When did kids stop being kids?

It is Christmas holidays and I am having a blast with Paul and the girls.

Over the past few days we have been doing a Star Wars movie marathon and Paul has been introducing the kids to the wonders of Luke, Leia, Han Solo Darth Vader and Yoda (we are not Jar Jar Binks fans so we are trying to discourage their enthusiasm for bumbling Gungan). As they watched the movies we have been watching their faces and their enthusiasm for the story. It has been fabulous to revisit the saga again from their perspective.

As with all kids their age, Christmas is top of mind. They are thrilled to have everyone come to our house for turkey dinner this year. They are anxious to see us open the gifts they bought for us at the school's Christmas shop and they are excited to see what Santa will deliver for them.

As I write this, Paul has brought them to the mall to get their photo taken with Santa. Kathyrn is six this year and Gracie is ten and they looked so cute in their outfits. I realize with a tinge of sadness that this may be the last year Gracie will agree to pose with the big man. I am hoping that she will continue to humor me well into her teenage years.

While I recognize that my daughter is growing up far too quickly for my liking I am thrilled that she is still a kid at heart. Some may argue that she is a little young for ten but Paul and I made a conscious decision to let our girls be kids for as long as possible. We monitor their television and movie viewing carefully, we try not to watch the news if they are in the room and I review all of Gracie's books if they have not been recommended by someone I trust.

They are sheltered and perhaps that is why I was so shocked by a sign I saw at CHEO yesterday.

While we were waiting for Kathryn in the reception area of the MRI and CAT scan clinic I saw a yellow sheet posted on the wall. "All female patients over the age of eleven will be asked about the possibility of pregnancy prior to a CAT scan or MRI." I almost spit out my coffee when I spotted it. My daughter will be eleven in only eight months and the very idea that someone her age could be pregnant devastated me.

I tried to imagine what I would have done if Gracie would have been the one having the test done. I don't think that the waiting room at CHEO is any place for me to have 'the talk' with my daughter -- especially when the nurse could be calling her name at any moment. She knows about the egg and the sperm but we have not explained all the details about the mechanics. I didn't think it was necessary yet.

I want to say up-front that I am not criticizing the staff at CHEO: I am sure the doctors, nurses and technicians see heart-wrenching situations and that there are good reasons why this policy is in place. It makes me sad, however, to think that there are eleven-year-old girls living lives where pregnancy may be an issue.

Eleven.

Maybe I am naive. As the parent of a pre-teen (and pretty one at that) I know that boys and dating are going to an issue soon. As a mother I will not be able to be with my girls 24/7 but I pray the lessons Paul and I taught them will stick. I want them to make smart decisions. I hope they know that they can come to us if they need to talk or if they have a problem they don't feel ready to handle.

In the meantime, we will continue to let our girls be children. I am glad that they have that luxury. Reading that sign yesterday I was reminded that not all little girls do.

It seemed like a good idea at the time

Now usually when I say those eight words (I am referring to the title above) my friend L is somehow involved.

• "We could totally raise $2,000 each and walk 60km in a weekend!"
• "Don't worry, Julie and I can make hundreds of chocolate suckers for the Easter service."
• "Sure it will hurt initially to pierce the cartilage in our ears but I am sure it will heal in no time."
• "You'll love running in the winter. If you dress right you'll never even notice is it 20 below zero!"

This time I have no one else to blame. Signing up for NaNoWriMo was all my idea. For those of you who are not familiar with National Novel Writing Month, the challenge is to write a 50,000 word 'novel' in 30 days. For me the challenge is perfect. I am a master procrastinator and the 1,667 word quota each day provides me with incentive to sit down at my computer regularly. I actually like writing once I sit down but I lack the discipline to get started each day.

A few of my friends know that for the past four months I have obsessed with a story that has been floating around in my head. A few of the characters have been slowly introducing themselves to me and as the weeks go by I am seeing the framework of a larger tale coming together. I have typed out some of my notes about the characters, I have come up with a number of plot scenarios and I have even written a few scenes but the sheer scope of the project has been daunting. Frustrated and overwhelmed I realized that I needed to put that project on a shelf for a few weeks to see if I can get some clarity.

Enter NaNoWriMo. A few million people around the world would be starting from scratch on November 1. Keeping each other on track. Offering encouragement and suggestions on-line. I signed up in September and promptly forgot all about it.

Two weeks ago the e-mails started arriving. NaNoWriMo starts soon. Are you ready? I must admit I was tempted to drop out but the more I thought about it the more excited I got. There were four characters from a story I had written earlier this year that were hanging out in the back of my brain. Lisa, a pregnant paralegal; Jason, her lawyer partner and the father of her baby; Jon, her friend from university who was secretly in love with her; and Margaret, who got stuck in an elevator with her one fateful day. (click the links to read their initial stories)

A few friends had asked me whatever happened to them. Was this my opportunity to finally tell their full story?

Well, today is day 6 of NaNoWriMo and I am almost 8,500 words in! I am a little behind schedule (truth be told, I should be working on my novel and not on this blog post) but I am excited . Each time I sit down to write I am getting a little traction and a little more confidence.

I will keep you all posted and maybe by the end of the month I will have 50,000 words to share with all of the folks who asked me "whatever happened to Lisa?"

My beautiful Kathryn

A few months ago I wrote a blog post about my daughter Grace on her birthday. I got a number of great comments and a few friends asked if I would write a similar post about Kathryn. So, in honor of her sixth birthday here are some of my thoughts about Kaye.

Kathryn is my bonus baby

I never planned to have a second child. I had trouble getting pregnant with Grace then had a horrible pregnancy followed by thirty hours of labour. My first words to Paul after Grace was born were: "I am NEVER doing that again." For well over a year we never even discussed the idea of another baby. Gracie had Meghan so she wasn't really an only child. Quite frankly, I did not want to press my luck. I had the healthy baby I had been praying for.

After a few years the idea of baby number two started to come up more often. Like all couples with only one child living at home, we were constantly told that we had to have another. Kids need to share, Gracie should have someone to play with, etc. etc...

I was reluctant. The first time around I had tried a number of drugs with unknown side-effects because I desperately wanted a child. But with Gracie in the picture I was less willing to take chances with my health: I was someone's mom!

Paul and I discussed adoption and started to get information from agencies specializing in international adoption. The process seemed so daunting and the waiting lists were long. "Would you be willing to try one cycle of fertility meds?" Paul asked me. I thought about all that entailed: giving myself injections in the stomach, countless blood tests and ultrasounds, crazy hormones. I looked at my beautiful Gracie and then at my husband. "One.. Just one," I agreed.

After a few months on the waiting list the process began. On at least three occasions we were hit with crazy obstacles that threatened to stop the whole project in its tracks. In each case an unlikely solution would drop in our laps. After only one cycle, I was pregnant. At the time I believed that baby was meant to be a part of our family. Only after meeting Kathryn would I realize how that true that really was.

Kathryn Adelaide

Finding a name was not easy. Paul and I picked a boy's name immediately (Noah for Paul's grandfather). A girl's name was more difficult. Sarah, Maya and Renee were all in the running but we finally settled on Lorelai, a name I fell in love with early on.

As my pregnancy was classified high-risk we got an extra ultrasound and coming into month five we found out we were having another daughter. My initial reaction was to say: "hello Lorelai" to the shadow on the screen but something stopped me. As we left the hospital I turned to Paul and asked what we would name our daughter.

"I thought we were going to name her Lorelai."

"What do you want to name her?"

"I want to name her Kathryn." (It is a name shared by of one of his favorite aunts and one of his favorite cousins.) The smile on his face was worth losing the naming rights for.

"Kathryn it is then. Can I call her Katie?"

"No, her name is Kathryn."

"Kate?"

"Kathryn."

There's something about Kathryn

I can't quite explain it, but there is something about Kathryn. It may be in her smile, or a gleam in her eye, or a tone in her voice, but there is something about Kathryn that makes people love her. The kid has her own little fan club.

If you have ever met Kaye in person you know about 'Kathryn speak'. She has some trouble pronouncing her R's and her Th's so she had to repeat herself a lot when she was younger so people would understand. Frequently Gracie would step in to translate as she spoke 'Kathryn' most fluently and always seemed to know what her sister was saying. When Gracie was not around things got a bit more dicey.

K: Momma, I bwushed (brushed) by haiw (hair) and teeth, so I'm gonna put it on the cho-chot.

Me: Cho-chot?

K: Yes the Cho-Chot.

Me:(in my head) cho-chot?, cho-chot....? (out loud) Where's Grace?

K: Upstaiws (upstairs)

Me: (in my head) Cho-chot?.... Kathryn, say it one more time for Momma.

K: CHO CHOT

Me: Sweetie I am sorry, why don't you just show me what you are talking about.

K: (pointing at the chore chart I had mounted on the fridge the day before). CHO-CHOT

Me: Oh, the chore chart.

K: That's what I said!

On another day...

K: Nana (my mom is making supper and does not hear her)

K: Nana! (still in the other room not hearing Kaye calling)

K: Nana (my mom looks up) Youw (you're) annoying me.

Nana: Excuse me?

K: I called and you did not answer. Youw (you're) annoying me.

Gracie: (who luckily intervenes) She is saying IGNORING

K: That's what I said!

One of my favorites!

K: Momma, how come my name doesn't have an F in it? It should have an F.

Me: No sweetie your name is Kathryn.

