Monday, August 23, 2010

Dowsing for Tears

“I always knew looking back on my tears would bring me laughter,
but I never knew looking back on my laughter would make me cry.”
~ Cat Stevens~
If I could cry for us
I would Mark.
Squeezing out tears
wringing them like
gnarled knuckles
against tattered clothes

I would weep
like leaves
prostrating themselves
to the mercy
of the August sky

and I would cry
without trying
or holding back
vulnerable and exposed

to the ebb and flow
of whatever emotion
reigned, dowsing
a tempest of  sacrosanct tears
for you and for me

for the babies
we once were
prostrating myself
before this awesome
enigma of being human

First You Cry and then You Cut Your Hair

You cannot prevent the birds of sorrow from flying over your head,
but you can prevent them from building nests in your hair.
~ Chinese Proverb~




Anyone who knows women knows that one of the first things to go in the midst of any crisis is her hair. Today I got my hair cut. I mean cut.

Generally I'm a pretty content woman. Day to day, I get by, find joy in ordinary things, and  feel pretty good. When I'm sad, I'm the saddest person on the planet. I weep constantly. My eyes burn and I can't sleep.  I feel sick. When I'm around other people, I want to be alone, and when I'm alone I cry.  I had a pretty rough week last week, and after days of weeping and feeling awful, I made it to Friday. Not just any Friday. This is my holiday Friday. My kick-off-my-two-weeks-of-summer-holidays-Friday. Usually ante ceded in any emails by "Woo-hoo!".   Not this time. I came home and just wanted to crawl under a blanket until I disappeared.

Thanks to my adopted mom, I got through the weekend.  She bundled up my son and I and took us up north for some R&R, and she made me laugh. Oh my gawd she made me laugh. Thinking of her in her bathing suit, kayaking with a long-dead, giant (like huge/giant) northern pike sprawled across the bow with my son cheering her on from shore, makes me laugh just remembering it. It's one of those bright spots in the grey that makes me know I will feel better eventually.

Anyway, we looked at perky haircuts and agreed (as all women would) that a fresh, new haircut and colour would be just the thing to make me feel better. That, and a trip to MAC Cosmetics, and I thought that I would be on my way emotional recovery, or, at the very least, looking like I was cheery and competent. Ironic, because that's the polar opposite of what was driving me to get my outward appearance together.

So, this morning, before paying my colossal car repair bill from last week (special note here I do have a fantastic mechanic, it's just that my car is ready to retire), I thought I would go to my new hairdresser's, and get that perky little cut that would change my entire life.

My son was uber-patient today. He waited, quiet and still, while I explained to Helen the Hairdresser (no, really, that's her name), the kind of cut I wanted. It was a cute, just-below-the-chin-cut with long sassy bangs. I even brought a photo, and I wanted to leave the place with my dull hair looking cheery and playful - just like the picture

I was so happy as I tipped my head back, and Helen began to scrub my hair. Oh yah. Ooh yah. Feels great Helen. Wash that sad right outta my hair girl!  She combed and cut and combed and trimmed. I was going to be gorgeous. Gorgeous! I suppose it might be a good time to note here that Helen is Chinese.  I am not.  I am more the European, tall, broad shouldered kind of gal.  If you transplanted my hair to Helen's head, she would look like a freak, and if you took her cute square bob and planted it on my head, I would look like a weirdo. Kinda like Emo Philips if you will. So, there I was under the black plastic cape with a towel wrapped around my neck, watching Helen work her magic on my mane. Well, I wasn't really watching because I can't see without my glasses on.  I had set them aside, along with my earrings so there were no impediments to Helen's magic-mane-making. 

Helen took the big round brush that I'm such a fan of and applied it and the hair dryer to my head like a pro. She twirled and curled. I closed my eyes and let her work away. My scalp was scritchy clean and my hair was going to look cute. It seemed a little short, but it always does when it's wet doesn't it?  Helen began her final touches on my hair, and when I opened my eyes and she was setting the hair dryer aside, I almost burst out in tears. Helen had taken that square, Chinese bob and placed it on my head!!! A blonde one!!! I looked worse than weird. I looked like a dork!

If you've ever watched the Johnny Depp version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and are familiar with the bubble gum blowing Violet Beauregarde, you'll be familiar with what I was looking at in the mirror. Blue eyes round and huge in horror with a bob that curled just about two inches above the level of my chin. This did NOT look like the picture. This did NOT resemble the perky haircut that my adopted mom and I gave the nod to this weekend as the one that would cheer me up. What the heck?! Was it possible that I could actually feel worse?

Trying not to cry and yell, I pointed again to the picture that I had hoped would be a road map to my happy place. "I want it to look like this Helen". Helen glanced at the photo and gestured casually with her comb, " It's square", she said as she touched the bottom of my dorky looking hair cut. "Yes, I know it's square Helen. I was hoping for more round."  Round? I would never have described the perky-cute cut as round, but I knew that it sure as heck wasn't square."Oh. Ok." She said, and started cutting again.

Shorter. My dorky square, just-above-the-chin-bob was getting shorter. "Um. Maybe try some layers Helen." Clearly irritated Helen continued to cut with more abrupt gestures. "There", she said, "You have layers. Shake your head. You see" (yes, a statement, not a question here). I shook my head, and decided to cut my losses. I got out of the chair and took my photo with me.  I figured that I'd try a new hairdresser when my hair grew back. Helen tried really hard, but my hair was a flipping disaster. I was ticked off. Beyond ticked off.

