Showing all posts in Parenting

In Books, Identity, Movies/TV, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Uncategorized, University, Writing

New Season

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

I’m heading into a new season this fall, beginning my two-year full-time MFA program in Creative Writing at UBC. We’re meeting in person, which will be a huge change after moving online for the the last 18 months of my BA. With vaccinations available to everyone aged twelve and up this summer, it seemed possible for a “return to normal” in September, but classes begin next week and the variants are still spreading at alarming rates.

If we’ve all learned anything during this never-ending pandemic, it’s to expect change at a moment’s notice. We plan, and we hope, getting vaccinations when they are offered, wearing masks indoors to stay safe, thoroughly washing our hands, and trying not to take unnecessary risks. We have no guarantees, and we try to manage our fear.

In any new season, I usually feel a mix of joy and dread. This fall, I have lots of different emotions crowding to the surface. I’ve loved my five month break from academia. I’ve read loads of mystery and crime novels, slept in, watched some great TV, played cards with Jason and the kids, walked, practiced some yoga and wrote. My three guiding words in this season were: rest, relax, rejuvenate. I wanted to be prepared and ready for the new challenges of being a full-time MFA student.

Part of me mourns the end of the summer. The other embraces it with open arms, as I feel like I prioritized rest and leisure, so I hope I’ll see the rewards once I jump back in to classes and assignments. I’m also going to be a TA for the first time for an undergrad writing class. This both excites and scares me. We never really know if we are up to a challenge simply by thinking about it. We have to jump in and do it in order to really find out.

We have another unexpected change in the form of Ava taking a gap year before starting at University of Victoria. For an entire year, I’ve been emotionally preparing for her to leave home, grieving for her while she was still here living with us. And then at the end of July, we found out that she wouldn’t have a place to live on campus, so after a flurry of searching for off-campus housing that didn’t exist or was ridiculously expensive, Ava made the decision to defer her admission for one year. So she remains at home, working a couple of part-time jobs to save more money for school next year.

A lovely surprise because I don’t have to let go of her quite yet, but still a change that I wasn’t expecting. Next week, William starts grade 10 at a new high school in our district, so for him it’s a new season as well. Something in my nature loves predictability and certainty, but too much stability becomes stale. We do need a bit of variety and spontaneity to keep us engaged and growing.

The older I get, the more I understand that I can’t think my way through change. I just have to walk it out. Trying to forecast exactly what will happen is a fool’s errand. Situations are too complex for that type of guesswork. As we say in the recovery movement, an expectation is a premeditated resentment. I’m trying to “cherish no outcome” as a friend of mine says. Instead I choose to believe I’ll have what I need for the challenges ahead at the moment I need them. Not before and not after.

Tomorrow the calendar turns over to September and a whole new season begins. What’s in store for you this fall?

In Culture, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, Uncategorized

Endings and Beginnings

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

We are in a time of transition, with seasons ending and new ones beginning. This pandemic, which has dragged on forever and a year, is entering a fresh stage with our province announcing a re-opening plan. All four of us in my immediate family have been vaccinated with our first dose, providing hope for a return to normalcy.

But what the hell does that even mean? Almost fifteen months into this thing, we have adjusted to masks, social distancing, staying at home, being extra cautious all the damn time. This weird version of life now feels normal to us. I can’t quite imagine getting on a plane again, going on vacation and out to restaurants, socializing with others, and speaking to a crowd of real live human beings instead of through a screen.

I’m reminded again of how strange and unsettling change can be. I know it’s good for me, like eating my vegetables and flossing my teeth, but I really hate not knowing what to expect. For this whole pandemic none of us were able to make any real plans, because staring into the future was like peering at a giant question mark. But now it appears hope is on the horizon, and yet I find myself still feeling cautious and uncertain.

Every ending has an invitation to a beginning built into it. I’m trying to focus on that as we move into the summer. Ava graduated this week from grade twelve and we’re preparing for her to attend the University of Victoria in September. She’s enrolled in the theatre program where she’ll work toward a BFA in acting. Another rough ending, when she moves out of our house, with an exciting beginning just after the tears have dried.

Perhaps the key is to make room for all of it. The sadness when one thing ends, then the vacuum of the liminal space where we feel unprepared and afraid, and finally the rejuvenation of a new experience. As Anne Lamott wrote, “My diocesan priest friend Terry Richie says the thing is not to try harder, but to resist less.” I’m inherently bad at resisting less, but it’s something I’m working toward. Flowing with the current instead of against it.

