Mezzanine
Published December 19, 2010 | 
I can fly… but I want his wings.
I can shine, even in the darkness, but I crave the light that he brings
Revel in the songs that he sings
My angel Gabriel.
I remember linking him the song. “This is how I feel about you,” I said. “I’m okay without you, but I need you around to make me whole.”
There was sorrow in his words, the weight of the thirteen years of life experience he had over me, when he replied: “No, you don’t.”
I can love… but I need his heart.
I am strong, even on my own, but from him I never want to part
He’s been there since the very start
My angel Gabriel.
We lived 248 miles away from one another, but we might as well have been separated by oceans. I was 18, living with my abusive boyfriend, working as an electronics salesperson. He was 31, living with a girlfriend he didn’t love, working on his PhD in political science. Still, we clicked. We matched one another well. We were vulnerable people on the verge of mental breakdowns who took solace in each other’s unquestioning, unwavering love.
There was a library in the mall I worked at; the librarians there came to know me well as I arrived for lunch every day, logging into a computer and hopping onto AIM to talk with him on an account I made just for that purpose. We didn’t always talk about love or life. Sometimes we talked about music or gaming or books. Sometimes we talked about mutual friends.
But every conversation ended the same way: I love you, firefly. I love you, pixie.
For lunch, I’d eat a soft pretzel on the way back to work.
Bless the day he came to be
Angel’s wings carried him to me
Heavenly.
He broke up with his girlfriend on very positive terms. I sobbed to him and confessed every horror in my life that I didn’t have the courage to flee from. He kept my heart beating. He made me feel worthwhile. Even as the monster I lived with kept me teetering on the verge of death, I took comfort in the fact that someone out there knew what I was going through … but still thought me worthy of being loved.
We never physically touched in a romantic way.
I can fly… but I want his wings.
I can shine, even in the darkness, but I crave the light that he brings
Revel in the songs that he sings
My angel Gabriel.
There’s no question that I still love him. It’s a comfortable love, tucked somewhere in that part of my soul that I retreat to when I’m feeling wounded. We’re healthier now than we were when we were in crazy love with one another, and all I want for him is happiness and security. I still feel warm every time I see him post on Facebook, and he still leaves comments here and there telling me I’m beautiful, but our relationship is calm. Peaceful.
Because we’ve survived the storm.
We saved each other’s lives.
Month Eighteen
Published August 13, 2010 | Dearest Maia,
When someone asks me your age, I’m not sure I’ll answer in months anymore. You are now one and a half years old. Seriously. SERIOUSLY. It feels like you were never an infant, helpless and still and so endlessly needy; I don’t remember those days as anything other than a haze, as if I dreamed them and they never actually happened. It makes me miserable to think that these days might end up that way too. So I try to document everything.
I document you dancing to “Sweet Caroline”.
I document you eating toast in your daddy’s computer chair like a big girl.
I document you being a ninja…
… and sleeping in the car with your big, pouty lips.
You’re so helpful around the house. Everything we do, you also want to be a part of, whether it’s sweeping the floor (when we give you a little dustpan & brush of your own), cleaning in general (if you get a paper towel, you promptly begin swiping it over the nearest flat surface), or carrying out the garbage. In fact, let’s talk about that garbage thing a little more.
You see, Maia, this is the month you’ve decided that temper tantrums are a Fabulous Way To Make a Point (your father and I are disinclined to agree with you on this). You threw a tantrum for well over an hour one day because you wanted the door to the balcony closed when daddy wanted it open. And then you threw one for forty five minutes because — get this — you couldn’t lift the bag of garbage. Maia. MY PAPAYA. I always make two bags of garbage: one that’s full for me, one that’s a little less full and lighter for you, and we go stomping down the hallway together happily but no, not this day, THIS day, you wanted to carry both of those bags and damned if anything was gonna stop you. Of course, then something did stop you and it was very, very dramatic, it was cats sleeping with dogs dramatic, and all I could do was try not to laugh at how ridiculous you were being.
