When Alison Hodgson wrote for my guest series, “Home: Musings and Memories”, she talked of the fateful night when an arsonist entered her garage and set her house on fire. “Who, when making a home, imagines it could ever be a ruins?” When Joe Dudeck wrote of home, he described the experience of several failed adoptions: “While standing at the doorway of parenthood, we discovered the welcome mat would again be pulled out from under us.” In another post, Aubrey Sampson wrote to remember her father’s job loss and their family’s move from a beloved house: “There was no willow tree, no roller-rink, not even one hot air balloon in the yard.”
I’ve managed to tick off not just a few people in the past week, most of them complete strangers who wouldn’t be able to pick me out of a liberal line-up. (Well, I suppose if they’ve bothered to stalk my politically criminal self all the way here, they’ve probably seen a picture.)
The truth is, despite the pot that I’ve stirred with my recent piece at Her.meneutics (“How Canada Convinced Me Not to Vote“) and my potentially explosive blog post (“When Gay Pride Comes to School“), today I’ll continue on in my very uninteresting life, acting the part of every other ordinary mom who arrives at school with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, kissing cheeks and doling out lunchboxes, shouting last minute reminders that, “You need to check with Mr. Price if there is still band rehearsal. Just call me later and let me know.”
Several days before the twins turned one, I started making phone calls, having decided on an impromptu whopper of a birthday party. My mother was in town, and together we made large crock pots full of barbecued beef to accommodate the growing guest list. When I saw people at church the morning of the party, I continued my inviting, and that afternoon, our house would bustle and burst with the friends and friendships that had bloomed over the past year. When it finally came time to set those beautiful twin boys in their high chairs, sing, and cut the cake, I would blow out candles and heave a sigh of relief, having the strongest sense that together we’d made a difficult journey.