15 years

Some days you wake up and you realize.
You’ve gotten lost in the mire of too many petty arguments.
Too many “why didn’t you wipe the counter?”
Too much “when are you EVER going to fix the couch?”
Too often focusing on the reasons why he annoys you.
Too few moments when you say “thank you” and mean it.
Worn out, you whisper a little prayer.
“Please god. Help me to remember why I love him.”
But you don’t expect the answer.
Because the next morning it’s the same.
And soon it feels like the only words that come out of either of your mouths
Are words most meant to hurt. To pay back.
You try to remember the words you were taught to say
At that long ago marriage retreat.
“You are not my enemy.”
But they get stuck in your throat.

And then one day
You’re sitting by a waterfall.
You lift your eyes from your book
And you see him climbing off a rock.
Abandoning his fishing rod.
Wading through icy water.
Pausing to help a stranger untangle her fishing line.
And suddenly
You can’t help yourself.
Your eyes fill with tears.
Because you remember.
This.
This is why you let him into your heart.
This is why you said “I do” fifteen years ago.
This is why you decided the risk of “forever” was worth it.

This easy kindness to strangers.
This interest in other people’s lives.
This belief in the value of other people’s stories.
This willingness to pause for the untangling.
The same effortless friendliness
That makes waitresses feel special
And lost boys from single-parent homes remember that they have some value.
And more than that
You remember
That when this same kindness, this same interest,
This same willingness
Is extended to you
Too often you turn it away, reject it
Or stubbornly misinterpret it
Because it wasn’t spoken in the language you thought you needed.

And though you know that someday
You’ll get caught in the mire again
For now
You will remember
And say thank you.

Happy (belated) anniversary, buddy.
Thanks for a lovely weekend.

Fourteen years and counting

You want to see what Marcel and I looked like, fourteen years ago when we said "I do"? We looked like most newlyweds look - young and hopeful. Little did we know what kind of sometimes wild, sometimes rocky, sometimes ecstatic, sometimes painful, sometimes boring, sometimes peaceful, and sometimes agonizing ride we'd have in the upcoming years. Little did we know that we'd conceive 5 children and get to raise only three of them. Little did we know that we'd say good-bye to some really special people in our lives. Little did we know that we'd get through unbelievable trauma when Marcel's life almost ended. Little did we know that he'd have to watch me slip into a strange and eery psychosis while pregnant with the son we'd lose. Little did we know how lucky we'd be to still love each other and still find lots of things to talk about fourteen years later.If I look slightly terrified in this next picture, it's because I was. This was the moment I dreaded most out of the whole day - our first dance. Not that I didn't want to dance with my new husband, but I come from good ol' Mennonite "dancing-is-for-heathens-and-besides-we-have-no-rhythm-anyway" stock and Marcel comes from good solid French Catholic "we-came-out-of-the-womb-dancing-the-Red-River-Jig" stock. I was almost positive I'd trip over his feet in front of all of our friends and family. Fortunately, my fear was ill-founded - I managed to stay upright. But he's had to put up with my clumsiness ever since.
I sewed my own wedding dress, and the one flaw in the design was that it showed off a little too much cleavage. My sister's bouquet came in handy when I needed to look more "virtuous".My how times have changed! Two of these people (below) are now bloggers (my sister ccap is beside me, and my friend Whippersnapper is next to her), two of these people (other than us) are now married to each other (Marcel's brother on his left and my sister on my right) though they were far from considering it at that time, one of these people is divorced and remarried, one of these people I have lost touch with (my third bridesmaid, who was my "Little Sister" at the time - through Big Sister's Association), and most of these people now have children or stepchildren.
The changes don't end there. Since that day, we've had to say some painful good-byes to some of the special people who celebrated the day with us. Looking through the wedding pictures brought back alot of memories, good and bad. Here are some of the people who've left us since then...

My Grandma, who was an inspiration to me, doing bold and wonderful things long after life would have slowed down a lesser woman. She traveled to Africa after she'd turned eighty.
One of the most important people in Marcel's life - his dear Mémère. She was an incredible woman who believed in people even when they didn't believe in themselves. There were things Marcel confided in her that I don't think he'd ever have told anyone else. When I was trying to be a writer, she made a special effort to come to one of my plays, even though it was in a grungy little downtown theatre. She bought me my first brand new sewing machine (that I still use) because she knew I liked to sew.Our crazy friend Brad, who loved to laugh and make people laugh. He lived life on the edge and died the same way. And of course, my dad. He died the day after our tenth anniversary. Celebrating our anniversary always has a bittersweet feeling to it, because the next day is an anniversary of a very different sort. I still miss him with a powerful ache. This picture, taken at the cemetery next to the cathedral where we had our wedding pictures taken, seems a rather eery premonition. It's been four years now, and I still don't feel like I'm finished saying good-bye to him.
It's been a full and mostly good life these 14 years. Sometimes, you can't help but ask yourself - if you could foresee all the pain that the journey will take you through, would you still go? Today, my answer is yes. I can't imagine this journey without my best friend by my side. He cried with me through the loss of our children, he held me up off the floor when my knees buckled when the phone call came about my dad, I held him close when Mémère slipped away, we grinned at each other when our beautiful daughters came into this world - I wouldn't want it any other way.

