Do what makes you happy.

I love the expression, “do what makes you happy,” but somehow that seems hard to do. I was asked recently by my youngest daughter what makes me happy. I quickly responded that she and her sister make me happy. It’s true. I never wanted children originally. I had a career as a television news producer. I liked pursuing stories and hanging out with my colleagues. I liked that my priest and I went on cool vacations to exotic locations.  I liked having no one to worry about except me, my priest and our dogs.  Yet one day something changed.

I was visiting my grandmother and parents at our summer home in Canada and recently one of our elderly neighbors had died.  The husband, now a widower, was sitting on his porch alone.  He looked sad and lonely.  I said to my grandmother that I felt sorry for him and she said, “he  never had chick nor child, hide nor hare.  You will be sitting alone one day on the porch with just your husband and no one will visit you either.”

It hit me then.  One day when my job is over and I am old, it will just be me and my priest alone.  Maybe we still have good friends, maybe we don’t, but the idea of just being old and alone crushed me.  I told my priest immediately that I was making a trip to my gynecologist and seeing if I could crank out a kid.  I was 29 years old.  I got pregnant two months later and Maggie was born two months after I turned 30.

My grandmother never got to meet her.  She died when I was 6 weeks pregnant.  I hadn’t told anyone I was pregnant, but my grandmother knew.  I was home for Christmas and she touched my nonexistent belly.  She said, “you’re pregnant.”  I was stunned.  How could she possibly know?  She said she could tell and she was happy.  My grandmother’s name was Margaret.  The little girl in my belly would grow up with the same name and she still hears marvelous stories of my awesome grandma.

Pippa was a result of Maggie desperately wanting a sister.  I could hear her in her room at night praying for a sister.  I was happy with just having Maggie, but she wanted more and it had to be a girl.   I tried to tell her that I couldn’t guarantee her a sister (as a side note, I also really didn’t want to grow a penis, so I wanted a girl too).  The idea of creating a little boy and all of his parts, freaked me out.  God answered Maggie’s prayers.  Even the one where she prayed her baby didn’t have red hair because she didn’t want to be jealous of her.  Maggie loves my red hair and she used to think only mermaids and really lucky people got to have red hair.  She did wear an Ariel wig a lot as a little girl.

To get back to my main point, I think my quick answer to Pippa that being a mom makes me happy, is true.  I didn’t know that when I was consciously avoiding getting pregnant.  My priest always said he would like to have kids, but he also said it was up to me.  He claims he knew I would change my mind.  He said that he watched me with kids and knew I loved them.  He saw me working at summer camp and running  kids games at our cottage.  He knew, but he didn’t push me or even really tell me.   It all came down to one lonely man sitting on his porch.

I understand that being a parent is not for everyone.  People live full and happy lives alone.  They surround themselves with friends and they make themselves invaluable.  They find happiness in a million different things.  I still find happiness in a long run or a hike in the forest, but if I was being honest, I am most happy when I am with my girls and my priest.  Hearing them laugh or even fight, makes my heart sing.  When they tell me they love me for no other reason than they just felt like it, I feel warm and content.  Being a mom is the last job I thought I wanted.  Sometimes wise people and God know what you want more than you do.

How can my priest embarrass us more?

Picture a very cold and rainy day in Disneyland Paris. Starving and soaking wet, we are lucky enough to get a table inside The Lucky Nugget Saloon in Frontierland. The restaurant offers basic food, but awesome entertainment. Real old time western stuff. Piano playing and singing hurting songs.
We were sitting at our table in the second row enjoying the performance.
Then this puppeteer comes on stage with a sultry girl puppet. The girl puppet apparently fell in love at first sight with my priest.

The singer asks my priest to join her on stage so that the puppet can serenade her new love.
He obliges far too readily. He proceeds to blow kisses to the puppet and he tries to get fresh with her. All of this as his daughters die a little on the inside. He is ruining the act, as Pippa points out. He’s not supposed to be so easy. So cheap, so fresh.  Clearly, he was meant to play hard to get.

He was seriously so cheesy that even the puppeteer was thrown off.  He went in for a kiss and grabbed the puppets face, as witnessed in the above photograph.

He was also constantly waving and looking at us for our approval and to point out that he belonged to someone.  It was funny, if not mortifying.

When he returned to the table, Maggie was quick to point out that her father had assaulted the puppet.  She said she was sure we would see the puppet on social media with a picture of my priest along with the hashtag me too.   Then she said, “#TimesUp dad.”  I laughed until it hurt too much.

This family kills me.  Every time.