Look at the View

On Monday morning, I decided to resist the day for a few extra minutes, linger over my tea and crack open a library book.  I had just picked up A Short Guide to a Happy Life by Anna Quindlen - because, yes please, any help I can get - and I thought I'd just read a few pages before getting on with my day.  Well, I read the whole thing.  In about 15 minutes.  It really is a short guide.  Much of it espouses the message you might expect: "Life is short.  Enjoy it, and be grateful."   Fairly cliché, I suppose, although it's a cliché because it's true, and it's a reminder that I imagine most of us could use on a regular basis.  I was finding it to be a nice, little read - a little obvious, but nice - and then I reached the final anecdote, and something in me shifted.

Over the last two short pages (spoiler alert), Quindlen shares a story about meeting a homeless man on the boardwalk at Coney Island.  As they sit by the sea, legs dangling over the side of the boardwalk, he tells her about his life: panhandling on the boulevard, hiding from the police amid the carnival rides, sleeping in a church on cold nights.  But most of the time, he explains, he spends his days sitting on the boardwalk, even in the cold.  "Why?" Quindlen asks.  Staring out at the ocean, he replies: "Look at the view, young lady.  Look at the view."

I sat on my couch in silence, legs dangling over the side, and looked at the view.  A view I've seen a thousand times but on that morning, it looked different.  

The laundry that needs to be folded.  Light bulbs that need changed.  My silly-eyed banister.  How lucky I am to have laundry to fold and light bulbs to change.  How lucky I am to have little people to make giggle with silly eyes.

The beautiful little table that was in our dining room growing up.  The ballot box my eldest daughter set up so we can nominate others for their good deeds and kindnesses.  Photos of my girls when they were babies.  Beauty and love to greet all who arrive.

The green couch and chair my ex-husband and I bought 15 years ago, our first real adult purchase.  I was 23 and he was 24 and we were over the moon to have just bought a house, and that couch and chair were the only real grown-up furniture in it.  I've been longing to get rid of that old couch but that morning, I thought about that exciting time in our lives, and the hours I later spent sitting on that couch nursing my babies.  I thought of the moments when they learned how to climb up on to that couch.  I'm not so eager to get rid of it anymore.  

And the blanket over top of it, crocheted by my mom.  Hours of love knotted together. 

The paintings my daughters made the other week and more photos of their beautiful smiles. The antique wooden box with the hearts, the only thing I've ever purchased at an auction.  I outbid a fancy old lady and it was empowering.  The lantern from my grandparents' farmhouse, and the weird metal object with the balancing acrobats that was the only thing of my grandmother's that I wanted when she passed.  We used to play with it every time we went to her house as kids.  I think of her every time I see it.  Or do I?  I fear that on too many days I don't see the view and this love and beauty and these stories are just another part of the landscape, a backdrop to preoccupations. 

Over the last few days, this new mantra has stayed with me: "Look at the view."   

Navigating snowy streets:  Look at the view.  Look at the road, but also the view.  I have a reliable vehicle to take me home.  I can afford gas.  I move through this city alone and feel safe.  And to top it all off, I have a button in my car that operates technology the sole purpose of which is to keep my bum warm.

Waiting for a medical appointment:  Look at the view.  I'm fortunate to have medical care.  I'm fortunate that I'm not so sick that I need to be rushed in.  How grateful I should be for the good fortune to wait.

My snot-nosed daughter climbs into my bed at 3 a.m.:  Look at the view.  It's not pretty but it's beautiful.  My child reaching for me, wanting my comfort. That's better than any dream.  That is the dream.

It's sometimes hard to see the forest for the trees.  Life gets busy and a home is a place to be cleaned, the drive and the waiting room just irritating interludes between point A and point B.  And the snot-nosed kid is wiping her face on your pillow and disrupting a glorious night's sleep.  But take a moment today to look at the view.  Because my god, the forest is beautiful. 

From my spot on the saggy green couch, I see the coffee table that my sister and I would hide under and dance on top of as kids, a stage that now belongs to two other wee sisters.  The TV table that my father-in-law made, which has scratches on top, fossils from a plastic dinosaur party.  The cushions my girls leaned against the other week, reading stories to each other.  The stained carpet that ordinarily makes me cringe...but I have a home to live in, and money for food, and tiny grubby feet to trample it.  

