A Revelation

So I'm at my in-law's on the lake. This trip has been in the works for maybe a month and for the month I've been on the fence about it. I only really thought about how much I'd have to pack and getting Jack used to a new place and not having access to all my stuff.

But what a great day I've had, one of the best in a long time. Having people around, family members who can lend a hand or take an interest or talk to, makes a world of difference. I'm not lonely or isolated and I'm eating normal meals at normal times. I got dressed and brushed my teeth. I can enjoy my baby.

This must be what it's like when you raise a baby around family. I'm getting a taste of what that must be like, what sort of socializing and support I'd have if my mom were alive and around. The unnatural feeling I've been having, questioning my motherhood, it's gone. After one day, I feel great. I miss the Dude, who couldn't come due to work, but other than that I don't feel drained and exhausted. Rather I feel able to properly enjoy the evening rather than recover from the day.

With the weight of loneliness lifted from me, I could really appreciate Jack and all the little things he does, like gripping toys and his giggles. Today he started rolling onto his side. It was so sweet and amazing to me to see him struggle and finally succeed, and then fine tune it. Soon he'll get himself onto his tummy. Sharing this milestone with people around me who care felt good.

It's nice to know there's nothing wrong with me, only my living situation. Staying home with a baby isn't unpleasant. Doing it alone is.

Baby Road Trip

Taking a baby out of town for the weekend requires as much planning as a week-long road trip. My mother-in-law wanted to throw Jack a party, akin to a shower, and my own family wanted to meet the boy so the Dude and I figured we'd get it all done in one shot, one car rental, one weekend.

Sweet Jesus.

So, everyone knows a baby needs a lot of stuff. They don't sleep in regular beds, eat regular food or use the toilet. So one must provide provisions. Enter the Pack-n-Play, swaddles and fan (For white noise); bottles, formula, breast pump, bottle brush and kettle; and diaper, wipes (disposable because I wasn't about to wash cloth diapers on the road, areyoukiddingme), and changing pad.

Then his clothes. Babies expel fluids all over themselves. I packed Jack a knapsack of clothes, pyjamas and receiving blankets. He also needs a bath to fall asleep at night, so we packed his baby tub too. And leaving for the weekend without his vibrating bouncy chair would be foolhardy because otherwise we'd barely be able to sit him down, so that came too and it doesn't fold down or anything.

So we had a game plan. This list was created of all we'd need for Jack (Plus, you know, a suitcase for ourselves) and we figured we'd pack the rental car, bathe the baby at 7:30 like we always do and go. Babies sleep in cars.

No, not our baby. He'll sleep like a dream at night, but turns out he's particular. He likes to be flat and swaddled and then he'll drift off all night. But car seats don't allow for either of those things. Kiddo was awake and miserable till 10:30 p.m. when we pulled into destination one, my mother-in-law's place.

The Dude set everything up while I changed Jack and MIL did her best to be quiet, but found it hard to contain her excitement since it was her first time meeting her new grandson. Unfortunately, he wasn't up for cuddles from someone new and it was one of those occasions where he wanted his mom. I rocked him to sleep very quickly and felt very motherly.

The party MIL threw was lovely. Her sisters all came, plus the Dude's best friend and his mother. Jack got so many adorable things for when he's a little older and the wisdom of throwing the party after his birth was obvious, since we already had everything we needed for the next few months. My particular favourite was the little yellow raincoat from MIL. All he needs now are little yellow rubber boots.

Packing things up from MIL's was as ridiculous as it was from home, only more so because 20 minutes away from her house she called because we forgot, of all things, his formula among other essentials. Jack isn't fond of the car, and so this was 40 minutes of extra time on the road with a cranky infant. I had to sit in the back with him to keep his soother in his mouth and otherwise calm him down.

At my aunt's Jack was in bed at a sensible hour and I indulged in white wine. Opportunities to enjoy wine are few and far between. The Dude drinks very little and I can't down a bottle on my own. I haven't felt a buzz in somewhere around a year's time. Oh, it was nice.

What was also nice is how much over the weekend Jack was held and loved by so many different people. Not only was it good socialization for him, but it gave me a break, much needed after all that frazzling time on the road.

We were smarter about leaving town, slightly. We popped into see the Dude's grandmother and made it on the highway around 6:00. We'd planned on 5:00, but, yeah. Babies. We got Jack in bed by 9:30 and he slept till 8:30 this morning, obviously exhausted from his first trip.

Our next big outing (though nothing compared to this past one) will be strawberry picking. I'm a makin' some jam! Also, it would be a good chance for Jack to wear his spiffy new hat.

That giant apple's got nothing on that cute hat.

Home From Christmas

Christmas has come and gone. We took a whirlwind trip up to our hometown to spend Christmas eve with the Dude's mother, Christmas day with my aunt and uncle and then Boxing Day visiting Buddy B's mom and then home to Toronto before the storm hit.

And we did it all in a pretentious Land Rover. We reserved something sensible, but none were returned on time so we were upgraded for free. The Dude has been on a motorized cloud nine and I just felt embarrassed. I don't care for overt opulence. Also, people on the highway didn't want to let us through. Probably because we looked like young yuppie jerks in that thing. Though the seat warmers were nice.

It was nice to see everybody. Everyone was interested in how I was doing and asked all the usual baby-related questions and fussed over my bump. Obviously it got touched. Some asked, some didn't think to and gave a quick touch, and a few tried to snake in there against my comfort zone and crowd me with rubbing. The first two I allowed with a smile. The latter I fought off, once with a dinner plate.

It was all in good fun until my dad, with whom I have a struggling and distant relationship, was one of those who attempted the crowd n' rub, which really creeps me out. I blocked him and he told me to "go away" while still trying to rub me. I really, really find that unpalatable. Even with permission, I prefer people to allow me to guide their hands to where I'm comfortable being touched. Being indiscriminately rubbed down is nauseating.

Whereas others laughed when I blocked their invasive attempts and knocked it off, my dad took it poorly. He has a habit of trying to force intimacy out of me in front of people for show, like those awful men who propose marriage at stadiums hoping the social pressure will garner an acceptance. Thing is, I don't care. I value boundaries. After I shook off his forceful handling a few times, he stormed off and that was that. It created an awkward situation. But I make no apologies, not when I fancy myself able to select if I'm touched in personal areas of my body and by who and when.

Otherwise the trip was a success. We ate well, received some nice things and had quality time with our families. We fielded a lot of questions about when we were going to bring the baby back up, say, for Easter. And of course there's no way we're doing that.

I'm due in mid March, Easter is March 31. The idea of travelling one to two weeks after giving birth is my idea of Hell. I'll be waking up every few hours to nurse, I'll need to sleep when the baby sleeps, and I really don't see how travel will be beneficial at that point. And of course I may go overdue, which would means I could be pregnant within days of Easter, making travel insane. Plus I'll be on mat leave so we wouldn't be able to afford a rental car so soon after taking a big pay cut. And that's too early to expose a newborn to a swarm of people. And there's no way to go to our hometown without stopping at three separate households unless we want to cause offense.

