Tis the Season to be Nice

Christmases past have been a learning curve for all of us. It has taken 3 years and I finally think Toby has grasped the concept that there is something beyond the wrapping paper, that the guy in the big red suit is worth not being afraid of, and that the baby’s name is NOT, in fact, Jay-Zee. (Some lessons more crucial than others when visiting the Catholic in laws…)

But this year, above all others, Toby has fixated on the differentiation between Naughty and Nice and the important ROLE this plays in the receiving of Christmas gifts. It’s a clever trick to play on kids, getting them to be well behaved on the threat of being passed up on Christmas Eve, but I take no credit for it; the kid announced this notion to us out of the blue last week and we have no idea where he was taught it.

Well…not NO idea, I suppose. He does attend daycare everyday and comes home with all sort of interesting and sometimes misinterpreted tidbits. I suspect that someone, sometime over the past few weeks, CASUALLY mentioned the fact that they were all under observation for good behaviour by Mr. Claus and Toby took it very seriously to heart.

Not only is he on his VERY BEST behaviour these days, but also he is quick to comment on the naughty behaviours he observes in his peers (with a sad shake of his head).

Anthony, for example, failed to keep his hands on his own body today at lunchtime, but Toby reassured us that he “put them back on his own!” after having this pointed out to him by our loud-mouth-Christmas-reminder.

The other problem with his sudden insight into this is his very endearing and earnest concern for his little sister’s behaviour. Mia, unlikely Toby, is going through a bit of a naughty phase right now. I mean, who can blame the girl? She has JUST gained independence and we go and stick a tantalizing tree complete with colourful lights, balls and toys on strings at varying distances from her reach. She now knows enough to shake her head from side to side (WILLING herself not to touch) as she approaches the tree with outstretched arms but that's as far as we've gotten. The girl is PERSISTENT.

Her insistence NOT to learn the rule around tree touching reached a peak yesterday; I arrived home to find a giggling Mia in a heap on the grey chair with (a very frustrated) Rob holding her down in place while looking in the opposite direction.

What on EARTH are you doing? I asked him.

“I’m giving her a TIME OUT” emerged the gruff voice from he peals of 11-month-old laughter.

“OH…” I replied, “How’s THAT working for you?”

It appears Rob and I have lost our touch. We have mastered the art of 3-year-old manipulation discipline but when it comes to stubborn, excessively mobile 11 month olds we are stumped.

We are all hoping to wake up Christmas morning to find the Christmas tree still standing with lots of well deserved presents for Toby underneath it…and hopefully a little something for Mia as well. Fingers crossed!!!

Binary Speak

As Toby’s language continues to develop, so does his overall perception of adult speech. He often tries to casually throw into conversation words and phrases that we say. Things like “What the heck!” or “What in the WORLD is going ON?” come up frequently (although often not entirely appropriately)

Where he is not quite so successful is in figuring out why adults insist on S-P-E-L-L-I-N-G certain things. ESPECIALLY around Christmas time.

It took us a while to figure out what he was doing but over the past week Toby has begun to announce a random array of numbers and consonants and then ask US what he is talking about. Needless to say, very SELDOMLY does his random array of misplaced digits make ANY sense to us.

In fact, his most common combination is that of ZERO ZERO ONE ZERO ONE TWO ZERO which reminds me somewhat eerily of a computer geek speaking in binary code to his friends. For all I know my sarcastic smirks to Rob and patronizing answers to his questions could be in futile irony; knowing Toby he is probably announcing some brilliant computer programming invention and all we keep saying is, “Use more letters, Toby! That doesn’t make any sense!”

Construction Zombies

Have I mentioned to you that Mia is walking? I feel I need to clarify: way back when I posted the video of her first steps I believe I used the term. Back then it was more like “stepping tentatively”. NOW, a mere 2 weeks later, Mia is DEFINITELY walking.

In fact, (apart from defeting her brother at the nightly game of Tiger) it is her absolute favourite thing to do.

It is as if she is an elite athlete, rehearsing her sport in her sleep at night and coming back to her game refreshed and leaps and bounds ahead of herself the next morning. Every day she wakes up to cheerfully show off her newfound walking improvements; casually, as if they have been there all along but with a victorious grin that lets us know that she is QUITE proud of her new skills.

Being able to walk is quite liberating. Not only can you SEE more when you go on a walk about, but you are able to make more rational decisions and plans as to how you will spend your time. For example, Mia used to crawl around the house purposelessly, sometimes following us, sometimes following Toby, and sometimes following the dog. But now, being able to WALK, she follows the beat of her own drum.

Sometimes while we are in the kitchen doing such mundane tasks as eating dinner, cooking dinner or cleaning up from dinner, Mia will INSIST on getting down and then make her way to her bedroom and spend a good 5 minutes in there by herself, rummaging around through her stuff (that is now REACHABLE to someone on 2 feet) and then reappear with a prizewinning find in her hand.

“AHA!” the look on her face will say, “I have FOUND what I was looking for. It is a wooden NAIL!”