K: But there is an F sound

Me: No there isn't, it's a TH sound

K: (Pointing at her ear and speaking very slowly) Momma listen when I say it. KAFFFFWYN

Me: No, it's Kathryn

K: (shakes her head with disgust and leaves)

No Filter

Kathryn has no tolerance for foolishness -- Paul says she gets that from me. She sees no reason to play games or pussy-foot around. Kathryn will cut to the heart of an issue quickly and ruthlessly.

One day after circling the grocery store looking for something or other, I began to get frustrated. "Momma," she asked. "Why do they call it the Soupa Sto (Super Store), if it's not Soupa?" I could not help but laugh.

Kathryn also likes to follow our neighbor around when he does his lawn work. She chatters while he works and asks questions as they come to her. Some days it is about the lawn or the garden hose. Other times I cringe to hear her ask things like: "Why are you wearing that sweatshirt again? You wore it yesterday" Or, "You have more grey hair in your beard than my daddy, why?" She does not mean to be rude, she just wants to know. Luckily, the neighbor has a good sense of humor and a soft-spot for Kathryn.

Kathryn goes to school

With her quick wit and low level of tact Paul and I were concerned when Kathryn started school. Educators always assure you that your child will be different in the classroom but we had our doubts.

In junior kindergarten we were told that Kaye was the last one in her class to print her name. If this would have been Gracie I would have been panicking but with child number two you tend take these things in stride. I asked Kaye about it and she told me matter-of-factly that her name was too long to print. She had decided that she would only put a "K" on her work.

Me: There are five kids in your class that have names starting with K.

K: But they all write their names Momma!

I turned my head quickly so she would not see me laugh. That night we worked on our printing. It turned out that she could indeed print her name -- she was choosing not to.

The following year the teacher was concerned that her name was not printed correctly. She would only print her name with a capital R while the curriculum dictated that only the first letter should be capitalized. Apparently in SK, 'KathRyn' was not acceptable even if one could read at a grade two level.

It was February so I used Kaye's Valentine cards as an opportunity to work on printing.

Me: OK sweetie, write your name as neatly as you can.

K: K-a-t-h-R-y-n

Me: No sweetie, you need to use a small r. Can you make a small r?

K: Yes. (she prints a small r on the scrap paper)

Me: OK. Let's try again with the next card.

K: K-a-t-h-R-y-n

Me: OK again with the big R. Why?

K: It's prettier.

Me: But your teacher says you need to use the little r. Let's try again on the next card.

K: K-a-t-h-R-y-n

Me: Kathryn!

K: But Momma I am better at making the big Rs

Me: If you wrote your name properly you would get more practice!

17 Valentine cards all signed KathRyn. I wrote a note to the teacher telling her to let Kaye write her name however she wanted. Perhaps at thirty she will be a famous artist signing all of her work with that capital R. Maybe one day it would be her trademark.

The next parent-teacher interview did not go much better. Printing was still an issue but I was no longer willing to discuss it --let's face it, one day we will all be using computers anyway. This time it was about circle time. Kaye was having problems raising her hand.

Me: Kathryn, your teacher says that you have really good ideas and participate a lot in circle time. That's great. Are you raising your hand?

K: No

Me: Why not?

K: I know the answer.

Me: Maybe some of the other kids know the answer too.

K: But I said it first!

Me: Because they are raising their hands!!

Paul actually left the room during that talk he was laughing so hard. It is hard to get around her logic.

Katie G

A few months ago Kathryn made an announcement at the dinner table.

K: When I go back to school I want people to call me Katie.

Paul: Your name is Kathryn (he never really got over that)

K: I want people to call me Katie.

Me: Why? Don't you like your name.

K: I want to be Katie. It is shorter to write and there are no R's in it.

Me: No R's?

K: (sighing) The are seven letters in my name and I can't even say fwee (three) of them. I want to be Katie.

Paul: Your name is Kathryn.

K: Don't worry daddy. You can call me Kathryn when we are at home.

Kathryn loves dogs

Well, maybe it is more accurate to say that Kathryn really wants to like dogs. In reality she is scared to death of them. After a few run-ins she is petrified of any dog that may jump up on her.

Me: Just say DOWN when a dog comes near you sweetie. They don't want to hurt you. Dogs are just friends with fur.

K: But that's wude (rude)

Me: Rude?

K: They're dogs. It is not their fault that they can't talk. They just want to say hi. What if I say 'down' and it hurts their feelings?

Kathryn's new plan: to run away screaming lest she offend a dog that may want to jump on her.

Kathryn does have one dog friend that is the exception to the rule. My friend Jess has a black lab named Skye that Kathryn loves. Skye is calm and she doesn't jump! Kathryn was so taken by Skye that when Jess and Skye came for a sleepover Kathryn took it upon herself to make her dog friend feel welcome. After a quick game of Doggy Spa (Kaye combed a very patient Skye's fur) Kaye got a blanket and a book and cuddled up with Skye on her doggie bed.

K: Skye I am going to wead (read) you 101 Dollmations. It is a book about dogs.

(Skye watches cautiously as Kaye moves over on the dog bed and opens the book)

K: Now these are dogs but they are spotted dogs. You are a black dog. You are the blackest dog I have ever seen.

Unfortunately Skye moved to Alberta so they don't see as much of each other but Kaye still asks about Skye and gets excited whenever Jess posts more pictures on facebook.

Kathryn Speaks for herself

It is hard to describe Kaye so I hope that my stories about my beautiful girl will speak for themselves. Paul and I have tonnes of Kathryn stories and many of our friends have their favorites -- Jess loves to tell people about the doggy spa. Kathryn's way of looking at the world makes people laugh. She is honest, direct and funny.

Kathryn loves life. She wakes up with a smile on her face and she talks, laughs and sings all day long. She is in perpetual motion until she puts her head on the pillow and then falls asleep within seconds resting up for the next day.

A few weeks ago Kathryn started school full-time. I was excited for her because she was ready for the challenge but it also made me a little sad. For the last six years (with the exception of six months when I went back to work) Kaye has been my constant companion. She has chattered with me as we ran to the grocery store, she sang songs and told me silly jokes. I couldn't imagine how quiet my day would be without her.

I love you Kathryn

As I said at the beginning of this post Kathryn was not always in the cards for us. She was the second child we did not dare to hope for. For several years after Gracie was born we thought our family was finished. And then Kathryn came along!

Kathryn completes our family. She reminds us that life is supposed to be fun. Just because you're busy it doesn't mean that you can't have a good time. Kathryn does not take herself too seriously and she reminds me that I shouldn't take myself too seriously either. I hope she will carry this joy with her for the rest of her life.

Kathryn: your Momma loves you so much. I can't imagine my life without you. Happy birthday baby. Thank you for all of the laughs, for the hugs and for the lessons you teach me every day.

A penny for your thoughts

To those of you who read my blog regularly (and thank you for that by the way) it is no secret that I love my husband dearly. He is a good man, a great dad and we get along famously. There are times however when I realize that Paul and I are polar opposites in so many ways.

He gets up early with a smile on his face; I stay in bed as long as I possibly can and grumble until the first jolt of caffeine hits my system. He loves the outdoors and Canadian winters; I think the indoors is highly under-rated and shiver from October until May. Paul thinks that footwear is designed for comfort and ankle support; I think that comfort is a secondary concern at best and that all of his boots and shoes should be burned for being so ugly.

Sometimes when I see him sitting quietly I'll ask him, "what are you thinking?" and he says "nothing". Wow! really? nothing? I cannot imagine what that's like. Some people have claimed that it's a "male thing" but I don't agree. I think that everyone is hard-wired differently. I am sure there are plenty of women who are able to quiet their minds and plenty of men who have minds that race a million miles an hour.

Paul and I can be having a lovely chat and after a five-second pause I will turn the conversation on its ear. We start talking about cars, I ask him if he bought eggs at the grocery store. "How the heck did you get to that?" he used to ask. A few times I tried to explain how my mind ended up moving from point A to point B and he just shook his head. He rarely asks anymore.

"Well, we were talking about how you liked the blue car in front of us and you asked if we should get something similar when our lease was up. That car has a bumper sticker on it that says Washington. I have always wanted to go to Washington but never got the chance. I have also really wanted to go to Europe but we haven't got there yet either. You used to live in Europe -- in Germany. We both like German food and I was thinking of making spaetzle some time next week. The recipe I use calls for eggs but we only have one left because I had and omelet yesterday which was yummy which made me think that maybe I could make omelets for brunch tomorrow morning. But, I won't be able to unless you picked up eggs. See... it makes perfect sense."

"You thought about all of that in 5 seconds?!"

"Yup!"

"Your mind is a very scary place, isn't it?"

It took a few years but I have learned to accept that Paul may indeed be sitting there thinking about absolutely nothing and he has discovered that my mind spins like a top for about eighteen hours a day. I think it is one of the reasons why people find it surprising that I teach yoga. 'Yoga seems so calm and peaceful,' they explain. 'And you're.... well.... '

There have been plenty of times when I struggle with yoga. There are days when my mind is going like a whirling Dervish and I wonder if it would not make more sense to go for a run with my iPod on full blast to settle down. Most often those are the days when yoga does me the most good. Focusing on my breath and on my alignment leaves little room for my mind to take a detour. I am not going to lie and say that I'm always successful. There have been plenty of mornings on my mat when I'm in Triangle position and I realized that mind is somewhere else completely: "what am I going to make the kids for supper? There is karate tonight and Mondays always mean a lot of homework so I need something quick but there is nothing defrosted and we don't have a microwave so I am going to have to get to the grocery store and, oh, I don't have enough gas in my car..."

