Lisha Cassibo has been writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos for two years, both as a freelancer and as a columnist. She has also written for several parenting magazines both here in Canada and for English publications in Switzerland. She graduated from Carleton University with an honours degree in Journalism and English Literature. She lives with her family in Sunderland.
Time's up!
Last night I had the most horrible, disturbing dream I've had in a long time.
In my dream, I was wandering about a house I wasn't familiar with and came across an interesting clock-type contraption. It was a navy blue rectangle, and the numerals and hands inside were gold. It told the time and the weather, like an old fashioned barometer, and could have been any normal timepiece. But at the top was a dial of sorts that, when pointing to the left, rested on the number 12.
And as I gazed at this clock, the hand that had been resting on the 12 slowly worked its way to the right. The right hand side had one word on it - Armageddon.
The golden hand moved across its gauge, and stopped above the horrible word. I quickly glanced around to see if anyone else realized that the end of the world was upon us, but they just kept going about their business. I turned from the “clock” in a panic, but the dream gets kind of screwy after that - I ended up in a contest that involved butter tarts and tequila shots, but I digress.
Even now, as I write this, the image of that “clock” is fresh in my mind and I'm quite disturbed by it. I thought about it as I walked to my school bus this morning, and began to wonder: if I knew that today was my last day, that the end of the world, or my world at least, was upon me, how would I spend it?
Of course, my children came to my mind and stayed there. I would lie on my big bed with all of them, committing each of their beautiful features to memory, to take with me wherever I might go. I would never lose physical contact with any one of them at any given moment, touching the soft, delicate skin. I would hug, hold, laugh, cry a lot and try to cram all of life's lessons into a few fleeting hours. I would treasure them as I never had before.
The tears were quite frozen on my face by the time I reached my bus. During my drive - and even now -I was bothered. Bothered by the fact that it would take a catastrophic event to make me spend that kind of time with my children.
I don't know what my “last day” date is in the Big Book of Life, thank God. I wouldn't handle that kind of knowledge very well at all. So I have to make do with what I have, what I know. But do I do a good enough job day to day? Am I capturing enough of my girls' childhoods to make me look back when I am old, God willing, with no regrets? Do I give enough hugs, enough kisses, do I say enough I love yous? How many are enough?
I'm sure that these are questions any caring parents ask themselves at some point during the child-rearing journey. Whole magazines are devoted to helping us get it all right, find that perfect (geez, I hate this word) “balance”. I still maintain that “balance” does not exist, because equality amongst all life's situations does not exist. Sometimes work takes more, sometimes family takes more, sometimes, as is the case with a few friends of mine, hockey takes everything!
I have five jobs, jobs that pay, in addition to being a wife and a mother. The 24 hours that a day gives us is filled pretty completely. But I like to think that I try to give the girls as much of me as I can. I do make sure that I never, ever tell the girls that I cannot stop to watch the little dance they've been rehearsing all afternoon because I'm “too busy”. I try to make every event and awards ceremony at the school. We spend quiet time each evening before bed, singing lullabies and catching up on the day. I've played hookie with them before, spiriting them off to Toronto on a school day so we could see Mamma Mia and just girl out all day.
But is it enough? Why am I unable to just flop on the sofa and watch TV with them in the evening, rather than clean up the kitchen, tidy a room, scrub a toilet? Am I short-changing them still, or am I a normal, busy mum just trying to raise three children to be productive members of society in an increasingly crazy world and a clean house?
I suppose I won't know the answer until the end of the journey, when I'm given the opportunity to look back and reflect on the job I've done as a parent. In the meantime, however, the guilt is overwhelming.
I suppose the best thing is to not beat myself up over it and be sure not to lose sight of the big picture. If I were hit by a bus tomorrow (boy, would a colleague be in trouble in for that!) then at least we had our lullaby time tonight.
