legacy

If I think of Jeff and the things that made him ‘him’. It is not the 600 dvd’s he collected. It is not the insatiable habit he had for eating Solomon gundy. I don’t find him in the large box of old baseball hats he insisted that he keep…or even his lobster claw lamp. Although these things hint at his personality when placed together like a patchwork quilt of sorts, they don’t completely illustrate him. In two generations, they will cease to mean anything. They will be the strange and odd artifacts found in grandma’s basement. Maybe no one will remember who they belonged to and why they were important. Maybe grandma will have lost her mind and with it, her memories, or maybe she’ll be dead too. But the tin foil ball rolled into the plastic Stanley Cup won’t have any significance to anyone but grandma and the man who was competing for rights to the ‘Tin Foil Ball Championship’ with.
The things that last are, of course, our kids. Their presence means we were here and existed for a time together. Our kids and our actions.
The good things we did. And the really terrible things we did. No one wants to remember the not-so-savoury things people have done after they have died. The things that stick out are the love you had for your family, the good things you did for your friends, the laughter you bestowed on everyone who came into your presence, the gentle and kind way you had with others….If you were truly a terrible human being, I am sure people would remember these actions, but often, your foibles and minor indiscretions are forgiven or unspoken. Sometimes, these ‘negative’ moments in your life are turned into humorous tales and seem to lose the ‘bad’ connotations they once held. But most often, the ones left behind regale tales of what a fabulous person you were to have around while playing ’Swear-word Scrabble’. Or how you could always reach the tallest limbs of the trees when picking plums. Or your love of singing.
I suppose a few of us could be remembered for inventing the potato peeler or for being a Politian who passed a no-chicken-in the city law or other various and equally important notoriety. But wouldn’t you rather be remembered by those who loved you or who are related to you than by some bored, pimply-faced grade nine who gladly forgets you the moment the quiz is finished?
So stop saving rubber bands for your grandchildren‘s grandchildren. Don’t buy another statuette shaped like a teapot with various flags engraved on the side to serve as a reminder of who you were. You don’t really need another pair of shoes, you only have two feet and no one will know how cool they were in one hundred years. Send the books that you may read one day to someone who will today. Don’t worry that your makeup is smudged or that your pants are tapered (although you may bear a resemblance to some 80s rockstar).
Smile at your kids and shove a couple of grapes in your nostrils to their delight. Let go of being mad at the ’moron in the maroon car who took the last parking spot when they HAD to have seen you were heading in that direction’. Send your friend a ridiculous and silly card anonymously telling them that you think they have the most fabulous ankles you have ever seen. Come in from the garage where you smoke your cigarettes (thus shortening your life, you know) and tell your wife/husband/kids/parents that they are fun to be around. Donate some food to the food bank. Open a door for a stranger. Smile at someone who looks angry or worried.
Let your legacy not be the stupid forgettable dandruff of life but that you LIVED. That your were here and that people remember YOU in all your wonderfulness. Not your stuff. Because stuff is forgettable.

P.S. This is a reminder to myself as much as anyone else. I must remember that time spent with someone we care for is so precious and that 'things' do not mend a broken heart.

scavenger hunt

We went on a hunt for:

• a mushroom
  
• a twisty stick



• acorn caps


• two small matching shells


• two oak leaves

We found a twisty stick, oak leaves and many matching shells....and a fresh, cool day at the beach.

I had wanted the mushroom to show Liv spore prints and the acorn caps to make fall fairies for the nature table. Oh well, we'll have to go on another scavenger hunt soon.

I had my own list on our expedition....