We all know it's not always easy being married, but for all those times I've felt less lonely and less frightened, it's worth the effort.

We didn't just break the mold, we threw it away

Tonight, while I sit here sipping tea and reading blogs, Marcel is at the parent council meeting at school. He's their new treasurer. Everybody loves him for volunteering. I love him for volunteering. It gets me off the hook. At least SOMEONE in our family is doing their part.

He's a rare commodity - a father who's willing to volunteer on parent council. Even though we've come a long way, baby, there are still some things that are traditionally mom's roles. Volunteering at school is one of them. But I'm quite happy to let him have this role. I'm not very good at the whole "mommy volunteering to make this world a better place" thing. I'm happy to go on the occasional field trip, but I'd rather not hand out pizza on hot lunch days, cut out hundreds of pig faces for kindergarten crafts, or listen to kids read in the hallway.

For the most part, Marcel and I have managed to live our married life outside of the "rules" of a traditional marriage. For the past 4 years, he's been the primary caregiver and stay-at-home parent (while he went to university). He's been to more doctor's and dentist's appointments than me lately, he volunteers at school, coaches soccer, nags the girls about homework after school, signs agendas, packs lunches, makes supper, serves pizza on hot lunch day at school, takes Maddie to story time at library, etc., etc. It works for us. It some ways, I think it suits us better than if we'd done things the other way around.

It's not like we sat down one day and decided "hey - let's be radical and kick tradition in the butt". Mostly, we've tried to make each decision in a way that worked for our own marriage, rather than in a way that lined up with traditional expectations of our roles. For a long time, we both worked and, back then, we shared the roles. We took turns with things like meals, volunteering, transporting to doctor's appointments, etc. Then one day we arrived at a crossroads where I was advancing in my career, he was stagnating in his, I was making enough money for us to survive, he wanted to go to university, and we wanted one of us to be at home for the girls more. It just seemed like the right choice for him to stay home with the girls and go to school (mostly in the evenings at first).

The transition wasn't without its road-bumps. At the beginning, I probably had unrealistic expectations of what he would take responsibility for. At the same time, he occasionally felt that I was taking him for granted. Sometimes, I have to admit, I found myself feeling little twinges of jealousy when he knew more about the girls' schooling than I did, knew more of the other parents than I did, and got to spend more time with the girls. And I'm pretty sure sometimes he was a little jealous that I got to spend more time in the company of adults than he did. But we got used to our new roles, and soon found that it worked quite well for us.

In the future, we might make decisions differently. When he's back to work, for example, I hope to spend more time at home, and then I'll take over more of the responsibilities around here. Nothing is forever, and neither of us is afraid to take one type of role or another. We just find what works for us. This year, since he's in school almost full time, we're back to sharing most of the household and parenting tasks.

I remember sitting on a farm in Africa talking to the owner of the farm who was a well respected community leader and politician. We were waiting for the meal that his wife (or wives - can't remember which) and the other women of the village were preparing. He was quite puzzled when I told him that I had small children who were at home with their dad. When I explained that my husband was the primary caregiver who cooked most of the meals and looked after the children when I worked, he looked at me with shock and probably a bit of horror. He couldn't quite fathom what I'd just told him. I'm pretty sure he was hopeful that I wouldn't have a chance to chat with his wife. I have to admit, it gave me some measure of pleasure to see the look on his face.

I am grateful that I live in a culture where it is not particularly surprising anymore that we've chosen the roles that we have. I am grateful that I'm married to a man who's comfortable with this arrangement (or any other we might want to try). I am grateful that my daughters won't grow up with any preconceived notions about what roles a man or a woman should or shouldn't fill.

Tomorrow, I leave for Alberta on another business trip. While I am gone, I never have to worry that the kids won't be well cared for or that the house will fall apart. Homework will get done, lunches will get made, dishes will be washed, and my absence will barely have an impact. Chances are, there would be more chaos around here if Marcel went away for a few days than when I do. (Fortunately, though, I will still be missed.)