That’s right. My little girl once again disappoints the stereotypical part of my brain that longed for sugar and spice. The “shelf” that she can now reach contains palpable “toys” of all sorts; swim diapers, pink shoes and socks, little books, dolls, hair brushes and multicoloured foam alphabet letters. But no matter how long she spends “rummaging” she always navigates towards one particular array of toys; Toby’s wooden construction kit. And we never tire of seeing her triumphant two-toothed- grin, as she emerges from her room with a wooden nut or bolt or screw in her tight little fist.

I guess one could say it was all fun and games until she discovered the HAMMER last night. Our furniture, and Zak have yet to recover. The rest of us are still finding it endearing.

The funny part of this newfound development is in the uniquely 11-month-old hand placement. In my opinion, Mia is walking far before the point where her brain is developed enough to make rational sense of this new ability. (Hence the ridiculous choice of wooden construction toys she proudly produces for us!) But her feet are also ahead of her upper torso. Although she seems to be able to motor quite quickly with her legs, her arms, on the other hand, remain the tentative rate limiting part of her gait and she continues to walk with them straight out in front of her.

And hence the title of this enamoured post: my little construction zombie.

It’s hard to believe that a year ago, as we got our Christmas decorations out from the boxes, I didn’t even know whether she was a boy or a girl. And now here she is, blessing our lives with her exuberantly awkward walk and her intense love of her brother that has her growling with ferocious “Da’s” and choosing wooden nails over pink dolls while simultaneously shattering every preconceived thought I’d had about having a daughter of my own.

Oh, Mia, how we love you so…

Mia Barks Back

For a long time now we have enjoyed the friendly family game of "Tiger" each night after dinner.

You know the game- - the one where an adult sits on the floor with the baby and the toddler goes around the corner and comes out pretending to be a tiger, growling and snapping his teeth as he crawls towards us, scaring the beejezus out of the baby until she turns and tries as hard as possible to run away and in the process falls on her face.

It’s borderline child abuse but Toby and Mia both enjoy it SO much (until the part when she smacks her face on the ground) that it has become somewhat of a staple in our house.

As Mia’s mobility has grown so has the length and her enjoyment of game. She now turns and crawls away at top speed giggling as she goes. Most times she can even make it to the dining room table before face planting into the ground, which shows marked improvement.

Tonight, unexpectedly, the game took a DRASTIC and sudden turn.

Just as “the Tiger” was about to lay his paws on the excited Mia, she suddenly HALTED in her tracks, turned and STOOD UP, towering over the crouching Tiger and in a tentative voice said, “DA!”

Toby didn’t miss a beat and responded with a ferocious GROWL.

Mia didn’t back down. Instead, she THUMPED her fists into her sides and said a little more loudly, “DA!”

Finally, after a few more exchanges Mia’s wimpy yet determined attempt at a growl reached full volume and Toby the Tiger (out of boredom, not chivalry) accepted defeat and went to find some monster trucks to play with.

Mia, somewhat disappointed to have put an abrupt end to her favourite game settled back down onto her bum and stared longingly after her departed playmate before turning to me and very sweetly asking, “Da?”

My darling daughter has not only learned to growl, but for the first time in her 10 months of life, has stood up to (and defeated) her older brother.

You go, girl!

The Christmas Countdown

“How many sleeps until Christmas, Mommy?” Toby asked me excitedly on his way to skating last week.

“Twenty Six,” I answered back honestly.

Toby would have none of it.

“But MOMMY I already HAD lots of sleeps…. so HOW MANY sleeps until Christmas?”

“Twenty six, Toby” I re-delivered the cold hard truth “There’s nothing you can do to change it.”

“But MOMMY,” he insisted, “FOR EXAMPLE I slept LAST night. So HOW MANY sleeps until Christmas?!?!?”

I delivered the heartbreaking news to him for a THIRD time.

His little head bowed and he stared solemnly at his hands and in a voice of utter defeat, sighed, “But MOMMY…I ONLY have TEN fingers to count with!”

I suggested he count his toes.

Toby set to work at counting his toes. Initially, I was surprised that, despite his mitts, thick socks and winter boots, he was able to discern that his left foot has in fact got 5 toes on it. But I was slightly disappointed to hear that his right foot only has 4 toes.

“No, Toby, you were right before, your feet each have 5 toes on them,” I corrected.

“Uh, NO, Mommy” he replied back with such a tone of adolescence you would swear we were debating something much more sophisticated than the number of toes on his feet, “My RIGHT foot only has FOUR toes on it.”

The victory of his ability to count through the multiple layers of winter wear was working against me in this instance.

Sometimes it’s better to just MOVE ON, so I quickly summarized and redirected,

“OK, well actually it DOESN’T. Both of your feet have FIVE toes so you have TEN toes and TEN fingers which is TWENTY and if you count both eyes, ears, mouth and nose,” I said pointing to each one slowly, “ You get TWENTY SIX which is the number of sleeps until Christmas.” (Thanks heavens we hadn’t had this conversation the day before or I would have been SOL.)

