes, and don't make time to be physically active.

I want to take a second and say that there really are some people who are naturally inclined to be bigger. This is why we shouldn't assume that every seemingly overweight person lacks self-control.

Of course, this can be turned around: we shouldn't assume that every person who wants to lose weight or change something is doing so out of societal pressure or unhappiness.

Worry about your own bodies. Leave me to take care of mine.

Frowns and Houses: Upside Down!

Last night, the husband-type person said, "I'm picking up D (a friend) from the airport tomorrow night, and then we're going to hang out here. So, I'm going to clean."

I immediately replied, "No, I'll clean."

"I can do it," HTP insisted in that tone that says he wants to and implies that he might do a better job than I do.

This is where I air a bit of dirty laundry and say that the latter is not going to happen. I grew up with a mother who was obsessive-compulsive when it came to cleaning. She made sure that the ridges in the lamp shade were completely dust-free, for goodness' sake. I know how to clean, even if I don't do it to that degree.

Besides, HTP has this terrible habit of "cleaning" and then forgetting where he put things (or even more irritating, insisting that he didn't move something).

I have approximately five hours to get this house immaculate before out guest arrives. Can I do it? Pfft:

Living Room
Dust
- tables
- window sills
- bookshelves
"Brush" couches (we do have a cat, after all)
Clean windows
Sweep
Mop

Hallway
Put away extraneous shoes
Sweep
Mop

Kitchen
Wash dishes
Put away dishes
Clear table
Clean counter
Clean stove
Clean windows
Sweep
Mop

Washroom
Text HTP and tell him he does this ever-so-much better than I ever could, so I'm leaving this for him

Bedroom #1
Fix bed
Put away clothes
Sweep

Bedroom #2
Fix bed
Put away clothes
Organize laundry
Sweep

For Fiona

My anger protected me for all of 30 seconds. It was explosive and all-encompassing for that time while I selfishly thought, "How could you do this to me?" Too quickly, that faded into my real question: "How could you leave me behind?"

I knew she was mentally ill. She had really low points but had persevered. Through a combination of denial and poor reading comprehension, I missed her goodbye post. I replied with a remark that was too flippant, too reminiscent of the quips we always tossed at each other regardless of the situation, and it was the last thing I ever sent to her.

I know it wouldn't have made a difference if I'd responded with anything else. I only hope she knew, at some level, that she was loved. That I loved her.

Godspeed, Fiona and, because I know you'd appreciate this: I hope that if there is an afterlife, it doesn't have Stephenie Meyer's audiobooks being piped through.

Today I saw the kind of man who inspires people to lock their car doors and fear the reaction he might have if he hears the tell-tale "click." He was probably 6'2" but looked taller because he was so thin. His hair was the sort of black that can only come out of a bottle and his coat looked like an oil slick falling just short of the ground.

He walked to the bus stop with rounded shoulders that made him seem like even more of a predator. There was a lone woman standing in the shelter and he didn't stop until he was right beside her. In an instant, his demeanor completely changed as he leaned over and kissed her cheek.

She turned to look at him with an expression that wasn't in the least bit surprised. Her entire body swiveled to face him and they began to talk.

There was something in the way that he stood near this woman that was at once gentle and protective. He suddenly wasn't scary at all.

Rabbit, Rabbit: March Edition

Goals for the month:
1. Weight loss
2. Life restructuring

My birthday is exactly one month away. Much debauchery is planned - not that I intend to remember any of it.

Okay, I'm mostly joking. I have bigger priorities than drinking myself into oblivion, but I do intend to actually go out and have fun. I've spent the last several years Scrooging myself on my birthdays. It was part of my philosophy of "I could lose everything tomorrow so I'd better not get too attached today" that developed after losing my parents. To a degree, I still feel like that deep down inside. I've found it harder to live with my arms wide open when I know exactly what it feels like when things fall away.

I've been working towards living like I could lose everything tomorrow so I'd better absorb every ounce of joy I can find today. So, I'm going to celebrate my birthday this year.

