Why is the Quiet so Loud?

I drove my oldest daughter back to work about an hour ago. I just watched my son and my youngest daughter walk out the door with their dad. They will be with him through the long weekend until Monday night. I know this is a choice that I made that I have to live with. I know there are parents on summer holidays right now, wishing for a moment of solitude away from the boredom noise of their children. I know there are parents who have lost a child, or who are separated from their children either physically or emotionally. I know there are parents who are watching their children suffer from illnesses and disabilities. I only wish that all of this knowledge that I have, would somehow ease the sick feeling of separation anxiety that I feel each time I have to say good-bye to my kids.

I have no doubt that my children are well-cared for when they are with their father. In fact, I encourage the relationship they have with him because I know it is important for children to have two parents who are actively involved in their lives. It is also important that the kids have two different adult role models, as I think we each offer unique points of view regarding their choices and questions.

However, as a self-declared perfectionist mother, I struggle with the "not knowing". What are they eating for supper tonight? Did my youngest remember to shower and use enough shampoo? What is my teenage daughter doing on the weekend? Who is she with? Where is she going? Is my son arguing with his dad as much as he argues with me? And the countless other questions that run through my head when they aren't with me each day.

Technology has made the life of a single parent much more adaptable with the ability to communicate at any given moment on any given day- msn, text messages, cell phone calls, email... The sound of their voices helps. Their smiles on Facebook make me smile back. But, there is nothing like the laughing I hear from my rec room, the footsteps through the house, the doors opening and closing, the feeling of their presence.

The missing of my children and the overwhelming noise of the silence was one of my biggest fears when my marriage broke down. A counselor who was guiding us through the process of ending our marriage and helping our kids to cope, offered some wisdom that I try to hang on to when I watch my kids leave. She said that as parents, our children are only on loan to us. Each day that they are with us, we are teaching them to become more independent. They bring us joy and fulfillment, combined with the anguish and the worry. But, ultimately, they will become their own directors and producers of their lives. We will always be their parents. We will always be a support. But, eventually, we all have to learn to let go.

With this in mind, I fill each moment I spend with them, listening to their words, watching the expressions on their faces, being the observer of their lives. The complaining, the eye-rolling, the sarcasm, the tears, the smiles, the hugs...I take it all in. I hold those memories close to me when they aren't with me, and this is what gives me my strength.

Days 3 to 6

I would love to be able to write that the rest of our vacation continued without any other problems…as any normal family vacation should. What I mean by normal is an equal balance of adult down time, family activity time, sun burns, bug bites, stomach aches, swimming, biking, canoeing, hiking. Our cottage stay did include all of these things-maybe not too many sun burns, as the sun would actually have to be out for that to happen- but still, a lot of picture perfect fun. However, fate or destiny or some other kind of higher power had other plans in mind as well.