There was silence from the back seat.

I turned around and was met by a grim look peeking out at me from underneath he layers of full snow attire.

(Let me just say, it is REALLY hard to take your kid seriously when they are in full Michelin-Man-winter get up.)

I gave him some room to process the complex mathematical proposal I was setting before him.

The silence and solemn glaring from the back seat continued.

Finally I asked him, “Well, Toby, what do you think?”

Breaking the frozen look of despair he sighed, “I think, Mommy that you’re right.”

As I started my victory sigh he continued his thought for me,

“Except that I STILL only have FOUR toes on my right foot.”

The Occasional Angel in Him...

Every now and then my boyish, Gochar-obsessed, eyeball-consumed, rude-joke-making 3 year old surprises me with such maternal tenderness I secretly wonder if it’s not the ghost of my wonderful Grandma coming back to haunt me by eerily warping my son into a replica of herself.

Thank heavens his hair doesn’t turn orange and his teeth fall out in the process.

Whatever it is that comes over my son, it has happened TWICE over the past 24 hours and both times it blew my socks off.

Yesterday, after a particularly FANTASTIC WEEKEND with my Thunder Bay Peeps, we arrived home EXHAUSTED and, shortly after putting Mia down for her afternoon nap, I, being the very best parent I could be at the time, threw a mini temper tantrum and put myself to bed, leaving Rob and Toby to fend for themselves for an hour. (Or two and a half it turned out to be…)

Rob is not quite so obvious as I am.

I awoke from my uninterrupted hour (s) of bliss to find the house EERILY quiet.

You know that kind of quiet. The one where you realize there are either 2 kids, a dog and another adult all tied up and gagged in a bathroom somewhere or they are all dead. It is somewhat similar to reaching the very top of a rollercoaster and hearing the final CLICK and PAUSE before you perilously plummet down the giant hill at break neck speeds.

I leapt out of bed.

To my surprise, I arrived in the basement to find a sleeping Rob on the couch and a smugly contented Toby sitting at his desk colouring. Not seconds after I entered the room (rather loudly, I might add) did Toby leap up and announce in as loud a whisper as he could muster,

“SHHHH!!! Mommy!!!! Daddy is SLEEPING. I sang him a song and he went to sleep!”

He threw his little hands up in surprise and then went back to colouring.

Quick check to see if Rob was dead – he wasn’t. Then back to Toby to clarify the situation.

It took the rest of the day to piece together what exactly DID happen in the 20 minutes before my descent into the basement. Taking Toby’s innocent 3-year-old version and Rob’s poor-pre-sleep memory, it turns out Toby DID in fact sing Rob to sleep on the couch. The last thing Rob remembers is “a very BAD version of a Christmas song” followed by the familiar question, “Was that a good song, daddy?” accompanied by some light stroking of Rob’s hair by his delicate little fingers and off to sleep Rob went.

Toby, feeling rather proud of himself, sat down and actually played on his own for a grand totally of 7 minutes.

And just to polish off his halo, this afternoon, after an impromptu pick up at daycare, I had to resort to giving a famished Toby the ONLY snack I could find, which happened to be a (I am embarrassed to say this – please don’t judge me all of you healthy, home baked moms out there…) processed package of mini oatmeal raisin cookies.

OK, FINE, they were oatmeal chocolate chip.

Plus or minus the oatmeal.

Toby LOVED them. Used to the usual snack of raisins or apples that Dad brings with him on his regularly scheduled pick up, this was a HOME RUN. The ride out of the parking lot of daycare was the quietest one in history; he had gobbled them all up by the time I was turning out of the parking lot. All except for one, that is.

He held this little mini cookie in his hand and looked at it longingly as he announced with as much will power and determination as he could muster, “Mommy. I am going to save this cookie and give it to Daddy when I get home.”

I told him that that was a VERY nice thing for him to do while secretly believing that the lone last cookie was in all likelihood NOT going to survive the rest of the trip home.

I was wrong.

It wasn’t easy for him. Toby sat and stared at his little fist that clutched the mini cookie the entire way home. At one point he sighed and asked, “Mommy…sometime can you make me some MORE of these?” (Oh, Mr. Christie, how good a mom you make me seem…)

Finally we got home and by then even my OWN willpower was coming into question. I neglected the array of stethoscopes, daycare paintings, dirty tupperware containers and outdoor attire that needed to be carried into the house and quickly got Toby out first and into the house so he could hand over this precious lone surviving cookie to his lucky father.

Setting back to work at emptying the front and back seat of the car, I entered the house 2 minutes later. There wasn’t a trace of the cookie left. Toby was struggling to get his boots off and Rob was chasing Mia around the house.

“Did Toby give you the cookie?” I asked accusingly to Rob.

“Yeah.” Said Rob cavalierly. “And I ate it.”

If only he knew…

The Occasional Angel in Him...

Every now and then my boyish, Gochar-obsessed, eyeball-consumed, rude-joke-making 3 year old surprises me with such maternal tenderness I secretly wonder if it’s not the ghost of my wonderful Grandma coming back to haunt me by eerily warping my son into a replica of herself.

