Cat Skinner Club

Sex and the Single Parent, And ME!

When I was in my second year of college, studying theatre, I had a rock-star-level crush on this girl named Melissa Story who was in first year. Or maybe I was in third year, and she was in second year. It was theatre school, I partied a lot and some details are fuzzy. At any rate, I clearly remember her leggy gorgeousness, and the mane of wispy, wild, naturally blonde curls, and her huge and wise grey-blue eyes. Her sense of style was impeccable. She was like a fashion model, straight out of an issue of Harper’s Bazaar, circa 1970 something. The thing with this girl was that she was not only gorgeous, but incredibly talented too. So talented, in fact, that I had no idea why she was paying for school in the first place. Why wasn’t she in L.A. or New York, looking for work? She had that natural ability that just can’t be taught. She slipped in and out of characters so seamlessly; you forgot you were watching someone act. What’s more, she was funny as shit. Like incredibly quick-witted and shamelessly goofy funny. The best kind of funny, and the hardest kind too, particularly for women who are taught to behave like beautiful, leggy, natural blondes ‘ought to’ right from birth. I was so crushing on this girl, I think she thought I had some special needs because I could barely utter a word to her. Sigh.

So when your hottie hot former girl-crush ends up with her own awesome and successful podcast (because she continues to kick ass and take names as a fierce single mom comedy boss) and she asks you to be a guest, there is only one right answer. As a bonus, her host is another kick-ass, hilarious single mom, who if I may say so, is also easy on the eyes. If you like that sort of thing. Their show/comedy site is called Sex and the Single Parent, and I was delighted to be invited to talk about poly parenting and my life philosophies.

Never mind that my ex-crush had the flu and couldn’t make the recording. Never mind that an equally huge crush from high school, Mr. Phil Luzi ends up being the guest host (wtf Universe??). Never mind that the co-host of Melissa’s show is Precious Chong, the daughter of Tommy Chong, a detail I found out after the recording, thus saving me from acting like a blathering idiot. I was honored and proud to be a guest on Sex and the Single Parent, and I had an incredible time with my gracious hosts. They asked truly respectful and genuine questions. I’m sorry I couldn’t see you in real life Melissa. If you want to sit across the table from me and listen to more juicy details about my wonderful family, you’re going to have to come out for drinks with me and my partners. Just kidding. Not really. We won’t try to sleep with you. Much.

Please enjoy this wonderful interview, and keep listening to this super fun podcast for other great guests, and plenty of opportunities to snort commuter coffee out of your nostrils.

To Listen Click Here.

The Tip of My Iceberg

I am  not ashamed to admit that I love winter, and that waking up to my field and forest covered in snow was a dream come true.

Sharing My Story

For several weeks now, I’ve spent my Tuesday mornings in a creative writing class, and I’ll say this is why I haven’t posted anything in such a long time. Most of my writing has been offline. I’ve been promising myself that I would invest more in this craft, and it was with great enthusiasm that I set out for my first class. I was surprised to find the room so full, and delighted to experience the talent and the warmth of the group I found myself with. If you’re looking for a big treat for yourself, some meaningful alone time, and an incredible introduction to creative writing, you can find Brian Henry’s website here.

Tuesday morning is our last class, and we’ve been asked to share a piece, 500 words long. I’ve been grappling with what to share, but I keep coming back to the idea of sharing my story – my big story, the one that made the National Post, and the reason why many of you are readers.

I ‘m really not that different from most people in my writing class. Sitting before the others for nine weeks, I don’t think any of them would think I stood out for any particular reason. I’m a parent, I’m over thirty, I love reading, I get pleasure from trying to capture my thoughts and ideas on paper, I’m in a committed relationship, and I’m grappling with a middle-class income. I wonder what they’ll think when they hear my story?
When I was 33 years old, five years ago now, I was a divorcee newly liberated from a tumultuous relationship (the rebound to the failed marriage) and I was trying my hand at dating. I had a great job in arts administration, I was living in the big city, I had my own little apartment in a gorgeous Spanish Colonial house by the park, a great circle of friends, a theatre company that I performed with and co-founded, and a close and healthy relationship to my family. An enviable life, though dating was proving to be one disaster after the other, and it was often hard to make ends meet on my arts worker salary. My finances were further strained by a spontaneous solo trip I had taken to Paris. A trip that changed my life.

In May of 2008 I stood at the base of Sacre Coeur in Monmartre, watching the lights of the Eiffel Tower twinkle against the midnight sky, and I promised myself that I would have the family I yearned for, the children I ached for, and the abundance of love I believe I truly deserved. Making the trip to Paris, completely alone, was a successful exercise in realizing my capability and self worth. Two months later, on the weekend of my 34th birthday, I met the people that would become my adoptive family. They started out as my friends, and as the year unfolded, our friendship deepened into a passionate and very comfortable love. They were reflections of all of the ideals my soul holds dearest. They were a beautiful package that came complete with two incredibly brilliant little girls.