I can appreciate that we're loved and people want to visit with our baby, but I think this is one of those areas where it would be best to not bother trying to accomodate others. I'm pretty sure we won't be setting foot outside Toronto until summertime. Loved ones who can't wait are free to visit. We don't have a lot of family around these parts, so I'd be happy to have people come over.

God, I can't believe 2012 is nearly over. 2013 is going to be unlike anything I've ever experienced.

Thanksgiving Schlep

You know what sucks worse than taking the bus back to your hometown for Thanksgiving? Paying $320 to get there. Seriously. The Dude's licence expired over the last MTO strike, so he had to start over and since I don't drive, myself, he only has his G2. Which means no renting a car for us. And a car would have been slightly cheaper. And it would have been a car.

So, we'll be spending the holidays with my family, as usual. There's always a big family dinner of at least 20 people and tasty food. It's been dwindling and growing simultaneously over the years, as people move, find love and/or have children and either defer to their spouse's family or remains with us. I'm not 100% sure what category the Dude and I will fall under after the baby is born.

I imagine we'll still make the trek from time to time. We have family in the same city, so it'll be important. And car rentals are inexpensive compared to owning a car, which due to the TTC I don't believe we'll need regularly, so not having a vehicle of our own shouldn't be too much of an impediment to travel.

But still. Changes. Life chugs on. It's going to be time for us to create our own traditions in our lives, and packing up our child and driving three hours to see extended family each holiday isn't likely to survive. The commute is a bit much for a small child, who likely would rather stay home and hunt Easter eggs or open presents from Santa than schlep to various houses in a city hours away.

Probably we'll be able to keep up with Thanksgiving. The big family dinner is exciting and delicious and a time to enjoy little-seen family members. Nothing we could do at home would be able to match the fun. But as for the rest of the year, I'm thinking random trips up will be all we can manage. And they'll be packed and harried with all the different households we'd have to visit, never mind trying to see friends. How easy life would be if we all lived in the same spot.

I feel the baby kick more and more all the time, especially at night. It's a reminder things are about to get very different very fast.

Home

I'm back from my trip to see my family in Vancouver. And just like that, it's done. I can't believe I'm home. When I'm with them, it's like old times. A large part of the visit is always revisiting the past. We experienced so much joy together and went through so much sadness. And I have a deep emotional need to discuss these things and remember and reminisce, and only with them can I truly do that. With everyone else, I'm telling stories.

It was hard to say goodbye. With my cousins, they saw me off earlier, but with my aunt it was at the airport and the finality hung in the air. I was going and I didn't know when I was coming back. My aunt looked sad and I lingered at the security gate and waved. "It's not forever," I said. But it kind of felt like it might be.

My aunt is sick. And I think she's likely to get sicker still if she doesn't retire and care for herself. But she said she's lonely. Work offers companionship, contact with other people. All her old friends who love her are back here in Ontario. I can see how this problem would contribute to her poor health.

My cousin is planning on parenthood in the very near future and I think having a grandchild would transform my aunt's life for the better. The social life at work wouldn't be equal to the joy of being a grandmother. She's a big believer in people changing. Maybe that would be the change of life that would get her to slow down and get better. I don't want to consider life without her. She's so far away, but I would feel the loss terribly.

My cousin has a lovely co-op apartment that she's recently moved into. It's gorgeous, well-maintained, . The co-ops in this city are old, crumbing or in poor areas. The few charming ones have closed wait lists. There is a real rental crisis going on in this place. They could take lessons from the Vancouver area. Not in the homebuying market, no, but with rentals at least there seem to be good options.

My other cousin was doing well. He's such a charming and anxious sort of person. It's hard for anxiety to be sweet and pleasing, but he manages it with a great sense of humour. Sensitive soul, he is. His sister is the practical one, the planner, reliable and always thinking forward. I like the idea of us both being pregnant at the same time, which is very likely to happen.

I felt the baby move for the first time while in Victoria. We spent the weekend there touring around, taking it easy and while resting in the hotel room, there it was. Boop. Boop. And I knew what it was. It was the first non-painful, rather pleasant sensation of pregnancy I've had thus far. It was nicer than the ultrasound, which flared up my heartburn and forced me to hold back bile from escaping. It was sweet.

My abdomen has grown and I'm obviously and noticeably pregnant at only 16 weeks. I really want to enjoy this. I do. I've quit trying, but I'm still holding out hope it'll start to feel positive soon. It kind of reminds me of one giant IBS attack. Maybe if it stopped feeling like that, I'd enjoy myself more.

The Goose

Okay, so I haven't updated in forever. I know. Bad blogger. I've been seriously preoccupied. With what? Oh, I'll get into that later. Not today, but soon.

I was telling the Dude today about my high school years. He already knows all about it, but I brought up this goose I used to carry around with me in my OAC year (That's grade 13 to an non-Ontario folks, though it's a thing of the past now).

See, it might have been a duck, but I called it a goose. I was called "duck" by a number of boys in school for years, so I was more inclined to believe it was actually a goose. It went on for years, the teasing, though stopped for reasons that still remain vague to me. There may have been a variety of reasons.

In grade 11, my grandfather died and my mom was diagnosed with ovarian cancer within weeks of each other. In grade 12, my mother died and I moved in with my father at grandma's house, where I lived with his substance abuse problems full time and was randomly kicked out several times. Then in OAC we moved out of grandma's and she died soon after. Around this point I was dumped for the first time. And that's just the stuff I can write publicly about. It was a rough three years.

When I attended a friend's birthday party in OAC, she was given this stuffed goose and I for some reason felt drawn to it. My friend was good. She pretty much allowed me to adopt the thing when parting with it at the end of the night seemed to upset me.

This goose became a sort of talisman/security blanket/compulsion with me. I had to carry it around. I took it to class. He sat upright on the corner of my desk. He came with me to lunch. He was in my hands on the bus. I never left for school without it.

Did I lose my mind a bit? I wouldn't say that. But I think something in me was broken, damaged and in need of comforting. A little regression maybe. People questioned me about the thing, yes, but actually, I don't remember getting too much flack for it. Teachers looked the other way after laughing weakly at my confusing behaviour. Popular kids who had been hurtful to me years earlier said nothing. My friends accepted the goose as par for the course and life went on.

I don't know why I brought it up today, but my oldest friend posted this picture on Facebook of me and another friend of ours in high school, and there was the goose.

I showed it to the Dude, who I think never fully believed me. Photo evidence of a burgeoning teenage breakdown, held in check from a benign addiction to a stuffed animal. We do what we can to stay okay. Some kids would have started drinking. Others would have done drugs. I carted a goose around. I'm comfortable with that.