And I see the sunshine.  I woke up to another day.  Another beautiful day.

This Is Important

Today is Bell Let's Talk Day, part of Bell's charitable Let's Talk program dedicated to supporting mental health.  If you're not familiar with the program, please check out their website.  Bell and their partner organizations are doing impressive work to improve mental health services and to combat the pervasive stigmas around mental illness.

As many of you know, this is a cause near and dear to my heart.  I have struggled with depression for most of my adult life and many other family members and friends have also been affected by mental illness.  But mental health is something we should all be talking about, today and every day.  As noted on the Bell Let's Talk website, according to the Canadian Institute of Health Research, 1 in 5 Canadians will experience a form of mental illness at some point in their life.  That's a lot of us.  That's a lot of people who need our understanding, kindness and support.  Another fact: 2 in 3 people suffer in silence fearing judgment and rejection.  This may not be surprising when you consider that only 49% of people say they would socialize with a friend who has a serious mental illness (both facts from the Canadian Medical Association, via the Bell Let's Talk website).  May I take a moment to say that you other 51% are missing out: we are awesome.

The fact that I want to bring the most attention to today, though, is this one: Approximately 11 people end their lives by suicide in Canada every day (Canadian Association for Suicide Prevention).  11 people EVERY DAY.  These are people in our families.  These are co-workers.  These are our young adults.  These are people we see in our community.  These are people we don't see.  

We need to do better.  Fortunately, initiatives like Bell's Let's Talk program are calling attention to the importance of mental health first aid, training that is just as important as physical first aid.  As noted in this article in The Washington Post, it is possibly more important.  Given the statistics above, there is a pretty good chance that, at some point in your life, you will encounter someone who is experiencing a mental health crisis and needs your help.

So, when that happens, what will you do? 

A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to participate in a suicide alertness training program called SafeTALK, created by LivingWorks.  It was an excellent program and I want to encourage you all to look into taking it or something similar available in your area.  Don't make the mistake of thinking that because you don't think that you know anyone experiencing a mental illness, you won't need this training.  The truth is that at any time, any of us could be the one person that that family member, that co-worker, that young adult, that person in our community, that stranger we don't know, invites into a conversation about their mental health concerns and possible suicidal thoughts.  

This does not take the place of attending a full training program and I wish to make clear that I am not a representative of this program, but I would like to use this space to highlight a few of the key things I learned at the SafeTALK training as you may find them helpful.  The TALK in the title is an acronym: Tell, Ask, Listen, KeepSafe.  

Tell - A person with thoughts of suicide may make invitations to you (consciously or not) to speak about their concerns and suicidal thoughts.  These invitations may be explicit or they may not be; often, they are not.  You may get a sense that they are possibly having suicidal thoughts based on what you see (i.e. being moody or withdrawn), what you hear (i.e. talk of having no purpose or being a burden), what you sense (i.e. desperation or hopelessness), or what you learn about by speaking with them (i.e. that they are experiencing abuse or rejection).   

Ask - The first step to helping someone is to ask about these invitations.  SafeTALK recommends saying this: "When someone is [INVITATIONS], they are sometimes thinking about suicide.  Are you thinking about suicide?"  (For example, "When someone is missing work, worrying about things, and withdrawing from friends and family, they are sometimes thinking about suicide.  Are you thinking about suicide?"). It is important to understand that you cannot plant the idea of suicide in someone's head, and the phrase "thinking about suicide" is preferable to "thinking about harming yourself" because it is clear and direct.  Include the specific invitations that are leading you to ask them whether they are thinking about suicide.  

Listen - If the person says that they are having thoughts of suicide, SafeTALK recommends replying as follows: "Let's talk about this.  I am listening.  This is important."  Make it clear that you are available to listen to them and to help, and that their concerns and feelings are important.  And then listen.

Importantly, if the person denies that they are having thoughts of suicide but your gut feeling is that they are in danger, move ahead to the next step anyways.

KeepSafe - If you yourself have not completed suicide intervention training (please note that this is a more advanced training program than suicide alertness training), then you need to get them connected with someone who has.  Tell the person: "We need extra help.  I want to connect you with someone who can help you KeepSafe."  Then make that connection.  Call your local suicide crisis centre or another identified community support, or someone you know who has completed suicide intervention training and would be available to help.  Take them directly to a counselling centre or hospital.  If you believe that the person is in immediate danger, call emergency services (in many locations, this would be 911).  Stay with them until you have completed that connection.  