I suppose I could have kept trying the Internet dating. I could have taken a gamble, tested the limits of my biological clock, and waited to see what the more conventional options might have been. I could have made a less dramatic choice. I didn’t. In the summer of 2009, we decided, to become a family. The decision to do this was the easiest part, telling our families was the hardest. Why? Because I was the third adult to enter into a relationship that had existed for 18 years.

I have two partners whom I call my wife and my husband. We have a domestic partnership where we are raising our three children who are eleven, eight and two years old. Our eleven year old is the only one of our children who remembers life before three parents, and our youngest is the first child to have no other reality. We eased the children very carefully into the transition, their needs have always been paramount. After consulting with one of the top family law attorneys in Canada (pivotal in legalizing gay marriage in this country) we have drafted contracts that protect ourselves and our family in the ways that common-law status or marriage documents would, were they available to our unique situation. We are open about our relationship, we are active in our school community, and we are intensely proud of our family.

I never would have imagined this life for myself, but I can’t imagine my life any other way. It’s been an extraordinary journey filled with much love and happiness, and an often painful struggle to grapple with the darkest corners of my soul. Yet, we forge ahead like pioneers through relationship waters we are charting by ourselves. We have an excellent therapist. Our children have three sets of grandparents who adore them, and a village of our extended family and beloved friends to raise them. As parents, we have incredible support in each other. As partners we have incredible dedication and love to one another.

If I seem unique to those who meet me it is because I am filled with the light of knowing I have the abundance of love I wished for. It’s because my silent Paris prayer was answered. It’s because I listened to my heart, took an enormous risk, and followed the glittering path that the Universe laid at my feet.

Sex City Interview Alert!

August has been entirely spent with my family and dear friends. How lovely to have the time and the opportunity to build deeper relationships and watch all of our beautiful children play together. How is your summer winding down?

There’s so much to look forward to in September – a new school, a new schedule for me with more time to focus on my own work, and on building up my partners’ work projects. The next two weeks will be busy, but I want to drink up every little drop of what’s left of these lazy days with no agenda, so it’s just a brief little post today to share some news.

Tomorrow night, at approximately 11pm EST, I’m going to be doing a short interview on the CIUT radio show Sex City. I love radio, and I have podcast fantasies of my own, so I’m really excited. We’re talking about parenting as an openly poly family. You can tune in at 89.5 fm or via their website here. I think the episode will be available after the fact via the website too. Check out my sexy-sounding summer cold! It’s a live interview, so who knows what they’ll be asking!

I hope your days are warm and filled with laughter, good food, and great company. See you in September!

Kisses on your nose,

PB Mommy

Class Dismissed

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Some of you know us well enough to know that up until very recently, we were pretty die-hard city mice. One of the toughest parts of our decision to leave city life behind was leaving our beloved Waldorf school. Our whole family loved the place and I was so looking forward to sending Noah there too when the time was right.

We weren’t able to find any favorable alternatives to public school when we moved to the country in July of 2013. This is why we decided to home school our kids until a better solution presented itself, or until we were ready to travel the world as a family (our long-term dream). The role of teacher fell to me, while Nekky and Sarah both work at their own jobs full time. Fast forward eight months, and the time has come to assess where we are at with our plans and our goals. We aren’t ready to take on the world just yet, so what’s the plan for September?

I’ve really enjoyed our homeschool journey, and the freedom and flexibility it has offered us. However, there is so much that I can’t give the girls that they are missing out on. Trying to balance life, work, school, toddler-rearing, is truly exhausting, so I find myself just focusing on the basics in our classroom – covering the most rudimentary subjects, leaving little time for more creative pursuits or games. The girls get two lengthy outdoor recesses, and they are terrific playmates for one another, but it’s just not the same without classmates. They miss their peer group, and I miss the school community too. It was nice interacting with other humans each day, and I miss assemblies and parent nights.

Also, any parent knows that children behave much differently at home than they do when there is a teacher to impress, and classmates to surround them. Our girls are great, but managing their quirks and challenges became really taxing. I would never in a million years sign up to become a teacher in the conventional sense, I don’t have the patience to handle so many little personalities all at once. In fact, handling two is taking all the gumption I’ve got, and I adore those two people!

If we were travelling, if there were no other options to consider locally, I would continue on with homeschool in the fall, learning from the mistakes we made this year. We’d make sure there were extra curricular activities where we could make new friends, I’d change our scheduling to focus more on each girl for longer stretches, and I’d devote one day per week to games and creativity. I’d do a lot of things differently, but we found a very interesting school in town, and so we’re going to give it a shot in the fall.

These days, homeschooling is bitter sweet. I know the end is in sight, for now anyway, so I’m trying to really enjoy the time we have, and I’m trying to relax more and make sure the girls enjoy each day. Part of me is also looking ahead to a life where my focus shifts again to other work, and finally an opportunity to focus on my writing in a fresh new way. There are lots of things unfolding here, and it feels right on so many levels.