• lots of photos

six months

Dear Jeff,
It’s been six months since you died.
I heard the deep baritone rumble of a truck stopping at the neighbour’s house last night. It sounded as if it parked in our driveway. It sounded like your truck. But I knew it wasn’t yours. Your truck sits in its’ spot beside my car; with grass growing long around the tires and dust, pollen and bird poop collecting on its’ blue paint.
I heard the door slam shut. I laid in our bed and remembered what it would be like if it was you coming home.
I would hear one stomp on the front step as you reached to unlock the door. You’d mumble something about me locking the door even though you’re on your way home. You’d try to quietly drop your fish bag by the door as your jacket rustled loudly threatening to wake the kids.
I’d hear you walk the two steps to our bedroom door and the knob turning slowly. My heart would jump and I’d feel a flutter knowing that you were home. Your huge sillouette would darken the doorway and block out the warm yellow light coming from the range hood in the kitchen.
“Snuggles?”, you’d whisper loudly into the darkness. I’d giggle and teasingly whisper back, “Yes, Baby Pumpkin?”…or say ‘SHHHHH’ depending on the kid’s level of sleep or my mood.
I’d be able to smell you from the doorway. As you got closer to the bed, I could make out the pleasant (yes, pleasant to a fisherman’s wife) smell of fresh fish, the tang of rusty metal on your hands and the smell of smoke in your beard. I’d feel the callouses on your hardworking hands catch softly on my hair as you lowered yourself to the pillow to kiss me. The softness of your warm lower lip would be such a contrast to the rough brush of your thick beard.
As you turned to walk out, I’d disentangle myself from Briar’s little body, or Olivia’s for that matter if she happened to be in our bed that night. I’d meet you in the kitchen. I’d nestle my head into your solid chest while you wrapped your arms around my waist. We’d lean against the corner of the counter and talk about your drive home, the kid’s activities, the fishing trip, a bill needing to be paid, your new electrical tape covered injury.
Soon, I’d go back to bed, but I’d hear you downstairs laughing as you watched tv. Making yourself something to eat in the kitchen. Horking while having a shower.
I’d fall asleep knowing that you were home. And we were safe. Life would be normal. Maybe even mundane and boring. I would take it for granted. I would do anything to live that life again....to be have the luxury of being able to take our life together for granted.
I miss you so very, very much.
I love you, the whole pie, Jeff…..always and always.
Snuggles

making grape juice

our Liz Goodman Logelin Memorial 5k

I would have loved to gone to Minnesota and participated in the memorial run for Matt's wife, Liz. Unfortunately, there was no way I could make it (due to the travel AND the fact that I'd probably leave the kids orphans if I tried to run 5k consecutively
nowadays). So, we called a few friends and went for a walk in Liz's name. It was definitely not fast paced but it was a lovely day and the fresh air after being cooped up with the flu was fabulous.

general unease

Argh. Another panic filled night. Trying to calm myself with the rhythmic breathing of the kids. Counting. Trying to relax every part of my body. Then another wave of nauseating nervousness and panic rolls over and smothers me just when I think I've calmed down enough to rest a bit. I want to phone someone. But I don't want to wake anyone. I wish I wasn't here alone. Maybe I could call one of the drunk partying teenagers that I can hear across the marsh in between blasts of their firecrackers and ask them to come hold my hand.
This time of night, when most everyone is deep in their dreams and cozy in their beds is the worst time. I want to sleep. I think I can. And then it happens. I find myslef alone with my WORST fucking enemy....my thoughts. Am I having a nervous breakdown? Am I losing it?
I had no trouble falling asleep and into the waiting oblivion since only awhile after Jeff died. Now that's all gone. Even 'nap time' for Briar, when I would usually manage to sleep if I had had a bad night hasn't been restful the last two days.
Maybe 'Pretty in Pink' or some other eighties movie is on tv and I can flake out on the couch....Fuck, I miss Jeff. I wish he would just come home. I wish 'normal' would return.