Day 3: Honestly, I can’t even remember if this was a Day 2 or Day 3 event. The day doesn’t really matter because when I look back on the week now, each one kind of blended into the next, presenting its own surprises and challenges.
At some point mid week, the mechanical black cloud returned. Unbelievably, it had nothing to do with the seadoo. After a day of fun on the lake water skiing and tubing, the seadoo had suddenly become a welcome member of our family again. However, there were still two more mechanical machines parked on our steep, gravelly laneway- my Volvo, and my ex-husband’s pick up truck. I wish I could say that the problem had been my car. But, that would make my story much less exciting.
Apparently, a loud grinding sound followed by the clanging of metal on metal is not a sound that you want to hear coming from the back end of a vehicle. Of course, the first impulsive thing to do is to stop, get out of the truck, walk to the approximate location of the sound, and try to find the source. As I bent over looking underneath the pick up, two thoughts ran through my head: 1- Every piece of metal underneath here looks completely unrecognizable to me regardless of whether it belongs or is in the right place, and 2- What exactly did I think I was going to do? Park it, that’s what I did- remembering of course, to put on the emergency brake.
A friend of mine who was cottaging not too far from where we were staying, was kind enough to stop in, crawl underneath the truck, and make a quick diagnosis of the problem. Definitely, the back brakes, and definitely not safe to drive. Following a call to CAA to arrange to have the broken truck with the broken brakes towed to a GM dealer in Parry Sound the following day, I vowed to put it out of my head and enjoy the rest of the evening with my kids.
It was a perfect night to get the barbeque fired up for pork chops and baked potatoes, with my nightly glass of white Pinot Grigio. Hmm, that knob on top of the propane tank was so tight. I checked the arrow on top, and I was turning it in the right direction. My oldest daughter then tried, followed by my son. I ran to get the vice grips (can you believe I actually brought a tool along with me!), but they were too small to grip around the knob. For some reason my son thought that banging on the handle with the vice grips would work, although the thought did cross my mind that this could be a somewhat unsafe thing to do to a propane tank. Alas, nothing worked as I stared at our foil wrapped unbaked potatoes and dripping red, thawed pork chops. Tail between my legs, I walked the steep slope over to my neighbour’s cottage and asked for help as I silenced that voice in my head that kept repeating “helpless female syndrome”. Two of the men were more than happy to assist the helpless mother and her brood of children. To my unspoken delight, neither one of those men could turn that knob either! Just when I thought, “Ha, it’s the tank, not me”, one of the men turned to me and asked “Are you sure it’s not already on? Did you try turning it off at all?” Oh My God! I laughed nervously, praying that this was not the case. He opened the lid, turned on a burner, flicked on the barbeque lighter, and unbelievably we had fire in our burners. “Uh, Thanks”, tail seriously between my legs now.

Day 4- The loading of the pick up seemed a ceremonious event. All four of us stood watching as the CAA truck driver hydraulically lowered and tipped the flat bed of his truck, hooked up the chains to the pick up, and then carefully pulled it back up onto the metal platform, and secured it in place for its ride into the repair shop. With a signature on a paper, I watched yet another strange man drive away with my ex-husband’s truck. It’s amazing how much faith I put in total strangers throughout this whole trip. If anything, the experience has made me much more aware of how decent people can be when they know you are at their mercy for help. Unlike being in a big city, people did seem to care about our daily misfortunes.
By the end of the day, the truck was fixed. Ironically, that emergency brake that I had faithfully made sure was securely pushed on when I was parking on our steep laneway ended up being the cause of the breakdown. Unbeknownst to me, the emergency brake had been disconnected and hadn’t been used for quite some time. According to the mechanic at the dealer, he said that the “shoe” of the emergency brake broke off (maybe because I was pushing it on every single time I parked) and became dislodged in the back brake rotor, hence the loud metal on metal clanging sounds. I now know what a chewed up brake rotor looks like.

Day 5- My oldest daughter was heading home as she had to work the next day. I had my usual sentimental “I wish you could stay” mommy moment as she was packing. She did her usual teenage daughter eye roll, calmly reminding me that she would see me the next night when we got home. Volvo gassed up, Ipod hooked up to the car stereo system, GPS firmly attached to the windshield, extra money from mom (just in case), and she was off. Being in a very poor area for cell phone reception, I didn’t receive her emergency call or text messages until her dramatic drive home had already come to a peaceful end. Being a teenager in today’s world of reliable technology, the use of actual road signs was quite foreign to her. She dutifully followed the directions of the GPS which took her directly down Highway 400, onto the 407, followed by the 401- at the beginning of rush hour traffic!
Transcript of her text messages “Am I supposed to see signs for TO?”
“This is really NOT FUN”
By the time I received these messages, she was safely on two lane Highway 8 coming into Stratford. A tearful phone call to her dad as six lanes suddenly expanded into ten with exits to anywhere in Toronto that you wanted to go, resulted in him guiding her by phone until she felt safe enough to continue on her own.
There are so many “I feel like a bad mother” moments in that experience that I have decided to let it be a lesson for future planning, and not let it become a recurring nightmare in mind of the many “what ifs” that could have happened.