Speaking of dogs! You love ours. You think they’re the neatest things in the world and you love to love them. You’re “nice” to them, then you’ll go “Mmmmm,” the way you do when you want to be affectionate and lean down to hug them. Sometimes you try to pick them up, but that doesn’t go over to well. You’ll run around the house yelling “DAAH! DAAH!” and smacking your stomach or thighs when you want to find them. When you find them, Joss is “DAH!” and Buffy is “DAH-DEH!” You seriously kill us with the cute.
Something else cute? You like to do a stompy dance. In fact, we could say you just like to stomp and that would be pretty accurate. You’ve taken lately to doing this huge, wide-legged stomp that borders on a split, and tottering around the house that way until you fall on your butt. You also love Ke$ha’s “Take It Off”, and well, when we combine those two things, we get this:
There’s so much to say about you, Maia. But at the end of the day, when I think of you, I think of the most beautiful girl in the world, one with an inquisitive, almost intimidating sort of intelligence, who adores life and living and and everything about the world she inhabits.
Including chickens.
All our love,
Mama & Dada
Maia hearts soccer
Published May 26, 2010 | Maia loves to play with balls (yeah, I know, the 15 year old boy I apparently harbour in my soul snickered at that too). When we were at a family dinner recently, she was kinda bored and antsy until she spotted a bouncy ball, at which point she became super-animated and just played with the damned thing all night. We played Monkey In The Middle with the two other girls who were there — ages 4 and 9. I held Maia and we were the monkey, and it was honestly a blast. I don’t know if any of us had ever laughed as hard as we did while playing!
When Maia & I are at home and we head outside to play, I bring a ball with us. Today, Maia showed me that she’s apparently learned how to play soccer.
It’s crazy how big she’s getting.
The comfort of coffee
Published May 12, 2010 | Sometimes, we have perfect mornings together. I want to remember them.
I know she won’t.
Today, as she shovelled Cheerios into her mouth, I put my coffee down on the table beside her. As usual, she stopped to look at it, and although she’s learned not to put her fingers in it, she likes to lean close and hold her hand over the top to feel the steam rising. Today, I tried to show her how to sniff and breathe in the smell, leaving her laughing at Mama’s wrinkled nose and exclamations of “MMMM, COFFEE!”
She won’t remember these days.
But there’s something profoundly comforting in knowing that the aroma of hazelnut creamer will remind her of comfort, and home, and me, many many years into the future.
Which scents bring memories back for you?
Connecticut
Published April 16, 2010 | After visiting my mother-in-law in Florida, we flew back to Connecticut to see my family. Our flight got in at 11:45pm and we weren’t back to her house until an hour later, which meant that poor Maia didn’t get to sleep until 1:30am and then ended up sleeping really badly for the next few nights in a row. Fortunately though, that was about the only “bad” thing that happened during our vacation (and we will never, ever accept such a late flight again).
The first thing we did the next day when she woke up was head outside and explore the huge yard.
My mom has chickens, which Maia was absolutely amazed by. This one is named “Murderface” (I don’t know why… they were named by my 20 year old brother…)
You know the best thing about chickens? FRESH EGGS. Oh my gosh. They blow away those pale yellow store-bought things in texture and flavour. Delish.
We used some of those chicken eggs to dye for Easter. Watching Maia dye eggs was pretty much one of the funniest things that has ever happened. She kept throwing the eggs into the dye buckets, which were coloured tablets mixed in vinegar…
… and then trying to eat the hard-boiled eggs!
Seriously, Maia? Vinegar-coated hard-boiled eggs? GAG.
Eventually, the Dora shirt was soaked and so we stripped her out of it. Next thing I knew, my sister, Katie, had given Maia a cookie to help her get some of that vinegar taste out of her mouth…
… of course, she promptly showed her auntie the proper way to eat it:
Soon enough, though, we were all out of the sun and dressed up again…
… to go to the Polish church for the Easter basket blessing.
The blessing was on Saturday and Easter, of course, on Sunday. My mom’s side of the family came over and hung out with us, while Maia raced around making trouble and being adorable.
Monday we decompressed, and then Tuesday morning, it was time to pack up and leave. Maia’s such a trooper, and handles the 8-9 hour car ride home with more aplomb than even I can manage. We’ve been home for just under two weeks and I miss everyone already.