Baby Focus

Oh man, I am at an impasse in my life.

This is the age. Now, if you never want kids, this isn't the age at all. You will have more time to do everything you want to do because your looming infertility isn't on the horizon and you can take things slower or faster without worrying about the sacrifices involved in becoming a parent. And don't think this knowledge isn't tempting. On an intellectual level, it has a definite allure.

But when your heart knows you want a child, there's no reasoning your way out of it. I think of how gross it'll be for many years. Hell, when I was 6 I saw a mom wipe a kid's nose and think, Ugh, I never want to do that. And thinking on it, my mom rarely wiped my nose. I recall her tolerating sniffling a lot. That's one way to avoid the ick. And yet I still want to do it.

I think of the reduced income. Despite formulating a frugal plan that will involve cloth diapering, breastfeeding, making my own baby food and buying things second-hand, there will be things like daycare to consider. Daycare in this city is wild. Not unfair, mind you. Daycare service providers need to pay their bills, eat, and live, plus cover all their overhead, hence they charge what they need to. But still. Damn. And despite less money, I still want to do it.

The Dude and I are saving for Paris. We want to spend a week there, have one good hurrah before we plan for a family. But really? I wouldn't be that disappointed if we couldn't go, say, due to me already being pregnant. No, I'm not expecting or anything. But Paris < baby. I want the adventure, but I'd be okay without it.

It's been easy to keep this desire quiet for the last three years, which is when it cropped up. The Dude was going back to school, something that doesn't make for a good financial situation if you're a new parent.  Then it was because I was unmarried, which is something I wanted to do first. I originally thought buying a house would be prudent, but now that we've been significantly out-priced of the market for the foreseeable future, I'd rather not wait any longer. House prices fluctuate, finances change. Fertility only goes south, and so that's the call I'm heeding.

Somehow people still aren't aware that making babies in your late 30s can be hard sailing, and sometimes you can get aged out of the boat. You don't even know what kind of fertility you have until you try. But statistically, after 30 things start dropping, and by 35 you're racing against time. 5.5 years is not really that much time. I've learned that just by writing this blog. Three years have zoomed past and it's felt like practically nothing. Putting things off longer and longer would risk me losing out on something I want.

I think about having a child every day. I wonder if that's something my body is doing to me or if it's an emotional vocation to parenthood. I think maybe also I'm just tired of my focus being on me. 

Into the light

Yesterday was memorable. Many days aren't because no matter what you're doing, it's mostly more of the same, where you're not making memories, and just going through your regular tasks or doing things you always do. But occasionally you have a day that stands out. I'll do this chronologically.

I gave blood for the first time yesterday. It was easy, it was like getting a quick check-up, and apparently it burns 500 calories, which was news to me and made me fantasize about what I was going to eat for lunch. I felt no dizziness, no weakness, had healthy hemoglobin and got a little pin to commemorate my first time. I'll receive a blood donor card in the mail in several weeks with my blood type and I was told one donation saved the lives of three people.

And I had always heard "blood saves lives" before and thought somehow that it was extreme. But I guess you don't receive blood unless you need it to live. There are no frivolous blood transfusions. Needing blood or plasma is not take-it-or-leave-it. So that was pleasing. I saw people coming in the whole time, a steady stream filling the chairs and it was nice to see that. I think I'll do it again.

I had a hair appointment afterwards, transforming my scraggled ends and long roots into something beautiful and suitable for the wedding I'll be attending this Saturday. I always have fun at the salon. It's a nice group of women I enjoy talking to.

I made my way home slowly, stopping for a pita, for a gelato. When I got home I did a reverse lookup on a phone number that had called my cell early that morning. The voicemail was garbled and I couldn't make it out, though the number was familiar and from my hometown. And it was my buddy's parents' number. And it was my buddy's sister who called. And there were two messages on my home phone from them. And I realized something must be wrong.

It was my buddy who relayed the news on my voicemail telling me his father died suddenly of a heart attack. It was the sort of news you instantly don't believe and in the next instant realize is true. And my buddy delivered this news in a confused and foggy haze, probably because it was so hard to understand. When your father leaves the house and he's fine, he's supposed to come home. Sudden deaths are more than rattling, they can shake you out of reality.

His dad was a really great guy, too. I keep thinking about him and I can't really believe that just like that he's gone. He was a good father. You could see that in the way he spoke to his kids. He loved them and was proud of them, and truly enjoyed them as people. And he was loving and considerate of his wife and they built a new house together for their retirement years. Their marriage was enviable. Not everybody gets to find that kind of happiness.

I spent so many evenings at buddy's house with his family. We ate many meals, watched movies, had so many conversations. When Buddy and I went to college together they drove us back and forth between our college town and our hometown. When my dad threw me out, I had sanctuary at their place. They looked after Smokey and Jerry when they had nowhere else to go. This was a household that was open and full of love, and Buddy's dad was half the equation. He loved a good joke and enjoyed laughing. He smiled easily and had a swift mind. His company was easy and relaxing. I remember each evening hearing him offer to fix his wife a drink. Small sorts of chivalry and thoughtfulness peppered their routine.

And he was only in his 60s. There is no real fairness in the world when it comes to who dies. Some people try to make sense or order, but in the end, life is fragile and people who are loved and valued and needed die and leave a hole in people's lives. It's a simple truth I learned a long time ago, but it aches to think about it. And I know they're suffering and I so much want to comfort them and be there and do whatever is in my power to do. And in there needs to be consideration for not intruding too much in the delicate days of making arrangements and fielding phone calls and visits.

There's a certain helplessness. Not because I don't know what to say, but because I wish I could make the grief ache less, because it's really a shock to the system. Losing a good parent is awful. Losing one of the people in this world who loves you unconditionally is a painful milestone. I wish there was something I could do; I would do it.

Name Game Changer

2011, where have you gone?

You know, it was a big year. The Dude and I spent it being engaged, planning a wedding (Well, I planned the wedding) and we had showers thrown for us. We moved downstairs to a bigger and better apartment, planted our first garden, and finally got some more grownup furniture. We adopted Sprinkles and Bea and they've really brightened up our lives. We had our wedding, which was obviously the highlight of the year, and over all I'd say the year was pretty damn good.

We also got more Christmas cards than ever before. I think probably we were fresh in people's minds due to the invitations and thank you cards, all containing our current address. Funny thing, I got many adressed to Mrs. Dude, and Mrs. Dude Duderson. My own name completely obliterated by his. Ah, such is life. I haven't changed my name, nor will I, but I have to accept that this information will be slow in making its way to people and many won't retain it in their memories. I get that even in the modern age, it's still less common to keep your name.

Facebook, though, is handy. My name appears correctly there and that will help, I'm sure. My email will also show up with my correct name, so as I email people, it will reinforce the knowledge. My family also seem quietly pleased I've kept my name. Probably they had already figured I would, as they all posed their question, "Are you keeping your name?" as opposed to, "Are you changing it?"