helping hands

I've decided to ask for help. I can't do all of this alone. Now, while the kids and I are sick with the stomach flu again, I fell even more overwhelmed with what life is for us these days. So I am going to try to not complain or bitch. I'm just going to ask for help if and when I need it. Yes, lots of these things I CAN do on my own. But only, if and when I have time aside from caring, teaching and feeding the kids, keeping and cleaning the house, the pets, seemingly unending bureaucratic issues regarding Jeff's death, yard work, attempting to stay afloat financiall, etc. It seems that these times were sparse at the best of times. Now, they are virtually non-existent.
So, I asked a friend to come over next week to help tape and putty the drywall in the basement (one of the projects Jeff and I were trying to get done before Winter). I know it's not a necessity but I want to complete it so that we have a cozy little spot beside the woodstove to hang out together on the cold and blustery days. Something to look forward to and hopefully, it will cease to remind me of the days just before Jeff died once it's finished. A new start.
I am hiring a plumber to fix the bathroom sink faucet that I have 'fixed' three times in the last couple of months. Also, I can't unplug the sink no matter how I try. I can only guess what has been shoved in there. I had planned to fix the dripping water intake valve into the basement. But, evidently, plumbing is not my forte and I give-up.
An amazing friend, Danielle, brought over home-made chicken soup yesterday and fed, played with and got the kids ready for bed while I had a HOT bath. I had tried to protest on the phone, but she had none of it. She came over and it was wonderful to not have to be 'on' for an evening....especially whille fighting the flu.
I am thinking that if I ask for help or even just take the kindness that other people offer, I may not feel so alone. I'll feel part of a community...one which I can give back to as well. A circle of support.
So, here I go. If I need something, I may just ask. I try to be 'super-uber-can-do it-mom-person' alone. But I can't...all the time.

I need more dreams

A few weeks ago, I had a dream that I was standing on a bridge looking toward the sea where a fishing boat was coming. I started calling out to it. I was calling Jeff's name. As it came closer, I could see Jeff standing on the bow waving to me. He jumped off the boat as it was about to go under the bridge and swam to me on the shore. He was laughing. He held me so close and I cried as he had me in his arms. I felt safe. I felt comfort. I felt protected. Most of all, I felt Jeff's love. I didn't want the dream to end. I was disappointed to wake and find that my life is what it now is. I need another one of those dreams. I need Jeff.
I am so lonely and lost. There are only two times in your life when you will comforted through the night when things are hard and scary. As a child, you have your parents to murmur in your ear through the nightmares. As you grow up, you must learn to comfort yourself. Then you find the person who changes your life. You wake from scary dreams or can't sleep with worry and you can turn to the person who loves you most and be comforted. I would do anything to feel Jeff's giant arm draped over my hip in the night and feel his hot breath on the back of my neck. To have him whisper in the darkness, "It's okay. I'm here, Snuggles." and pull me closer.
Instead, I wake to two little ones who look to me for assurance wrapped over me. I disentangle myself and wander through the dark house to find....nothing but more darkness. It washes over me and I want to scream. I feel like passing out or throwing up. I lay on the floor or sit with my head between my knees so that if I do faint I won't wake the kids with the thud of my body hitting the floor. No one would know. No one would come. No one could take away this pain. No one but Jeff. I want him back. I want him. I need him. I am so very lost.
Would it be weird to ask a friend to sleep in my bed with me? Just to be there when I wake. To reassure me that one day it will be okay? To hold my hand when it gets too much?
I just want some comfort. Some peace. Some sleep. And maybe if I sleep, Jeff will meet me on the other side and laugh while I cry in his arms.

chaos and panic

I don't know what's wrong with me. I went to the first support group meeting for people and their children experiencing trauma and met some other young widows. Liv met other children who have gone through similar experiences (loss of a large magnitude...not exact experiences, but similar). It felt good to see what other widows looked like. They don't look like they have black holes for eyes sockets as I feel I do at times. They don't look as lost as I'm sure they feel. I would pass them in the grocery store and be unaware that we are part of the same awful group that no one wants to be part of. I didn't think I'd cry or feel overwhelming emotions. But I did.
Now, I'm not sure if it is the cold that I'm fighting that is causing me this difficulty or if it was the resurfacing of fresh wounds but I spent the night and some of today fighting off panic attacks. Waves of terror. Feelings of losing control and fainting. Heart beating like a drum at an african dance. I am not liking this new transition. I feel scared to go out today. I am nervous of being alone. I am scared.
I keep hearing about the five stages of grief. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. I feel that I have felt all of these at various times in this journey. But I keep feeling them again and in different orders. Who made up this list? I want to ask them a few questions? Like, how do they think that grieving can be such a cut-and-dried process. Can you go backwards? Can you feel a multitude of these things in this confusingly simple list?
I hate this person. I hate this situation. I hate all of this. I want to be free of it, this goddamned stupid backpack of fucking pain, for just awhile. I want to sleep and rest and come at it fresh faced in the morning. But there is no reprieve. No break. Just varying waves of varying heights.
Just when I think I have things slightly figured out, they fall apart worse than before.

