The Past.

No matter how hard you try to run from your past, you can’t. It finds you. It finds you when you least expect it. Finds you in the most random place. It leaves you completely unprepared. Vulnerable.

I accepted that a long time ago and have long since stopped trying to run. Still, I’ve found that there is no way to be prepared for the flood of certain memories when it finds you.

The past requires explanations. Apologies. Uncomfortable balancing of the processing of memories and emotions with small talk and excited laughter. Hugs. Kisses. Holy Shit, how long has it been(s)?!?! The past requires being present when you’re not ready to be.

Today I walked into the past at a Starbucks downtown. I walked into it unprepared and came face to face with the Sandra I ran away from so long ago.

I had an appointment and I was early. Finding a place to enjoy coffee and get some work done is easy downtown, you go to Starbucks. I wanted an Americano and a muffin.

In 1999, I celebrated one year of sobriety.

I was 18 years old and had just experienced a miscarrage. Sober minds allow you to feel and I was feeling. I had been with my boyfriend for a few years, I loved him. We loved each other. We lived for each other. When I made the decision to stop using and enter rehab, I gave him the option of getting sober with me or I would leave. I’m not the type for ultamatums, but this was about saving my life; our lives. He chose me. I knew he would.

In 1999, we were both celerating one year of sobriety.

The miscarrage was painful. It allowed me to slow down and process the direction of my life; our life. I knew he only stopped using for me. He still spoke about drugs and his desire to use. Always reminding me that he would never “do that to me”. I couldn’t live like that. I never wanted to be in a relationship where decisions were made by one person and followed by the other out of love or fear of losing them. So, I left. I gave him room to breathe. To live. It killed both of us. He started using again that night, I’ve been sober since.

In 1999, I celebrated one year of sobriety.

I was 18 years old, working 70 hours a week and maintaining my own apartment. One of my jobs was the gym, the other was at a Starbucks downtown.

I loved working at Starbucks. I started there because I needed health benefits, what I found there was way more than I ever expected. Shortly after I started, I met my future roomate (who I would move to British Columbia with), made wonderful friendships (that I still have now), and I met my boyfriend (who would later become the father of my first child).

1999 was a great year.

Celebrating sobriety meant a new love and appreciation for partying without drugs. I would go to the Guvernment every weekend and just dance. I enjoyed the freedom and energy that my new life brought. I had just trained a new staff member at Starbucks, who happened to be dating a member of the gym I worked at. She was a dancer and we hit it off quickly. She instantly became my weekend clubbing partner and we had a lot of fun together. Me, sober. Her, not. It didn’t matter, I was strong enough to be around it without needing it.

I had stopped selling drugs when I stopped using, but it was hard to escape a life that people knew you for. Being downtown meant being recognized often. Being recognized often meant being asked for product. Being asked for product meant being forced to face my past regularly. I was no longer that Sandra. But I was strong enough to to be around it without needing it.

One night at the Guvernment, I bumped into an acquaintance I hadn’t seen in years. She was looking for drugs and smiled when she saw me. I told her I didn’t sell anymore but she knew I knew everyone there who did. She didn’t trust anyone but me, so she begged me to get her some. I agreed. Didn’t think anything of it, one transaction, no big deal.

As soon as those pills were in my hand, they were in my mouth.

I thought I was stronger than I was. I was strong because I had stayed away. The past found me when I was unprepared and I was weak.

I spit out the pills and left. That was the night I decided I needed to move. To get away. To run as far as I could from the past.

My roomate, my boyfriend and I packed up our apartment and moved across the country. We started a new life in Victoria, British Columbia.

I left to save my life.

With that, I left a lot of people behind. Some understood, some never forgave me for not saying goodbye.

The past requires explanations. Apologies. Uncomfortable balancing of the processing of memories and emotions with small talk and excited laughter. Hugs. Kisses. Holy Shit, how long has it been(s)?!?! The past requires being present when you’re not ready to be.

Today I walked into the past at a Starbucks downtown. I walked into it unprepared and came face to face with the Sandra I ran away from so long ago.

That friend. The one I spent every weekend dancing the nights away with. There she was. On the other side of the counter, holding my americano in her hand as we made eye contact. Floods of memories. Emotions. She handed me my drink and we smiled with recognition. Excited laughter. Holy shit, how have you beens!?!?!