My own mother hyphenated her name back in the early '80s, when it was definitely rarer to do so. After my parents split up, she went back to her maiden name and still had to endure people calling her Mrs. Berri from people who knew her through my brother or I. I could see it bugged her, but she never made a federal case out of it. When you choose what's right for you and that happens to go against social convention, sometimes you just have to roll with the punches with some grace.

I sometimes wonder about children. Again, I think we're going to be planning for parenthood, but until we're 100% onboard with it, I'm not thinking so concretely. But everyone will expect them to be Dudes, not Berris. I'd love to pass on my name. I love the idea of daughters being Berris and sons being Dudes. Why not?

Well, I know why not. Everyone we know will give us grief. Well, no, not everyone. All our friends would understand if we made this choice. But I think our families would be perplexed. And people on the outside would assume a child with my last name would not biologically belong to the Dude. And if we had one of each, we'd appear as a blended family and have to field questions and assumptions all the time. So what would be right for me as a mother would be so socially unconventional it might not even be worth my while for all the hassle it would cause.

The Dude sometimes likes to joke with people that he's taken my last name instead, and it actually shocks people. Rather than chuckling or asking, "Oh, really?" he gets a, "What?!" So deeply ingrained is it that a man's identity belongs to him and a woman's is tied to her family, and the family she belongs to is her husband's.

I wish we lived in a world that respected choice a little more. We can legally make any family name changes we wish. But that doesn't mean the greater world out there will be supportive or understanding. So as it is, keeping my own name may be as far as I go.

Christmastime

Christmas, she has come and gone, as has my whirlwind tour to my hometown. Unlike being a child and experiencing the pull of two separate families due to a family breakup, being an adult married to another child of divorce means more families to see.

My mother's family dissipated after the back-to-back deaths of my Grammy and mother. My aunt Debby kept things up as best as possible, however my Poppie moved to another town and she had to throw in the towel. Now she's in Vancouver with her husband, my cousins followed suit and Poppie passed away.

This depressing series of events has thus lessened my holiday visiting obligations, but I miss them all. I'd gladly make the time to see them and share in the festivities again, if I could. They were never an obligation in the true sense of the word. They were always a joy.

My father's family is in full swing. People are marrying, procreating. Christmas dinner swelled to 24 people, even with my aunt Mary & co. absent. I really cherish these holiday get-togethers. I love my family. They're the sort of people that even if you're not a blood relative, you belong. Warm, basically.

My aunt, the one who hosts it each year with my uncle, worries about it expanding beyond their means. And it's a reasonable concern. New in-laws, new children, all needing seats and a spot at the table. Everyone's always welcome, but sadly as people move or make their own families and stop coming, it's likely to be the only way the dinner will be sustainable.

And even more sadly, if the Dude and I become parents, I see us being two more who drop out of the dinner, as travelling hours on the highway in the winter in a rental car to zoom about every family we need to see with an infant or toddler is not my idea of a happy Christmas.

So we must make the most of the years we have left. Though although I want to have children, I don't think we're 100% decided on it.

As for the Dude's family, his father and stepmom will likely be spending future Christmases up here, where more of the grandchildren are. But who knows for certain. They're snowbirds and go to Arizona for the winter to bask in the dry heat. I think of them in February when I trudge through the slush.

The Dude's mom stays put in her small village home outside of the city we grew up in. It's charming. She'll likely always be available for a Christmas visit. We've spent the last two Christmas eve's at her place.

People have asked us about making holiday traditions as a couple. Truth be told, it's too early. Our lives, well, we haven't picked a solid direction for the two of us to go in yet. I don't know what will be best for us. I just know that the current status quo is probably on borrowed time. Sometimes growing up is a bummer.

The Wedding

I'm married. I've had a day and a half to let it sink in, and in small ways it's beginning to. I totally understand the importance of a honeymoon, though. If we were away somewhere, just the two of us, I think it would really give us a chance to absorb our new relationship status. People have called me Mrs. Dude, though I am keeping my name. The Dude's finger has a ring on it, which doesn't look natural yet. Thinking about the future has a slightly different sensation, in a pleasant way.

The day of the wedding, things were calm. I was in a great mood, I was excited and had some adrenaline going, but we all still managed to have a rather calm and charming day.

Lyn and I had breakfast, my maid of honour showed up around 10:00 and hair and makeup began around 11:30ish when my cousin arrived. McPal got there before 1:00 and we watched Bridesmaids. The photographer got there by 2:00 and we had a fun time, still relaxed and yet peppy. My planner got there around the same time, with flowers, and she helped us get ready, keeping us on schedule.

I was feeling really great. I knew I was marrying the right man, I was going to be surrounded by people I loved, my bridal party was supportive and happy for me, and I looked exactly the way I had wanted to.

We did our party shots prior to the wedding, because I didn't want to expose the ladies in their chiffon dresses to the November chill. We did a handful of good shots and the photographer left to shoot the groomsmen at the venue. The limo came not long after, and I don't remember how long the limo ride was. I had to text about our arrival, so people would be ready. It was so weird. I was en route to get married. I was in a wedding dress. Everyone was waiting for us to get there. It was a very surreal moment in time.

We were a little frazzled getting ourselves in order. We were about 10 minute late for the ceremony start, and the Dude's brothers zoomed past us to find their seats. Matt and the groomsmen had already taken their places. Music was starting. My high school friends were strolling down the hall. I was waving wildly at them and they waved back and smiled. I hissed, "Run! Run!" and run they did, clomp, clomp, clomp into the ceremony room, making a ruckus. It was pretty funny. Somehow all the confusion sort of suited me. This was not a perfect moment, it was a real situation that could not be controlled. There was a momentum and people were falling into it.

When it was my turn, my nerves instantly faded. It was a sense of being exactly where I was supposed to be. My fears of all that attention were gone and I felt like I was surrounded by positive energy. It was really warm in there, not in a temperature sense for me, but just very comfortable and natural. Walking myself down the aisle was a very gratifying experience. I felt like a grown woman making an important decision on my own. Which I am, which I was.

I cried, the Dude smiled and his mouth was twitching. He was so nervous and I could tell he couldn't bear to look at all the people. We held eye contact the entire time. My tears and his smile, and our officiant speaking so well and so beautifully. We had two poems, one at the start about the art of marriage, and another at the end about love.

We exchanged the rings we made, we said our vows, which were traditional, and said our "I dos", not in that order. After our kiss and signing the registry, we looked out to the crowd as we were announced as a married couple. The wedding wands were waving in the air, the ribbons flying, the bells jingling softly, and everyone was smiling. We went down the aisle, hand in hand, and I felt so happy, and just so contented.