Month Fourteen
Published April 13, 2010 | Dear Maia,
This has been a crazy busy month for all of us. The weather’s begun to look and feel like spring, and we have been making the most of it. I’m constantly struck by how different — and wonderful — this year is as opposed to last; last year at this time you couldn’t even roll over, and now you can practically outrun me. It’s amazing. You’re amazing.
You and Dada are pretty dear friends these days, even if you still come to me for comfort most of the time. You two are forever hanging out together…
… while I snap pictures, wondering how I got so lucky as to have such amazing people in my life.
You know “yes” and “no”, nodding or shaking your head vigorously when appropriate, as well as “hi” and “bye”, although you basically HATE the second word because it generally means I’m heading off to work. There are so many times this month where I’ve thought, we understand each other now! I’ve thought that you and I are on the same wavelength and that we communicate very effectively with one another.
But then you’ll freak out the way you’ve been doing lately, where all you do is scream and cry as if you’re being drawn and quartered, your fingers gripping my leg or arm or (this is the worst) my chest as you simply wail, and there is no placating the beast that has possessed you. It’s a little bit annoying, Maia, I’m not gonna lie. Sometimes when you get like that, your dad and I wonder if we can trade you in and get our happy baby back, thank you very much. To be honest, I think you’re getting frustrated that you can’t communicate with us more; I think you have a lot to say that you don’t yet understand how to give voice to. I can understand how that’d be infuriating.
The good news is, most of the time, you’re happy. I know I’m supposedly biased, but I’m pretty sure that you have the best smile in the world.
One of the greatest things that happened this month was totally unintentional. I sat at my computer, eating a sandwich and an apple; you ran over, took the apple off my plate, and next thing I know you were doing this:
I laugh every single time I see this picture. You were so into that apple that it was just amazing, and when I tried to turn it so you wouldn’t bite into the core, you threw an absolute fit. I wasn’t trying to steal it, I promise! I just didn’t want you to eat seeds. Lesson learned. I now cut the core out before I give you the apple.
Your independent streak is, as you can tell, still going strong. Mama’s great for comfort, but when we’re out and about, you want desperately to be one of the big kids. Your entire face lights up when you see other children walking around, and I can’t count the number of times you’ve gone racing off after one.
You’ve learned how to give kisses, and you love it. You kiss dada, me, the dogs, yourself in the mirror, yourself on the iPod, your stuffed animals… anything and everything that makes you happy, you can be caught kissing. If I purse my lips and go “mmmmm”, you lean forward and press your mouth to mine, avoiding looking in my eyes as though you’re a shy baby, and give me kiss upon kiss. It’s awesome.
I’m pretty sure you’re also going to give me gray hair and ulcers and strong leg muscles from chasing you all over the place as you grow up. To this I say, bring it on. I’m ready to take on the world with you.
We love you, papaya.
Love,
Mama & Dada.
Florida
Published April 10, 2010 | In a strange twist of fate, shortly after I moved in with Chris and began pursuing my Canadian residency, his mother fell for an American, moved to Florida, and began pursuing her US residency. Regardless, we see her a few times a year, but at the end of March we brought Maia down to Florida for the first time.
The first thing we did was go for a walk in the warmth. This walk started with all of us in sweatshirts and jeans, but within half a block the sunshine reminded us that this ain’t Canada, folks!
Aside from taking walks, we were able to go in Grandma’s swimming pool. Maia wasn’t really too sure about it at first:
But she sure as hell looked adorable, right?
Once we got her into the water and began pushing her little floaty around, she realized this was kind of fun!
Another day, we went to the Sarasota Jungle Gardens. This was a fun little place with lots of birds, bugs, and reptiles to see. Most of their animals are donated by pet owners who can no longer take care of their exotic animals, not realizing the time and money commitment necessary. There are (paved) trails winding through tropical foliage, with occasional placards to let you know what type of plant you’re looking at and where it’s from. This was my favourite plant there, although, of course, it didn’t have a placard.
One of the best features of the Gardens was the flamingo park, a wide-open area with a small pond nearby and something like 40 flamingos wandering around. And those birds are fearless. Fortunately, so is Maia (until one of them actually pushed her away from a kibble she was standing on, at which point I’m not sure she actually became scared of them so much as REALLY ANGRY).