photography addict

I am admitting that I have a problem. There are so many moments of everyday that I yearn to take photos of. I even pull the car over often to take a quick photo of the moon, a field of cows, the reflection on a pond...There are so many others that I wish I would have stopped for. Unfortunately, at the side of the road, you always have to contend with power lines. Annoying.
Although, I always enjoyed photography; it is only in the last five months that I have become obsessed. I think it has helped me immensely. I realize that it seems like such a small and frivolous thing. But I wholeheartedly maintain that it has forced me to find beauty in a world that often seems devoid of happiness or hope since Jeff is gone. It reminds me to change my focus. From loneliness and fear to amazement and wonder. I still feel sad, scared and the terrible loss of my love. But I am learning to temper it sometimes....Or maybe just to carry it along with the occasional positive feeling as well. I don't know, but I know that it has been a gift. A gift to my broken heart.

begin again

We've 'started' homeschooling again. It feels right. Although Liv is still so fearful...especially at night when I would prefer to be sound asleep...I am hoping that she'll begin to feel like her old self again.
We visited Liv's 'learning consultant' from the school. Sue is awesome. I always feel so encouraged and excited about schooling after I've spoken to her. When Jeff died, she helped immensely by helping me finish off the year of education reporting. I don't know what I would have done. I could hardly think straight.
You can tell that she and her husband, Bob, love kids and love to learn themselves. The recent addition to their household is a hive of bees.
Since hearing of their arrival some time last year, Liv has been wanting to see the hive. So the other day, Liv donned a bee suit (quite a hilarious sight - she looked like a gnome) and my gumboots while Bob disassembled to hive for Liv's perusal. My only disappointment was that I couldn't get closer too!
I find that there are moments in our lives that just feel 'right'. That feel wholesome and meant to be. Homes like Sue's, Marnie's, Kirsten's, Krista's, B&P's, farmschooling and so many of our friends all have this essence. We are so lucky to be close to such amazing, interesting and comforting people and places.
I think I am excited about homeschooling again. I KNOW Liv is. It's just a question of how much we can fit into each day!

all we have is now

I've decided to pull Liv from grade one at 'conventional' school. I think it's too soon to start after Jeff's death. I guess I'll never know for sure if her difficult reaction is due to school jitters or the loss of her daddy so recently; but I think her feelings of safety, comfort and security are foremost at this time. There are worries I have about this BUT I also feel that all we have is now. I have been worried about the future, what it holds and how to prepare for it. I have no idea what it will come but I do know that my poor child is struggling NOW. She repeatedly tells me she's afraid. This is the little girl who was NEVER fearful. Rarely shy. Now even putting her little legs in her blankets at night terrifies her as she doesn't know what's 'in there'. Walking through those doors at school is enough to put her into sobs of "PLEASE Mommy don't leave me! I'm afraid! Don't let go! PLEASE!!!" as the teacher pries her little body away from mine. I know that many children face this at the advent of the school years. I know that many parents are filled with trepidation when sending their little ones 'off into the big world'. But I feel that there is something more going on here. I don't feel that she is 'getting her way' as some have said. I feel that she needs me. I'm her mother. If she needs help getting through this right now, I need to be here for her. She'll be starting back at her 'old school' and we'll work on this together...as a mommy guiding her little one through some really crappy shit. And hopefully, Liv can start to feel safe again.

changes

Our lives change so quickly. I watched this morning as the backyard was transformed over half an hour. The fog burned off. The sun streamed onto the marsh. It's the same place, but the feel is different. I am different. Would Jeff notice a difference if he came home today? This pain and anger is part of me. But I am finding that the patience is returning. I am terrified of what the rest of my and the kids lives hold for us. Initially, I had written that nothing scared me anymore. Well, fear returns. How will I manage this by myself? I try to rein all of this in. I am trying to not focus on the negative influences in life. "Water off a duck's back", Jeff was fond of saying. I am trying. I am hoping that the postives that I am trying to infuse my life with will take hold and offer some hope. Will it ever be possible to learn how to make decisions and not feel tormented by them as only you can when you make them with your partner? I have lost my courage and confidence. But I am softer inside. More empathetic. More focused on what IS important.