A makeshift receiving line formed, one we hadn't planned on, but happened naturally as people wanted to congratulate us. It was very sweet and took a short time, as we had only 85 people to greet. Within 10 minutes, we had seen everyone and were ready for pictures.

Of course, my dad wanted his own pictures before the photographer could get in there. Actually, he took me away from other people and other cameras about a dozen times that night. He made something of a bad impression a few times, but otherwise behaved himself. My brother was full of smiles. I was so glad to see him so happy for me.

Outside our photographer, a friend of Matt's, got some lovely shots. I had a cute cardigan to brave the chill and we spent maybe 20 minutes out there. All of our other shots with our party were done, so we spent the rest of the cocktail hour socializing with our guests. It was great.

At 7:00, it was time for dinner, we didn't bother with any sort of special entrance, and things got going shortly. There were some nice speeches, from the Dude's dad, my dad, the Dude's stepbrother and his mom. His mom's speech was epic. I knew it was going to be good. It seriously rocked the room. The Dude capped off the speeches and he did really well. It was short, sweet and charming.

Then our first dance. Oh, I love the song we used, No One's Gonna Love You. It sounds terrible, but the second part of that sentence is, "more than I do." We had wanted people to join us, but my buddy didn't mention that when he announced us, so no one did. I can't recall if I told him about our wishes or not. Whoops. But either way, it happened the way it happened, it was sweet and we enjoyed ourselves.

Then it was dance time. But first my dear little aunt wanted a picture. She had wanted one in the receiving line and I had asked her to wait. So now the whole room waited while she took the moment to get her picture. It was actually kind of funny just how bad her timing was. Once the dance floor opened, it was open and people were on the floor.

The cake was a funny situation. My planner said it was time, and the Dude ran off to find the photographer. They disappeared for five minutes after the cake cutting was announced. It was so awkward and absurd. No one could find them and we were all standing around to background music waiting and waiting. When the Dude ran back in there was some applause and we got down to business. It was a damn fine cake. The fridge is currently housing a ridiculous amount of it.

The wedding went on till 1:00. Two thirds of the guests stayed till the end. The alcohol was flowing and people made good use of it, the dance floor had people up and on their feet, everyone had good things to say about the food, the party in general, my dress. I called a cab company and asked for pretty much every cab. People got going, I wrangled things I needed to get home, tried to make sure people had what they needed and, you know, I'm pretty thankful for daylight saving's time. Instead of getting in bed by 3:00, it was really 2:00.

I didn't drink any alcohol that night. I didn't want to make numerous trips to the bathroom, I didn't want to forget anything, and honestly, I just didn't need it. I couldn't eat much either. I think I was too full of energy, and with the corset on my dress, I just didn't have room. It was too bad, but I'd done the tasting with the Dude so at least I'd had the meal before.

When the Dude woke up the next day, he said, "Good morning, wife." And it was so lovely.

I had exactly the wedding I wanted. I never set out for a perfect day, but somehow that translated into me having a perfect day. I feel so satisfied.

Godfather

When I was growing up, I went to my dad's most weekends. He wasn't a stable home sort of guy. He moved around a lot. I never really thought it was weird, though it was occasionally inconvenient. He lived with friends, with his sister, his parents, sometimes on his own, and with my godfather, who was also separated from his wife.

My godfather had two kids, the same ages roughly as my brother and I. The weekends we spent with them was the best. If we weren't with them, we'd usually be on the couch watching TV shows my dad wanted to watch, sometimes playing Monopoly, we went to the beach a few times, or over to my aunt's in the summer for a swim. But mostly it was with my godfather's family and I loved it.

The four of us had sleepovers, we went bike riding, we swam and tried our hand at skateboarding. We went to each other's birthdays and listened to music. It was wonderfully normal, actually, because so few times did I get to spent weekends with friends from school because my dad had dibs. He'd pick me up early from birthday parties because it was his Saturday. He actually took me to his friends' kids' parties without providing me with a present to bring, and I wouldn't know anybody.

Hanging out with this family was wonderful. They were my friends, and they felt like family. I saw my cousins all the time with my mom and with my dad, I had my godfather's kids.

When I was about 18, my brother, father and I were living together in a duplex around my old neighbourhood. Before I moved away to college, my dad and my godfather had a massive falling out. I never learned about the details. I was inclined to think my dad was blowing things out of proportion, as that is what he often does, but the whys of the matter didn't make a difference. The result was the same. My godfather was excommunicated, as it were, from our lives.

Crossing my father in this matter was a highly charged and volatile situation. There was no changing his mind and I couldn't broach the subject with him without regretting it. So I learned to live without this man in my life. And that had always struck me as unfair, but I hadn't known at the time how to stand up to my father.

Over the years I moved on, sometimes remembering the good times, but didn't know what to do about getting back in touch. Some time ago I found his daughter on Facebook and contacted her. It was nice, though the old intimacy was gone. But that's to be expected. I looked through her wedding photos and was pleased to see her so happy, but sad that I'd missed so much of her life when we had been good friends as kids. Always opposites, but we had called each other "godsisters".

So when I was writing out invitations (an incredibly large and complicated undertaking, even for a small wedding) I decided I was going to mail my godfather an invite and let him know I was getting married and would like him to be there. I found his address and number, the same lovely rural place it was back when I was a teenager, and mailed his invite.

I haven't heard from him. I haven't heard from a handful of people, actually. Some are taking their time, or figure I should just know the answer psychically, or were working out the logistics of travel, and one I let slip through the cracks and didn't even send (I am SO sorry!), and I've begun getting a hold of these people personally.

I called the number associated with the address and in that moment realized why I just mailed the invitation without calling first to reconnect. I wasn't sure if they still cared about me and I was nervous about it. So when I called today I left the most rambling insane voicemail message of my life. I asked if they were who I thought they were, was this the right number? Hi, I'm Jendra, your god daughter and I'm getting married, did you get my invitation? Was wondering if you could come. I hope this is the right number. Here's my number. So, anyway... And it went on like that for much longer than it should have.

Maybe I got the wrong address. Maybe they want to avoid my father. Maybe they don't care about me anymore. Maybe it's too far to travel. I don't know. But if they don't get back to me, I'll have to try again and stumble through another nonsensical round of my foolishness.

Another reason I'm looking forward to the wedding is everything will be done and I can put some of this social awkwardness behind me.

I really hope my godfather and his wife can come. I regret not calling first. I think I was just feeling a little insecure. Sometimes I worry the people I care about don't feel the same way about me.

Aunt Jendra

I'm going to be an aunt. My brother is expecting a child with his ex-girlfriend. Or perhaps she's current. I'm not sure. But he's going to be a father, and regardless of his romantic situation, I'm emotionally invested in my first niece or nephew. How could I not be? My only brother is expecting his first child.