One of my first yoga teachers told me that I had crazy monkey mind and that yoga would help me learn to quiet my thoughts and focus on the here and now. The image of a monkey jumping from branch to branch resonated with me so clearly that this instructor became one of my favorites. I learned so much from him because he understood my struggle. For me, yoga needed to start with the mind. I would often catch him out of the corner of my eye as he tapped his temple to remind me to focus. Nine times out of ten he was right and I had become distracted from what I was doing.

Ten years later I wonder what went on his mind. Was he able to find peace and quiet with his thoughts? Or, was he more like me and was that why he understood me so well? Maybe he was like Paul, calm of mind and married to someone with crazy monkey mind.

waiting in billund

This story was certainly more timely when I wrote it but I have not been posting them to my blog as quickly as I had planned. (On the flip side I am almost caught up on my past stories and will soon be posting them as I write).

The prompt was to write a story about nineteen year-old Abigail who was stuck in a European city following a volcano in Iceland. While she is waiting to get home she meets someone. The first line was given to us.

Here is what I came up with!

waiting in billund

“Hi, mom, I don’t think I’ll be able to get home for a few days. Can you send me some money?”

He watched her across the lounge as she listened to the voice on the other side of the line. She uttered a few uh-huh’s and yes mom’s before hanging up and dropped her forehead against the brick wall miming exhaustion. Earlier in the day he had noticed that her big, green eyes were looking a little tired but he knew that frustration was the more likely culprit behind her display.

Slowly Abby lifted her head from the wall and turned to him with a bright smile on her face. As she walked back and sat on the seat across from him he found it hard to believe that it had been only thirty-six hours since they first met. Sure everyone else in the airport – hell everyone else in the world – was cursing the ash from a distant volcano, but he was praying for more time stranded with this girl.

She flopped down in the chair in front of him. “So…. my mom is freaking out. She actually talked about having my grandma come back and get me until the flight advisory is lifted.”

Kyle’s stomach tightened with anxiety but he tried not to let it show on his face. “What did you say?”

“I told her it was ridiculous. It is a three-hour drive each way from their town to the airport. There is no way that she should be away from grandpa for another six hours.” He noticed the sadness in her eyes as she mentioned her ailing grandfather and he got up and shifted across the aisle to sit in the seat beside her. He hesitated for a moment before putting his arm around her but she settled against him immediately and lay her head down on his shoulder. Quietly he took a breath and smelt a faint trace of mint in her shampoo. He fought the urge to kiss the top of her head knowing it was way too soon but at the same time he was painfully aware that his time with her was drawing to a close.

Feeling her sigh he closed his arm around her a little tighter. “You ok?”

“Yeah. I was just realizing that I will never see him again. He is old and the doctors say he only has a few months left. This trip was an amazing chance to see Denmark but it was really about saying goodbye.”

“I am sure it made him happy to see you,” Kyle said quietly. “I am sure that these last two weeks were as important to him as they were to you.” Last night she had told him about the dozens of hours she had spent sitting on the end of her grandfather’s bed looking at photos as he regaled her with tales of his youth and his time in the army.

“I know it sounds funny – because I just met you – but I wish you could meet him,” she said as she sat up and turned to face him. “I think you would really like him.”

“I’m sure I would.”

In fact, the idea didn't seem funny to Kyle at all. He would love to meet anyone who was so important to the girl beside him. He would love to rent an old car and travel the countryside with her to visit the home where her mother had grown up, to walk in on her arm and to enjoy a meal with her family.

When Kyle arrived at the airport yesterday morning nothing seemed more important to him than getting back to his classes in Toronto but this girl had caused his priorities to shift. He had noticed her immediately. She was sitting cross-legged on the blue vinyl bench with her nose deep in a book. She had curly blond hair that was pulled up into a sloppy pony-tail and she was twirling one stray lock absently around her finger. After a brief argument with the frazzled attendant at the ticket counter he had flopped down on the bench across from her.

She looked up at him and smiled. “No one is going anywhere today. I kinda feel bad for her; you are the first person in an hour that did not yell at her.”

He pointed at the Canadian flag sewn on her tattered backpack. “Are you going to Toronto as well?”

“Yeah. My mom made me put that on my bag. She said that people would be nicer to me if they knew I was Canadian. You are the first person that it has worked on.”

They talked on-and-off all night as flight after flight was cancelled. They watched travelers come and go and for a while they had placed bets on which ones would lose their temper and which ones would politely take a seat in the waiting area. They took turns napping on the vinyl bench while the other kept an eye on the luggage. Their “first date” had been a picnic of stale sandwiches and lukewarm coffee on the floor of the departures lounge.

In thirty-six short hours he discovered that Abigail Nichols was a promising photographer who was starting design school in the fall. She was a free-spirit who loved adventure and chaos much to the chagrin of her straight-laced mother. She loved coffee and chocolate and her nose crinkled when she laughed. In short, he discovered that he loved her.

Family -- finding the right blend

Last week I was showing off pictures of my grandson to a group of friends. The ladies oooh'd and aaah'd as I bragged about how big he was and how he has learned to walk at only ten months. As far as I am concerned he is the cutest, most talented little boy on the planet.

In the small group was a friend-of-a-friend that I have only met a few times. "Your grandson?" she asked. "You don't seem old enough to have a grandson!"

I was thrilled at this observation and wondered why don't I talk to this woman more often. She is clearly brilliant!

I gave a quick explanation of my family situation. My oldest daughter is from my husbands' first marriage and she had a child when she was quite young.

"So he's not really your grandson then," she said.

Immediately I remembered why this woman and I didn't get along. "Of course he is. He is my daughter's son." Perhaps it was the tone of my voice but the conversation ended quickly.

It is not the first time I have heard the argument. Whenever I mention that I have a daughter in her twenties and two others in elementary school I inevitably have to explain that my oldest was a 'signing bonus' when I married my husband. I have stopped trying to understand why people feel the need to point out that only the younger two are 'really' mine.

****

I was twenty-one when I met my husband. He told me he was legally separated and had a child on the night we met. It was not something I was looking for in a relationship but I fell in love fast and hard for this man and that was part of the package.

We were married two years later. At twenty-three I was too young to be a step-mom. I was too selfish, too self-involved and too stubborn. As the adult in that relationship I take full responsibility. I should have done a better job and my failure to do so is one of my life's biggest regrets. As Meghan grew up -- and I grew up too -- I learned to love her. Several years ago I apologized to Megs for our early relationship and she was gracious enough to accept it and clear the slate so we could start over. She is a tremendous young woman with a loving heart and I am blessed to have her in my life.

On a few occasions she has lived in our home and I now think of her as one of my kids. I would do anything to help her if she needed me. If she needed a kidney -- I would be one of the first ones in line.

***

One of the turning points in our relationship was the birth of my first child. When I got pregnant everyone warned me that it would cause problems. Meghan was eleven years old and used to being an only child. Everyone predicted this baby would only make waves.

In hindsight I realize that Meghan's mother deserves all the credit for making Gracie's birth a positive event for our family. She would send Meghan for visits with brochures, pamphlets and booklets about baby care that we could look at together. She encouraged Meghan to be excited about a new sibling. It seems like an obvious approach to parenting but I have heard far too many horror stories about ex-spouses who see the birth of a new child as a threat. I will always be grateful to Carolyn for her role in making our family stronger.

When Paul and I discussed names for the baby we had a brief discussion about surnames. In the end we decided to go with Paul's last name because we wanted all of our daughters to have the same last name. My girls have never referred to Meghan as a 'half-sister'. In fact they only heard the term recently and Kathryn looked confused when she asked me how anyone could be only "half a sister". An excellent point Kathryn!

When Gracie was born Meghan was the first person we called. She was thrilled to find out about her new sister. When I got out of the hospital Meghan's grandparents drove her down to meet Gracie and the look on her face said it all. She was in LOVE -- they were not half-sisters.

****

When Meghan turned thirteen her mom brought her and a few friends to Ottawa for a concert and an overnight stay in a hotel (I know, very cool). Paul and I invited Carolyn and the girls over for breakfast the next day so we could wish her well and she could introduce her little sister to her friends.

As we sipped on our coffee I asked Carolyn if this was weird. She understood what I meant and we had a quick laugh as she told me that all of the girls at the table were from blended families. Moms, step-moms, dads, step-dads were the new norm. Both Carolyn and I come from traditional families: both of us have parents who are still happily married. We were the exceptions to the rule!

****

About half of my friends are divorced. Some have since married men who have ex-wives and kids of their own. Among them I am still the exception. I am fortunate enough to be in a blended family that works. Have we had disagreements? Of course we have. But we have been able to work them out without the stress, drama (and expense) of family court.

As I talk to some of my friends about their divorces and separations I am often tempted to call Carolyn and thank her for being so reasonable over the years. Carolyn: if you are reading this, THANK YOU!!

****

When Meghan called to tell us she was expecting a baby we were surprised but thrilled. I love babies and I believe that a new little person to love is always good news. "You are going to be a grandpa" I told Paul.

Minutes later the phone rang and I answered it. It was Carolyn. "Hi Grandma" she said. "Am I a grandmother too?" I asked her (not wanting to take on a title that was rightfully hers) and she assured me that I was. I was honored and thrilled that she was willing to share the joy of being a Nana.

So, to the lady who pointed out that Rowan was not 'really' my grandson let me assure you that you are wrong. He is my grandson. In our blended family there are no 'halfs'.

the delivery (part 2)

Today story is part two of the tale I posted yesterday. If you did not read yesterday's story STOP and click here to get to part one!

*******

Lindsay fidgeted with the buttons on the blazer of her new wool pant-suit. It was hot, uncomfortable and had cost her the last three paycheques from the boutique but it was all worth it.