(I wish to emphasize again that the advice listed above is not intended to take the place of attending a suicide alertness training program and it is not representative of the complete SafeTALK program.)

So, here are some next steps:

• Look into suicide alertness and suicide intervention training programs in your area. Yes, it will require taking some time out of your daily life to attend. Yes, some of the programs cost money. But if you help to save a life, I believe you'll think of it as time and money well spent. (It is possible too that your employer will help you with the time and cost, or perhaps you can encourage them to bring in training for your entire staff...look into it). Look it up now while you're on the Internet. LivingWorks, linked here and above, is an international organization and a good place to start, but if they are not offering training in your area, keep looking.
  

• Look up the KeepSafe connections in your community: those individuals, organizations, crisis lines and emergency services that are trained and available to provide proper suicide intervention and professional help. Compile a list of their contact information. Keep it handy. Don't put this off. Make time for this task this week. It is my understanding that in Canada, 911 is a nationwide emergency service and free to dial from any phone. Here is a link to find a crisis centre near you.
  

• Think about how you can help to support a suicide-safe community. Consider these 5 simple ways to help.

These are not easy conversations to have, and mental illness, and the stigma surrounding it, are not easy things to battle.  However...

This is important. 

This is so very important.

Jump for Joy: Inspiration Wall

You'll notice in the mirror's reflection that the photos of my girls have simply been relocated. I couldn't bear to put them in the closet. So, make that total 75.

The girls and I moved into our place three years ago and ever since, I have been waking up to a wall.  That is, when I am not waking up to a small person jumping elbow-first on to my pancreas, I wake up and stare straight ahead at a blank wall.  For a long while, I had a large multi-photo frame on the wall with pictures of my girls.  While waking up to photos of my two favourite people is lovely, it's important that I note that there are in fact (I've just counted) 66 other photos up in my tiny house that feature one or both of my daughters.  That's a little crazy, particularly when you consider that they also live here.  So, recently, I decided that it would probably be okay if there was one surface in this house without their sweet, smiling faces on it.  (And truthfully, I was also thinking that it might be nice if my room were a little less "mom" and a little more "amazing woman who a man might want to spend time with in that room".  Ahem.)

I've been thinking a lot, then, about what I want to wake up to (other than the aforementioned man) and I decided that I want to start my day with a view that inspires me to get up and get going and have the best day possible.  For lack of a better name, let's call it an "inspiration wall".  At first I thought it might take the form of a sort of vision board, but I quickly realized that I don't really have a problem with vision:  I am a pro-star at setting goals and I have a very clear idea of what I want in my future.  What I have trouble with is staying in the present, and keeping my values and priorities front and center so I can live the life I want to live right now. 

About a year or so ago, I found a little mirror I love as well as a pretty framed cork board, both at Home Sense I believe.  I put them in my closet, alongside an old picture frame, not really knowing where I wanted to put them.  Then a few weeks ago, I found a shadow box at Value Village that features four squares just the perfect size for these 4 inch by 4 inch illustrations of motivational quotes that I cut out of two books I bought last spring (at Urban Outfitters, if memory serves).  Suddenly I had all the pieces I needed.  

The organized, perfectionist side of me is pretty happy with how it has come together and how lovely and clean it all looks.  The rebellious side thinks it's altogether too pretty and is dying to throw things askew and add a "Fuck Yeah Let's Do This!" alongside the more classy, grown-up quotes.    Mama might need a secret inspiration wall in the closet for her more subversive thoughts.

In the coming weeks, I'll be talking about some of the elements included here in more depth, the scrawlings and quotes and why I've chosen them, but I'll share a little about the details here too, below.  I'm sharing this not because I think I'm so great or because I think I've come up with a perfectly curated collection that you should copy immediately.  What is pretty and inspiring for me will not be what is pretty and inspiring for you.  I am hoping though that this project might spur you on to think about your own values, priorities and goals and how you might put them in full view, whether on a wall or a post-it note or a screensaver, should you be so moved.  If nothing else, let me tell you that this is a pretty excellent project for a cold and snowy Tuesday afternoon.  The driveway will shovel itself (or it should, it's 2016, for goodness' sake).