And it's so wild. I mean, this guy, my brother, is perpetually a teenager in my mind. He's always seemed so much younger than me. I think it's an older sibling thing. The Dude's older brothers are always calling to check up on him, probably because they feel the same way. It's hard to see your little brother as a grown man sometimes.

And now it's really hitting home. And I obviously have concerns. I mean, any unplanned pregnancy in a relationship that's not solid to a young couple is going to need some help. And I don't live in their city, which sucks. I don't want to be a twice-a-year aunt. I don't think I'll have much choice in the matter living three hours away, but knowing my brother could use some family support and not being there for him really bums me out.

The baby is due in September. They told everyone early. Most people wait till the first trimester is over in case of a miscarriage, which is a possibility early on. But I guess they were pretty excited and excited people like to share their news.

This is a big year for him and me. I'm getting married, he's becoming a father. This is grown-up stuff. My mom would be having a field day. Too bad she won't be there to be a grandma. This child would have hit the jackpot with my mother as his or her grammy.

I know I've been having some sorrow over my mom not being here for my wedding planning. It really hurts sometimes. I wonder how Jamie is going to feel about his mom not being there to meet his child or support him along the way. Probably he's feeling the loss.

2011 is turning out to be quite the year. And it's only February.

Aunts and Uncles

I found out today that my aunt had a heart attack. I have many aunts. This aunt is my godmother. I last saw her at her daughter's wedding in Mexico. She survived the heart attack, is back at home and is on bed rest for months. She's also in Vancouver, which means I can't see her.

My cousin called me this morning and we had a long talk about it. I work today, but that was shot after getting this news. I just couldn't concentrate. I did about half my work before external sources took over, and through the power and folly that is technology I was prevented from getting anything further done, removing my responsibility in the matter. Normally tech problems frustrate me. Today they were a god send.

I miss my family. Knowing that my aunt is sick and that I can't see her is difficult. If she were in my hometown, I'd be making arrangements to get back for a few days to see what I could do for her. I'm used to being several hours away from everyone, so it's easy to ignore the fact Vancouver is so far away. I push that away in my mind, and let it out when I know I'm close to seeing them all again. I get excited and almost giddy with anticipation.

She's only 60 years old, which is young, but at the same time disturbingly old since she's perpetually about 50 in my mind. My own mother would be 61 this past January. Hard to comprehend.

My uncle in my hometown had cancer removed from his colon recently. He's in the hospital, fighting off a complication from the surgery. This uncle is the one I stay with when I visit back home. My aunt is my blood relative and the two of them were like surrogate parents after my dad gave up on me. He quite literally decided to move to a place where there would be no room for me in his home while I was in college, so that when I came back for the summer I had nowhere to go. My aunt and uncle opened their home and never closed it.

So now these two people, this aunt and this uncle are experienced medical problems, the kind that come about from age, yes, but they're still young. And they're people I love and value, people who have taken me in like their own child when I needed it, and after my mother passed and my father took me in and threw me out at whim, I needed it a lot.

Sometimes getting older is painful because of the fact other people are getting older, too. Sometimes I wish I could freeze people in time. I'm choosing optimism right now. But unfortunately, I can't unknow what I've learned about the unfairness of life. And that'll keep me up tonight, and tomorrow night, and probably for many nights after that.

All in the family

I kind of can't believe how fast things are moving, how time is zooming by already. Mid February already. I was floored by how fast New Years had come and I'm getting glimpses at just how much longer I have to be in my 20s. Barely any time left at all.

The Dude turned 30 a couple days ago. We had a nice party for him at The Ballroom downtown, a new bowling alley that plays classic rock and has a sweet lounge upstairs. Oh, and by classic rock, I mean what is now classic rock: the music of my teenage years in the '90s.

I looked around and saw people my own age, maybe less a couple years, maybe more by a few years. Everyone was singing along to the music and I had flashes of dancing with my friends at school dances in grades 8 through 12. Oh, and for the record, I'm shite at bowling. But my memory for my teenage years is spectacular, more than it ought to be for my own happiness' sake maybe, but at least I remember lyrics, too.

I don't overly care much about music in general. I mean, I'm a human being so I do enjoy it, but it doesn't really meet my emotional artistic needs quite the way movies, books, visual art and even TV do. But I do enjoy a blast from the past, and music is a big way people of a shared generation connect with each other when they're going through adolescence.

The music at the bowling alley reminded me I needed to think about a DJ for the wedding. I am signed up at a couple wedding websites to help me keep track of what I need to be doing so I don't screw myself in the planning process.

The Dude and I have a cake consultation tomorrow, and now a DJ consultation this Saturday. I'm kind of jazzed about both. The cake means, well, cake. And cake is awesome. Nothing in life can't be improved with a little cake. And the DJ is something I'm getting excited about. I'm thinking of all the fun music we can plan to hear, the kind that makes you dance, the kind everyone knows and sings along to, the sort that is universally enjoyed and shared.

Still, in spite of the fact I enjoy the whole process, and even though I don't have to check in with anyone and can just do what I want, a part of me is bummed. This is usually a time when a woman's family comes together and gets involved. But my mom is gone, as are both my grandmas, and my godmother is across the country now, along with my closest female cousin. All my other aunts live at least three hours away.

I'm not feeling sorry for myself, exactly. I see the good things. I just can't help but mourn what I'm missing. I'm missing family who will share my joy with me and be a part of my process. I don't consider everything I've done since my engagement as being of ceremonial importance the way some women do ("But it's my last dress fitting! You have to come!"), but a little familial companionship would be comforting.

Maybe we should have thrown a small engagement party in our hometown, just because we see so little of our families in person and it would have been a way to have that family experience during our engagement. Our parents won't meet either. I'm estranged from my only living parent, so what's the point?

I suppose what I'm feeling is simply that: the lack of family in this whole milestone. I'm feeling like that lone chopstick. I do know they all care. I know they'll show up, offer good wishes and congratulations and be happy for us. I also know the only thing I'm really missing is my mom and in her absence I have no stand-ins to lean on. This is one of the times I acutely feel my motherlessness. The hole she leaves can't be filled by even the rest of your family. Such is life.

The Ring

So I said I would talk about my ring and the story behind it. I touched a bit on where it comes from when I first got engaged. It was my mother's and it was her mother's before that.

But there's a bit more to the story. I almost lost the damn thing once, due to naivete and a sneaky old bat.

I technically inherited the ring when I was 16, but my aunt held on to it for me until I was 20 (Or around there). Sensible choice. If it's one thing teenagers can't be trusted with, it's anything of importance. But seriously, no. 16 is no age to take charge of a family ring.

The ring itself was a gift from my Poppie to my Grammy for a wedding anniversary, their 25th, I believe. It was the one item of jewellery that my mother had from her mom and I never saw her wear it. She didn't have a lot of occasion in her life to dress up or wear fine things. She didn't own many fine things, if she owned any at all. She spent her money on the mortgage, gas, insurance, food and things for my brother and I. Her pleasures in life were books, her friends and Tetris on our NES. The ring lived in her jewellery box, which was shaped like a treasure chest, and it never came out.