I drove the twenty minutes home and, as most women do right after a hair cut, I re-styled my hair. My son was silent. He, having learned diplomacy as the child of a hot-blooded, never-one-to-keep-her-opinion-to-herself, single mother, kept quiet and waited patiently.  When I had finished with my haircut, I touched up my lipstick, and I didnt' feel like such a dork anymore. My very caring son said, "Wow Mom, that looks really good. It makes you look younger." I gave him a squeeze and said thank you. I wanted to hug him and tell him what a great kid he is, that he makes me happy beyond happy, and he's the light in my days, but that's not cool when you're 11. A shoulder squeeze is. So that's what I did.

You know, after I styled it myself, the cut turned out to be ok after all. It is cute, and it is perky, and I look 100% more happy than I feel inside right now.

Tonight I'm colouring my own hair. Let's hope that works out.



Monday, August 09, 2010

Vicarious Living

Photo by:
~Andrea Dowling - Frappier~
What would we do without our girlfriends? Likely be more like those 1940's housewives who seduced the liquor cabinet on a regular basis and made love to Mother's Little Helper every afternoon around 2. After all girls, without each other, wouldn't you need a little afternoon delight on a daily basis?

Two of my very close girlfriends are ready to give birth to their second child.  I've had teary calls, laughs, emails, and loved every second of each one.  

All of my girlfriends know that as each minute passes I become more and more resigned to the fact that I will not have any more children.  My son is cursed to be doted on by a mother of one who always wanted four.  I would tell you to imagine him living at home at 45, having his dinner cooked and bath drawn by mummy, except my girlfriends would never let that happen.  I will usher them into motherhood with reassurances and bad jokes, as they surely will usher me through my mid-life crisis realizing I will not likely have the kind of family I always wanted.  After all, they will be telling me about midnight feedings, dirty diapers and lack of sleep as I head into the nail-biting teenage years. They will be sending these children off to their first full days of school as I wave good-bye to my son entering the annals of higher education ( I hope ). 

All of this long distance through email, telephone calls, hallmark cards that say exactly what we were thinking anyway, and lots and lots of laughter, anger and tears.

Today, smack dab in the middle of a teary gynaecological crisis, one of my best friends emailed me this beautiful photo of her pregnant belly. About four years ago, in the middle of one of my famous diatribes about how-your-man-should-be-treating-you, she stopped me and said, "You know what McFalls. I'm not listening to you this time. I like this guy, and I don't want to end up old and single like you."  I closed my eyes and said a little prayer that "this guy" would treat her well and be "the one".  I imagine you're expecting me to say that, "'cause if he doesn't he's going to have to answer to me", but what really would happen is a long distance trip, lots of wine, tissue, high heels and squealing laughter.....and then months of weepy, giggly follow-up girlfriend crisis calls.

What did I know? He did turn out to be the one.  When he proposed, she called me and said, "Oh. My. Gawd McFalls, he just asked me to marry him."  I said, "Oh. My. Gawd Monroe, what did you say?!" If she would have been within arms length, I would have slapped her when she breathlessly answered, "I didn't say anything I came in here to call you. What should I do?"  Well, I flew to Ottawa in April, and was very proud to be the Maid-of-Questionable-Honour at her wedding. In honour of the nuptuals I sipped a bottle of champagne in the hotel room tub after I slipped out of my Maid-of-Questionable-Honour's dress. After my solitary toast to the new bride and groom I headed out to play the new Olympic spectator sport, girl pool. I couldn't have been happier for her.

"This guy" turned out to be OK as we say in girldom.  She stuck with him (not for want of teary, angry, foul-trucker-mouthed, calls to me late at night about his never ending divorce and child custody issues).  She put up with a lot. I wish I could say that he was blessed with an angel in this friend of mine.  I'm prouder and happier to say that she stood her ground, had her say, and stood up for herself throughout all of this.  I did do a tiny bit of mediating which remains to this day unknown to her.  After all, if I had a little sister, she would be it, and I didn't want her old and single like me.  Besides, between the two of us, as crazy as it sounded, and despite all that we'd been through, we both wished with all of our hearts for another chance at a family.

We share things that we just can't talk about with anyone else.  We understand each other professionally ( where else can you let it all out about working in the funeral business, the agony, the humour, the incredible amount of emotional strength you need some days), we both have single-parented for over a decade, and both know what it's like to live on a budget that would challenge the definition of poverty of any government known to this country.  Pride does not exist in our friendship. Sincerity and love, and sometimes tough love - ok, a lot of the time tough love proliferates in our relationship.

Today as I blotted tears from my eyes with the rough work quality tissues, I got an email from her. Pictures of her big-fat-healthy-baby-belly. My tears changed from ones of self-pity to joy instantly.  Those little hands and the little hands waiting to be born are a result of years of hard work between two people who, despite the circumstances and the odds, love one another. They love each other more than the stress of two sets of children, more than the stress at work, more than the stress of single parenting, of not seeing your children for months on end, of not-yet-officially-ex, and ex-spouses and more than the stress of paying the bills.

That belly, and all of the insecurity, fear, love and anxiety that created it out of love will bond these two families together as one forever. Her only son now has two step brothers and now this baby will weave a blood line thread securing them all as family.

I may mourn my own failure to have a big family of my own, but I rejoice in my friend's success because I love her.  I pray that baby and mom make the tail end of this journey safely, and that the love between husband and wife is strong enough to weather the storms of parenthood....more than the squabbles between the kids, more than the midnight feedings, more than the grapefruit and bubblegum flushed down the toilet, more than the poopy pants and teething, more than paying the bills, more than.........