Thank heavens his hair doesn’t turn orange and his teeth fall out in the process.

Whatever it is, that comes over my son, it has happened TWICE over the past 24 hours and both times it blew my socks off.

Yesterday, after a particularly FANTASTIC WEEKEND with my Thunder Bay Peeps, we arrived home EXHAUSTED and, shortly after putting Mia down for her afternoon nap, I, being the very best parent I could be at the time, threw a mini temper tantrum and put myself to bed, leaving Rob and Toby to fend for themselves for an hour. (Or two and a half it turned out to be…)

Rob is not quite so obvious as I am.

I awoke from my uninterrupted hour (s) of bliss to find the house EERILY quiet.

You know that kind of quiet. The one where you realize there are either 2 kids, a dog and another adult all tied up and gagged in a bathroom somewhere or they are all dead. It is somewhat similar to reaching the very top of a rollercoaster and hearing the final CLICK and PAUSE before you perilously plummet down the giant hill at break neck speeds.

I leapt out of bed.

To my surprise, I arrived in the basement to find a sleeping Rob on the couch and a smugly contented Toby sitting at his desk colouring. Not seconds after I entered the room (rather loudly, I might add) did Toby leap up and announce in as loud a whisper as he could muster,

“SHHHH!!! Mommy!!!! Daddy is SLEEPING. I sang him a song and he went to sleep!”

He threw his little hands up in surprise and then went back to colouring.

Quick check to see if Rob was dead – he wasn’t. Then back to Toby to clarify the situation.

It took the rest of the day to piece together what exactly DID happen in the 20 minutes before my descent into the basement. Taking Toby’s innocent 3-year-old version and Rob’s poor-pre-sleep memory, it turns out Toby DID in fact sing Rob to sleep on the couch. The last thing Rob remembers is “a very BAD version of a Christmas song” followed by the familiar question, “Was that a good song, daddy?” accompanied by some light stroking of Rob’s hair by his delicate little fingers and off to sleep Rob went.

Toby, feeling rather proud of himself, sat down and actually played on his own for a grand totally of 7 minutes.

And just to polish off his halo, this afternoon, after an impromptu pick up at daycare, I had to resort to giving a famished Toby the ONLY snack I could find, which happened to be a (I am embarrassed to say this – please don’t judge me all of you healthy, home baked moms out there…) processed package of mini oatmeal raisin cookies.

OK, FINE, they were oatmeal chocolate chip.

Plus or minus the oatmeal.

Toby LOVED them. Used to the usual snack of raisins or apples that Dad brings with him on his regularly scheduled pick up, this was a HOME RUN. The ride out of the parking lot of daycare was the quietest one in history; he had gobbled them all up by the time I was turning out of the parking lot. All except for one, that is.

He held this little mini cookie in his hand and looked at it longingly as he announced with as much will power and determination as he could muster, “Mommy. I am going to save this cookie and give it to Daddy when I get home.”

I told him that that was a VERY nice thing for him to do while secretly believing that the lone last cookie was in all likelihood NOT going to survive the rest of the trip home.

I was wrong.

It wasn’t easy for him. Toby sat and stared at his little fist that clutched the mini cookie the entire way home. At one point he sighed and asked, “Mommy…sometime can you make me some MORE of these?” (Oh, Mr. Christie, how good a mom you make me seem…)

Finally we got home and by then even my OWN willpower was coming into question. I neglected the array of stethoscopes, daycare paintings, dirty tupperware containers and outdoor attire that needed to be carried into the house and quickly got Toby out first and into the house so he could hand over this precious lone surviving cookie to his lucky father.

Setting back to work at emptying the front and back seat of the car, I entered the house 2 minutes later. There wasn’t a trace of the cookie left. Toby was struggling to get his boots off and Rob was chasing Mia around the house.

“Did Toby give you the cookie?” I asked accusingly to Rob.

“Yeah.” Said Rob cavalierly. “And I ate it.”

If only he knew…

Some days...

Some days, it has to be said, I don’t have my Mommy-A- Game on. Most days, my morning parental duties include wake up, breakfast and daycare drop off for Toby. (The first of which are Daddy-supervised the second one being old hat.) I can drop Toby off at day care with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back. Not to brag or anything – hahaha J

On Fridays, however, we switch things up. Friday mornings Rob takes Toby to the YMCA for his very own invention of swimming lessons. I’m not QUITE sure what these “lessons” entail but I hear a lot of talk about the “real shower” in the change room afterwards. I suspect the two of them take a quick dip in the icy-cold YMCA pool and then splash each other in the shower for the remaining half hour; either way they both enjoy some lovely daddy-son bonding time while I get an opportunity to spend a morning with my daughter.

The morning at home usually consists of breakfast, a short play and then a bottle and a nap. Having been the soul source of all nutrition and sleep for the first 6 months of this child’s life you’d THINK that this would be considered one of my easier mornings. To be honest, it usually is. Today – not so much.