Today she slipped on the‘uniform’ and walked right past the receptionist at the firm without attracting so much as a second glance. Lindsay would look familiar enough after meeting the woman at the firm’s Christmas party but knew the receptionist would never be able to pinpoint her in her new office attire.

Moments ago she had seen Samantha at the cafe across the street and knew that this was her window to move. She strolled right past the receptionist and down the long corridor to Peter’s outer office and dropped the envelope on the desk.

She wished she could be a fly on the wall in Peter’s office this afternoon as he wracked his brain trying to figure out who was responsible. She knew that she would never be on the list of suspects. Peter had greatly under-estimated her trying to tuck her away in a dead-end job at the teen store. She may not be a candidate for Mensa but she was no fool – and she was definitely smarter than the dim-witted paralegal who believed that Peter could love her.

Peter did not love anyone. Lindsay had always known that.

the delivery

Today's story involves a character we met in week 2.

Peter and Lindsay Lahann are newly married. He is a partner in a law firm and she is the manager of a teen clothing store.

The last time around we focused on Lindsay and her step-daughter Sarah but this week's story focuses on Peter. Specifically I wondered why he was so happy about Lindsay's new job. Why was he so keen to keep Lindsay busy during the day?

*****

the delivery

“Samantha, would you come in here please.”

Peter closed the envelope and held it up as his assistant entered the office. “Where did you get this envelope?”

“It was on my desk when I came back from the coffee shop. I know that you were waiting for information about the Hall deposition so I brought it in with your coffee and left it on your desk.”

“Who signed for it?”

“I don’t know,” she said as she shrugged her shoulders. “I was out so I just assumed that one of the other assistants signed for me. Usually Sophie keeps an eye on things while I am away from my desk and I do the same for her.”

“Go ask Sophie who delivered it and when,” Peter said abruptly. Samantha looked confused but got up immediately and did as she was told.

As she closed the door behind her Peter opened the large envelope once again. It was a plain manila — not the type of package he would expect to receive legal documents in but Samantha was new and likely did not know better.

The glossy eight-by-ten photos fell onto his desk and he flipped through them once again. The first shot was of him and a woman eating lunch in the back corner of a dark restaurant; him holding hands with his lunch companion; a quick kiss on the sidewalk out front; and finally one of him and his companion walking hand-in-hand into a nearby hotel. He recognized the images immediately. They were taken last week, during his business trip to Boston with his paralegal.

He shook the envelope one more time and a small note fell out. It was red marker scrawled on yellow lined stationary. “Is this why the new wife is hidden away at the mall – so she won’t catch you in your escapades? “ There were no threats, no ultimatums but Peter felt a cold chill run up his spine.

Lindsay… They had been married for less than a year and he had been sure that everything was under control. When they first met she was his housekeeper and she had asked him about working at the firm when she tired of cleaning houses. He told her it was impossible because of the firm’s ethics policy but nothing was further from truth. While the firm specialized in sexual harassment and wrongful dismissal cases, at least half of his partners were currently married to former assistants and just as many were fucking other members of the staff behind their wives’ backs. It was an irony they frequently chuckled about over scotch and cigars.

He wondered if he should talk to the other partners to see if they too had received a mysterious envelope today. Maybe it was an attack on the firm: it was an idea that had merit.

It could also be his ex-wife. The bloody woman was trying to get more money for Sarah’s private school and dance competitions. At sixteen, his daughter was already costing him a fortune and college was still years away. He would not put it past that cut-throat lawyer Susan had hired to pull a stunt like this to get some leverage. Lord knows Susan had never forgiven him for all of the indiscretions during their marriage. To ruin his relationship with Lindsay, that would be icing on the cake.

Peter got angrier with every passing minute. He worked hard to orchestrate things so that Lindsay was removed from his day-to-day life. He had encouraged her to take a job so she would be unavailable for lunches with the other partners’ wives. He bit his tongue when she found the position at the mall as the assistant manager in a teen boutique. While the job was an embarrassment, he knew that Lindsay’s new younger friends and lunches at the food court would never interfere with his own lunch-hour plans.

No matter who was responsible for this special delivery he had to keep the whole matter as far away from Lindsay as possible. He could not afford another messy divorce or another alimony payment.

There was a quiet knock on the door and he looked up to find Samantha sticking her head around the corner. “Sophie said she did not sign for any envelopes this morning. I also went to talk to the receptionist and she has been at her desk all day. She has signed for five packages and none of them were for you.”

“Thanks,” he said with a sigh. This was definitely not good news. Whoever was playing this game was closer than he had imagined.

Want to know more? .... Part 2 has been posted

Happy??? What am I supposed to do with that?

The Character Project has been on hiatus since the end of June and I can't wait until we're back in September. Over the summer I continued to write -- I have been working on another project that is coming along better than I had hoped -- but I have missed the weekly challenges.

Some weeks the stories came easily. I would read the prompt and connected immediately with the character. Other weeks I would read the assignment over and over and nothing would come to me.

Week 12 was one such challenge. We were asked to write about Paula who was happy. Happy? What am I supposed to do with happy? Conflict makes for a much better story.

It took five days for me to get anything from Paula. Here is the story she finally told me.

packing up dreams

“You did what?”
“I booked two plane tickets to Europe,” Peter said with a grin. “Now, our flight leaves in six hours so we need to be at the airport in three. That gives you two hours to pack so you better get moving.”
Peter hustled Paula towards the stairs and followed her with an empty suitcase in hand. As she headed up to their room Paula’s mind was reeling.
“Peter, we simply cannot go away for ten days. What about the kids?”
“Your sister will be here in an hour. She is staying here at the house and looking after everything while we are gone.”
“You asked my sister to watch our three kids?” Paula was shocked.
“No, she offered and I accepted.” Peter headed over to the closet and started looking through the clothes hanging in front of him. “You are going to need at least two dresses for sit-down dinners. Does the black one and the purple one sound alright with you?”
Paula nodded so he brought the two dresses back to the suitcase and began to lay them flat at the bottom of the garment bag.
“Peter, I can’t just pick up and leave work. People count on me.”
“I called Janet three weeks ago and told her all about the trip. She agreed on the condition that you send her a postcard from Paris.”
“You called my boss? Does everyone know about this trip except me?”
“Yep.” Peter chuckled and moved over to the dresser where he started rifling through Paula’s neatly folded clothes. “The hotel in Paris has a pool. Do you want your one-piece or your two-piece swim suit?”
“Peter — Stop,” Paula walked over to him and grabbed his hand. “We really cannot afford a ten-day trip to Europe. “
Peter stopped and wrapped his wife tightly in his arms. “Please relax and trust me sweetheart. Everything has been taken care of.”
With a quick kiss on the top of her head he released her and headed to the en suite bathroom. She heard him searching through the vanity drawers and collecting various bottles in the shower.
“How long have you been planning this?” she asked with a giggle.
“Four years.”
“Excuse me? You have been planning this for four years and you never told me!”
Peter emerged from the bathroom with Paula’s bright pink toiletries case and dropped it into the suitcase. “Do you remember when I quit smoking?”
Paula nodded.
“You told me that I should take the money I had been spending on cigarettes and bring you to Europe.”
“I was kidding.”
“Well, maybe you were but it was a damn fine idea. Since then I have been putting my cigarette money into a secret account every week. Three months ago I had finally put enough away so I called a travel agent and bought the tickets.”
Paula sunk down and on the bed and stared at Peter; she shook her head unable to speak. Peter crossed the room and sat down on the bed beside her.
“Do you remember the night we met twenty years ago?”
“Of course I do…”
“We went to that little cafe on Sycamore Street and you told me about how you were going to go to Europe when you finally finished your degree. You had it all planned out.”
Paula smiled. “I had been dreaming of heading to Europe since I was thirteen. And then I met you….”
“Exactly. You met me and we got married. We bought a house and we each got jobs. Then the kids came and now it is twenty years and three kids later and you never left the continent.”
“I love my life,” Paula said squeezing his hands in hers. “I love the kids and my job. I have no regrets.”
“I know you don’t.”
Peter stood up and headed over to the dresser and pulled out two pairs of blue jeans to put in the suitcase.
“You have been a fabulous wife and an amazing mother and you have been the woman I always dreamed of. But in the back of my mind I always felt guilty that you never lived your dream.”
“I had new dreams,” Paula protested.
Peter smiled and looked at the woman who had been the centre of his life for as long as he could remember. “I know, and I love you for that. But when I sat in that coffee shop twenty years ago I fell in love with an amazing, vibrant woman and I promised myself that I would help to make all of her dreams come true.”
Paula stood up and headed to the closet. She pulled down a black blouse and a denim skirt and brought them over to the suitcase.
“I love you,” she said looking up at him with tears in her eyes. After twenty years he was still the man she fell in love with sitting at that same coffee shop on Sycamore Street.

Gracie is ten

It seems crazy to be typing that title. Gracie -- my baby -- is ten. (Of course now that she is ten she would like to be called Grace instead. As her mother I have permission to continue calling her Gracie.)

Gracie is my firstborn. I remember bringing her home from the hospital and spending hours just staring at her as she slept in my arms. She slept in a lot of people's arms -- between me, Paul and my parents I am sure there were days that her little body barely touched her crib or her bouncy-seat.

As I have shared in other posts my road to motherhood was a long and difficult one. Paul and I had been told by doctors that we may never have children before embarking on a number of fertility regimes. We were blessed. We named her Grace for that reason. We wanted a constant reminder that this little person was our gift from God.