And, of course, what fun would a jungle garden be without the opportunity for a touristy snapshot of a daddy feeding his baby to an alligator?
On this vacation, Maia lost a huge advantage over us. We realized, finally, that she understands a lot of what we say. We realized that she learns very quickly, and when she’s interested in what we have to say, she listens well. For example, in Florida, she learned the words “bird”, “cat”, and “squirrel” — all of which are creatures she decided she loved quite a lot. Her love of “bird” was our main reason for going to the Jungle Gardens in fact, and also our motivation behind eating lunch another day overlooking the water:
Bird watching is a hobby she takes very seriously.
All too soon, though, it was time for a different type of bird, one that flies thirty-nine thousand feet in the sky…
Month Twelve
Published February 13, 2010 | Dear Maia,
Beautiful.
That is the word that comes to mind whenever I think of you. And while it is so often a comment on your physical state — your shining, dark eyes, your long, narrow limbs, your perfect round belly — you embody beauty in every way.
Spiritually, you are radiant. The unadulterated joy in you find in everything humbles us. You are just as amazed by the little plastic tab from a bread bag as you are by a balloon. And let me tell you, that’s a lot of amazement; today at the dollar store, we found some mylar balloons and you started squealing, reaching for them, and babbling, nearly tumbling from your Daddy’s arms. When he gave them to you and set you down, you caressed the mylar and patted it, smiling in your wide-mouthed way, your deep dimple visible only when you peeked around the side of the balloon to make certain we still watched you. Of course we did. How could we take our eyes from you?
It’s so hard for me to write this, Maia, because I feel like words are insufficient. I wish I could distill every bit of delight you bring to our lives and put it into this letter, but it’s like trying to catch a waterfall in a thimble — no matter how hard I try, I won’t succeed. But I’ll try.
After I zipped up your pajamas tonight, I leaned down and kissed you full on the lips, then smooched your cheeks and neck and chin. You laughed from deep in your belly in a blissfully helpless way, twisting to and fro as if trying to escape, but your little hands grabbed mine and held on tight. “You’re going to have a wonderful birthday,” I told you over and over again between kisses, “we love you so much.”
I read your bedtime book, and before I even closed it you were leaning back, mouth open, head turned towards me, wanting to nurse to sleep as you always do. And usually when you nurse to sleep, I read, but tonight I watched you instead. I watched the perfect shape of your pink lips, the way the tip of your nose touches my skin, and as your eyes fluttered shut, I felt tears fill my own. My vision blurred. I want it to be 1:07am, February 13th, 2010, because I want to know that you have been here every second of a year, that there will never again be a moment in time untouched by you.
Maia, beauty can be found in happiness and sorrow, joy and bitterness, hope and despair. You will explore all of these things in your life, and I know that you have the grace of spirit to learn from them — and your father and I will be at your back, waiting to support you when you need us.
We love you so much, papaya. Thank you for showing us what it truly means to be beautiful.
Love,
Mama & Dada
Books & Trickery
Published January 29, 2010 | Maia loves to be read to. It’s not uncommon for her to take a book in both hands, run over to me, and plop her butt in my lap, all the while babbling. She particularly likes turning the pages for me — sometimes before I’m ready for them to be turned! And although I adore reading to her, I like it even better when she brings the books to her daddy. There is something that melts my heart about the two of them with their heads bent, focused on the pages of a board book, Chris raising his voice to princess-ly levels, growling with the ferocity of a dragon, and then adopting a nasally tone for the bum of a prince.
Sometimes, however, when Maia brings us books, she has something more devious in mind than using us. She settles down into my lap, talks to me in her wordless way about it, then as soon as I start reading she stands up, grabs the coffee table, and hauls herself up onto it. Now, I know I shouldn’t let my daughter climb on tables, but the way she casts a triumphant grin at me over her shoulder is kinda charming, and she’s pretty damned proud of herself. And she is apparently part monkey, because you would not believe how fast she climbs up there. I guarantee it’s faster than you read that sentence.
She’s a mischievous one, my Maia.