I drove all night to get to you. . .

July 31, 2010


4.30 am. Emily in my bedroom. I know this because she has tripped over both the dogs, and there was yelping and wailing, and Emily shaking me, saying "Meredyth and Grandma are here."


My sleep addled brain wasn't computing. Why were they here at 4.30 in the morning?


Because there was no available hotel rooms between Toronto and Fredericton. Not even in the "fleabag" motels.


I stumble downstairs and there is my 21 year old daughter in the entryway, Grandma behind her, carrying a load of stuff.

And there was a load of dog shit on the rubber mat.


Just lovely. Welcome home.


They drove all day and night. They were tired, I was tired, Stephen was staggering around, his sleep aid alive and well in his system. I managed to manoeuver him back to bed, Mer wanted the couch, and Grandma slept in Keith's room.


Thankfully his room wasn't reeking of pot, just a lingering odor of pot.


When I woke up at 10.30, Grandma was already unpacking the car, Keith was on his way home for his nighttime adventures, Em was up and talking with Mer who was awake and still on the couch.


By one o'clock the car was unpacked, the kids were all showered and we decided that we'd go to the Superstore for some essentials and then to Sears to look at bed.


In the breakup, Mer not only didn't get any of the furniture, but she didn't get her bed. By the time shipping costs were calculated, it was just cheaper to get a new bed.


While at the Superstore, Grandma noticed the photo place and thought it would be a good idea to get Keith and Meredyth passport photos for their Indian Affairs status applications (Mer and Keith are 1/4 aboriginal).


It was a good idea. Except Mer was tired and cranky. And so was Keith. He didn't get to sleep until 4.30 am either. Too much fun avec tes amis. Neither was at all happy about having thier pictures taken.


Meanwhile, Em is feeling desolate. Her face is still bruised and swollen from the extraction of all 4 of her wisdom teeth. Further, she and Mer are not the closest of sisters, although they are getting better.


Most of all she has a hard time dealing with Mer's drama-queenness.


And Mer was being a drama queen to the nth degree. It is simply who she is.

Moving home after being on your own is difficult . . .at least that's what I've heard. I have never lived on my own. I lived with my parents, then married my first husband, then had children, then left my husband and lived with the children, then married my second husband. I have no idea what its like to buy groceries for just me, clean for just me, do laundry for just me.

But, I am intelligent enough, at least I think I am, to realize that being on your own and then moving home is difficult.

But having them move home is equally as difficult. And I bet it isn't going to get any easier.

Title Lyric: I Drove All Night by Celine Dion

The only thing that stays the same is change

July 30th, 2010

After 5 years living in Ontario, my daughter decided last Saturday that she is moving back to Fredericton.

Okay. No problem.

And then she tells me that she'll be arriving this Saturday.

Okay. A little problem.

When she moved away our four bedroom house became a three bedroom house with a small home office, mostly used by my husband.

The question, then, is where to put my returning child? The solution: with her sister. Her privacy-loving sister.

For how long: one month. We think we have an apartment for September 1. . .we're hoping. . . pending a credit check.

So fear and clear I am clearly not.

The cast of characters:

4 pets: a 13 year old Belgian shepherd; an 18 month old shepherd/rottweiler cross with more issues than People magazine; a 16 year old mackeral tabby; and a grand diva masquerading as a 4 year old long hair tortise shell tabby.

3 kids: two girls and a boy. All young adults with jobs and university and high school.

2 parents: my mother in a nursing home, my father refusing to leave the family homestead.

1 husband: working on his PhD, teaching part time, and still learning the challenges of being a stepfather (did I mention he's my second husband)

People tell me I should write a book. . .maybe one day. For now, this blog will have to suffice.

Title Lyric: Change by Melissa Ethridge