I blame it on the time change. Mia has been getting up at 5am for a bottle and we’ve been giving in and letting her have it. What I HAVEN’T been used to is the need for a SECOND bottle after breakfast and before her first nap. I mean REALLY. T he child is 23 pounds and barely pushing 10 months. She is HARDLY wasting away. Does one REALLY need 3 separate feedings before 8:30 am???

By the time her crankiness ensued at 8:30 am I was quite ready for a nap. So I made her a bottle, rocked her while she enjoyed it and then went to put her down. Mia gave me look that said it all, “Why, THANK YOU, mom, for finally feeding me. Lets go back and play now!”

I ignored THE LOOK and resumed the naptime routine and put her down in her crib.

She squawked.

She chattered to herself.

She (I CAN ONLY IMAGINE) stood and banged her little fists on the side of her crib as hard as she could to get my attention.

I TRIED to ignore it but by the time she got to the full on “COME GET ME MOMMY” wail I had deluded myself enough to think that I could solve this nap rebellion by going in and trying to rock her to sleep.

The victory was evident on her face before I had even stepped into the room.

I TRIED the rock to sleep. I also tried some light back patting (which is always hard to do when they are crawling around in the crib.) Before long I had resorted to PLEADING with my 10 month old, “PLEASE, Mia, just go to sleep. Daddy is going to KILL me if he gets home and finds you still awake.”

Surprisingly, that didn’t work either.

And so I got her up. I figured I would put her back down 20 minutes later once she REALIZED that she was tired and that it WAS, in fact, nap time. That was my PLAN anyways, before she tore down the corner-shelving unit, smashing Daddy’s weather gauge and the giant daisy plant onto the floor.

It was at that precise moment that Rob arrived home. There we were; right in the middle of nap time – wide awake and covered in dirt and electrical cords with batteries, daisy heads and pieces of cabinetry strewn across the floor.

The look on Rob’s face echoed the surprise look on his daughter’s. (Minus the triumphant I-got-out-of-my-nap component, of course.)

Needless to say, I was quickly ushered out of the house and on my way to work before I knew it. Some days it’s a good thing Mia has two parents.

Mia's New Trick

Here’s a glimpse at the latest accomplishment at the Henry household.

I had DELUDED myself into thinking that having a girl would mean more sedentary play, but have OBVIOUSLY been mistaken. I also remember writing, not so long ago, a nostalgic post about how Mia is approaching the time when Toby WOULD have walked if ONLY he had not been intubated. Well, Toby, intubated or not, your little sister has CLEARLY beaten your gross motor development. How quickly life proves us wrong.

This weekend, defying all gender stereotypes and parental expectations, Mia unexpectedly decided to walk on her own. I quickly hollered to Rob to grab the video camera.

As it is with second kids, Rob was busy sending an email. Toby was playing with his trucks. By the item I got them organized she was doing it for the FOURTH TIME in a row. (Thank HEAVENS she’s compliant). And, as you can tell by the embarrassingly shrill tone to my voice, I am JUST as excited as I was on Take #1.

And so Mia has found her feet. And not only that, she has found her NICHE in life. What the video shows is take #4. What you don’t see is take #5, 6 and 7…. We are currently on Take #45. Mia, our quiet, no assuming baby girl quickly caught on to this new trick as her one ticket to getting attention in life. No matter WHAT her older brother is doing, she has figured out that she will gain EVERYONE’s attention by merely letting go of whatever object she is holding onto and taking a few tentative steps on her own. Yesterday morning Toby and I were sitting on the couch reading a book that Mia wasn’t all that interested in. Surprisingly, she didn’t put up a fuss but crawled over to the coffee table, stood up and then let go and started walking back towards the couch as if to say,

“Don’t mind me, Mommy. I’m just going to WALK. You keep reading with Toby while I just take a FEW STEPS ON MY OWN over here.”

Needless to say, her tactics have been effective on all three of us and we continually reinforce her walking/malingering behaviour by fervent clapping and high-pitched praises. You gotta give the second child a FEW Moments in the spotlight every now and then…

And just to embarrass myself even more with my high-pitched-baby-flapping-voice, here is Mia trying to walk under the most ARDUOUS of circumstance- getting from me to her favourite person in the world; Toby. It is particularly challenging as she gets SO EXCITED by his attention that it’s hard to concentrate on the new skill of WALKING at the same time.

An Emotional Day

Some days kick me in the ass. Today was one of those days.

I can’t get into details about patients on my blog, but as a palliative care doc, I often encounter emotionally challenging cases. I am deeply involved in one of them right now; walking the road with this particularly young, vibrant family is hitting closer to home than usual. As always, it is riddled with challenges but also with a sense of privilege and an offering of clairvoyancey. I have extra energy for “play” with my own kids these days and a little less patience for the day-to-day annoyances that hold us back from what truly matters.

Add to this the fact that it is Remembrance Day; a day that rightly enough reminds me of my Grandfather, a proud WWII vet who always played the Last Post on his bugle at the annual Remembrance Day Ceremony. We lost him when I was in Grade 9, but he is ever a part of all that I do.