The details:

• Frame within the frame bought at Michael's, then painted.

• Five priorities for self-care: create, move, connect, rest, laugh.

• "❤️ & soul" is a reference to my daughters, as well as to what I feel are my two vocations (work in social service and my writing). "Action" is my word for 2016. "Sisu" is a Finnish word that is about perseverance in the face of adversity; my youngest wanted to help so she wrote it out for me. "You are awake. You are awesome. Live like it." is a quote from Kid President, who is awesome.

• Some pretty, inspirational words. I plan to switch these out every now and then. These are the ones that I feel I most need to hear right now.

• "There must be a Pony!" is a funny little story about optimism, told on a postcard I found in Vancouver. One of my favourite photos of my sister and I, taken outside our grandparents' farmhouse. Flowers from the girls. A Corky and the Juice Pigs pin that reminds me of my high school friends. For some random reason, a note that says "Little Suzy Girl" contributed by my five-year-old. And words to make me brave.

Jump for Joy is a series on JTTG about small, simple ways to boost the joy in your life. 

8 Lessons From My 8-Year-Old

Every year for her birthday, I draw Isla a picture of that number of animals in the shape of that number. I was sure she'd tell me to stop by now. She told me recently that I have to keep doing this until she's 26. Game on.

We celebrated my daughter Isla's 8th birthday at the end of October.  This seems preposterous.  She was a baby just yesterday, I'm sure of it.  But alas, it is true.  My 57-pound bundle of joy barely fits on my lap these days, and more and more I can see the young woman she is becoming behind those beautiful eyes that still light up at the thought of the tooth fairy visiting.  We talk about how she saw Santa downtown last month, "the real Santa, Mum," and then we discuss profit margins and marketing strategies for the bakery she wants to own some day.  It's beautiful, baring witness to this time in her life, this in-between.  I want to hold fast to my baby and keep her little just awhile longer, but I also can't wait to meet this young woman and see her take on this life.  

I started to draft a post about the 8 most important lessons I want to teach her as she grows up, but as I began to brainstorm my list, I realized that she came into this world with an awe-inspiring wisdom and spirit all her own, and she has already learned so much in her 8 years here.  And all this while, it turns out, she has been the one teaching me.  These are just 8 of the most important lessons I have learned from her, so far:

1)  Monkey Bars or Bust

This past summer, my daughter's one goal was to master the monkey bars.  When she started out, she could barely reach them.  Every ounce of her little body strained for her fingertips to grip the paint-flaked metal.  Every bit of her strength rallied to pull those little toes off the ground.  She'd take one swing, grasping for the next rung, and fall.  She'd get back up.  She'd try again.  When her palms got sweaty and slippery, she would dust them with the wood shavings underneath the playground, like a rock climber chalking her hands.   She'd get frustrated, and I'd ask her now and then if she wanted to take a break, go down the slide, play tag.  "No," she'd say defiantly.  It was monkey bars or bust, and by the end of the summer, she could make it across and back, go backwards, skip rungs.  Let me tell you: that first time she made it across, the joy on her face...that's what we live for as parents and that's what we should live for as people lucky enough to have a chance on this planet.  And so she has taught me to persevere: to get back up, dust my hands, and try and try again until I've made it across.

2)  One Box of Smarties = Six Months of Delight

My step-dad, Frank, came into our lives at the same time that Isla did; in fact, I first met him in the hospital waiting room, my daughter in my arms.  It took awhile for us to all get to know each other, but in time he became not only a father figure to me, but a grandfather to my children.  And like any grandfather, he liked to spoil his grandkids.  Nearly every time he came to visit, he would arrive with a box of Smarties tucked in his shirt pocket.  This gift of his was so reliable that Isla called them "Frank treats" and she looooved her Frank treats.  She would carefully choose just the right one, hold it in her tiny fingers, and lick it, enjoying it little by little, making it last (literally) hours.  She continues to do this with any treat or luxury: she thoroughly enjoys it, lives in the moment, and makes it last.  

We lost Frank two years ago but every time I see a box of "Frank treats" I think of him and the love and little candy-coated hours of happiness he shared with the girls.

3)  Hearts are Made for Loving

A card from Isla with a picture of her giving me the same card. Whoa.