Gracie is the spitting image of me. No one ever questions that she is my daughter. Her personality is also a lot like mine: she is a type A perfectionist that spends far too much time worrying about things she can't control. It drives me insane partly because it is something I understand far too well.

She is a beautiful child. She is a talented artist -- she gets that from my mom-- drawing pictures that amaze both Paul and I. She designs clothing and has recently starting sewing. I have no doubt that she will be an artist one day. She is a fabulous dancer even without any formal training and she shines when she has a chance to perform (even though she worries herself almost sick beforehand).

Grace feels things more deeply than anyone I know. When she is happy or excited she has a look of joy on her face that is contagious. But she also feels pain more deeply. She is frequently out of money because she has given all of her savings to a worthy cause: breast cancer research, combating child labor in Pakistan or supporting orphans in Haiti. For her birthday each year my parents adopt an endangered animal at the Toronto Zoo in her name. This year my mom asked if she wanted something else. Grace was horrified: "Nana, the komodo dragon needs us!" She can't help herself. She will give her last cent to make someone's (or something's) life better.

She is painfully loyal. When she was three she refused to try blueberries. She told me that she really liked raspberries and felt that eating blueberries would be a betrayal. I had no words to argue with that.

She can't pick a favorite -- not a color, not a food or even a favorite moment from a trip. She would feel that she was betraying all of the others and gets teary-eyed if she even tries. Since then I have learned to ask: "tell me three things that you really liked about your day" so she does not have to pick one as superior to the others.

When she was little I used to pray that God would toughen her up a little bit. At seven she would get so sad about every squabble with a friend or B on her school work. I was -- and still am -- petrified of the hurts and disappointments that face as she gets older. However, as the years passed I stopped praying that prayer. Grace's ability to feel things so deeply is one of the things I admire most about her. As her mother I can never protect her from the world but I can be there to hold her hand or give her a hug whenever she wants one.

Gracie I love you dearly. You are my gift from God and He blessed me more than I ever could have imagined when you came into my life. Your momma loves you.

Week 18: Felicia

In week 18 we were asked to tell a story about Felicia who has accidentally dialed the wrong phone number, but the person who answers sounds familiar. Immediately the person recognizes Felicia, but because Felicia made the call she is too embarrassed to ask who it is. Using only dialogue, figure out who the person is.

The character was to be one of our characters from previous weeks and since Quinn was still on my mind I tied one more story into the Marcia Mayville arc.


hello cranton creek

“…and to re-cap our top story, actress Marcia Mayville was found dead in her home last night. She was 28.”

Felicia hit the mute button on the television, grabbed her cordless phone and her fingers began dialling a familiar number before her brain could catch up. It had been almost ten years since she last called Mike May but at this moment the time and distance seemed irrelevant. She needed to talk to him and tell him how sorry she was to hear about Marcie.

“Hello?” the voice on the other side of the line sounded strangled and broken.

“Hi. I hope this isn’t a bad time… I just heard the news on television and I am in complete shock. I am so, so sorry.”

“Felicia? Is it really you? How long has it been? It’s gotta be at least ten years. Are you coming home for the funeral? It is the day after tomorrow and I know it would mean a lot to Mike to see you there.”

Mean a lot to Mike? Wait, who was she talking to? There were only a handful of numbers from Cranton Creek that could be stored in her brain. Which one had she dialled? The voice was one from her past and hauntingly familiar but who did it belong to…?

“Have you seen him today?” Felicia asked the man on the line hoping to pick up clues.

“The whole town has seen him. You know Cranton Creek; people have been cooking up a storm since the news hit. At last count there were fifteen casseroles and twelve pies in Mrs. May’s freezer and there is no sign that the deliveries will stop anytime soon. There has been a steady stream of people in and out of that house all day,” the man on the line said with a chuckle.

“Sounds like nothing back home has changed.”

“Everything’s changed,” the voice said and Fiona was struck by the anger and remorse.

“Are you OK?” Felicia still had not zeroed in on the man’s identity but it did not take a psychic to know he was hurting.

“I feel like I have just been punched in the gut. I haven’t cried since I was a kid but I have broken down about a dozen times since yesterday.”

“I know that feeling.”

“It is like I am going through the motions, you know?” he continued. “I have been with Mike almost 24/7 since he heard and we drove back together yesterday.”

Felicia’s mind began to review a revised list of possibilities: males around Mike’s age who had escaped Cranton Creek. It narrowed the field considerably.

“We turned off the radio during the drive trying to avoid the radio reports. The speculations are rumours are making me sick,” the man said with a bite in his tone.

“I totally understand. I was watching the news re-cap and during the full three minutes of footage there was not one second where they showed the real Marcie,” Felicia agreed. It did not matter who was on the telephone line, anyone in Cranton Creek was sure to feel the same. “They showed her playing a druggie in a movie, they showed her playing a university student on television and that horrible clip of her walking into rehab but not a second of that report showed her being Marcie.”

“I loved her you know,” the voice said quietly. “After all of these years, I don’t know why I am telling you this but it’s true. I have loved her since she was six years old. It doesn’t matter that she never loved me back.”

“I know Quinn,” Felicia said quietly. The confession was the only clue she ever would have needed. Everyone knew that Quinn loved Marcie. It was the worst-kept secret in Cranton Creek. “I’ll catch a flight tomorrow. I promise.”

We first met Quinn last week in Troika.
Marcia Mayville made her first appearance in The Dailies.

Week 17: Troika

In week 17 we got a picture of a young man named Mike. We were told that he had just received some news that would change his life. We could decide if that news was good or bad.

When I started writing about Mike I found it easier to get into the mind of his best friend so I decided to tell the story from Quinn's vantage point.

This story is the second of three vignettes surrounding the life and death of Marcia Mayville.


troika

Mike squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. He felt his cell phone drop out of his hand as his entire body began to shake.

“Mike, you OK man?” Quinn looked up from his laptop but Mike stayed silent. He looked over at his friend as if trying to respond but even as he tried to will his mouth to speak the words did not come.

“Mike…” Quinn stood up slowly and took a cautious step towards forward. “What is it man? What did they say?”

“It’s Marcie…” he lowered himself down into a nearby chair and let his head fall into his hands.

Quinn closed his laptop and went to the kitchen to get some water. As he filled the glass he felt helpless and confused. Getting a glass of water in a situation like this was something his mother would do and in the absence of another strategy it seemed like a logical step.

He brought the glass into the living room, laid it down on the table beside Mike and sat down on the coffee table facing his oldest friend. They had been inseparable since they were five years old and there was nothing Mike could say that would shock him or drive him away.

“What did she do this time? Shit, is she in rehab again? That fuckin’ industry is killing her.” As he thought about the last few years he felt the anger rise in his belly.

Marcie Mae was Mike’s twin. As an only child Quinn was often jealous of that bond that his best friend shared with his sister but the pair had always included him in their schemes. Almost every fond memory from Quinn’s childhood involved the three of them riding around their small town on bicycles or tearing around the backwoods playing explorer. Marcie always dreamed of finding something bigger… something more.

When she turned eighteen she picked up and left in order to follow her dreams. Everyone in town seemed shocked but Mike and Quinn had seen it coming for years. And now, little Marcie Mae had made good on her dreams: she was a star with all of the fame and the heartache that came with it.

Mike had always been proud of her. Hell, he and Quinn sat in the front row for every community theatre production and they took it upon themselves so start the standing ovation each time Marcie had a curtain call. They collected movie posters, magazine articles and memorabilia from each of her shows but Quinn also knew that Mike had lost countless hours of sleep worrying about his other half. First it was the drinking, then the disastrous relationship with the rock star and finally the stint in rehab.

Mike and Quinn had been hopeful at first and travelled to L.A. to greet her when she was released from the thirty-day program. She looked like herself again and Quinn could not decide if he was happier to see her or the look of joy and relief that had returned to his best friend’s face. On her first day home they rented a car and the three of them drove around Hollywood following a beat-up map of the stars’ homes. For a few hours Quinn felt like a kid playing explorer again with his two best friends.

“Mike… talk to me man. What happened?”

“She’s dead…” Mike’s voice was so quiet Quinn barely heard the words. He wanted to ask him to repeat it but he knew that uttering it even once had ripped his heart out.

“She tripped and hit her head. My mom wanted to tell me before we heard it on the news.”

Quinn felt the air leave his lungs but could not summon the strength to draw in another breathe. For a moment the world stood still.

Mike stood up suddenly and turned on the television before Quinn could stop him. As the screen flickered a picture of Marcie Mae filled the screen. Quinn tried to grab the remote from his hand but Mike jerked away transfixed by the image and the caption. “Marcia Mayville: Dead at 28 years of age”

week 11: Marcia Mayville

We had a choice in week 11 to revisit a previous character or to work with the following prompt.

Name: Marcia Mayville
Profession: Actress
Age: recently deceased.
Opening line: “I’d like to dispel a few myths about death. The first being that it is not the end. Not that I am any great expert. I’ve only been dead a week.”

I was at a loss for five days. Lisa had not yet told me her story and none of my other characters seemed all that keen to tell me more about themselves. Marcia was also pretty quiet until Friday night when I had a very clear picture of her as a young actress watching the dailies on set. The rest of the story came together as I wrote it.

Marcia will be a secondary character in two more stories (again I will move out of the chronological order and post the Marcia stories together).

Enjoy!


the dailies

I’d like to dispel a few myths about death. The first being that it is not the end. Not that I am any great expert. I’ve only been dead a week and I am not yet sure where I am. I seem to be in a holding pattern waiting to move to the next phase but I am not scared. Rather I feel a sense of excitement like I am waiting to embark on a huge adventure.