Day 6- Of course, the owners of the resort now knew me on a first name basis because of the many strangers that continually came to the resort office throughout our week looking for the occupants of Cottage 4 who had called needing some kind of assistance or another.
When I walked into the office to give them the key to the cottage, immediately the first words were “Joanne, is everything ok?”

And, I could honestly answer her that it was. I know that the memories and lessons of this vacation, ranging from the highs of the fun to the lows of the breakdowns, will be laughed about, teased about, and cherished for many years.

Everything Happens for a Reason

Today’s title is a quote from my son to me, on Day two of our vacation in Parry Sound. It is a quote that he has heard come from my mouth many times, and was throwing it back at me at a time when I really needed to hear it. It took me a while to understand what the reasons behind my continual mechanical misfortunes were, but I have convinced myself that it was to make me appreciate every drop of coffee and each sip of wine that I savoured on the deck of that cottage retreat.

Following is a chronological journey of our “everything happens for a reason” vacation.

Day One- A clear day for travelling, with light traffic. The truck pulls the seadoo easily, all lights are functioning properly. Washroom/eating stops have been preplanned to avoid having to back up the vehicle under any circumstances. I haven’t quite mastered that skill of turning the steering wheel in the opposite direction that you want the trailer to move. For some reason, the more I try to move the truck and trailer backwards in a straight line, the more jack-knifed the whole unit becomes. Once frustration sets in, I give up. We are once again faced with the helpless female syndrome; or my son and I unhook the trailer, I back up the truck, then we reattach the trailer. Hmmm, I think this should be another reason to sell my seadoo.
Four hours of perfect driving conditions later, followed by the maze of twists and turns and hills of the back roads of the Muskokas, and we arrive at Sunny Point Resort. All rules explained to us, key in hand, we were anxious to get to our cottage. The friendly owners told us not to worry about the seadoo as they would launch it for us the next day. One look at the steep, ungraded gravel launch ramp had me counting my blessings that I had thought to prearrange this request with the owners before I booked the cottage. Little did I know what other adventures that launch ramp would hold for us.
The cottage was everything we had hoped for, as we did the quick tour including the calling of bedrooms. How did my son end up with the master bedroom with the view of the lake, and I ended up in the only bedroom facing the driveway, and a touch light at the head of the bed that I repeatedly tapped in the middle of the night waking myself up to the question of “Who turned on my light?”
All was well for the night with kids happy, mom happy, truck parked with emergency brake securely holding it in place on yet another steep, gravel ridge of a laneway. I could sleep.

