But if you're willing to play the game
It's coming around again
So don't mind if I fall apart
There's more room in a broken heart
One year ago, Lily participated in the Blossoms Nursery School Sports Day after 10 days with hand, foot, and mouth disease. She was tired and weak and a little timid but the day was still great. We spent it with friends and families at the Glendale Plantation in Saint Michael. We ate rotis and samosas, hot dogs, cupcakes, chips, and cookies and I do believe I cracked my first Banks beer some time around 10:30 am. The sun was hot, the earth dry and cracked after a wicked dry season. I saw my first giant centipede there (another thing to be grossed out about, seriously, the sting is apparently incredibly painful) crawling out of the scorched earth.
Virginie, who arrived in Barbados as a tiny sack of new potatoes, just participated in her Sports Day, much like Field Day in the States, where she ran, walked backwards, did the egg and spoon race and a little obstacle race involving some blocks and more running. There were hurdles and relay races, sack races and a tug of war for the older kids and parents (more on that later) and lots of refreshments and snacks to be purchased. Sports Day is Blossoms' fundraising event for the year and a great opportunity for families to be together and celebrate the physical achievements of their children. Many of the younger children were escorted through the events by either their parents or "aunties," many crying or looking completely clueless. Virginie had a good time, it seems, though there was so little urgency in her step. Perhaps we have been in Barbados too long. Didier and I both participated and, like last year, I competed like I was on the field at FTHS some twenty odd years ago. It seems I did not get the memo that I am 41 years old and that many of the other mommies were a bit younger than I. No harm, no foul. I had fun and came in second in my two races. Hollah.
When Mother's Day was celebrated in England last month, two of my friends reported rather lackluster celebrations of their motherhood by their husbands and children. One of the women, whose mother had passed away years ago, felt a bit raw knowing that she didn't have her mother with her and that her husband had sent flowers to his own mum but had not honored her. In fairness, he'd figured that as they were now living in Barbados, Mother's Day in Barbados would be her day and he did well last weekend with breakfast in bed and a nice dinner. The other friend did get an email from her husband stating that he'd remembered it was Mothers' Day in England, oh and Happy Mother's Day. As he was out of the country last weekend, I am not sure if he did the right thing.
When I told Didier about these stories, for whatever reason I continue to bounce some of these things off his head, he said something along the lines of, "Well Mother's Day is like Valentine's Day, a made-up holiday to sell cards and candy and make everyone feel guilty that they are not doing enough to show how much they love." Hmm. Well that didn't sit quite right with me and, as one would imagine, I told him as much. Valentine's Day, to me, is complete crap. It makes me think of overaccessorizing with one too many pieces of jewelry, hair up in some elaborate 'do, satin heels and clutch with rhinestones when really you are a let your hair blow, minimalist, natural kind of woman. It is too much because it is trying too hard and it is therefore, insincere. But Mother's Day? Mother's Day is for mothers. Something I certainly never really considered as I doled out another coffee mug for my mother as the day rolled around each year. To be fair, it is nearly impossible for a child to completely understand what this day could mean to a mommy. The dads, other mommies, grandmas and grandpas are meant to step in here. Even if you are not exactly sure what it is the mothers in your life are doing or have done, you know it's something.
I didn't know I was capable. Had no idea what all this would require, but now that I am doing it I must say, it is fucking tough. Harder than anything I ever dreamed about, and committing to the lives of other people forever, so that they can be better human beings who feel safe and loved and cared for and supported, is not for the faint of heart. From teething and fevers to cut knees to heartbreak, SATs, job searches, I have signed on. Weddings, babies, divorces if it comes to that, I am in. And committed. Maybe all the mums out there have not. But Stephanie Penn-Virot has.