Each of us is at different stages of change, but when it comes to the pandemic we are all experiencing some of the same growing pains. We’re like butterflies emerging from the chrysalis, flying into the sunshine, freer to move around than we’ve been in over a year. Who knows what will happen next? Maybe that’s part of the allure. To allow ourselves grace when we feel timid, and to celebrate together when we feel brave. When one season ends, another one automatically begins. It’s hopeful and scary at exactly the same time.

In Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Uncategorized

Happy 18th Baby Girl

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

Of parenting, Gretchen Rubin said, “The days are long but the years are short.” This was a guiding principle for me when my kids were young. Now that they are both teenagers, I find the days to be as short as the years. Once they were out of the preschool season, time seemed to speed up, like it was set to fast forward.

Now Ava is about to turn 18. I’ve been sad about it since September, when I found a new counsellor to work with as I attempt to prepare for her to move out of our house. It takes me a long time to manage change. When she leaves for university in late August, I want to be past my own complicated feelings and into excitement for her as she launches into her own life. I can glimpse this possibility, but I’m not there yet, so I’m glad I started a year in advance.

All I know for sure right now is that I will really, really miss her. We all will. On the weekends, I listen to her and William laughing from the basement as they play Jedi: Fallen Order on his Xbox. Each interaction with Ava feels more precious now. Sharper, more defined, and meaningful. Our house will have a gaping hole in it when she’s not here every day. I find it really hard to even imagine.

At the same time, because life is endlessly complicated and nuanced, I’m thrilled to see Ava inching into her own independence. It’s an exciting time, with university acceptances and academic excellence scholarships and a new driver’s license and a sneaking sense of pride that maybe we haven’t done too badly after all in raising her. My best friend’s mom always said that the goal of parenting is to take a dependent baby and turn them into an independent adult. By that measure, I’m incredibly proud of Ava on this milestone 18th birthday.

She’s fun, warm, smart, responsible, goofy and empathetic. Our lives are so much better because she’s in them. I try to remind myself that she’s not going into outer space, only to university, but it’s still a massive sea change for our family. And I know that many other families have done this and survived it, but thinking about your child moving out one day in the future and walking through it are two different things. But we are right on the edge of this change, peering out at it, and I feel so many things at once.

You are so loved, baby girl. Watch out, world. Ava’s finishing up grade twelve, in this never-ending groundhog day pandemic, and then she’s jumping into her adult life with intense enthusiasm and spirit. It will be a fascinating adventure, and we are here for you always. Happy 18th birthday!

In Nurture, Parenting, Relationships, Uncategorized

Goodbye Little Rose

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

A few weeks ago we made the painful decision to put our beloved ten-year-old cat Little Rose to sleep.

She’d been sick since late May with what we hoped was only a bout of pancreatitis, but over the summer her health continued to deteriorate. Her appetite decreased. She spun in circles, shaking her head, and eventually falling over. Her skittishness increased. She hid away more and more.

We brought her back to the vet when she lost her balance and rolled down the steps to our basement. That’s when we got the news that her pancreatitis was likely caused initially by lymphoma, some form of cancer which had now spread to her brain. The merciful thing to do was put her to sleep.

I’ve had a lot of pets in my forty-seven years of life but I’ve never had to put one down. Our other pets have been outdoor cats, so nature ended their lives long before they reached the age of ten. We adopted Little Rose and Flower as kittens, when Ava and William were seven and four. They’ve never gone outside (other than on our deck or on a leash), and they’ve both been in perfect health until this May when Little Rose began to hide under Ava’s bed.

When other people told me they had to make end-of-life decisions for their animals, I felt sad for them in a general way but not in a specific way. Now I understand the sorrow they were experiencing. Our pets are so precious to us. So vulnerable when they are sick and in pain.

The kids were at school when I met with the vet and heard about Little Rose’s brain cancer. Telling them was hell. Ava’s sobs tore violently out of her throat. William made little mewing sounds, like his heart was breaking in tiny increments. The four of us held each other and cried until we were exhausted.

