Canada Day 2008

It's pressingly hot in the hole-in-the-wall restaurant at the end of the street and the unruly hairs that have escaped my short ponytail are tickling my neck with damp curls.  I'm scanning the half-erased chalkboard for something edible and the earnest proprietor is leaning over the counter waiting.

"I'll have a small Greek salad, without the feta, if that's OK,"I tell him,"And the kids spaghetti."
I unfurl a twenty from my cell phone holder, we've walked down the simmering forest path by the ocean to the village and I've packed for efficiency: blackberry, money, and small blond child. 

"I tee a fwiend!" says the miniature human beside me, suddenly scrambling toward the open front door and the pulsating Canada Day crowds lining the streets, a dozen different nationalities with melting blue bubble gum ice cream and temporary tattoo Maple Leaf arms.
"Crap," I mutter, forking over the bill and looking with my side eyes toward the sidewalk, where N has happily befriended a small girl playing with sidewalk chalk.
"You can go after him,"says the girl in line beside me,"I won't take your spot."

I look at her and smile.  She is young and pretty, wearing a trendy camouflage hat and a silver poppy pendant. Rippling calf muscles under belted capri pants tell me she is a mountain biker, maybe a snowboarder, but definitely an outdoor enthusiast.
"You don't mind?" I ask,"I'll just go run and grab him.

I emerge on to the sidewalk and tuck him under my arm as he squeals with delight.  And then re-enter the muggy oppression of the crowded restaurant, my son chattering about how he drove the boat today with grandad.  His cheeks are flushed dark pink and his eyelashes are galaxy-long, like his father's.  He holds my hand with a sweaty grip.

He has crumbs dotting his face and that omniscient snarl in the back of his hair; I take our number and sit down at the table closest to the sliding patio doors; all the outside tables are taken.

"Happy Canada Day!" shouts a voice from outside.  There are families everywhere: babies strapped to mamas, Dads pushing strollers and wearing dark sunglasses and backwards baseball caps.  It smells like barbecued steak, mustard, and strawberry shortcake for dessert. It feels like after church.

The girl with the camouflage hat joins a strikingly handsome man at the table across from us and I realize with a shock that he is her husband, that the pre-schooler jumping all over him and the baby in the carseat are their children.  But they look so young.  I realize, suddenly, that I'm getting older fast.  They are probably 29.

N snakes over to their table; toward their son.  Small children have a secret language of giggles and close facial contact that adults don't understand, but that I'm beginning to appreciate.  They seek each other out, find a common ground and comfort in their common statures in this world, in such a simple and innocent way.  I watch them laughing at nothing and feel a yearning for Simple.

"How old is your son?" the husband asks me and I try to look him in the eyes in a way that does not note his insane attractiveness.  As a single Mom, I often feel like a weird pathetic threat to paired Moms, even when there's no merit in the thought.  Especially then.
"Almost three,"I say,"Yours?"
"Three, just."

We watch them play their odd game of nothing for a few minutes and the pretty camoflauge hat wife goes outside with their fussing baby.
"The bridges are shut down,"the husband tells me,"We were heading back to Burnaby but there was no way.  We may have to get a hotel on the North Shore."
"Both the bridges were shut?" I say,"Wow, that's crazy.  What happened."
"Police business, officially,"he replies,"Which probably means someone tried to jump."
"Oh. Man.  Brutal."

There is a sudden silence and N's new friend says,"When's dinner, Daddy?"
"Soon, Nate."
N is watching carefully,"I have a Daddy, too,"he says suddenly."Wob Dott."

The husband looks at me as my heart falls to the ground and starts bleeding all over the tile.
"His Dad,"I mutter, and say his name, minus the speech impediment.
"Oh."  We have made him uncomfortable.

After dinner, my son and I walk hand-in-hand out to the balloons and the tattoos and the quiet Canadian flags.

"I lud you, Mommy,"he says, leaning his warm head into my leg.
"I love you too," I say, and we weave through the families back to our own little home.

Comments

[Anna]

Nothing beats an "I lud you Mummy" !!! I reckon it makes most other things insignificant.