I have been listening to a book on tape by Pema Chodron in the car. I am finding that it's helping. Not just the anger, but the fear. I am only half-way through the first disk but I like how calm I feel when I listen to it....Maybe it's the calm voice, rather than blasting Backyardigans at ear-shattering levels.

my little man

Since Liv has started school and the ensuing drama that has occurred, I've realized that I don't write much about my little monkey. Tonight as I was laying him down to bed, he asked me to draw on his back. It made me realize what a big talker he's becoming and focus on how hilarious he is. He sat there and said,

"jraw a big twuk, mama." (Draw a big truck, mama." for all you people who can't decipher two year old.)

*he lays down....sits back up*

"A big wed twuck....a big wed djump twuck" ("a big red dump truck" complete with big fish lips and a tonne of spit)

*lays down and up again at lightning speed*

"And an egskabater. A blue one. A blue Daddy egskabter.....wit a twactor...and cows...and BRIAR in it!" (I do wonder some times how he talks this way. I try to pronounce some of these words the way he does and it never works. He just sound so sweet."

*lays down. up again.*

"a red white twactor wit cows and Briar. Otay?"

This went on for about ten minutes. I could have stopped it. I could have said no. That it was enough. But I couldn't. He was so earnest and excited. So vocal. So articulate.

I am in awe of the little boy that he is morphing into. He is so like Jeff in someways that it simultaneously makes me extremely pleased and so very sad. He loves to laugh. He loves to make little two year old jokes. He thinks tooting is hilarious. So is burping. He is gentle with animals and loves babies.

His big sister is his hero. I think he'd follow her to the end of the Earth while listening to her chatter and holding her hand. Only Liv can make things better for him sometimes. They do fight occasionally...sometimes, often. But they forget about it quickly and are rushing off to play 'dolphins' or 'birds' or 'Little House on the Prairie' before you know it. He is a quiet thinker. I'll immersed in something and I look over to find him with an intense look of concentration while he examines a dandelion seed head. He's found his 'voice' lately and will yell (or scream) at the top of his lungs to express his displeasure. I think I take his easy-going nature for granted sometimes.

I am so lucky to have such sweet, amazing little teachers guiding me through this parenting thing. I am learning so much. I only wish I could learn it faster so I would know that I wasn't causing any permanent mental distress!

i love creeps

I've inherited the 'Creeps' from Matt's blog. These amazingly kind and thoughtful women have warmed my heart. Not only do they make such supportive and loving comments on my blog (which I love to get), I recently started to receive 'happy mail' from some of them. I walked to our mailbox (we are on a rural route) to find some AWESOME and HAPPY mail from the Creeps last week. These letters and parcels made me cry - happy tears. The kind of tears you shed when you know that someone cares and it's okay to 'feel'. Thank you so very, very much, you Creeps.

Also, during 'Shit Week', someone left an amazing gift hanging from my front door. I do not know who did this but I am so very thankful. I don't know if it was a coincidence or if the person knew that I had found a painting at a fabulous little gallery that made my heart ache - the boat that Jeff had fished on for years and was fishing on when we started dating. I have SO very many fond memories of this boat and the location. I thought it could be a way to keep the history of Jeff's life on the sea accessible to the kids...and me. I loved this painting and was trying to figure out a way to 1. pay for it 2. justify the payment of it. I never did manage to buy it, but I so love this painting of the little boat. I had hung it in 'just the right spot' within two minutes of finding it at the front door. Thank you to whoever you are. I absolutely cherish it.

