Making Circles and Plans and Circles and Plans

It’s hard to be caught between two long-distance families. It’s hard not only for us, but also for the people we leave behind with each plane ride back to that slippery concept of “home.”

Yesterday evening Zsolt, his mother and I were at the kitchen table looking at some stitching she had done. Anna is very creative, and she’s been working on a beautiful pillow case of red flowers. It’s taken her several months to stitch, on and off as she watches television in the evening.

Anna Stitching Hungarian

Anyhow, there we were yesterday evening. The dinner had been put away, and we were sitting at the table just talking, which is a bit of a rarity since normally it’s a choice between playing cards, watching a movie, or me escaping to our upstairs bedroom where I can watch some English webseries and chill out.  Frankly, I’m not a fan of the movies, and while the games are fun I get tired of them easily,but talking . . . talking is very, very interesting. Even if it’s all in Hungarian.

Anna was telling us about all kinds of things. One was that she had wanted to be an architect, but ended up in banking instead because her parents thought she was too skinny to do the co-op necessary for architecture that took place on a construction site. (She says she could have done it, but her parents worried she could not.) And so she studied accounting instead and ended up working at a bank.

Interesting no? I’m accustom to seeing my mother-in-law as a mother. Cooking, caring, and fussing all the time – that’s what I see. I’ve never met the young woman who had aspired to design buildings and dared to get married in a miniskirt. But I bet we would have gotten along, had we been able to understand one another.

And then she said what somewhat struck an even deeper chord within me. Anna related that back when she had children, (back when she was working 12 hour days at the bank, coming home late at night and only seeing her kids on the weekend – it was communism in Hungary back then, very work-focused rather than family-centric. . . had she been given the choice, I suspect she would have stayed at home more often) – back when she had children, she had wished they’d hurry along and grow up already. And now that she is older with far more time, she kinda wishes the reverse, that they could go back to being kids again.

I guess it’s empty nest and missed opportunities. And it made me feel a little bit frustrated with our own lack of children. We never talk about the baby stuff with Zsolt’s parents. They understand we need to wait before trying. But part of me would love to scoop up all those grandmotherly vibes and pour them over my own kids. I feel as though there’s a circle of life here, and we’re missing an essential loop.

Because really, Zsolt is never going to be four years old again. And, I reckon, instead of wishing him back to childhood, it should be wished that he become one heck of an amazing man, which he is – supportive, loving, caring, and growing; I think that her loneliness is more a result of family being far away, then her children no longer being children. At least, that is my guess.

Of course, I’ve known for a very long time that Anna sees Zsolt as her little boy. It makes all the sense in the world. She’s so full of love, and it’s the sort of thing that needs to be passed forward. But at the same time, I shouldn’t worry about her empty nesting, should I? That’s her journey to navigate. Though it is still a little heartbreaking.

Children grow up, parents step back, and families continue in a way that spreads outward rather than closing back inwards. It’s a theme I’ve written about in this blog, and loads in my fiction – and to be honest, since leaving Canada those many, many years ago for England and therefore taking my first steps ‘outward’, I have been just a little bit heart-broken. Once you step ‘out’ you can’t step back ‘in’.

Kids won’t solve long distance. But that’s not why I want to have children. I simply feel like we’re ready. It’s time. Let’s continue the circle. And not for the grandparents, though they are in my heart too, but because it’s right, and Zsolt & I want it. And frankly, we’ve got a whole lot of love to pass forward as well.

So, I’m counting down. April in Hungary. Then May in Canada. Scans at the hospital in June. If all goes well, then I need to wait three more months before trying. And then we try. And then we see.

And I have no idea what will happen next.

Sick at the Same Time – Adventures in Hungary

Well, we’re in Hungary!

After 10 hours of flying, 12 hours of train-riding and a few days spent in Budapest, Zsolt and I have finally arrived in the beautiful Pecs. So be prepared, because the next little while on Bumpyboobs is basically guaranteed to be adventures in Hungary-land (i.e. Magyorszag if you want to say that in Hungarian).

Our first adventure in this country of fruit, paprika, barking dogs, salami, red roofs and a language that continues to baffles me:

Catherine and Zsolt’s totally awesome adventures of getting SICK!!

soupWe’ve never been sick at the same time before, and I have to admit, we handled it rather differently. Zsolt was cheery as anything. I was full of WTF!! anger, at least on the first day when I felt like a heavily congested achy grumpy zombie lady.

I ought not to go into specifics. . . but I will just a little. Ever since chemotherapy (I don’t like how often that line reappears in my stories), I’ve been avoiding getting sick. My mantra is “Happy, Healthy and Cancer-Free.” Though lately I try and remove cancer from the equation entirely, and just say, “Healthy & Happy.” Therefore, this means keeping a minimum two or three meter distance from sick people – and running away as soon as possible, not touching anyone who is sick, not using the same cutlery or food, and just NOT getting sick. Because sick reminds me of being sick. And I never want to be that sick again.