So what a day for my baby cousin to have a stat C-section. The news was met with concern for her, followed by excitement about the pending arrival, followed by a somber reflection as to the significance of our newest family member joining us on 11/11. As we do in our family, we threw the complexity of our sentiments into making jokes about having to name the baby “Irvin” in honour of my Grandfather as we waited impatiently for the news. I am happy to report that all went well – and (THANK GOODNESS) it was a baby girl so we DON’T have to name her Irvin after all…

Now- - you think I’m done with mixed emotions? Think again.

Mia is JUST about to turn 10 months old. A fantastic age, but one that brings with it my own emotionally charged sentiments. I’ve never enjoyed the “Tenth Month” before. My memories of Toby’s developmental milestones end abruptly with his intubation and his week long stint on life support. It all started just days after his 10-month birthday. As Mia approaches this stage I notice her doing similar thing to what Toby did- she is cruising with determination and babbling constantly in an attempt to communicate with us. This weekend she climbed the stairs for the first time; last night she walked around the coffee table using only one finger for support.

I VIVIDLY remember myself telling the Sick Kids ICU nurses how Toby had been doing just that the night before he was admitted to hospital. We were gearing up for his first steps one day and longing to see him breathe on his own one week later.

Tonight, on the way home from daycare, as I was struggling to keep all that I had dealt with already that day in check, Toby launched into his usual RANT about Gochar that ended in an offhanded remark that Gochar’s brother had died.

(Some days I really can’t stand Gochar.)

I turned to Toby and said to him, “Toby, you know, that’s SAD. Gochar’s brother dying is something that is SAD, not something just to say when you’re making silly statements. How would you feel if your sister Mia died?”

Toby stopped his babbling INSTANTLY and for ONCE IN HIS LIFE was at a loss for words.

(I immediately felt guilty. In hindsight this was WAY too heavy of a statement to make but I really didn’t think he was listening…)

“Mommy.” He said seriously, “That’s NOT…well…Mommy -- Mia CAN’T die.”

He struggled to find the words to what he was finding a frustrating conversation,

“Don’t you KNOW, Mommy? Babies DON’T die!!!” he finally yelled at me in exasperation.

I left it at that.

Toby will never understand why I burst into tears just then. It was perhaps a mixture of relief that my cousin’s baby had arrived safely and my own sense vulnerability. Or maybe the nostalgia for that level of innocence; I wish with all of my heart that he could be right. Babies should never die. And neither should the Mommies of young babies.

But the predominant feeling is that of gratitude; how lucky I am that I can just leave it at that and let him believe…

The Case of the Missing Comb

This weekend we are looking after my dad while my mom is away on business.

I have mentioned my dad before on my blog; he gives me some of my very best material. But just to recap, my dad is a very sweet 85 year old man who loves to regale us with Shakespearean sonnets and tales of Smithville and playing hockey in the 1940s. What he’s NOT so great at is remembering what he had for dinner 10 minutes ago, what day of the week it is or WHERE his beloved wife is.

As such, visits with my dad are a lovely opportunity to watch him bond with his grandchildren but are also filled with countless repetitive statements and questions…

Coming up here is not easy for my dad. Although he loves to just sit and watch Toby and Mia play, it is hard for him to be out of his usual routine and away from my mom. From our end, taking care of my dad is easy as long as you follow two simple rules. 1. Always take him with you when you leave the house and 2. Despite how trivial or repetitive the concern, offer the answer and some reassurance.

Last night as we were sitting watching TV dad all of a sudden got into a panic.

“Lyssie! You know what I have LOST? “

(Oh, god PLEASE don’t let it be your teeth or your sleeping pills…)

“My COMB!” he said with a look of utter dismay.

Right. Obeying rule #2 of looking after my dad, I sprung into action. I checked his bathroom and his coat pocket. I scoured the basement as he sat there watching with a look of bewildered helplessness. Ten minutes later, after an unsuccessful sweep of the house, I went into his room and found a black comb sitting on his dresser.

“Is THIS it??” I asked incredulously (SURELY it hadn’t been THAT easy to find – I had assumed he had at LEAST checked his room!)

The look of relief on his face stopped me from criticizing him and I threw my hands in the air in defeat and allowed him this small moment of triumph before asking him WHERE he would like me to put it so he doesn’t “lose it” again.

“Oh, just put it on the dresser in my room.” He said practically.

I have a sinking suspicion we may be reliving this scenario again before the weekend is through….

Ho-hum the trip is done...

** Note - we got back from our trip this past weekend. I am under strict intructions from my more practical street-savy half not to publicize on the internetwhen we are out of the country. I feel a little deceitful that I only started the "Disney posts" after our return but there you have it...here's the one I wrote on our last night. Forgive the date discrepancy :)

It has been a whirlwind trip. Despite the fact that we have two very young kids with us who require regular meals, bottles, naps and downtime, our feet have not touched the ground since we got here. We have hit every theme park not once but at LEAST twice and yesterday, in a rare feat of enthusiasm I actually “three parked it”.