Day Two- Of course, my son doesn’t care that it’s only 17º C. He sees the sun, the dock, the smooth lake, and it’s all systems go for a day of seadooing. As I sit on my deck, wrapped up in my pj’s and sweater, fingers curled lovingly around my morning coffee cup, I plead with him to let me enjoy my moment. Some internal timer in his mind must know exactly when “my moment” has extended past its expiry.
I am given a bit of a reprieve from his constant badgering when we are told that we have to wait until the afternoon to put the seadoo in the water as the guest (yes, I said guest, not owner) who was going to be kind enough to launch it for us, was not available until after lunch. When the big event finally took place, I watched and prayed in silent horror as my ex-husband’s truck was backed down the slippery, gravelly slope by some man that I didn’t even know. Again, that nagging question in my head “Was that a bad thing to do?” Once at the water, the seadoo is unhooked, my son jumps on, starts it up, reverses out into the lake, and I’m happy to hear that motor running. Me and the girls over-exuberantly thank the kind stranger, we jump in the truck and drive back to the cottage. We park, once again making sure to use the emergency brake, make our way down to the dock only to hear my son yelling at me from out on the water. Did he really say he had no steering? I watch as my problem-solving son maneuvers his way to our dock by reversing the seadoo to make it turn in a circle, pointing it in the direction he wants to head, then taking it out of reverse, and continuing this whole process until he is safely docked. Not an easy task with no steering- I had heard him correctly. That rudder was not moving even a fraction of a millimeter when the handle bars were moved.
Small voice in my head “I am not going to cry, I am not going to cry. I hate this machine. I hate this machine.” I slowly walked up the 56 steps to the cottage, sat down on a deck chair, and proceeded to cry…again about a Seadoo!!!
Out of nowhere, my son produced the Otter Lake Marina flyer that the owners of the resort had thought to give us upon our arrival, just in case. After 17 attempts, and 17 busy signals, I decided that the wilderness drive in unfamiliar territory might be the cooling down time that I needed. Of course, my son did not trust that I could find my way to the marina on my own, and also get the help that we needed to repair the seadoo, so he jumped in with me. Hence, the comment from him, “Mom, everything happens for a reason.” Peering at him from over top of my sunglasses, I give him a look of disbelief, grip the steering wheel, and keep driving. With two failed GPS attempts at finding this place, we decided to do it the old-fashioned way and actually read the road signs. Forty minutes later, we pulled in to a little bit of paradise. The racing of my mind came to a halt as I watched families swimming in the small bay, saw the smiles, felt the calm of that piece of the lake. The warmth and friendliness that my son and I were greeted with made the whole trip to the marina so worthwhile- and I also informed them that their phone was off the hook. Arrangements were made for someone to boat over to our dock to have a look at the seadoo.
Less than an hour later, I once again watched another strange man back my ex-husband’s truck down the same slippery, gravelly slope. I also watched the empty cooler, the water skis, the tube, and the tow ropes all slide out of the truck box, past the point where the tail gate should have been raised, and down the same gravelly slope.
One more hour later, and I found myself speeding down a smooth-as-glass lake with my sunglasses suctioned onto my face and the wind in my cheeks creating what I’m sure must have looked like a cartoon caricature of me. I felt that rush, that high from the speed and that feeling of invincibility.
I should have bottled that feeling- to prepare myself for days 3-6.

Seadoo Crisis Continued

One of my life goals over the past few years has been to learn to put things into proper perspective. I want to truly learn what is important to me, what drives me, what I am passionate about. There have been long hours of introspection, reading, watching and learning about other people, and it is by no means a process that ever comes to an end. Sometimes my vision changes or I become more aware of something new that makes more sense or is more in balance with what makes me feel at peace.

With all of this self reflection, a certain truth that I chose to push aside and then completely ignore throughout my younger adulthood has now become glaringly obvious to me. I have learned that the accumulation of material goods and the pride of living the lifestyle that goes along with those material goods, does not give me the inner peace or sense of pride in myself that I once attributed to it.

It was a slow process of becoming a “material girl” beginning with the digging out of the hole of university debts, getting that first “real” paycheque, building a nest egg with a partner, achieving financial success as a team. And throughout the process, something happened that was barely noticeable in day to day life. My priorities changed, my optimistic goals as a student were forgotten, my values lacked "real value". Now when faced with those changes- material and personal- by people who throw it back at you and make you re-evaluate your priorities, suddenly you wonder “How did I become this person that I don’t even really like anymore?”

Thus, the importance of my “Seadoo Crisis” was not me merely having a childish fit about a toy. It was a battle in my mind of letting go of the life that I used to lead, and instead, accepting the appreciation of all that I have in my life, and all of the new people and experiences that have been brought into my life as a result. I’m not going to lie… I love my luxuries. I love to be pampered with manicures and pedicures, 5 star hotels, fine dining restaurants, vacations to a hot tropical island. What I like to think has changed, is that I don’t expect these things in my life. If they do happen, I try to look at the experience with fresh eyes, and feel the gratitude of being where I am at the moment. I never want to take that for granted again. I want the experiences of my good fortune to be balanced with appreciation, and a sense of purpose.