It’s been 15 years since I’ve looked into those eyes. She is exactly where I last saw her.

The past found me and I wasn’t ready.

Boys are gross.

So my preteen (from hell) decided to lose his shit the other day.  It was awful. Hours of screaming, crying, threatening to run away. His hormones are raging and he’s struggling.  

Luckily, or unluckily for him, he has two parents who are in this field. So, he gets a mix of conversation and problem solving possible strategies for helping to manage his anger. Not in those words exactly but let’s just call it what it is.

One of the things we tell him to do sometimes when he starts to escalate is to go take a bath. Cool down. Relax. Enjoy some quiet time in a private space. Process your thoughts before reacting. Take the damn time out.  Take it before I throw you out the window!!!!  But I don’t tell him that last part, that’s an inside voice. 

This was one of the options presented to him the other day. He thought it might be a good idea, which made me happy. His time out also helps me get MY time out!  It’s a double bonus. 

We decided to go for a mommy/son run first.  I love those times. We have some pretty serious conversations while walking. He tries to talk when we are running but that’s not my thing.  Normally, I run with music but I’m on momma bear high alert when I run with my kids, so listening to music is not an option.  To not have music is already annoying enough but when he tries to talk, I’m not having it. Our mommy/son runs involve intervals because of this; jog, walk, sprint, walk, jog, etc.  

We jog next to each other during our jog periods.  

We have serious conversations about serious issues while walking.  

We full out race during the sprints (I still kill him in the races).  

This is what we do. It’s our thing. One of our many things.  I love it. 

So, we choose to do that on this night, which brings me back to the original reason for this blog…

BOYS

ARE

GROSS 

The bath was an option that was on the table for cooling down.  We had already established that before going for a run.  Going for a run meant he would be taking one anyway. So, when we got home, I asked him if he was going to take his bath now.  

He looked at me and said “I’m just going to take a bath to relax, I’m not going to use soap or anything.”

Really?

You’re already doing EVERYTHING else, why not take a couple minutes and wash the preteen/just went for a run stink off your body?  

Gross!  Gross!  Gross!

It got me thinking about the million times this, or something like this has happened. At home. At work. Everywhere.  People “fake” clean themselves ALL the time!!!!  I see it everywhere. 

I see it at home all the time with my disgusting boys.  I see them wet their hands with water and run as far away in the other direction in hopes I don’t notice. I’ve seen them sprinkle water on the soap to make it look like they used it. I’ve seen them put just enough soap on their hands to make them smell good in case I ask to smell them when they leave. Gross!  

I see it in public washrooms from the door cracks. I watch people turn on the water and stand in front of it and play with their hair until the water has been running long enough to make whoever is in there believe that they washed their hands.  Then they ruffle some paper towels, throw it out and call it a day!  Gross! 

That shit takes thought and effort.  You could have actually washed your hands more easily and quickly then in the time it took you to pretend. 

If you’re already making all that effort anyway, why not just do it?  Or not do it. Pretending just seems like a waste of time. Own your grossness or clean yourself properly.

I don’t get it.

After all that, my son and I decided to make smoothies before the bath. Chocolate peanut butter banana strawberry almond milk hemp hearts and chia seeds smoothie, to be exact. Yum!!!  Somehow we got to talking while enjoying our smoothies.  Then it was bedtime and he kissed me goodnight and went to bed.  

About 20 minutes later, I realized there was no bath.  He got me!  Punk!!!!  

He IS gross but at least he owns his grossness.

My life is a comedy.

My life really is a series of comedies you’d have to see to believe.  It’s amazing. I really enjoy it, more so because things usually work out in the end.  The process though, awesome!!!! 

I was stoked when the Brussels flight was on time. Even more excited to hear we were ahead of schedule.  I only had two hours scheduled between landing in Montreal and leaving for Toronto.  I knew that would be tight, especially with having to get medical clearance upon landing.  So, I got comfortable and prepared myself for my flight.

The pilot comes on to report that they are experiencing a problem locating 6 pieces of luggage that are on the plane but their owners didn’t board.  Ok, that’s cool.  