Isla is the most loving, compassionate person I've ever met.  She walks into every situation, every relationship, with the question: What can I do to make their day a little brighter?  I've come to realize that this website would be entirely unnecessary if I just turned the spotlight on her.  She can show us how to find joy.  It's simple: you find joy for yourself by giving it to others.  I wake up to her beaming smile, so excited to lead me to the breakfast she made especially for me ("No peeking, Mum!").  She tells me that there's a new kid in her class, who she introduced herself to at recess and invited to play.  It is difficult to leave our house without some sort of card or drawing or craft in your pocket, or a loving hug wrapped around your waist.  She gives with her whole heart, without expecting anything in return.

4)  Fun is Fun!

Isla is also the silliest person I've ever met.  And like any properly silly person, she is a natural connoisseur of the ridiculous.  Like her mother, Isla has never met a pun she didn't like, and jokes of any kind (but particularly of the knock-knock variety) are hilarious and to be encouraged with booming belly laughs.  I have learned that when I want to make her day a little brighter, I need only walk into the room with something on my head or crawling on all fours like a bear.  I once found a lone sock on the floor and picked it up and pretended it was my baby, rocking it in my arms and trying to soothe its sock-baby cries.  Isla lit up and ran over with the other sock to match.  "Twins!" I shouted with glee, and that kid absolutely squealed with delight, more than I think I have ever experienced in my life.  She reminds me all the time that fun is meant to be fun, that this life is here to be lived and enjoyed, and that swimsuits double as perfectly suitable pyjamas.

5)  Go with your Gut 

My daughter's best friend's grandmother (stay with me here) lives three doors down, which means that her best friend is around a lot and there is often a gaggle of giggly girls running back and forth between our two houses.   One afternoon a few months ago, Isla came in to let me know that her friend wanted them to go play in a neighbour's front yard, the yard of the man who lives next door to her friend's grandmother.  The friend and her family know him very well but my girls and I do not.  Before I could say anything, though, Isla told me that she was not comfortable playing there.  The yard is visible from my window and so I would have been okay with them playing there (they cross over his lawn all the time) but I told her that she was right to listen to her instincts, and that she didn't, and doesn't ever, have to go anywhere that she is not comfortable going.  I was amazed by her, and continue to be amazed and grateful that she will listen to her gut and speak up.  I hope it continues.  And I hope I can do a little better at it myself.

6) Hair Shmair 

About a year or so ago, Isla decided, seemingly on a whim, that she wanted to cut off all of her hair.  I was taking her for what I thought would be just a trim, just an inch or two off the bottom of her past-the-shoulders hair.  But no, she informed me that she wanted it short.  Like short short.  Like pixie short.  I asked her if she was sure.  She said she was.  I asked her again, about twelve more times.  She was really, really sure.  And in the end, despite my misgivings, I understood that it was her hair and therefore it was her choice.  So the hair came off.  And damned if it didn't look incredible, and she absolutely adored it.  For awhile, anyway.  It wasn't long before she wanted to grow it back out.  But she didn't regret her decision.  Hair grows back.  She taught me that it's okay to take a leap and try something new.  And that sometimes, it's best not to listen to your mother. 

7)  Who Needs Tiffany's When You Have Michael's?

How can this kid get more fabulous?  Well, she also happens to be incredibly creative and resourceful.  When she turned 7, I told Isla that she could get her ears pierced if she wished, but she has decided that for the time being, the pain is not worth the gain.  Does that stop her from accessorizing?  No way.  One day I looked over and she had gemstones on her ears, or at least it appeared that way.  Upon closer inspection, I discovered that they were faux rhinestone stickers that she had found in the craft supplies.  Brilliant. You can have what you want; sometimes, you just have to use your imagination to find another way.

We had a little talk about rule #2: "Do not touch unless your told to". She was concerned about everyone's safety, but conceded that maybe members could make some decisions for themselves. She chose to delete that rule.

8)  Be the Change

As you might expect, my daughter is a very well-liked kid who gets along with most everyone.  There have, however, already been times in her short 8 years here that she has been treated unfairly and left out of the group.  Last year, a group of girls who had been her very closest friends suddenly turned on her, and wouldn't let her be a part of their recess Fairy Club.  The problem, as I understood it, was that Isla didn't believe in fairies, and they wouldn't let her play unless she said she did.

Despite the fact that she dearly wanted to play with her friends, LOVED to play fairies and make up stories and scenarios, she stood her ground: she wouldn't say something she didn't believe.  And so, they continued to leave her out.