Last week when my head hit the cold, hard cement I knew immediately that my time on earth was over. A tremendous explosion rocked me to my very core and suddenly I was free of my body, able to witness the action like a movie-goer watching a scene from my latest movie.

When my agent arrived an hour later to find my empty corpse floating in the swimming pool chaos ensued. Firefighters and ambulance attendants pulled me from the water trying to breathe life back into my lungs. My loyal assistant sat on the ground huddled in a ball and sobbing quietly, ignored by the photographers snapping photos over the fence and by my agent who was cursing his cell phone battery for dying on the most important day of his career.

With my body empty and nothing left to see my spirit simply floated away and a week later I am still here – hovering in the in-between.

I can still see glimpses of what I have left behind. The director who never returned my telephone calls started working the talk-show circuit telling the world that he was devastated by my passing – by a career cut short and talent never realized. The man who walked out on me and broke my heart now cries crocodile tears for the cameras bemoaning the love he has lost. Magazines that criticized me as a hack with no fashion sense now feature my face on their front covers trying to capitalize on my death to garner subscriptions. Celebrity bloggers wait with baited-breath for news of a failed tox-screen to titillate their followers.

In life I was an up-and-coming character actress. In death I am a full-blown super-star. Tripping on a pool noodle and cracking my skull was the best thing that ever happened to my career.

Before the accident I was known in the industry for being a serious actress. I arrived early on days when I was filming and I always knew my lines when I showed up on set. I never missed a screening of the “dailies” when the director the reviewed raw footage shot the day before to see where changes could be made. I was a rarity but I learned a lot from the shots of other actors who shared my scenes trying to understand their reactions to my lines, the development of supporting characters in the same plot.

It is ironic that the after-life I now enjoy is much like the dailies. As I wait to see where my spirit will end up I review scenes from the present and my past. I can observe how other characters in my life have been affected by my actions and choices.

I have not been allowed to choose the reels I have been shown – rather they pop up in front of me at random. I have been able to watch the images of my parents cry tears of joy when I came into the world 28 years ago juxtaposed with my mother’s sorrow when she was told of my passing. I have seen my father’s worry as the Hollywood-machine cast his baby girl as a down-and-out drug addict and his pride when the industry recognized me with an award for that same role. I have been thrilled to see the joy I brought my family as they celebrated my accomplishments and I have cringed to see their shame when the media blasted photos of a drunken fight with my ex on an L.A. street corner.

I always expected that my life would flash before my eyes as I travelled from one world to the other. What has surprised me is that I am not the star of that production: the truly compelling parts were the reactions to my drama.

Week 10: Spring Sale at the Stitch and Bitch

So, the Lisa tales are done --for now. This week I started to work on her full story so there is definitely more to come!

In Week 10, we were asked to go back to re-visit a past character and tell a follow-up story with a spring theme. I decided to go back and check on Hammond. Hammond, a divorced mailman with a secret crochet hobby, was our first writing prompt. (read his story here) This story is one of my favorites and almost wrote itself once I sat down at the keyboard. Some weeks I really struggle with the writing prompt but Hammond has always been very co-operative when I decide to tell his story.

spring sale at the stitch and bitch

“Let me get that…”

Hammond rushed forward to hold open the door and bowed from the waist with flourish gesturing for the small, white-haired woman to go ahead and enter the store.

The older lady smiled and thanked him with a giggle. “Oh Hammond, you are such a gentleman.”

“Thanks Mrs. Grant. Glad to see you out today. There are lots of big sales: time to stock up!”

Hammond took a deep breath as he entered the store and let the door close behind him. The Stitch and Bitch was his favourite shop and it had become a haven for him after his divorce. As the only male patron who came in regularly, the older ladies had all wanted to take him under their wing which made him somewhat of a celebrity.

His crochet work was no longer an embarrassment. In fact, the ladies at the store found it charming and each week he would bring in a stack of dishcloths that he had made to pass out to his new friends. When he arrived they would give him a little hug and ask him about his health and his job. They all commented on how he looked too thin and many of the women had pulled him aside to try to set him up with a daughter, grand-daughter or niece that they were just sure he would love.

“A man can’t live too long on his own,” they had told him. Or “look at you, you are fading away. You need a woman at home to make you a proper meal.” At first he had made excuses but eventually he caved in to their wheedling and started to go on some blind dates. For the first time in a long time he had felt that he may have something to offer a wife.

The store was incredibly busy as he entered and all of his friends were milling around the bins of wool for the Annual Spring Sale. Knitting and crocheting were most popular in the winter and as the warm weather arrived the older wool stock was put on clearance to make room for lighter-weight cotton fibres.

Hammond was working on some new crochet projects but he still wanted to get some of the sturdy polyester yarn that he used to make dishcloths. The ladies at the store loved them after all and they looked forward to seeing him arrive with a few new ones each week.

As he headed to the back of the store he heard his name several times and he stopped to hug or shake hands with a few of the ladies along the way.

“Hi Mrs. Thompson! Thanks for the baking you left me last week. No one makes brownies like you do.”

“Mrs. Phelps, I am glad you liked the dishcloth I made you. Yes, I have a few left. I will bring one in for you next Saturday.”

“Mrs. Carnegie, what in the world are you making with all of that grey wool? I just saw a picture of your grandson last week, he can’t possibly be that big yet!”

“Suzette has my special order arrived? Super, I will be over in a minute to get it I just have to pick up a few things first.”

Finally he found his way to the back of the small boutique and selected a few balls of the sturdy fibre he had been working with for so many years.

“Hammond?”

He looked up slowly. The voice was so familiar yet so surprising…. Madeline.

There she was. His ex-wife was standing across from him at The Stitch and Bitch. He worried for a quick moment knowing that the legions of old ladies around him would not be kind to the woman who had broken ‘their Hammond’s’ heart.

“Wow… Madeline…. what are you doing here?”

She chuckled quietly. “I took up crocheting after our divorce. It turns out that I was right about one thing. No one makes a better dishcloth than you do. “

Too surprised to respond he just nodded his head and continued to stare at her.

“You look well,” she continued after an awkward pause. “You look …happy.”

“I am. I really am. The ladies here are wonderful and they spoil me with home-cooked meals and all the baking I can handle.”

She nodded at the four small balls of yarn in his arms. “I thought you would have needed more than that. It’s a sale. You should stock up!”

He looked down nervously at the beige yarn he had selected. “I don’t do as many dishrags as I used to. I have taken on a new project lately so I don’t have as much time.”

As if on cue Suzette held up two balls of baby pink cotton and called over to him. “Hammond it’s here and this cotton is even softer than we had imagined.”

The color drained from Madeline’s face as she stared at him.

“I’m making a layette – well three so far. My wife and I are having a baby girl. Suzette is the baby’s grandma.”

Madeline stammered a goodbye and congratulations as an excited Hammond rushed over to the counter look at the pink cotton with a pack of twittering old ladies. It appeared that Hammond now had a new life and she was the one who was left behind.


Once again, I encourage you to visit The Character Project and browse through the stories that have been posted. New entries are posted Sundays at 2:30 and I always look forward to reading what the other writers have come up with.

Week 15: The Elevator

In week 15 we were asked to take two characters that we had created over the past weeks and have them meet in an elevator which was stuck between floors. Since Lisa was still spinning around in my head she was my first choice.

The second character took some time to appear. In the end Margaret stepped onto the elevator and the story moved from there. Margaret has appeared twice so far. She first showed up in a nursing room in spiders, sex and the modern senior and then a few weeks later Alfred told his grandson about 'Maggie' who was his first love.

I wondered initially what these two ladies had in common but they surprised me.