morning angst

I hate mornings. Not only do I have to face the day with eyes open, missing husband, and a household to run, but I have to try to help an extremely reluctant grade one student feel that school is 'the place to be'. Amid tears, pleading and screaming, she tells me that she hates school. It's boring. There are so many rules. That she doesn't want to be away from Briar and me for the whole day. That she wants things to stay the same. I am trying to be strong, sympathetic, understanding but firm that we give it a try. I have to fight myself to not just take her little hand and run. Maybe it's too soon. Maybe she's dealt with enough change and too much trauma in the last five months.
In her sleep, she clings to me like a tick. Her eyes snap open if I get up to go pee. "WHERE are you going? I want to come too!" During the day, the small things make her freak out. If I am not paying enough attention, she suddenly becomes injured and needs a hug. I know it sounds to some as if she is 'controlling' the situation or manipulating me. I see a child who is scared. Nervous. Insecure. A little one who needs more contact, closeness and security. Maybe school can provide that with its' structure and predictability. Maybe home is where she'll find the nurturing enviroment to serve as a balm to her injured little heart.
I spoke to the principal. He was empathetic and provided me with a couple of school resources that may help. But he also said that it was very soon for a child who has dealt with such a traumatic experience to be at school. The guidance counsellor was very kind. She will be looking for a permanent school counsellor for Liv to speak with. She said that I should try for a couple of weeks for Liv to get over her discomfort. Damn, I wish Jeff was here to help with this decision.

school days

Liv is still going to school. The first full day went well for her. She made a little friend. She played on the playground and learned a couple of french words. She told me she had fun but that a 'big kid' (aka stinkin' bitch....Oops! Was that my outside voice?!) had pushed her off the stairs to the slide. But she seemed unscathed.
This morning, however, was a nightmare. Refusals to get dressed. Statements of hatred regarding school and all its' 'rules'. Anger with my reluctance to let her attend her second day of classes in her nightie.....And then tears. She cried and told me that she didn't like to be away from us for so long. That she prefers to 'learn outside'. That she missed how things were 'before'....and she missed Daddy.

I understand (I feel the same way, dammit!) but I told her that we had to give it a fair try. I said that she may just be feeling a bit nervous with all the new things that are going on and if she'd like, I'll stay with her for a bit.
I thought I was dreading her wanting to go to school. It turns out that having her NOT want to go to school is worse.....WAY worse.
We arrived at school, found her buddy and off she went. Into the depths of her classroom where I am not privy to every exciting, interesting, scary, joyful moment. I feel disconnected. As if something has been amputated. I stood outside her classroom for a bit straining to hear her little voice over the sounds of door slamming, squeals of laughter, teachers calling attention to their pupils. As I walked away, I peered into the room to see her smiling at one her classmates. No signs of terror or trauma. No tears. Just her little grin. I hope she'll be okay. I love her so.

the end of the summer

Sandwiched in between having Eli put down and Liv's start at school, I went on a little trip again. I couldn't handle it at home by myself....So Freckles and I headed out. We headed back up to the old town. I camped. I ate at restaurants and visited with friends.
I took a RIDICULOUS amount of photographs.

Some were really weird....The dead fish was holding a napkin in its' mouth. Was it the cause of his demise or did it happen post-mortem?
Time away from housecleaning, kid caretaking and chicken husbandry causes you to slow down...
Find quiet, colourful moments....
And see the beauty in things other than your kids.

I even found some beauty and a bit of renewed love in this guy. I swear he misses Eli. He's a lot more subdued without his 'backup'.
I loved moving slowly and just breathing....okay, breathing and taking pictures.
I love this place. It holds so many memories for me. It is so dear and precious.
I feel that if I just close my eyes, I'll see Jeff walking towards me when I open them.

Everything smells the same as before he left.

He's not here....But he is.

the dreaded decision

I have been procrastinating writing about a major decision regarding Liv's education in the past few weeks.
I am a big supporter of homeschooling, especially homeschooling with a Waldorf-bend to it. I feel that a child's innocence is one of the largest gifts in our lives and believe that Waldorf philosophies nuture imagination and innocence...and our planet. Jeff and I had done a lot of soul-searching when we were deciding how to educate Olivia. Although we would have loved to send Liv to a Waldorf school, it was too far away and too costly for us to afford. We, also, considered French-Immersion as it seems to be the 'best' option for us within the public school system. Finally, however, we settled on homeschooling that engendered both Waldorf and some unschooling ideals. Although, sometimes overwhelming, we found the experience wonderful and exciting. There is a fabulous homeschooling network in the city where we live, Liv was involved in many 'extracurricular' activities and we ALWAYS could justify slowing down a bit to ask a question, create something beautiful and enjoy learning what Liv found an interest in (which turns out to be MOST things it seems at times). She is curious and spontaneous. Liv is intelligent and is so capable of putting ideas together to solve problems. She has an AMAZING imagination and tells me wonderful stories to me and Briar. She makes friends easily and has great little buddies from all different educational backgrounds.

