Love story

You might think that on the eve of Valentine’s Day I would be dreamily waxing about love and romance and how I knew that my husband was my soul mate the moment I laid eyes on him.

But you’d be wrong.

The fact is, I gave careful consideration to whether I could and should love the man who would become my husband.

And I’m not even sure I believe there is such a thing as a soul mate.

Sure I’m a bit of a diva sometimes, but I’m not hard to get along with. I’m relatively easy on the eyes and I fly airplanes. (Guys love that). The thing is, if I hadn’t met Rob, I’m pretty sure I would have happily met someone else, married and had a child. (Not one half as cute as Graham, but still).

But of course I didn’t marry someone else, I married Rob and not a day goes by that I don’t congratulate myself on the wisdom of that decision.

Because it was a decision, not just to marry him, but to love him. Sure there was lust and there were sparks, but the love was a conscious decision on my part born of the realization that it was time to settle down and make a commitment to this smart and sweet man who is as handy with a power drill as he is with a spice rack.

On New Year’s Eve 1997, I made a resolution. I resolved that in 1998 I would meet my future husband. I started dating Rob in July of 1998 and we have together rung in every New Year since.

The love I have for my husband is not something that was predestined or sent from above. It is a state of mind. It is a vow that I renew to him, to myself and to our son every day - on good days and, even more importantly, on bad days.

It’s a love that will not fail because I won’t let it.

Sometimes I envy happily-married women who got an early start on marriage and children. I was almost 33 when I married and five years later I still don’t feel my family is complete so, God willing, I’ll be changing diapers into my forties.

But the thing is, I wasn’t ready to commit my life at 20 or 25 or even 30 and neither was Rob. I’m not one of those people who think maturity only arrives after one has attended the requisite number of wild parties but, believe you me, I attended my share just in case.

In fact, I attended enough parties that I was actually growing weary of them when, celebrating the wrap of this film, I struck a conversation with a man who struck me immediately as a gentleman.

I did not hear the angels sing. I did not feel struck by a bolt from above. I did think, almost immediately, I am ready for love and this might be a man I could grow to love.

And so I did.

I love the way he insisted on coming in and having a glass of wine with my father the first time he picked me up from my parent’s house. I love how attentive he was to my elderly grandmother who lived there.

I love that we can talk for hours about the ills of the world and that I never secretly think I’m smarter than him. I love the way he took my first effort at screenwriting and turned it into something of which we could be proud.

I love that he carried my engagement ring in his pocket for days as we hiked through the Andes and then pulled it out to propose as the sun hit Machu Picchu.

I love that he slams on the brakes to avoid hitting butterflies. I love that he insisted on rushing my first baby to the vet one day, thereby saving his life. I love that people think he’s passive and shy because he’s quiet, when in fact he’s the most strong-willed and stubborn person I know (after me).

I love that he doesn’t care what other people think of him.

And so, while I’m not even sure I believe there is such a thing as a soul mate, I definitely, definitely believe in love.

Happy Valentine’s Day Rob. I love you.

A mother's love - for her work

After three weeks off work, I am heading back to the office tomorrow.

And I can hardly wait.

It’s not that I don’t love being with my family. It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed all our time together over the last three weeks: it’s just that I’ve had enough.

I’ve had enough sleeping in. I’ve had enough sitting around and reading the paper. I’ve had enough puttering about the house, making small talk with my husband (who is also home) and marking out my day by meals and naptime.

Castigate me if you will, but I’ve even had enough of being with my darling Graham pretty much day and night.

I need to be busy. I like to have a million things to do.

God help me, I love to work.

Mind you I have a great job. A really great job. My office is just down the street. I can walk (for real!). I work nine to five. I get more than four weeks holidays. My wonderful mother-in-law comes here every Monday to watch Graham and I even come home to eat lunch with him. Tuesday to Friday, Graham goes to a home daycare located just a few streets away and run by a dear family friend. I drop him off at 8:45 a.m. I pick him up at 5:15 p.m.

I don’t know if I would be quite so enthusiastic about working outside the home if I had to commute an hour or more, if I had to put Graham in daycare five days a week or if Canada’s generous maternity leave program didn’t allow me to spend the first year of Graham’s life at home.

But I do know that I don’t feel guilty about my choice to work. Not one little bit. I hear people say they worry about missing their child’s milestones, but I don’t. I don’t worry.

I don’t worry that I’m not spending enough quality time with Graham. I am confident that he is happy and secure. I don’t worry that someone else is raising him. I know that he knows who his mommy is and loves her most of all.

I am fully supportive of women who stay at home full-time. I’m fully supportive of pretty much anything other moms do, because if there’s one thing I‘ve learned since having Graham it’s that all of us, working or not, are doing exactly what we think works best for our family.

I admit that on some level, I may even be a little jealous of stay-at-home parents: I sometimes think I need to work outside the home, because deep down I need to be validated and it is a strong woman or man, indeed, who does not need anyone else to reassure them that they have worth.

But no matter - it is back to work for me tomorrow and I couldn’t be happier about it.

I feel good about myself when I am working. I have my more energy and creativity when I am working. I am more joyful when I am working.

I am a better mother because I am working.