a conversation between floors

“Shoot, I have to get this,” Jason looked apologetically at Lisa as she hit the up button on the elevator. He tried to juggle his briefcase and reach for the cell phone in his pocket without spilling his unopened coffee cup.
With a sigh Lisa reached over and grabbed the hot cup to give Jason a free hand. “Look, we are going to be late. I’ll go up ahead to the office. You take your call and meet me up in suite 510 when you are done. “
“Thanks,” he said blowing her a kiss as she stepped onto the elevator.
Lisa walked to the back wall of the small car and leaned against the mirror before noticing that she still had both coffee cups. Great, she thought, I am only a few weeks pregnant and I am already getting absent-minded.
“Thirsty?”
Lisa looked over at the older lady standing on the other side of the elevator and smiled. “No, just tired, really tired. I...”
Before she could finish her sentence the two ladies were shaken by a sudden stop of the car and a flash of the lights overhead.
“Are you OK?” Lisa asked the older lady who was clutching elevator rail in an effort to stay balanced.
“Oh, I’m fine dear. How are you?”
“I’m good.” Lisa crouched down to put her purse and the coffee cups on the floor before crossing the elevator to open the emergency panel. It was an old building with a beat up phone and she lifted the receiver to see if she could get help. After a few minutes chatting with the security guard downstairs Lisa hung up the phone and turned to her companion.
“Well, good news and bad news. The bad news is that it will take at least 30 minutes to get someone here to fix the elevator.”
“Oh dear, the good news...?”
“We have two fresh cups of hot coffee. Can I help you down to the floor? We may as well get comfortable.”
The older lady smiled and laughed. “Thank you dear. My name is Margaret and coffee sounds delightful.”
“Hi, Margaret. I’m Lisa.”
The older lady chuckled quietly as she settled down on the floor and stretched out her thin legs. “My daughter Rose is going to be having a fit downstairs. She is always telling me how busy she is and about all of the things that she has to re-arrange just to take me out of the nursing home for a few hours. I almost feel sorry for the repairman who has to listen to her while trying to get the elevator running again.”
“Jason will be on his case too. He had a really busy day planned today and already had to move two meetings just to get here for this appointment, let alone an extra half hour while they spring me from the elevator.”
The two women laughed and toasted with their paper cups.
“So, what brings you out today, Lisa?”
“I’m pregnant,” Lisa said looking down at her cup.
“I am sensing that may not be the best news,” Margaret said quietly. “I don’t mean to pry but I am a stranger on an elevator and completely impartial. Who better to tell your secrets too? Plus, I have been around the block a few times myself.”
Lisa looked up with a grin. “I think I’m more shocked than anything. Jason, the baby’s father, is thrilled. I wasn’t planning to have a baby for a few more years and now I feel like I am in a run-away cart that is heading downhill and picking up speed. Everything is out of control.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I’ll get married I guess,” Lisa said with a shrug. “Jason is a nice guy and he’ll be a great dad. He has been wanting to get married for a while now and I’ve been stalling. My mom will be thrilled to see me married to a successful lawyer but will be horrified that I’m ‘knocked up’.”
Margaret cackled.
“In my day, a woman in your situation was either sent away to live with relatives out of town or wearing an off-white dress at an altar within the week. That’s what happened to me.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes,” Margaret said with a smile. “I was in love with a lovely man named Alfred but his parents hated me. It broke my heart when he moved away to take another job and I poured out my heart to a very nice boy named Peter who had always had a crush on me. “
Lisa smiled as the other woman blushed and she gave her a light poke with her elbow encouraging her to go on with the story.
“Peter was a dear man and was so kind to me. At first I was just trying not to hurt his feelings but before I knew it, I realized that I was a little sweet on him too. We had not known each other for very long but one night we went out and one thing lead to another.... Well, I guess I don’t have to explain it to you.”
Lisa laughed at the teasing. “Did you marry him?”
“Oh yes. Peter was not the sort of man who would have stepped away from his responsibilities. When I told him about the baby he went right to my parents and asked for my hand. We eloped to Niagara Falls the next day and I had Rose seven months later.”
“Were you happy?” Lisa stared at the other woman intently. Margaret saw desperation in her eyes: like a drowning woman watching for a lifeboat.
Margaret reached over and put her hand on Lisa’s knee. “We were married for fifty years and I loved him dearly.”
Lisa took a deep breath and sighed. “I don’t know if I can do it,” she confessed. “I don’t know if I can just get married and live happily ever after.”
“You don’t have to my dear. It’s a different world than when I was in your shoes. Maybe it was easier for me not having to choose. Looking back I don’t know what I would have done if I would have been given an option.” Margaret shook her head. “I don’t envy you.”
Once again the lights flickered and Lisa and Margaret felt the elevator begin to move.
As the doors opened the women looked out to find Rose and Jason waiting frantically on the ground floor and Margaret gave Lisa’s had a squeeze.

***
I have decided that I am going to write Jason and Lisa's full story if only for myself -- and for the four or five of you who have been asking what happens to her. Jon and Margaret will both play important roles in the full story. If you are interested in the larger story add a comment below or on my facebook page and I will be sure to e-mail you a copy when I finally get a reasonable draft together.

Week 13: Lisa and Jon

Originally I had planned to post these fictional stories in the order in which I submitted them but a number of you liked Lisa last week so I am going to change up the order a bit.

Last week we met Lisa sitting on her bathroom floor waiting for the results of her pregnancy test. This week's story goes back in time -- before she and Jason got together -- so you can get to know her a little bit better.

Here is the prompt that we had to work from:

Name: Jon

For inspiration choose two or more from the following: college student, laptop, library, misplaced book, unpaid phone bill.

First line: Her laughter broke the silence.

*********

past due

Her laughter broke the silence and attracted angry stares from students at surrounding tables who had crowded the library to study for finals.

Jon looked up from his textbook and watched Lisa as she leafed through the papers in front of her.

“Something funny?”

“No, that was hysteria.” Lisa lifted the top page off the pile and waved it for him to see.

“This is my phone bill. I owe $300 and I am $150 past due.” She continued to rifle through the pile. “This is my electric bill: $285 owing. This is my credit card bill: $600 owing. At this point I owe so much money, to so many people, that each new bill I open is almost funny. What’s one more? Maybe I’ll just burn the bills to keep warm and let them cut off my heat to save cash.”

She folded her arms over the pile in front of her and lay down her head looking exasperated.

Jon watched her take a deep breath and exhale with a sigh before reaching out to ruffle her short brown hair. “If you want I can give you a few of my shifts at the cafe if that will help to make ends meet.”

She lifted her head and reached out to grab his hand. “You are so sweet but I know that you need the money as much as I do. Your tuition bill is coming due soon and you can’t afford to be giving up shifts or tip money.”

“What about your tuition bill? I hope you took my advice and put some money aside from each cheque to cover tuition,” he said remembering the long talk they had about finances during her last money crisis when he helped her to put together a budget.

Lisa shook her head. “I tried. I really did but when my laptop died last month I had to use that money to buy a new one. You can’t get through pre-law without a computer – not that it does me much good now.”

Jon looked down at her pale hand that he was still holding across the table and gave it a little squeeze. What he wouldn’t give to be able to fix this for her. If only there was a way that he could swoop in, wrap her in his arms and protect her. To tell her that everything was going to be OK.

“You have bad karma,” he said with a teasing smile.

“You’re telling me. I am beginning to believe that I am not destined to be a lawyer.”

“What? You are at the top of our class and you are brilliant. One day you are going to be a partner in a huge firm, raking in cash and this will just be a distant memory.”

She shook her head and pulled her hand back staring at the table. She pushed her hair behind her ears with a nervous fidget deliberately avoiding his intent gaze.

“Leese? What are you planning?”

“I am not going to law school,” she said, the words spilling out quickly. “I spoke with the registrar at the community college yesterday and they can give me credit for some of my pre-law courses towards a diploma as a paralegal. They figure it will only take me six months to finish the program and then I can make some real money to pay these bills.”

Jon sat at the table in a stunned silence.

“Jon, say something…. I’ll go back to law school one day. I just can’t do it now; I can’t keep living with this stress.”

“Lisa, why don’t you move in with me? My place is small but there is room enough for a roommate and splitting the rent would be good for us both.”

“Jon, you are my best friend and I already owe you so much. You got me a job at the cafe. You escorted me to the wedding-from-hell when my mom got married. You don’t need me to keep looking after me. Your family doesn’t have money either and I know how hard you are working now just to keep your head above water.”

“This plan is ridiculous.” He took a deep breath trying to control his rising frustration.

“Lisa, you are the best in the program. You can’t become a paralegal while some idiot like Jason Randall just coasts along. He’ll graduate in the middle of the pack and walk into some cushy job just because his family owns the top law firm in town.”

“Jon, life sucks. How did you get though pre-law without figuring it out before? Besides, Jason isn’t a bad guy. His family isn’t his fault any more than our families are ours.”

Hearing Lisa defend Jason Randall was the last straw. As he thought about all of the late nights they had spent studying and the evenings that they had worked together at the small cafe on campus he began to get angry at her for not seeing the obvious. How could she be oblivious to the fact that he was in love with her?

He stood up from his chair and grabbed his books. “Well it seems like you have it all figured out then. Maybe Jason can put in a good word for you and get you a job at daddy’s law firm as a paralegal.”

“Jon, wait…”

But he could not bear to turn around and face her. Instead he hurried towards the exit without ever looking back.

Week 9: Lisa

In week nine I stepped up to the plate and submitted an idea for a character prompt.

When I came up with the idea I had a totally different story in mind but as I sat down to write a different Lisa emerged. Stranger still, she has stayed with me. In the months that followed Lisa appeared in two more stories and she is still hanging around in the back of my mind. I am not sure what I am going to do with the story -- I may just have to sit down and write the whole tale just to exorcise her!

Character name: Lisa
Age: 26 years old
Scenario: She is sitting on the floor of a small bathroom with a watch and a pregnancy test. Is the result positive or negative? Is she happy about the results?


two minutes…

Lisa slid the cap back on the end of the pregnancy test and placed it gently on the back of the toilet bowl. She handled the stick with the caution that one might expect from someone re-inserting a pin in a live grenade.

Taking two steps back she leaned on the wall behind her and slid down settling herself on the cold black and white tile floor.

Two minutes. In two minutes she would know for sure. Her period was only two days late but her cycle was usually as regular as clockwork. ‘It’s probably stress,’ she had told herself the day before but she broke down and bought the test on the way home from work unable to wait any longer for an answer.

From her spot on the floor she craned her head looking her watch on the counter but it was not there. Crap! She had forgotten it on her bedside table. Well she certainly was not going to go back into the bedroom to get it. She couldn’t risk waking Jason; she just couldn’t deal with him right now. First, she would find out what was going on then she would talk to him about it.

In the meantime she would just count… one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…

No, that wasn’t going to work either.

Feeling the tension in her shoulders and her neck she let her ear drop down to one shoulder in a gentle stretch. Then she changed sides and took another deep breathe.

What was she going to tell her mother? She was 26 years old and she was still afraid of what her mother was going to say. She could almost hear her now. “Lisa, dear you can’t be pregnant. What am I going to tell the other ladies at the church tea? I already have enough trouble trying to explain why you are not married yet. You have a wonderful man like Jason and still you won’t make a commitment. What on earth are you waiting for?“

Oh God, she couldn’t be pregnant. She considered a desperate prayer. Was there a patron saint for unwed women who may or may not be knocked up by men they no longer loved?