She cried, and I did my best to explain something that is pretty inexplicable.  She cried some more.  And then she got angry.  And then she got calm.  And then one day she come home and told me that she had started her own club, a Nature Club, and she had already recruited a few kids to join her.  I think my jaw may have actually dropped.  Together, we researched games and activities for her club, and she came up with a list of rules.  She told me, though, that one of the rules was unwritten: everyone was allowed to join.

Nature Club caught on for a few weeks, but then her friends missed her and invited her back to play.  She was pleased as punch, but since then she has insisted that they always include anyone else who wishes to join them.

I feel immensely proud of this young woman every day, and when I feel like I don't know where I'm going, I look to her.  It's a funny thing, this parenthood.  Here I thought I was supposed to be a role model for her, and it's the other way around. 

I expect that she has more to teach me.  You can bet that I have my notepad ready.

Home

Home sweet home

My dad built this dollhouse for my sister and I back in 1983.  It's a pretty impressive little place.  In addition to six fabulous rooms, the home features an elevator, a stained glass window, and a rooftop terrace, and it's lit by Christmas lights which also serve as the "fire" in the brick fireplace at the center of the living room.  We played with the house a ton growing up until some point when I guess we played with it for the last time and, after gathering some dust, it was quietly stored away.

My mom took it with her when my parents split, my sister and I already adults by that point but with no children of our own quite yet.  She carried it with her through several moves, tucking it in basements and sheds, until it finally made its way to my home.  I hid it away in the crawlspace under the stairs, draped in an old duvet cover, waiting for the time when I could give it some TLC.

A grand piano, even. Fancy.

I pulled it out of hiding this fall to survey the damage, on a day when my kids weren't around.  The carpet was mouldy.  Some of the wallpaper was peeling.  There were chips in the wood.  One of the support beams holding the elevator was long lost.  But the bones were good.  It was solid.  And so the renovations began.  On kid-free weekends, I lugged it out of the crawlspace, pulled out the carpet, washed it down.  My father-in-law fixed the elevator.  And in the final weeks before Christmas, I put on the final touches.  I sewed tiny pillows and blankets and searched high and low for mini-Christmas lights to replace the 30-year-old ones that were a guaranteed electrocution hazard (those mini-lights were everywhere in early December, I swear, but a few days before Christmas, they were SO hard to find.  Thanks for coming through, Napanee Walmart!).  

I gave it to my daughters on Christmas Eve, lights a-flashing, and their eyes lit up in turn.  Numerous domestic dramas have already taken place within its walls, and there has been a lot of tucking in of all of the dolls into all of the beds, usually after they've been sent sliding down the roof one by one to the sound of wild giggling.  I remember my sister and I doing the exact same thing.

Check out these sweet bunk beds

I love that the dollhouse is now a hodgepodge of old and new: The brick of the fireplace is the same brick from the fireplace in my childhood home, the flowery blue wallpaper in the bedroom the same as that in our old dining room.  The grey paint I used to touch up various walls is the same grey I painted the bedroom in my current home.  Some of the furniture is the same my sister and I played with 30 years ago; other pieces are brand new, lovingly crafted by my friend Dan (who needs a website promoting the new dollhouse-furniture-making venture I am insisting he embark upon).  The new "hard wood" laminate I put down in the living room is a remnant from my in-laws' place.  The elevator is made using picture frames, leftovers from my dad's framing business, I'm sure. 

When I set out on this renovation project, I didn't anticipate that the process would also lead me to reconcile some things from my past.  As I pulled up old carpet, I pulled up old feelings, some happy and others not as much.  I chose to welcome them all the same, and sit with them awhile.  And then I put them to bed. 

Chillin' on the terrace in the cutest chairs ever.

And as I worked to clean up and refresh each room, I also found myself thinking about how I could improve the rooms of my own home in this coming year, not so much my physical home as the relationships and values that are my home base. The living room reminded me to spend more quality time with my family.  The kitchen: To better nourish my body, and take time for more kitchen dance parties.  While wallpapering the bedroom with the contact paper that covers the surface of my dresser, I thought about how I wanted to make my own bedroom a sanctuary and get more rest, and perhaps do more of that other thing that happens in bedrooms (reading, Mom, I'm talking about reading).  Setting the tiny Adirondack chairs on the terrace made me daydream about sitting in the sun, and I resolved to spend more time outside.  I lifted the garage door so the tiny people could take a road trip, and thought about how I want to go on more adventures, and leave my comfort zone once in awhile.