But, since Jeff died, I am concerned about my abilities to stay 'home' to be Liv's primary teacher. I am worried about what will happen two, three, four years from now. What if I homeschool her and then have to return to the work force resulting in a need to thrust her into the regular public school system later on? What if in my grief and inability to focus these last five months, I fail to provide some key piece of development that is essential to her education and well-being? We had decided that IF Liv went to public school, it would be into the French-Immersion program....but children must start in either grade one or grade six (for late immersion). So. I have enrolled her in a French-Immersion school in town. I don't want to. All my instincts tell me it's not for her. But I had asked her what she wanted to do. If she wanted to go 'to' school with other kids. She wanted to. "I want to go this year and then I want to go back to homeschooling next year, okay, Mommy?' She is excited and proud. She wants to know how many more sleeps until school. She has been asking ALL sorts of questions. Some good, some heartbreaking. "What do I do if the other kids laugh at me because I still sleep with my mom and my dad is already dead?"
I am worried about my little one who still wants to wear an undershirt, carries her handmade doll everywhere she goes and believes that anything made by hands is magic. I don't want her individuality crushed. I don't want her to change because she needs to morph into this homogenized ideal of a grade one child. I love that she cries out 'Poor trees!' when she sees a logging truck. That she'll help woodbugs cross a path so not to get crushed. That she has no real idea about Bratz and Hannah Montana. She's seen them. A few of her friends have them, but she hasn't been marinated in this consumerism yet. And, no, I don't feel that school is 'real life'. I don't think that it is a necessary evil. Kids in school are mean. There are strange codes that you must follow to not be a complete social pariah. Living in the 'real world' of adulthood, I don't ever get treated by anyone in my life as we were in school. Held down. Put into categories. Forced to do that which is of no interest to me only because some other person believes this is what I should do to be a competent member of society.
I know I'm a bit of a neurotic fanatic. I know that to others it just seems that it 'has' to be this way to grow up. But I don't think it does. So many of the people in my life seem to have breathed a sigh of....relief when I told them of our plans to put Liv into school. Like I have proven them 'right'. Like they knew all along that I couldn't do it. That by doing this, I am expressing that I agree with all the educational philosophies they subscribe to. I don't.
Anyhow, today was Liv's first day at school. I watched her sitting cross-legged in her little handknit wool sweater and apple-print tights amid all these bright and flashy outfitted kids looking to me for reassurance. I faked it. I smile and winked. I mouthed 'I love you'. She looked nrevous and terrified. She told me it was too loud and gripped my hand so tight begging me to not leave her side.
I know it was only the first day...first hour actually. But it rips out my guts. I am just trying to think for our future. But I feel like a failure. When the chips are down, I go back on my values and begin raising my child as all the others. I don't want Liv to hurt more than she already has this year. She's so excited about school...But does she just not know what it is like? Or it is just my memory of my bad experiences in school that are tainting my views? The information I read in the paper? The kids I see out in the community?
I just want what's best for her...and us. I am afraid that I won't be able to financially support us from home. I am terrified of making these decisions without Jeff. What if I mess up? I want to help her. To protect her. To nurture her love of learning.
I spoke to her 'teacher' from the homeschooling program that we reported to last year. She was fabulous. Although, she doesn't want to see us leave, she did offer the insight that if it doesn't work, we don't have to stick with it. I've also spoken at length to Jeff's cousin who is a grade one French-Immersion teacher in another town. She offers me hope that it will work out. That some teachers aren't there just for the paycheque. That they actually love the kids and doing what they do. I just wish she lived closer....I wouldn't be so afraid with her watching out for my little one.

I hope it works...But I also kind of hope it doesn't. I can't imagine my days without my sidekick chattering away as we explore the world together. At least, I still have Briar with me....for three more years.......