Well if any good came out of this mess it was that it would force her to deal with the Jason situation. If the test came back negative she promised herself that she would finally screw up her courage and tell him how she really felt.

It should be easy. She had practiced the conversation in her mind at least a dozen times over the last month alone. They would sit him down in the living room with a glass of wine and she would just tell him.

Jason, I think you are a lovely man. You are talented and bright and I will always care for you but I just don’t know if I am in love with you anymore. In the scenario she imagined Jason would have tears in his eyes but she knew that would never happen in real life. Men like Jason did not cry over the likes of her. They moved on and found someone new. She was sure that there would be another woman living with him in this very apartment in the space of a year if she ever moved out.

But, that was only one side of the coin. What if that test turned up with a plus sign? If she was pregnant she knew Jason would have a ring on her finger that very day. Men like Jason would do the ‘right thing.’ In fact, he had been trying to discuss marriage and kids for the longest time and she did her damndest to avoid it. Did he really want her or did he simply want the settled-married-man status that the partners of his law firm respected?

A quiet knock on the door startled her. She closed her eyes and sighed.

“Lisa, are you OK… Can I come in, babe?”

“Yeah.”

Jason slowly pushed the door open and his eyes flashed with worry as he saw her sitting on the floor. He followed her gaze to the top of the toilet bowl and grabbed the stick.

As he turned towards her she caught a quick glance of the tears in his eyes as he dropped down in front of her and wrapped her in a tight hug.

“Lisa….”

Without even seeing the test, she knew the answer and she wanted to cry.

***

Yet again I encourage you to check out The Character Project and read some of the fabulous stories that have been posted there!

Week 8: Sam

Wow. Can you believe we’ve made it to week 8? Incredible.

In week 8 we were introduced to Sam with the following propmt:

Character name: Sam
Details: Mathematics professor, divorced, with an 8-year-old
daughter who despises math.

Nothing came to me until Saturday night. The only thing that resonated with me was a hatred for math. Finally I thought about my own daughter who also hates math and the struggles we have during homework time.


Fractions

Sam closed his eyes tightly, took a deep breathe and ran his hand through his curly hair one more time.

“No Sarah, look at it again… “

Sarah sighed and rolled her eyes.

“I am never going to get this. It is useless. Just face it: I am never going to be good at math.”

As much as Sam loved spending time with his daughter he dreaded the homework hour. It was the one time of day when he felt that he was failing her.

Since the divorce he saw Sarah only every second week as he and Sharon shuttled the girl back and forth from one home to the other. When they first separated they told the teary-eyed girl that she would have two homes now, but the transition had been difficult and there were times when Sam wondered if she felt that she had a home at all.

The split had been amicable and now he and Sharon were able to sit down and discuss issues calmly. They had made a decision to try keep similar routines during their ‘Sarah weeks’: waking up at the same time each morning, eating meals at the same time and sitting at the table for an hour each night after dinner to work on homework. He wondered if Sharon was better being a tutor and he immediately felt insecure.

“Sarah, you are a smart girl and math is in your blood.” As the words came out of his mouth he wondered if they were true or if was Sarah more like her mother and gifted in other areas.

For Sam math was almost sacred. It was his favourite subject throughout school and when he graduated there was no doubt in his mind that he wanted to continue studying it, researching new theories and sharing his passion with the next generation. Today he stood in front of a lecture hall of graduate students and spoke for two solid hours about John Forbes Nash and his work in differential geometry. You could have heard a pin drop as he discussed the intricacies of each theory and how they were still used and admired today.

Now, only four hours later, he was pulling his hair out trying to explain simple fractions to an 8-year old.

“Listen, maybe it will help if we use an example you can relate to.” He wrapped an arm around his daughter’s small, humped shoulders and gave her a little hug hoping to turn her mood around. “What is your favourite thing to do?”

“Shop.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and I don’t think fractions are going to help there unless you want to buy me half a CD or one third of a t-shirt.”

As she spoke Sam was taken aback by the tone of her voice which sounded more like a rebellious teenager than the beautiful little girl sitting in front of him now. Where had she learned that tone? How had she grown so quickly without him even noticing?

“No but don’t you prefer to get one-third or one quarter off the regular price?”

Sarah sighed again and sat up reluctantly to look at the page in front of her. “I guess…”

It was a small victory but he relished it nonetheless and knew that he would replay this moment in his head next week when the table was empty and he was feeling like only half a parent.


I urge you to visit The Character Project at http://wegotcharacter.wordpress.com and take some time to read some of the other submissions. Sam had a lot of different faces!

My journey to motherhood

Happy Mother's Day! In honour of the occasion I wanted to share a little bit about my personal journey to motherhood.
When I first got married I did not want kids. I was twenty-three and I had a degree and a job I loved. I was marrying a man who already had a child so he was comfortable with my decision and for the first two years of our marriage Paul and I were childless by choice.
At age 25 my hormones blind-sided me and I realized that I wanted to change course: I wanted a baby. Unfortunately my body was not co-operative (I will spare you all the gory details). After several months of blood tests, painful medical procedures and disappointing at-home pregnancy tests Paul and I ended up in front of a specialist who matter-of-factly informed us there was a strong possibility we would never have a child.
They had determined that I have a condition called Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome PCOS). At the time, doctors were less familiar with the condition so my gynecologist put me on a long waiting list for the fertility clinic at the Ottawa Hospital. I was depressed and frustrated. Further exacerbating the issue, it seemed that everyone I knew was getting pregnant. That year Paul and I had a Christmas party where FOUR couples announced that they were expecting. While part of me was thrilled for them by the time couple number four spoke up I excused myself for a moment, went to the kitchen and cried.
I boycotted baby showers opting to make excuses and send a gift rather than sit in a room of pregnant women who were grumbling about pains of pregnancy and the joy of motherhood. I also avoided any conversation that started with: do you guys have kids? you really should, kids are so wonderful, you don't know what you are missing. To this day I will never ask someone if they have children. If they do it will come up in conversation. If they don't, there is likely a reason for it.
By the time I was finally called in to see the specialist I had already gone several rounds with a crazy medication called Clomid which is used to stimulate ovulation. It plays havoc with your hormones and has some strong side-effects -- not the least of which is something I like to call Clomid-rage. My temper would turn on a dime and on one occasion I physically attacked a vending machine that took one of my quarters. Paul did not fare much better and after a yelling match in the middle of a hardware store (I was the only one yelling) we decided that our marriage would be stronger if we did not go for round four.
The fertility specialist we were assigned to was not a warm or welcoming man. He sat down for a long interview filled with very personal questions and a strong dose of reality. There were several options available but they were all very invasive and time-consuming. Each round would cost thousands of dollars and there was less than a thirty per cent chance we would end up with a baby. (Keep in mind this was more than 10 years ago. Today I believe that PCOS is much more understood and treatable.)
We were advised to start with IUI (intrauterine insemination). Basically I would give myself an injection each day for anywhere from 10 to twenty days to stimulate my hormones and produce multiple eggs. Every two to three days I would present myself at the hospital at 7:30 am for blood tests and an ultrasound. That day I would need to be by a phone between one to two in the afternoon as a nurse would be calling me with dosage information and further instructions for the coming days. This information would not be left on an answering machine nor with anyone else so you needed to be by the phone waiting.
The ultrasound allowed the doctors to know how many eggs were developing. If you were not going fast enough they upped the doses. If there were too many eggs coming along the cycle was stopped and you started again in two months. The clinic did not take any chances with higher-order multiples and would not inseminate in you had more than four eggs coming along. Period.
The process was all-consuming. Paul and I did not tell a lot of people what we were going through as opinions about fertility treatments tend to be strong and often ill-informed. My body reacted sluggishly, dosages were often re-calibrated and at one point I was nearly cancelled. In the end three eggs were deemed acceptable and three weeks later I found out that I was pregnant. I was over the moon.
The elation was short lived and I lost the baby early in the pregnancy. The doctors and nurses who had monitored almost every element of conception could only shake their heads and say: sometimes this happens. If you are going to lose this baby there is nothing we can do about it.
I was beyond devastated and told Paul that I was done. I could not face the clinic again. I did not want to give myself any more needles. I was simply not strong enough to do it again. He listened, he held me when I sobbed and after two weeks he put his foot down. We had come too far to give up. It worked once. It was going to work again.
My first doctor had left on sabbatical and had been replaced by a wonderful man who I trusted immediately. He was sympathetic to our loss and assured me that they had learned a lot from my first cycle and that this go-around would be easier. He was right. Six weeks later I learned that I was pregnant again.
Paul and I named our first daughter Grace because it means Gift from God. We wanted a constant reminder that this child was truly a gift and a miracle. Four years later (it took a few years to convince myself to go through the process again) Kathryn arrived and our family was complete.
I love my children and I love being a mother. It is a crazy job with bad hours but it is so rewarding to watch my girls grow and learn.
I have a tattoo on my back with a symbol representing each of my children and the lesson I learned on each journey. Gracie's symbol is STRONG because I learned along the way that I was strong enough to handle the pain and come out on the other side. Kathryn's symbol is FAITH because I was able to put my trust in God and try again and I was rewarded with a remarkable little person. Finally I have a symbol for HEAVEN for the baby I lost and who I believe I will meet one day when this life is over.
Happy Mother's Day everyone. Whether your journey to motherhood was quick or long, arduous or unexpected, the destination is worth the ride.