So I was rather pissed when I caught this cold. But it’s only a cold, and I was being stupid. However, no matter how logical my brain was in saying that, my emotions were throwing me all over the place and were desperate to lay blame, and simply not-feel-this-way-anymore.

Zsolt, meanwhile, was sipping his tea and wearing his comfortable clothes, and enjoying this little reprieve from the business of life. He says to me, “We’re sick at the same time!” like it’s cause for celebration.

So I decided to try and lighten up. These stupid colds are going to happen in life. And when I’m a mother, I reckon it may become inevitable. Holding so much deep rooted anger toward illness isn’t going to do me or my body any favours.  It’s my personal take-away: I need to address this source of anger.

But in the meanwhile, we’ve been eating meat soup, which is really chicken soup. Oh my God it is delicious. Zsolt’s mom puts all kinds of vegetables into the broth (e.g. carrots, radishes, broccoli, potato, brussels sprouts, turnips, garlic, onions, etc.) along with the chicken, and then she strains everything out so what’s left is this golden tasty broth that might of well have descended from heaven.

This has been our medicine for the past three days, and it’s basically all I’ve eaten (chicken and veg bits thrown in).

I’ll tell you what, when the body is feeling down, there’s nothing better than chicken soup. Actually, yes there is! Chicken soup that I didn’t need to make for myself. Add some paprika potato chips to that arrangement and you’ve achieved perfection.

Anyhow, this is really just the first adventure. And while it might not be a typical travel-log experience, it was actually quite revealing for me. I still have no interest in voluntarily getting sick, or ever getting sick, but it would be good not to get so angry about life’s small & inconsequential bumps.

Interesting Magyar (Hungarian) Fact:

It is chive season in Hungary at the moment. People are allowed to pick the chives (cut the chives?) from the forest since it grows there all over. However, each citizen is restricted to 2kg of chives.

Now, isn’t that interesting?

One of my favourite things about Hungary (yeah, I might be saying that often), is that the year revolves around a calendar of food and/or occasions that honour that food. Some day I’d like to make a calendar of all these lovely seasons, just for my own pleasure. Forget the months and the days – live by the seasons. 🙂

And that’s all I got for today! See you later 🙂

 

A Letter to My Fourteen Year Old Self

(Starting Note: I’m listening to an Abba Album on repeat, swaying to Fernando!)

A while back – before the holiday spin overtook my brain with turkey, mashed potatoes and bottles of champagne, I received an interesting email from Kristi Harrison, founder of the “Life Changes Foundation” which is raising awareness after the diagnosis of Kristi’s friend, Katie Morris Kyser, who was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Krisiti’s concept of Life Changes is really interesting, particularly since ‘new normal’ and losing the person we were before diagnosis is often discussed online. The fact is, life changes – we cannot go back and for me, before engaging in Kristi’s project, ‘back there’ was a place of innocence lost and reality biting very hard. Okay, yes, I have SO MANY wonderful memories before being diagnosed that I cherish (for instance, the ‘how we met’ story with my husband that is excessively romantic and entirely over-shared). But if I cling to who I was before diagnosis, it makes me sad about who I became immediately after. I guess that’s because the experience held was more physically and emotionally painful than anything I’d ever dealt with in my life. And once felt you can’t go back, so I prefer to look forward and punch things out occasionally.

But then Kristi challenged me with the project she’s leading that focuses on writing letters to your 14-year-old self. She asked if I would get involved by writing a letter. (Hello, write about myself? Challenge accepted!)

The adventure of highschool. I'm bottom right.

The adventure of high school. I’m bottom right.

What surprised me in writing the letter is that I still love the girl who was once 14. She doesn’t make me sad, even though her style choices are *ahem* regrettable. In fact, she makes me look forward to having a daughter. Isn’t that weird?  She doesn’t fill me with loss or a mourning sensation . . . I’m simply proud of her and know she’ll be okay despite anything and everything.  And if she’ll be okay, then maybe I’ll be okay too.

Perhaps ‘new normal’ is really just a point (a point that happens and again and again and again) on the continuum of life? And we’ll all be okay, despite whatever crap we encounter – even death. I have to have faith that whatever happens after is just what is meant to be, we’ll go back where we came from, and be whatever we were before. AH! I’m going too deep. No excessive philosophizing will be tolerated on a blog entitled “BumpyBOOBS

(Okay, I turned off the Abba because those previous 2 paragraphs were deep, and I can’t do deep with Abba. However, I’m now turning it back on.)

So, if you are interesting in joining Kristi’s project, you can find her Facebook page right here: https://www.facebook.com/LifeChangesFoundation

Get in touch. See what happens. 🙂

And now the moment you’ve totally been waiting for (righhhht), the letter to my 14 year old self. Enjoy!

Click to read the letter at the Life Changes Foundation page! I laughed like an idiot while writing this.