So what did I do about the Seadoo? At one point, it was not going to come north with us at all. For the Volvo to pull the trailer for it, I needed to take the car to a Volvo dealer, have some kind of computer program downloaded into its system to allow for the electrical hook up, then a new part added on, plus the cost of labour. No way!!! In a fit of mechanical rage, I called my local Seadoo dealer and told him to find a buyer for me. I wanted it out of my sight, never to think about it again. When reality set in, the old “way of life” me was dreading telling my kids. On top of my personal revelation of changing my old ways, I was feeling extreme guilt for forcing this new way of life on my kids. For three years, I have tried desperately to make the transition from a two parent “normal” family to a split family, as smooth and undisruptive for my kids as possible. However, for me to let go of the warped values of my previous life, my children were going to have to gradually accept a different lifestyle with me than what they have with their father, as well. Not an easy task when I, of all people, know how easy it is to be tempted, and then lured into that lifestyle.

Thus, we have finally arrived at the point where the mother is crying about a seadoo, and as you can see, it is much more than just that. The day of my tearful meltdown, my son was at mountain bike camp, and all day I fretted about how I was going to tell him that we weren’t taking the seadoo on vacation with us (this machine sounds almost like a member of the family!). My oldest daughter had the privilege of witnessing my great Seadoo upset, rolled her eyes, and said she would handle it. What exactly did she think she was going to do that I hadn’t already thought of? She called her dad- yes, my ex-husband. He offered to let us borrow his pick up truck for our trip north. And despite the fact that there has been much bitterness between us, and many problems which I will never share as that truly is only between him and me, the one thing that we will always agree on is the care of our children. So I swallowed a big lump of pride, and accepted his offer.

When I picked my son up at camp later that day and spilled the details of my stressful day trying to plan the perfect vacation for him and his sisters, he looked at me and started to laugh. What he said next will be a memory that I will cherish forever.
“Mom, you really aren’t like other moms though. You aren’t the ideal mom (look of horror crosses my face with this statement). No, I mean you aren’t like a normal mom (look of horror diminishes slightly). I mean, you do things with us that other moms don’t do with their kids. How many kids have moms who would even want to go seadooing with them?” So, in his own way, my son let me know that he really does see what I do, and appreciates having me in his life. What more could I want?

Crying Over a Seadoo? Oh Please!!!

I wish I could say that the title of this post is the reaction of the mother to the child. Unfortunately, it is a commentary by the child to the mother- me being the mother of course.

Last week I was faced with a dilemma, which at one point was creating a chaos of unrealistic drama in my world. I have a love/hate relationship with anything electronic or mechanical in my life. I love the convenience and the entertainment that such items give me. However, the obstacle of not being able to maintain or repair any of these “toys” (in this case) has caused me to revert to a state of being the helpless woman in need of assistance…which is a status I have tried for years to overcome. To compound this helplessness, is the utter lack of desire I have to even learn how to “fix” anything that doesn’t have a beating heart, or lungs that breathe. Since January, I have had to make repairs to my gas-guzzling Tahoe (now sold!), my more fuel-efficient, but still mechanical Volvo, my camping trailer (also now sold!), my Seadoo (soon to be sold!!!), my lawn mower, and every single bicycle that clutters up my garage. Add up the time, the cost of repairs- including labour and tax- and the inconvenience this has caused me, and I am just about ready to move into my very own log cabin in the middle of the north where I can swim in the lake while hand washing my clothes, chop wood for my wood burning stove, hunt for my meat, pick berries for my fruit. Uhhh… maybe not. Where would I plug in my hair dryer?

My kids were ready to send me to our rental vacation cottage on my own though. My Seadoo had required unexpected repairs through the winter due to damage at the end of last summer. Off it went to the Seadoo dealer who I put my complete blinding trust in. I stored it in a friend’s shed for the rest of the winter, and forgot about it. During this “off-season” I did have the foresight to prepare my Volvo for the summer season of seadooing, as I had to have a hitch installed, as well as the wiring for the seadoo trailer hooked up. I felt so smug with my confidence in having thought of these things weeks before our trip north to the cottage. I was going to be prepared for our new family adventure. For many years, we have summered away at a family campground near Ipperwash. We spent hours at the beach with other families, and had many great campfire stories that we shared. It was time for a change, however. I wanted my children to explore their world beyond what they were already familiar with. I wanted them to step out of the comfort of their very “comfortable” lives. And the only way I could do that was by slowly easing them into different surroundings, making them more aware of how lucky they are to have this week in one of the most beautiful areas in Ontario.