(For those not well versed in Disney-speak, it means I went to 3 theme parks all in one day.)

It is your average person’s worst nightmare, but for Disney folk it’s quite an accomplishment deserving of a very large, white, mousy high five.

The reality of it is this; there IS a certain magic of Disney that I was sometimes engulfed in, and other times not quite so much. Sharing the wonder of the “Celebrate Life” parade with my little boy who so desperately clung to his own life a a few years ago had a certain bit of magic to it. Seeing the fireworks at the Magic Kingdom surrounded by millions of screaming kids (who ALL should have been in bed) and missing most of it because we were inadequately located right behind a big obstructive tree - -not so magical.

I think the highlight for us was the Food and Wine Festival at Epcot. I don’t know if this makes me a selfish parent or an indulgent person, but it was by FAR our favorite thing to do - -with and without kids. We hit Epcot everyday (it WAS only a 2 minute walk from out hotel) for an unplanned lunch or a pre-dinner drink or even as our evening’s main event. You can walk around the International Grounds with drink (S!!!) in hand and sample foods from around the world. They even gave out “passports” so you could be sure to see what every country offered. Rob took this as a personal challenge and I’m proud to say that we managed to eat and/or drink (most times BOTH) from every country represented at the Epcot Food and Wine Festival. Yes, that’s right- - all TWENTY NINE of them.

This was no small feat. In fact, I may just have to haul out my old pregnancy pants again as a result of it. The event SHOULD be sponsored by Lulu lemon as that is ALL I will be wearing for the next few weeks (months, maybe? Shudder…) as a result of it.

Today was our last day and to fit the mood it rained. A lot. All day.

But we didn’t let the rain deter us from our ultimate quest; we had 3 countries to go, two cranky and overtired kids and dreary weather to contend with, but a mission is a mission and NO ONE gets in the way of Rob’s gustatory determination.

We headed out, umbrella in tow, and dragged the kids around Epcot to finalize our conquest. The first thing we stumbled upon was a Parisian booth that sold champagne (yes, please) followed closely by the Gin Blossoms (the band, not the drink). Making our way back, we found ourselves leaving the last park for the last time when we heard some familiar sounds coming from “Canada.” An energetic, kilt-clad maritime band playing Celtic songs from Great Big Sea quickly brought us out of our “last-day” funk. Within minutes, both kids were in smiles. Toby emerged from the stroller, dancing and jumping around in the puddles while Mia shook her bottle to the beat. What had started as a gray day of crankiness ended with a high from the place we call our home.

I could think of no better way to end our trip. Four theme parks, 2 parades, 10 bus rides, two horrific flights, countless “magical moments”, 29 countries, and at the end of it all we concluded the trip with one simple message; There’s no place like home.

Here’s a short video of Toby getting his groove on…Canadian Styles J

The Trip to Disney world

Today we travelled to Disney World.

I write that (ironically) in a compact little sentence on the pretence that it did NOT in fact, completely turn our lives upside down, inside out and present us with some of the most challenging moments we have ever faced as parents.

I suppose all that the previous paragraph entails is irrelevant as we have arrived safely, all kids are in bed and asleep and we are still married. So no REAL harm has been done. (Depsite the fact that, lingering in the back of our minds is the horrific knowledge that we will have to do it all again this time NEXT week…)

Disney is beautiful and magical and all that it is cracked up to be. Travelling with a 9 month old is, unfortunately, equally as predictable.

Mia is a wonderful baby. She took to sleep training with such integrity that it is now hardwired into her that sleep occurs at 9am and 1pm on the dot in the privacy of her crib with all of the usual fixins (lovey, sleep sac, white noise fan).

Apparently, this means that it does NOT occur in the following circumstances :

On a plane, in a car, in a bus nor a stroller. In mommy’s arms, on daddy’s lap or in front of any stranger.

(I Dr Seused it up in a desperate attempt at humour.)

The flight was a mixture of inconsolable crying followed by an intense hour of “I can’t feel my right arm but no amount of pain will justify a millimeter of muscle movement on the off chance that it will wake her up” followed by another intense hour of intense fussiness. I would consider aeroplane flying with infants an extreme sport.

There were many moments in the day in which the end was not in sight. If I had been a marathon runner I would have walked. If I had been a teacher I would have thrown down the chalk. If I had been a jaguar I would have laid my belly down in the cool grass of the Savannah and smiled as the Gazelles leaped off into the distance.

Apparently, when you reach this point as a mom, there ARE no such decadent options. There is no ESC button. You just have to close your eyes, suck it up, and deal.

Have I got you jealous about our trip to Disney, yet?

Alas, we have arrived. We found our room, our bed and our sanity in that exact order. We even managed to have some quality family time together at the pool (margarita and beer in tow) before calling it a day.

Toby’s good night song, (in which I recount all the tales of the day to the tune of Brahms’ lullabye) went on and on and on tonight; there were so many details he wanted me to include. (Apparently it wasn’t NEARLY as traumatic for him as it had been for us.)