It will take approximately 10 minutes to find each bag. Wtf?!?!  There goes my transfer flight. I write it off and take my allergy pill. 

My face is still swollen but slowly improving.  I’m optimistic that I won’t look so contagious by the time I’m in Canada.  We are ready for takeoff 40 minutes later, the pilot assures us he will speed to make up some time. Hmmmmmm. Maybe I can make my flight????

My television doesn’t work. I’m exhausted anyway so I decide to listen to music and sleep instead.  The flight is 7 and a half hours, I could get a solid sleep in that time and feel much better by the time we land.  I do just that. The first 6 hours of my flight consists of a series of power naps, interrupted only by meals and a couple washroom breaks.  

I have the window seat and there is a guy, about my age, sitting to my right.  I gave him my pretzels at snack time, so I fully expect him to cooperate when I ask him to check his television for our estimated landing time. He does. Excellent.  I decide there is no way I’m making my flight.  Since he’s been sitting on my good side the whole time, he starts to talk to me.  He’s an RCMP officer who specializes in terrorism.  Almost immediately, I feel like I have to explain my face. “I was attacked by a mosquito. It was an ugly scene but I’m not contagious”. We both start laughing.  We have some really interesting conversations about our line of work for the rest of the flight.  

About a half an hour to landing, the flight attendant comes by with a piece of paper. 

Him – “Are you Sandra?”  

Me – “Yes”

Him – “We just got a call from customs saying there are 3 of you on this flight who need to get off the flight first. I don’t know why.”

Me – “oh ok, that’s cool”

He leaves. I look at buddy next to me and say “that sounded really sketchy didn’t it?”  “Yup!”  We both start laughing again. “Do you think I’ll make it through customs with my face?”  “Hmmmmm, you’ll definitely miss your flight.”

About five minutes later, the loud speaker goes on…

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have received a call from customs saying there are three people that need to get off this flight before anyone else. (Insert our names here!) When we land, please stay seated and allow them to get off the plane first.”

Nope, that’s not at all embarrassing. LOL!  Buddy looks at me and laughs, “NOW you look sketchy!”  Always a good thing to hear from a terrorism expert.  

The plane lands and they announce that the three of us can get up now. I stand up and the female flight attendant orders me to sit down immediately. Ummmm, I don’t understand.  She looks at me very seriously and tells me only the three people are allowed to leave.  The male attendant screams from the other side of the plane, “that’s her!”  Buddy and I look at eachother and he quietly says “sketchy”.  I burst out laughing and say goodbye.  Every single person is looking at me wondering what I did wrong.  Awkward.  

There are two people waiting to escort us to medical clearance. They take our passports but keep their distance.  I turn to one guy and say “where are you coming from?”  He says “Guinea, you?”  “Sierra Leone”. Ahhhh. The other guy says he’s coming from Sierra Leone too. We bypass all the lines as we go thru customs and are taken into a small room.  In the room, we are each given a 5 page questionnaire.  My connecting flight is just a memory now.  I fill out the form and wait to be seen by the nurse.  My temperature is good. I’m given a thermometer and a lot of paper with detailed instructions on how to report my temperature daily for the next 21 days.  Okie dokie. 

It’s 2:40pm by the time I get the all clear. No way I’ll make my 2:45pm flight. 

I know there are hourly flights from Montreal to Toronto so I’m not worried. I’m told I have to collect my baggage and check in on the other side.  I also have to get rebooked for another flight, so I line up for the next available attendant.  It’s 3pm when it’s my turn. She tells me every single flight for the day to Pearson is completely booked. Something about March Break.  Crap.  There is a flight for 3:30pm that lands at Toronto Island. I’ll take it!!!!  Actually, that’s sold out now too. Dammit. 4:30pm it is.  She’s moving slowly now that there is no rush.  I message home to change the pickup location and time.  Just as she’s about to print the ticket, a spot opens up at 3:30 and she gets excited and books it. Everything is done by 3:06pm and she looks at me calmly and says “you should probably start running now.”  

I drop my bags off and sprint through the Montreal airport.  There is a ten minute line to cross security but it’s moving well. I get through by 3:20pm and sprint to my gate. It’s conveniently located as far away as you can possibly imagine but I make it. Just in time.  

My face looks better but I might pee myself. 

Next stop: Toronto