Full of positive thoughts, plans started to unravel the week before we left. I was determined to make this work, and not let my kids see the stress level rising. The inaugural test drive of my Volvo pulling my seadoo home from my friend’s shed was the beginning of the slow melt. It was a hot humid night. My friend and her family were desperately trying to move all of their belongings out of their house to make way for the demolition of their house the following week. The misty humidity was gradually building into a spitting of rain. The last thing they wanted was to take the time to hook up my seadoo for our “fun” family vacation as they were looking at living in their shed/home/trailer for the next four months while their new house was being built. I wanted to get out of their way, and be on the road in short order. Then, we plugged in the trailer lights to the car. Hmm, only one running light working at the back; then no lights at all on the trailer. Check the hook up. All was where it should be. Check blinkers- no blinkers on car or trailer. Check brakes- no brake lights on car or trailer. Dashboard is now blindingly flashing out every warning message in its system that refers to the vehicle lighting system! It’s starting to get darker outside, the rain is increasing in intensity, and I know I need to get out of there so they can set up their temporary home. Last option- take my chances that I won’t meet any other cars on the road within the 10 km drive to my house, and drive with no lights on the car or trailer. There, I said it!!! I knowingly broke the law about a month ago, and didn’t get caught. Phew, that’s off my chest.

The Seadoo was now parked safely in my garage, in a space normally reserved for my car. At this point, I did not care if that water machine never moved from that spot until it was being towed away by a new owner. Maybe I just needed to wait for a new day to bring out the deeply hidden positive feelings I knew must be somewhere inside of me in regards to this big toy. No, next day I still resented it being in my parking spot. Along with that, another big obstacle had reared its ugly head in my mind of worries. I had not had this thing in the water since being repaired over the winter. How was I going to accomplish that? I couldn’t even tow it down my street legally.

“Mom I’m going to the beach on Sunday with a bunch of friends. We’re going to T’s boat and taking out his seadoos,” my oldest daughter informed me the week before we were to leave for our trek north to the cottage. Problem solved!!!!
“Do you think he would mind taking our seadoo to the lake that day and testing it out for us?” I asked her so sweetly.
“Uh, I guess so. You really want us to take it for the day?” she asked with a look of total surprise on her face.

As I stood in my driveway that Sunday morning watching a group of six teenagers eagerly packing up my expensive toy, I wasn’t so sure this was such a great idea anymore. Seadoo cover came off, and there was the battery lying on the back. Hmm, how does this go back in? Oh yes, I’m sure T’s dad will be able to hook this up for you when you get to his boat. My hitch doesn’t fit the back of T’s truck? Don’t worry, he has another one, although the ball is slightly smaller than the one on my hitch. It only jiggles a bit, and we made sure the chains were secure. Oh, and your electrical hook up has never been used, so that really is corrosion in that plug? As they drive away, I am once again faced with that dreaded question “Was that a bad mother thing to do?”

One hour later, Jessica and her friends now safely at the marina with T’s parents, and my cell phone rings.
“The battery is dead on the Seadoo mom (You have got to be kidding)…I don’t know why mom….Mom we can’t drive it…Mom talk to T’s Dad!”
T’s Dad “Joanne, you have to charge the battery after it’s been out for the winter. I will tow it home to my garage (fortunately he is a mechanic!) and I will get it running for you this week… No, there really is no way that the kids can test it out for you today. It will be ready for your trip to the cottage...”

Once again, the helpless female is left at the mercy of the mechanics of the world. Maybe I should look into “Mechanics for Dummies”.

This has got to be continued in the next post. There are too many more elements to my mechanical stress meltdown. Stay tuned for the fixing of the lights, the result of the travel dilemma, and finally arriving at the cottage. And just remember, I’m not making any of this up, although my kids sure wish that this was fiction!