Christmas Carols

The other day I was driving Toby home from daycare when it occurred to me that I hadn’t exposed my son to ANY Christmas songs yet, so instead if listening to Raffi, I turned the music off and told Toby that I was going to sing him some of my favourite Christmas carols. My announcement was met with a blank stare from underneath his winter hat, scarf and bulky snowsuit.

I started with Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer (adding in the extra sayings, of course).

Blank stare.

Then I moved on to Jingle Bells (what kid DOESN’T like Jingle bells?)

Blank stare.

And finally I fudged my way through Frosty the Snow man (I never realized how few of the lyrics I knew to Frosty the Snow man…that’s a complicated song…)

Blank stare.

Finally I turned around and asked him point blank, “Toby?? Don’t you like Mommy’s Christmas Singing???!?!?”

My son responded by bringing his mitted finger up to his mouth and softly saying,

“Shhhhhh, Mommy - -Toby’s SLEEPING”

Mommy's Giant Poinsettia meets Toby's Loud Mouth

Toby has evolved into quite the little chatterbox. Gone are the days when we have to repeat things 4 or 5 times for him to learn it—he’ll attempt almost any word or phrase with gusto and MOST of the time it even comes out somewhat understandably. It’s fantastic to watch but I’m starting to learn that it has its drawbacks.

The other day I made my first big “oops”. It wasn’t an OBVIOUS one like swearing or telling him a big secret. I didn’t even see it coming…

Although Toby has developed some keen linguistical skills, he’s somewhat lacking in the adaptability department. In particular, he doesn’t like transitions, and one of his LEAST favourite transitions is when he has to leave daycare, put his snowsuit on, and get in the car. This kid LOVES daycare so it takes some end-of-the-day creativity on my part to convince him that there’s something worth leaving for.

On this particular day I was coming from the office and I had a GIANT Poinsettia plant in the back seat. It was a Christmas gift from one of my (very generous) patients and it is quite literally the BIGGEST poinsettia I’ve ever seen. It was probably a poorly behaved Japanese Sumo Wrestler in its past life that did something REALLY wrong and got reincarnated as a pink poinsettia plant.

You get the picture.

So I decided to use my lovely plant as my daily bargaining point for leaving daycare,

“Toby - - mommy has a BIG FLOWER in the car. Do you want to get in the car and SEE Mommy’s BIG FLOWER?”

It didn’t sound weird the first time I said it, but as Toby excitedly marched through the crowds of exhausted parents and kids yelling, “Toby see mommy’s BIG FLOWER in the CAR!” I began to turn a nice shade of poinsettia-pink.

I’m not up on my vernacular of terms that describe the female genitalia, but I have a sinking suspicion that “flower” is one of them. And another sinking suspicion that all of the other daycare moms think I have a rather “large” one that my 2 year old did or didn’t get to see when he got to the car.

Tis the season...to be barfy

I don’t like barf. I am constantly told that I’m not ALLOWED not to like barf as a physician, but I don’t. And that’s precisely why I went into family medicine- to avoid barf. Lots of barf in ER, oncology and pediatrics, but not so much barf in family medicine. So you can say, in a way, that my phobia of barf has shaped my career. That’s how seriously I take it.

It’s not that I feel physically sick when I hear someone getting sick. It’s more that I get shaky and anxious. Beads of sweat appear on my forehead at the mere anticipation and as SOON as the first teaspoon of emesis emerges from the retching mouth – I’m out. Doesn’t matter what I’m doing, whom I’m with or what I’m holding. I leave the room.

One time I was working in the ER and a lady was actively having a heart attack behind curtain #2. I was in the process of “thrombolysing her” when she started to gag. I won’t get into the details of “thrombolysing” but suffice it to say that it was quite necessary at the precise moment that I was administering this particular sequence of clot-busting-multi-million-dollar-costing-life-saving-medication that I remain at her bedside. I didn’t actually THINK about what I was doing- - I just politely nodded my head, put the syringe down, and walked around to the other side of the curtain when the vomit started to emerge.

I’m sure the 2 nurses could still see my feet from the other side of the curtain as I tried as hard as possible to remain unnoticed from the other side. “Dr Henry? Could you come back in here please?” DAMMIT. I took my shaky knees and trembling hands back around the curtain and secretly promised myself, in that moment, to become a family doctor where I could excuse myself as much as I liked from Its horrific presence.

You may ALSO be saying that I can’t be a mom and still hate barf. Aha! I am - -and I have been given the gift of the perfect child who never barfs.