That's where the weight loss comes in. I want to look effin' smokin': like the old me who didn't know what fear felt like. Maybe if I can get to that point, everything else will follow.

As for the life restructuring, that ties into all of the above, too. This month, I will completely clean my house, apply for school and financial aid. I will write down where I want to be in the next six months and make that happen.

(But first: breakfast! Oatmeal for me, oatmeal and fresh baked banana bread for Bug.)

I'm Not Saying There Was Nothing Wrong...

No sane person likes conflict. The most basic instinct is for survival and conflict kind of flies into the face of that.

This is what I'm telling myself in order to take away the sour taste of having lied to escape a conversation. No, my physical survival wasn't on the line, but my mental well-being was. I needed a sounding board. I needed to be heard and validated, as I had done for this person over the years. This one time that I opened up, I was shot down with everything I had done wrong during the course of my life, with a line thrown in about, "...so you really should be more understanding of the situation you're in."

I did consider calling out this person: "Look, you're being an ass and you sound like you really enjoy rubbing my face in my mistakes." I also knew how that would end: "But it's the truth. Your feelings shouldn't be hurt because I'm not saying anything that isn't true!"

There is a lot about myself that falls short and needs to change. There is an almost equal amount that has changed drastically. This person will never see the latter. Even as she remarks about how much she has changed and grown as a person, she comments about aspects of my life that haven't held true for years. She's dismissive when I point out that certain things are different.

I don't need that. I've beaten myself up over my shortcomings for a very long time. I have worked - am still working - on becoming somebody that I can be proud of. There is no point in keeping company with somebody who seems to quick to remind me that I fall short.

So she and I will part quietly, without words or confrontation.

Unless she asks, in which case I'm letting her have it with both barrels because she'll have started it.

(Just kidding. I'll keep it civil. I've really had enough.)

Eleven Years

It's been 11 years since my mom passed away. February 22nd has been the day that I missed her a little bit more than usual and recalled exactly how I felt when my dad woke me up to tell me she was gone.

Today, I didn't feel anything. I did the things I normally do: running errands, cleaning the house and praying that if there is a God that he'll prevent my neighbor from blasting that godawful wannabe rap. There was no regret or nostalgia. After all of this time, the anniversary of her death felt like just any other day.

I thought about what was different and felt sad when I had my answer: I have lived without her long enough to build a life in which she has never had any part. She never got to meet my son. I never sent postcards from San Francisco, Vancouver or Toronto, because she wasn't there to receive them. I've spent the last few years making my own holiday traditions, acting without concern for what she might have to say about anything.

I have learned to exist without her love.


I used to be afraid when I'd think of this happening. Did moving on mean that I would forget her, that she didn't matter? Would it make me a horrible person for being able to continue on a path that diverged from the one where I'd walked with her?

I feel that it's none of these things and that, like everything else, this is just part of the order of things. I don't love her any less. I am not being disloyal by managing to live on.

Sugar Coma

This morning was so cold that my face started to go numb shortly after I exited the bus. It made me think of when I had moved from San Diego (my hometown!) to San Francisco and I thought the latter was so cold. Eventually, I moved from San Francisco to Vancouver, felt the season shift into winter and thought it was so freaking cold. From Vancouver, I moved to Toronto during their coldest winter in 50 years. I thought I was going to die.

Remembering made me laugh to myself and wonder where I'll end up next.

Today, it happened to be ThimbleCakes. I only meant to pick up a coffee, since I'd purchased an Auntie Loo's brownie from the natural food store that was next door. Upon entering, I noticed that there were day old cupcakes on sale for 40% off. I remembered that Lent is tomorrow and that I'm giving up sugar; if I didn't get a cupcake, I would surely regret it in the weeks to come. (It's a mocha cupcake. I will be inhaling it as soon as I finish this post.)

(It's the end of the post. I had more to say but I have priorities, which is a euphemism for cupcake.)

Wake Up

I woke up feeling as if my heart was going to burst from my chest. My inner voice (not the one that tells me to burn things) said, "Don't fight it. It will lead you to where you need to go."

I wonder if that's into temptation. That could be interesting.