This little home.  It's so much more than a play thing.  I look at it and I see both my past and my present.  I see my sister and remember the fierce sisterly love that echoed in those little rooms, that same love that I hear on the phone line these days as we discuss relationships and careers and laugh over our stupid inside jokes.  That same love I see between my own girls as they send one doll up the elevator, another down the roof, with peels of laughter.

And I wonder if one day one of my girls will fix up the dollhouse for her own children, make her own changes, remember that same grey in her mom's old bedroom, marvel at the blue fleece blankets she once wrapped around little wooden limbs.  I hope she will.  I'll store it away someday when they've left the dolls tucked in one last time, and I'll take it with me, and it will be waiting.

Letting Love In

Welcome

I've been thinking a lot lately about love.

A few months ago, a friend and I were talking about love, the romantic kind in this instance.  After enduring what I think is my fair share of heartbreak, I explained that I wasn't sure I wanted to take a chance on love again.  I wasn't sure if my little heart could take it.  I was afraid.  

I listed all the reasons why I should hang up my hat and take myself out of the relationship running.  The pain was too much.  The risks were too great.  For me, the risks include plummeting into a depression that I can't climb back out of and I reasoned that, particularly with two little girls who need me, it would be foolish for me to take that risk again.  How could I let someone in who might hurt me?  How could I let someone in who might threaten this good life I've worked so hard to build? 

"But that is a part of love," my friend argued.  "And love is worth it." 

"No," I replied.  "It's too hard." 

And I began to shut down.  I began to close up shop, packing away my hopes for a future with someone by my side, pushing away thoughts of romance and companionship and stuffing down any longing for affection and connection, hoping it would all go away.  I have to protect myself, I thought.  I have to close the borders.

But lately I've been reconsidering this policy.

I've been thinking a lot about my life's experience with love so far, with love of all kinds, and I've realized that I have been surrounded and engulfed and tripping over love - the love of family and friends and boyfriends and neighbours and people who smile as we pass each other on the street.  I've seen love in the eyes of my daughters and felt love in a handshake with a stranger and heard love in the voices of a choir singing love to all the hearts in the room.  Love is in the garbage bin blowing down the street that is retrieved by a neighbour.  Love is in the gluten-sugar-dairy-free dessert my friend went out of her way to make so I wouldn't be left out.  Love is in the joke made by the grocery store clerk as she packs my groceries.  I have let all of this love in and I have been rewarded beyond measure.

But what about the pain that I'm so afraid of?  The pain is there and it has hurt like hell and it has shaken the ground.  But the buildings still stand.  And I've been asking myself: Would I take away all that love to avoid that pain?  Would I take away those months, those years, of happiness so as not to endure the pain that marked its end?

No.  No, of course not.  Not in a million years.

This has been a tough few weeks for a lot of people.  The crisis in Syria and the plight of the refugees who are fleeing their homes.  The suicide bombings and attacks by ISIS in France, Iraq, Saudi Arabia and Lebanon, just to scratch the surface.  More fear and pain than it is possible to comprehend. Closer to home, good friends lost their 11 year old son this week, a beautiful boy and an unimaginable goodbye that should never happen.  It seems to me that lately there has been altogether far too much sadness and heartbreak to go around.  But then, there has also been love.  Communities pulling together to be there for each other.  Strangers offering homes and clothing and warm welcome.  Friends offering condolences and support and warm thoughts.  Would I, as a parent, take away my time with my child if I knew I would have to say goodbye?  Should we miss out on the chance for more love and kindness and beauty in this amazing country of ours on the slim chance that some ugliness might slip through the cracks?

No.  No, of course not. 

With love comes pain.  But with pain comes love.

So I'm choosing to let love in.  Not without caution.  Not without some security checks.  But the borders are now open and love is now welcome.  And as for the risks?  I'm trusting that I can handle them, as I have before.  The buildings still stand.  I'm trusting that we as a country can handle them too, as we have before.  The buildings still stand, built on immigrant shoulders, held up by immigrant hands.

Let's let love in.  Let's let love flood in. 

Because love is worth it.