Until Tuesday.

Toby was eating a muffin when he started to cough. And then he sputtered and then I heard it - -the first rumblings of what I instantly knew would inevitably soon be upon us. Toby, being the angelic-non-barfing-kid that he is wasn’t sure WHAT was going on so we spent the next 15 seconds simultaneously staring at each other in HORROR. And then it came. Just a bit -- but enough.

Toby instantly burst into tears. I’m not sure if it was the surprise factor or the discomfort or the subconscious knowledge that he was no longer my perfect-non-barfing-angelic-child. The only words he could utter were a pitiful, “Mmmm-uffin??” as he stared at his now disgusting tray.

I did what any logical thinking barf-a-phobe would do in this situation; I phoned my mother.

I am happy to report that we all survived the event. Toby recovered quickly and even finished the muffin remnants that had yet to be eaten. My mother successfully talked me down and through such important tasks as the clean up and the decision whether or not to send him to daycare. And I realized that I AM actually capable of staying in the room despite my great weakness. Sometimes, for the sake of the great loves of your life, it’s easier than you think. I just hope it doesn’t happen again anytime soon….

Snow?

Toby has been learning what snow is. Every morning after breakfast he runs over to the window and points out all the “Snow!!!” on the back porch. Sometimes when he comes in from outside he likes to pick the “Snow!!!” off his boots. And he finds it pretty funny when he runs and falls and gets a faceful of “Snow!!!” I pretty much thought we had the concept of snow down pat.

This morning we had our first blizzard. Toby looked out the window and welcomed the “snow!!!” as usual, but by the time we got out of the car at daycare it was snowing and blowing so much that he got confused;

“Mommy! Raining!”

“No, Toby- - it’s SNOWING!”

“RAINING?”

“Snowing”

“Mommy -- RAINING!!!!”

So maybe we don’t have the weather systems down perfectly. Can’t wait to try to explain to him what the freezing rain and slush is this afternoon….

Poor Old Santa

I’ve officially discovered the worst job in the world. It may not SEEM like the worst job in the world, but attending our first official “Christmas Function – Come Get your Photo taken with Santa!” evoked some pity for the poor old chap in the red suit.

WARNING: If you are under 10, please stop reading right now. Or Santa won’t bring you any presents and you’ll wake up to a stocking of coal and your parents will look at you and say, “what did you DO to deserve COAL” and you’ll have to tell them that you DIDN”T stop READING when you were TOLD to and then they’ll restrict my site on your computer and you will sit in your room all alone every night staring at your tiny pile of coal with nothing to do.

For the rest of you, carry on….

Back to the poor old man at the church function. FIRST of all, he probably got a phone call a few weeks ago that might as well have gone like this, “Hey, Jim! You’re old and fat and you have white hair! Do you want to be SANTA at the church function next weekend?!?!”

And who can say no to that- - because EVERYONE loves Santa.

Right?

WRONG.

Every child under the age of 5 is TERRIFIED of Santa. And every adult who HAS a child under the age of 5 has an innate desire to get the PERFECT photo of their screaming child posing nicely with Santa. I’ll admit it- - that’s why WE went. We got the flyer and I said, “Rob! This sounds PERFECT! We get breakfast AND a photo with Santa and we don’t even have to go to a mall to get it!!!” Rob DID point out the fact that Toby probably wouldn’t like Santa, but hey, a picture with Santa is a picture with Santa.

That was, until my empathy alarms went off.

NO one likes screaming children. And most people don’t particularly like OTHER people’s screaming children. So imagine if you had to sit in a chair in a big red suit and get handed EVERY SCREAMING KID that went by and then have to pose for a picture with them.

That’s what this poor man had to do all morning while the rest of us ate pancakes and decorated gingerbread men. He probably had lots of friends there, but it’s not as if other adults could come and shoot the shit with him - - he was Santa. He had to carry on the pretense for the one or two 8-year-old kids who kept him company by continually running over and whining to him about what they wanted for Christmas.

I sheepishly admit that we DID get our photo with Santa. But I restrained myself enough not to force Toby to sit on his knee- the last thing this poor man needed was a drop kick to the belly. I’m proud to say that he didn’t CRY, but happy as he looks in the photo, he was whimpering the entire time.

We did get ONE good photo of him this morning. This one hails from 15 seconds after he’d finished licking the maple syrup off the tablecloth. They were good pancakes. I hope someone saved some for the old guy in the red suit to enjoy afterwards…