This time with my children has been beautiful, and so valuable – as challenging as it has been rewarding. I’m so grateful that we tried this, and I hope that the next time we open the books on homeschooling, we’re living on a beach in Thailand.

Don’t be afraid to deviate from what you thought was the best plan. We’re meant to bend and stretch and grow, and something better always lies around the bend.

Don’t Leave Before Your Bags Are Packed

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Yesterday I completed one of those tasks that makes me feel like a real, live grown up. I wrote a will, and a living will. On Saturday I put the final signatures on my life insurance policy. Later today, I will draft my wishes for my memorial service and instructions about what to do with my remains. No, I’m not dying. At least no more than any of us are.

I think I have a unique perspective on life and death. I mean, I suppose we all do, but mine has been shaped by a lot of exposure to the subject matter in relation to the few years I’ve been around. I’ve held hands with death in several different contexts; surprise tragedy, surprise medical events, miscarriage (mine), still birth (dear friends), and the most common in my world, cancer. Fucking cancer.

After reflecting for a considerable amount of time on the subject, I conclude that surprise death is the worst. This is my personal conclusion, of course. When I was in my twenties, and barely comfortable in my own skin, I witnessed a dear aunt who was a personal hero waste away with cancer. Aggressive cancer that took her just over a year after her diagnosis. Watching how her body morphed from voluptuous and vibrant to a skeletal shell rocked me to my foundation. I thought it was the worst thing that could ever happen.

Then, months later another of my mother’s sisters died very suddenly of a brain aneurysm. She was vivacious, loving, fun, active, and literally a month away from her retirement. There was no time to wrap up loose ends, make amends, say goodbye, or even get to savour the freedom and relaxation she had worked her entire life to finally enjoy. Watching how shattered her nearest and dearest were by the sudden cruelty of fate was almost scarier than watching illness waste a body away.

A sprinkling of years after that, I experienced a very early term miscarriage with a pregnancy I hadn’t planned. None of my life circumstances were ideal for bringing a child into the world. In fact, I was so cynical and afraid of myself, I had vowed that I was unfit to ever have children of my own. Losing this life, or these cells, or this soul that had become planted inside me barely felt like cause to grieve, and yet I did. Down to the very ends of my roots. As a result of this miscarriage, I knew absolutely that I wanted children, and I prayed fervently that my body would allow me to make at least one child. This event was a game-changer.

Fast forward over a decade. I am a fully immersed mother to my daughters, I’m in a stable relationship with my best friends, I have been blessed with a biological son of my own, and at this point in my life, our dear friends lose their baby in their seventh month of pregnancy. We are making presents, Sarah is planning a maternity photo shoot, our girlfriends are giggling over the scandalous baby shower cake we are going to create. Then the bottom falls out. I am utterly devastated, and can say that these two incredible people are the strongest that I know. In the background of this terrifying event, my fairy godmother is dying of lung cancer. Our little Aemon died in August. My fairy godmother would die in November. I can’t sleep anymore without waking in the middle of the night, terrified that something will rip me away from my children. This continues to this day.

My godmother, Carmen Chouinard, finally let go of this mortal coil in a truly beautiful hospice (Dorothy Ley) in late November. I had spent the night there with Sarah, and Carmen’s 23-year-old daughter Alex, who is beyond incredible. We were all standing by, convinced by the stage of Carmen’s illness and by all of her caregivers that she would pass at any moment. Carmen was notoriously stubborn, and didn’t seem to think that was the case. She couldn’t speak or move, and her body had wasted away. Her breathing was laboured, she wasn’t eating or drinking, but yet she hung on. I still don’t know what she was waiting for. I never will. She finally took her last breath after nearly all of us had all left her room. Maybe she was waiting for a smaller audience, or for her daughter to take some time to take care of herself. When I returned to the hospice, about an hour after Carmen had passed, I once again witnessed the amazing reality of an illness-ravaged body at peace. I’m not very religious anymore, but I feel certain that something leaves our body when we take our last breath. Something greater than what science can explain. I have felt this on a level that neurology can’t quantify.

Have you been close to death? I don’t mean you, in your body, though perhaps if you’ve had a near death experience, you will understand what I mean.  I mean a brush with death close enough that you cannot go a single day without thinking somewhere in the back of your mind that you might be next. Or your lover. Or your child. Our mortality has now become the single most terrifying and motivating reality in my life. My awareness of the fragility of this meat-sack I occupy has finely honed the world I am shaping for my family. I did not choose the life I live because of some sexual proclivity, or because I can clearly identify a specific sexual orientation. I chose this life because I love these people. I love the way they see me, and I love how their love challenges me to be my best self.

To assume we aren’t taking legal precautions to protect each other and our children is folly. I’m smarter, and I love better than that. As you embark on your life’s adventures, make sure all of your bags are packed. It’s morbid, perhaps, but it’s also smart and responsible and a beautiful gesture of love and care.

And it’s really kind of foolproof online: http://www.legalwills.ca