We spent one final night at home with Little Rose, cuddling her, taking photos, telling her how much we loved her and thanking her for being such an amazing cat for the last ten years. She had us wrapped around her dainty paw. Silent for the first five years of her life, she made up for it in the last five, by meowing loudly at us when she wanted something. After we moved back to BC, she developed a taste for vanilla ice cream and Pringles, pestering us until we gave her a lick.

She never handed out her affection haphazardly. We all had to work for it, which made it sweeter when she chose to sit with you or allowed you to kiss her velvety head. Little Rose would wait at the top of the stairs for us to go down to watch TV after dinner, meowing if we took too long, then staring at Jason from the coffee table until he said, “Sorry, sweetie” and put his feet up as a bridge for her to walk to his lap.

We all loved her deeply. Our vet broke the Covid rules and allowed us to stay together in the room with Little Rose right until the very end. We were all sobbing, but thankfully we were together, seeing her off into her long and final nap.

I listened to a guided meditation on grief and the woman leading it asked me to tell the source of my sadness what I still wanted to say. I pictured Little Rose’s sweet face, with her tiny pink nose, and I told her, “I’m sorry we couldn’t fix it. You were our responsibility and we tried to save you but we couldn’t.”

Mourning a loved one is an isolating experience. Life goes on for everyone else. People smile, laugh, make chitchat at the grocery store. I feel raw and irritated, with every nerve ending exposed. I know that this will pass. The gaping wound will heal and the scar will remind me of the pain, but it won’t be quite so acute. But for now I’m still devastated and likely to burst into tears with zero notice. Grief is like walking through waist-high mud. It’s exhausting.

It doesn’t seem possible that we now have to live in a world without Little Rose in it. And yet we do. Everything feels colder, harder, more improbable and remote. Coming home to Flower, who has spent a lot of time these last two weeks searching high and low for his sister, didn’t seem real. As William said the first night she was gone, “I miss her every minute.” So do I.

Goodbye, sweet Little Rosie. You were the best. In time we’ll add a kitten to our family to keep Flower company and pour this leftover love into, but we will miss you and love you forever.

In Culture, Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Politics, Relationships, Speaking, University

Fall 2020

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

Deep breath, everyone. Here we go, into a back-to-school season shaped like one ginormous question mark. We haven’t experienced this exact landscape before, one fraught with endless decisions to make, while wearing a blindfold.

Is full-time, face-to-face instruction safe? Is a hybrid face-to-face/online method better? What about full-time online at home for learning? My answer is: I don’t know. We are all whistling in the dark here, exploring the options our school districts are offering, while watching the news to see what’s working and not working against Covid in other areas of the country.

It’s a strange time. Usually I feel a surge of optimism when I turn the calendar to September, but this year the key feeling I have is uncertainty. I’m entering my second last semester of my Creative Writing BA, and I’m wondering why it’s not safe for me to return to in-person university classes and yet it’s okay for my high schoolers to have face-to-face instruction starting next week.

Part of me wants to move on and get back to some version of normal, but another part is anxious about BC’s rising Covid numbers and what that means when thousands of kids and teachers return to classrooms. The public health guidance for months has been around small bubbles, hand-washing, mask-wearing and extreme caution, which feels like whiplash when we contemplate returning to school, even with a number of new precautions in place.

The one thing I know for sure is that this is going to be a school year like no other. It will be disruptive and unpredictable. We will all need to practice patience and grace for one another as we try to navigate these choppy waters. It’s helpful to refrain from judgement when someone else’s Covid plan looks different from yours. We are all doing the best that we can in the midst of trying circumstances.

I spent time last week doing virtual Pro D sessions for some fabulous teachers in Kelowna. Most of them were feeling anxious and concerned. I did my best to remind them that you cannot pour from an empty cup. We have to put our own oxygen masks on before we can assist others in an emergency. Self-care first and foremost. Walk in nature, take deep breaths, journal, draw, meditate, stretch, sleep.

The prescription for Fall 2020 is flexibility, kindness, caution and self-care. Prepare for plans to shift and change with very little notice. Let’s take care of ourselves and each other. Check in with those you love. Acknowledge the fear but don’t let it take over.

We are going to need all of our resources for the challenges ahead. Six months have passed since the pandemic began in Canada, so we know more now than we did at the beginning. The best way to get through this challenging time is by caring for one another.

Deep breath. Here we go, with our fingers crossed.