After I left his room and crawled onto the couch with Rob, pen in hand to plan the rest of our “adventure” I noticed that Rob had his shirt on backwards.

In hindsight, maybe this isn’t the funniest thing that has EVER happened to me, but sleep deprived, exhausted, relieved and excited at the same time united to unveil a moment of adult hysteria at this thought; the longest day of our lives and Rob did it all with his shirt on backwards.

More on Gochar

This Saturday we are taking both kids on a plane, flying to Florida and spending a week at Disney land. It is a time sensitive indulgence; every other year of our children’s lives Rob will be teaching and the token trip to Disney would have to have occurred at either March break (yikes!), Christmas (impossible) or during the summer heat. Realizing that Mia will in no way whatsoever benefit from The Trip to Disney, we are taking this opportunity to spoil at least ONE of our children while Rob is off on parental leave.

It doesn’t hurt that our trip also coincides with the annual Food and Wine festival at Epcot. Which, coincidentally, is where we are staying.

I digress.

The point of this post is to update you on yet another interesting family dinner. Amidst the excitement of packing, planning and preparing for the trip, Toby could think of nothing other to talk of than…Gochar.

I seem to be mentioning Gochar quite a bit in recent posts so I thought I should share with you some of the truths about Gocahr that Toby enlightened us on tonight at dinner.

(Gochar, by the way, is Toby’s imaginary friend. At least…I HOPE he is imaginary. I SOMETIMES wonder if there may be a ghost living in our house with the unfortunate name of Gochar but to keep us all sane we just go with it…)

So here is what Toby (with equal measures of seriousness and earnestness) repeatedly interrupted our Disney planning meal to tell us :

Gochar is tall. In fact, he is the tallest man in the world. (Demonstrated with hand gestures.)

“Know how big his head is? THIS BIG”

(arms extended as wide as Toby can reach)

“Know how long his legs are? THIS BIG”

(arms reaching down as far as they can reach)

“Know how big his belly is? THIS BIG”

(arms forming the biggest circle Toby can form with his two decrepit little arms)

Yes indeed, there was a visual picture for just how big Gocahr is; tallest man in the world (except for his mom, of course, who is taller than him.) He is also, I have to say, COMPLETELY out of proportion.

“How do you hug him, Toby, if he is so tall?” I asked.

Toby took this question very seriously and thought about if for a bit as he chewed his pizza (I believe we even got in a brief discussion about carry on luggage for Mia) when he announced that it WAS possible to hug him, you just had to “crouch on your tippy toes” to do so.

Other interesting facts?

Gochar likes to cook. His favourite thing to cook is salad and he makes chocolate salad dressing. But his mom always say, “Gochar, you can’t eat that. “ but he does anyways.

Gochar drives a car. It has orange tires.

Gochar has a last name.

Wait for it…

THOMAS.

And so you have it - -Gochar Thomas, the tallest man in the world (except for his mother), recognized by his fancy car with orange wheels and well versed in culinary expertise and wildly rebellious bodily proportions, continues to enrich our lives with his very presence. I wonder if he’s coming to Florida with us…

Meal time Exceptions

At dinner tonight we had a cranky, tired Mia, a cranky, overtired and hungry Toby and one set of cranky, overtired parents.

It was not a great combination.

I’m not sure who started it or how it happened; it had the potential to turn a temper-tantrum filled family meal into sheer pandemonium but in fact, had the opposite effect. Amidst a tray of perogies, mushed up baby food, avocado and banana slices, watered down apple juice and mouthfuls of spit out spinach salad, someone put their utensils down, threw their hands up in disgust and said, “AHHHH!”

Toby stopped spitting out spinach.

My baby stopped crying and throwing food on the floor.

Rob stopped asking questions about our trip to Florida and I stopped sighing in exasperation.

Even the dog poked his lazy head up for a second to see what would happen next.

We all waited with baited breath to hear the sequeale. Was one of the parents going to yell? Would Mia burst into tears? Would Toby resume his spinach spitting?

To our surprise, it was Mia who responded first with a little giggle followed by an “AHHH!” of her own. Now THAT was a sound she knew how to make.

Still shocked by the interruption, I didn’t quite have my mommy hat on straight and immediately “AHHHH-ed” right back at her at the top of my lungs.

This earned a full on belly laugh from my baby-food covered little girl. As her chubbly little cheeks rolled with laughter an equally piercing shriek responded to my own.

It was a verbal food fight. Soon Toby joined us followed closely by daddy.

Our rapidly disintegrating attempt at a cohesive family meal had been miraculously rescued by a spontaneous game of screaming at one another. Not the most CONVENTIONAL of meal times, but it had us all laughing hysterically within a few minutes.

And then, just as quickly as it began, Mia remembered that she was overtired and hates eating, Toby remembered that he has never tried perogies before and certainly never wants to, and Rob and I resumed our roles of meal time parent-police after exchanging a puzzled but bemused look that said it all; "And now back to our regularly scheduled program."