So when I got it at the still young age of 20, I had no specific memories of the ring. I never saw it on a finger. I just knew it was valuable, and its value was due 90% to the fact it was owned by two women before me, dead and gone, who I loved.

My dad developed this paranoia about the ring. He'd bring it up, he'd envision it getting stolen. He wanted it out of the house. He suggested it go to my Poppie's, since it originally came from him and he'd probably happily look after it for me. Probably he had a safety deposit box.

So on a visit to see Poppie one day during summer break from college, I presented him the ring, watched his face light up and felt good about the choice to let this trusted adult hang on to it for me. I went to see him with the boyfriend I had at the time, Buddy B. Also there was Poppie's companion, Wilma. Wilma said something that day that I didn't pick up on, but that B was astute enough to note:

"I would never try to take that ring from you, Jendra."

That gave B a "huh" in his mind that he filed for later. Seemed an odd thing to say out of the blue, as people with no intentions to take things don't think to state that it won't happen.

I saw Poppie and Wilma with B a few more times before Poppie abruptly moved away to a small town (Wilma's home base) some hours away. With no way to get there, I was at a loss. Not only were our visits over, but my ring was now out of my reach as well. But while I was nervous, I decided to relax and have faith in Poppie.

A couple years went by when suddenly Poppie was moving back to our hometown, and had an appointment with his lawyer. All seemed very intriguing, and I was making plans to see him within the month. A lot had changed since he moved. For one, I was now dating someone new, Ex-R. Also I was done college and had a bit more freedom to make travel plans back home.

Then Poppie died. He basically got home and passed away. So up I came, and my aunt flew in from across the country and we took stock of our situation. Things were odd. Wilma was in poor health, her daughters were nowhere to be seen, even though she lost her companion, and even after she had a bad fall and my family had to break into the house and rescue her.

My aunt started to take charge. She took Poppie and Wilma's car out to run errands for the funeral and to get food and other things. Wilma started getting paranoid about the car, hinting that my aunt was trying to take it away. Then I got the sinking feeling. My ring. What if in the will there was no mention of the ring?

So I told my aunt the situation. And she took me in hand and asked Wilma about its whereabouts. Wilma didn't know. We looked. Nothing. The house was unpacked and the ring was missing, and being a valuable, this was unlikely to have been misplaced, not with everything else in its proper spot.

In the end I had to go home to Toronto and beat myself up for being so careless with an heirloom that was now seemingly in the hands of a mercenary old woman. Upon reflection I saw it all, how she never left me alone with Poppie, how she followed us everywhere and how we couldn't have a private conversation, how she went out of her way to tell me she'd never take my ring.

I wept over my mistake. I felt stupid and betrayed, and I felt as though I let my mother and Grammy down.

Then one day I got a letter in the mail. My last name was spelled wrong, but it was for me. My ring was located and if I could make arrangements to get it, it was mine. I was jubilant. Grateful. Words don't describe feeling as though a grave error has been fixed for you.

I called my aunt, who filled me in on what the letter had not: Why was I getting it back? Wilma had kept all my Grammy's collectible keepsakes. I was certain she was going to keep my ring. This is where my family gets awesome. My aunt filled in her brother on what had happened. He was the executor of Poppie's will. From that moment on, not a thing would be done by him until the business of the ring was settled and I had it back. Then Wilma could see her way to her inheritance.

And suddenly the ring emerged. From the trunk of the car. Seems it had been there the whole time.

Ex-R drove me to Wilma's daughter's home, where I got my ring. It was strangely familiar for something I had seen so little of. The daughter had me sign a paper saying I got it back. I thought all was well, but she felt the need to tell me how difficult my family was, and how all they wanted was for it to be over with.

With my family ring in hand, I channelled the women who owned it, looked her in the eye and didn't take the bait, "I'm sure we all want the same thing. Thank you. Goodbye."

And after all that, I still never wore it. It caused me joy, it caused me grief, it was a source of pride and anxiety for me. And it just sat there, in the treasure chest jewellery box I kept from my mother.

So when it came time for me to tell the Dude what ring I wanted, and after some long thought (I originally said a sapphire), I realized the ring I was meant to have and wear was already in the apartment. You don't go through that much effort and emotion for a ring that isn't going to be a part of your life.

So now it's on my finger. Some people are surprised about it's origins, that it was already mine and didn't come from the Dude. But on my hand is two women I loved and admired, effort and determination from family who truly gave a damn about me, a long journey full of intrigue, and now it's symbolizing an important commitment I'm going to make to the man I love.

You can't buy all that in a store. This thing's got history. The next woman who gets it in my family (Hopefully my own daughter) is going to need to share a bottle of wine with me while I tell its story. Already looking forward to that.

Christmas shopping

Okay, so Christmas is pretty much happening any second and I'm sort of in denial about it. No, not really, but I only have to buy one gift. One gift! And I'm not going out to do it.

I bought my aunt a Christmas ornament. We mail each other presents each year. I was going to go out and get her a Swarovski ornament for her tree, but then realized that (a) there's an online store and (b) they would ship it to her with greater speed and less muss and fuss, without me having to stand in line at the post office during the holiday season.

The Dude and I are getting each other kittens (yay!) in the new year for Christmas. It's going to be a somewhat pricey endeavour, hence the allocation of Christmas monies for the cause.

I made bracelets for the Dude's mom and stepmom. And we did a corny Christmas photo shoot for framing as a secondary gift-type thing.

My brother is all that's left. He wants toiletries or other such practical things. Easy enough. But I keep avoiding the task. It's the only gift that involved me doing anything outside the house. I keep thinking how cold and unpleasant it is out there and then I put it off. What the hell is that about? I mean, other than the obvious fact that working from home has made me grown soft.

I'm beginning to see why people who work from home get dressed. I never do, and I think it's the snuggly pyjama feeling that keeps me indoors so much, now combined with an aversion to the cold and slush. Getting dressed means you're serious about doing something with your day. Staying in PJs means fuck it.

In past years when I had more to buy, I'd go out and get everything done in one shot after careful planning about what I'd buy and where. I'd come home with a sense of accomplishment. Thanks to reduced Christmas shopping needs and the internet, that's just not happening this year.

I have a few days left to make it happen. I'll get it done. I have to, otherwise I'm a bad sister.

Christmas cards

I'm doing Christmas cards. In years past it was so easy. Now it's a lengthy process. It's not just the gathering of addresses either, though that has been a task of the ages (as I broke my hard drive and lost my entire address book). I write personal messages in each one. I don't enjoy only signing my name and then sending it off. I don't like the cards to speak for me. If I'm sending someone mail, surely I have got something of my own to say. But this task has grown since the Dude entered my life in a serious fashion. And now since his family will be my family, I'm sending cards to his loved ones, too.