So when Mother's Day rolled 'round again on Sunday I was looking for a little acknowledgment. It had been a tough few months. When the kids woke me at 5:30, I got them some snacks and marched my behind back to bed, MY bed (I'd been awakened by Virginie in her bed yet again.) At 6:30 when the girls started reporting on each others' actions I told Didier that it was Mother's Day and it was time for him to get to it. It's a good thing I did. That's pretty much the full celebration of the day right there. If my friend Holly had not been en route to Barbados from St. Vincent, the day would have been like any other Sunday, replete with laundry, floor mopping, toilet bowl cleaning, and total exhaustion. The day seemed not to register at all with my hub. I have learned not to make my dear husband feel like he has done something wrong because the idea of that will prevent him from even seeing his error when he is indeed in the wrong, so I expressed a little disappointment and then mentioned that Holly's visit just might make it right again. Luck for him he can try again next year.
In an effort to put a smile on my face, he went to pick up Holly and her girls, taking Lily so that I might get Virginie down for a nap. Virginie did go down moments before Holly arrived and just as I'd finished the last of the laundry and a good mopping of the patio. Drinks were chilled and I must admit, I was nervous. Holly was my best friend in the early months of living in Barbados, coming into my life months after I'd arrived, weeks it seems before I was about to give up. She is funny and irreverent and shy and kind and exactly what I was searching for. God works in mysterious ways and nearly one year to the day of her departure from the island, Holly came through Barbados on her way to St. Vincent, an island in the Grenadines, the famed locale of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. We'd had just one hour at the airport and I'd begged her to see if there was any chance for her and her girls to come and stay with my family before returning to England. The five days we all had together in Barbados solidified our friendship. She met the friends I finally made here, saw me well-adjusted and not as crazy, and prepped to get the hell out of Dodge.With my old friend here, I saw just how far we'd come in her eyes.
Lily has become an incredibly poised young lady who is thoughtful and curious. Virginie, a chatty little toddler who is intelligent and funny. Didier, finally, a relieved, relaxed man. And I, I came to terms with the straw I drew and found a way to recognize this as my life too. As the saying goes, "It ain't a dress rehearsal. This is it." Holly and I didn't have a long time in Barbados together. Like many other expatriates around the world, this is a transient life, and she was quickly back to England. Having her here at the milestone marker, the end of our time in Barbados, was quite symbolic. I feel able to close this chapter as she did, while taking with me lasting friendships and memories, both good and bad.
And so we will find ourselves by mid-summer back in New York. Not in the city that I love, but closer still than Porters, Barbados. All nearly two years older and, I hope, wiser. I have learned much about myself and how I live during this time in Barbados. Convinced I could be an international traveller, live abroad with ease, embrace new cultures and experiences, before we arrived, I discovered that it was quite difficult and lonely and challenging, more than I ever expected. I now understand what it is that makes me a real American girl, what I love about my culture, my community, myself and what it was nice to let go of for a bit (materialism, consumerism, around the clock entertainment news and gossip, throw away items). Maybe I don't need all the new latest products, to see all the new shows, to check out all the fashion magazines to feel in the know. Maybe being in the know is overrated. Maybe what I now know about me was worth going into the jungle and back.
And back. That is the key. I have new tools to take with me, a new mind, new goals, new dreams. The nearly two years in Barbados felt at times like a dream or an alternate universe, but they were actually part of my life. I did not waste those years, do not even regret them, but am happy to move on to a new chapter. I fell to pieces here, actually broke down and broke apart. Whether from post-partum or solitude that felt more like solitary confinement, it doesn't matter; it came, a crushing loss of identity that forced me to find myself all over again. The things I once took painfully seriously, I can now recognize as inconsequential. I realize that everything comes in due time, no point in freaking. Things come when they come. And I have found that I am a lover of many things--my children, my husband, my family, my friends, nature, cities, expression, creativity,new experiences, humanity, God, life, love. But none of these things can be manifest if I do not first love myself enough. Still working on it. I'm sure I'll get another chance to learn.
And I believe in love
But what else can I do?
I'm so in love with you
(c)Copyright 1986. Carly Simon, Arista Records
(c) Copyright 2011. City Mom in the Jungle.