[heidi scrim (one feisty mama)]

Kristin I don't think I've ever shed a tear when reading a blog before but man, this entry changed that. I'm not even sure why. Your son is so incredibly lucky, and your capacity to exist in these moments, feel them so keenly, and capture them with such clarity is really a special thing. I think you absolutely rock.

[joyce]

my eyes watered too. i too think you rock!

and i wanted to say this on one of your earlier posts...better late than never...i TOTALLY think you should have advertisements on your blog. you have commented before on money being tight. i have no idea how much income you could generate...BUT...even if it just pays for your daily coffee...it's something to help, right?

[Jamie]

Do you know how strong you are, K? Do you really? Because I think we all do, but I sure hope you do as well. Happy Canada Day!

[Tash]

Feels like we're sat right beside you when you write! You're brilliant - and to echo earlier sentiments - NOTHING beats an "I lud you mummy!"

Keep that head up!

[beach]

send this in to a magazine....beautiful writing...you should be published.

[Kristin]

Wow - Anna, Heidi, Joyce, Jamie, Tash and Beach - those are 6 of the kindest comments I've ever woken up to. I don't feel brave, I didn't feel like this entry was any kind of special writing and you all definitely bolstered my spirit with the fact that my drivel can move you to tears - wow.

Joyce - regarding blog ads - it might be a bit of a conflict to what I do for a living. I can always take on more writing gigs, and we're doing OK, but you are sweet to want to help.

[Tricia]

God you are awesome.

[Jakki]

And that is the bitter pill to swallow when dealing with young ones and divorce...

[Georgia]

What a sad and lovely entry. You're a lucky person.

On a side note: I am wholly self conscience when speaking to a taken guy, even though I'm not at all interested. I'd hate to come off as flirty, because I'd hate it if someone flirted with my boyfriend. So I go overboard with the "I'm NOT flirting with you" shtick, and it comes off as weird. Oy.

[Cathy]

K, Ambrose asked me last night if Indiana Jones could be our new dad. I told him probably not because he was also busy being Han Solo too.. (good reason?).
I could have been that family just last year, oh how little did I know then..
xo

[Ms. Single Mama]

That is always how it ends ... we always walk home alone with our little ones. At the end of the day it's just Benjamin and I.

I like to think that we'll have a stronger bond because of it (just looking at the bright side).

This post is absolutely magnificent.

P.S. Is 29 really that young? I don't feel that young? Single momminess ages you I suppose.

[ali]

wow. great post. wow.
:)

so Nolan says lud? Isabella says lub.
hahaha

[moo]

you're doing a great job.

[Loralee]

I have determined that nobody does bittersweet like Kristen at Better Now.

[Denise]

Oh to be as innocent and straight-forward as children! Fabulous entry, as usual, Kristen.

[Elizabeth (Bloggy Mama)]

That little sweaty hand and the leg-lean makes it great, right?

[Gabriella]

You're an amazing mother. Plain & simple.

[singleworkingmommy]

Awesome post.

[shannon]

I so empathize with this post. I have a whole story about how I used to just barely tolerate grocery stores because I felt like the clerks looked at me and my little girl and then at my hand. I longed for the day I could go into a grocery store and at the checkout, pay with a diamond studded hand. Now, every time I go, I think of those days and appreciate that I waited for the right man to come along and didn't just settle. And I love that he appreciates how I feel about that and when we go together he gives me a look in the grocery store that shows me he understands. I wonder why we have these triggers!

[littlemansmom]

So beautifully written....it was almost as if I was there myself!

I can totally relate...and I think that you are fantastic!

[Capital City Mama]

Your writing is absolutely beautiful. When I have the same experience I always remind myself that I am going home with the person I love the most in the world - my daughter.

[jess]

It's so strange to read your posts, i feel so much in common with them and the views of my hometown. It's lovely.

I'm looking forward to meeting you at BlogHer.

[Kristy]

This is so beautiful. What a great reminder that life is magic. Thank you so much.

[debbie]

you're so goddamn beautiful, Kristin, it makes my throat ache.