Now, he's not leaving it all to me. He gathered all the addresses for me, bought the stamps and mailed them out. He's on his way out soon to buy some more, because 24 wasn't enough to get all our families and social circle covered. What do you get when two people from Catholic families get engaged? Gigantic Christmas card lists. And an even bigger guest list for the wedding. Dear me. But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Last year I made my own. So I had to get particular about who I sent them to because I had roughly a dozen of them. Then people were bummed out not to get a card, so I had to nix that idea this year, and forevermore until I can find the time to handcraft about 30+ cards. One thing that generally spurns me on to send them at all is that people really seem to genuinely enjoy the cards. I get comments on it all the time.

And I think that says a lot about a few things in general:

One, people love getting cheerful things in the mail. Two, people feel special when you make things personal, and Three, no one ever gets handwritten anything anymore. No one sends letters. And I think that's what got me going in the first place. And what kills me is how much my penmanship has suffered. I didn't really learn to type till I was 14, and didn't have a computer in my house till I was 15. I wrote everything. And I think most people have gotten out of the habit of handwriting. One more reason it's so important to try.

If there's any time to revive old cherished forms of communication and to go out of your way to do something a little special, Christmas is the time. I never want to feel too busy to do it. I don't think I will. It makes me really happy.

Traditions

I've been thinking about Christmas. I had some really nice ones when I was a kid. No sob stories here. Some people hate Christmas because of bad holiday memories from their childhood. I had a lot of fun.

My parents always warned me not to expect too much. I think perhaps when I was very young there may have been lots of presents. When I was 8, our family finances underwent some changes. Single parent households aren't typically rolling in money, but job loss can stretch things tighter.

But I never noticed fewer presents, really. I mean, there were fewer, technically, but I think what made the difference was my brother and I didn't feel our holiday was lacking. We had traditions. There was my father's family, over 20 people, packing into my grandma and granpa's post-war six-room house's living room. Exactly seven places to sit. Get up to go to the bathroom and you lost your spot. Those were fun Christmas eves.

There was Christmas eve before bed, my brother and I doing our pyjama race to see who could open their Christmas eve present first. There was waking up to a stocking in our beds and the rule of waiting till 7:00 to wake up Mom. There were always new movies and the yearly debate and squabble over which one we'd watch first.

Then breakfast. Then Grammy and Poppie's for dinner and more presents. Mom had a rule that we were only to get clothes, as they were needed. So we weren't wild over them, because kids never see the value in clothes, but we loved our family. Our closest cousins would be there and we'd play and swap stories.

Leading up to Christmas, my mom and I would go to one of her friend's for baking all kinds of holiday goodies that we'd stick in the freezer and bring out as needed: cookies, squares, cake, chocolate...

Things changed when we got older. Grammy passed. Then Grandpa five years later, and a year later my mother, and a year after that, Grandma. A lot of families fall apart after so many deaths, particularly when those deaths were of people who were like glue. But life marched on and Christmas evolved, not without sadness, but you find joy in the holidays where you can if you try.

And with the new Christmas locations to go to, different schedules and new significant others, things started to get sticky. My father played turf war over Christmas, which was needless to say a bad time for all. Did it with Thanksgiving, too. Any holidays you wished to include others or expand your repertoire of activities and visits he took as a personal affront. It doesn't make sense, so explaining it would be pointless, at least for today. So for a few years, Christmas was very unpleasant.

In the years we've been estranged, things have again grown into something cheerful and festive. And with a fiancee I've been with for four years, there's been some dividing up of holiday time to make sure we see everyone. And everyone does this. As you age, Christmas stops being about the presents and starts being about who you spend time with. I know a number of people my age still get presents, but that's dwindled for me for many years now and has almost reached nil.

There's a couple people I do exchanges with, but there's no actual "Christmas morning" type of thing in my life anymore. That part of my life has come to a close. And when I thought of how this year would be, waking up at my mother-in-law-to-be's house and eating breakfast, drinking coffee and being with the man I'm going to marry, I felt good.

And then we'll go to my aunt's (One of many aunts I always mention) for Christmas dinner and see about 25 of my relatives there. And then the next morning, it's off to the lake to see the Dude's dad and step mom. And there'll be questions about the wedding that I'll have answers to, and we'll eat festive things and sleep in and be cozy with warm drinks.

And I can look back on my mom and thank her for always making Christmas about family and tradition and the experience, and not the gifts. And traditions are important. Last year when my brother came up to spend Christmas with us after Jerry died, I laid a stocking out on his bed like our mom used to do when we were kids. In all honesty, I did it more for me than for me. You do little things to keep what and who matters alive how you can and where you can.

Family Vacation

So one of the best parts about Mexico was seeing my family again. I see my father's side a few times throughout the year, but the few people that comprise my late mother's side live across the country. I'm lucky to see them once a year, and it takes over five hours and $500 to make it happen.

I grew up with my two cousins and usually no more than two days would pass without me seeing them. They were more than cousins, they were closer to siblings. My oldest cousin has been like a sister to me, complete with her hand-me-downs, me bugging her and driving her crazy and looking up to her as she hit life's milestones ahead of me. My youngest was like a little brother who drove me less crazy than the one I had. He and I would exclaim, "Harold!" "Martha!" and then embrace in a dramatic hug.

We went on small vacations together. My aunt was like a second mother. She was over at my house growing up all the time. No one needed an invitation. We dropped in on each other constantly. Sleepovers were frequent.

So when the Dude and I checked in, we had hours to wait until our room was ready. We munched on some burgers from the snack bar and waited in the lobby. I didn't know what time they'd arrive and I was antsy to see them.

You can imagine my joy when we found them. Sometimes you don't let yourself think about how much you miss someone until you know you're going to see them any minute. Then your heart starts to dance and time slows down and that first hug fills you with what you've been missing, in my case, for a year and a half.

I'll wax poetic about the food, locations, the room and wedding, but today it's about family. Attending the wedding was sweet and something I've been looking forward to my whole life. Next time I'll see them will probably be for my wedding. I've always been right behind my cousin, and I'm glad she married first. I wouldn't have it any other way. It sort had been a rhyme and rhythm growing up and watching her marry her husband felt right.

I get married in a year. One more reason to look forward to it is I'll see my family again. I used to get bummed out about living far from my brother, and my cousins. Growing up alongside them gave me some of the best childhood memories I could have asked for. I know my children won't know theirs in that same way. It won't be the same. But looking around I've realized that our closeness was special and atypical. It can't be reproduced again for my own family someday.

I've never been good at letting go of the past. But I think in times like these, that's a good thing. The only thing that was missing was my brother. He couldn't make it and without him there, our quartet was incomplete. Again, I'll wait for my wedding for that to happen. It won't be the same, but it'll be sweet.