A Little Christmas Reminder...

This weekend I made a fairly last minute decision to go to Toronto to a Christmas party with some of my oldest and dearest high school friends.  Each year I worry that I won’t be able to make the party- you never know when it’s going to be or what conflicts I’ll have with the date, but I am proud to say I have not EVER even ONCE missed it.  This year my attendance was ALMOST thwarted by a late afternoon pirate birthday party and one of my patients generous gift of laryngitis, but my thoughtful husband shooed me out the door, generously agreeing to care for the kids so I could pop down on my own.

It is SO refreshing to reconnect with people who you have known and loved all of your life. It is even MORE refreshing to hang out with non-medical, childless people and have a little reminder of how the rest of the world lives.

But I think perhaps the BEST part of this short trip to Toronto was my unexpected golden moment I had with my dad this morning.

My father has dementia.  It has been in the works for years, but we got the official A-diagnosis a few months ago and it has made it seem surprisingly worse.  I know it’s a clinical diagnosis and one we have suspected for years, but somehow giving this beast a name has accentuated its cruelty to me.  When someone you love has dementia - in whatever form or name it is given – you grieve slowly as the unrelenting process unfolds and you slowly watch your loved one wither away, piece by piece.  When you stop to reflect on them you see them as a progressive accumulation of things they can no longer do – my dad hasn’t read a book in years, he no longer contributes to dinner time conversation, he NEVER knows where my mother is and, saddest of all, often forgets the names of his own grandchildren.

Some things haven’t changed, though. I got home from my party last night just after midnight and was unsurprised to see his bedroom light still on.  He has ALWAYS waited up for me.  Sure enough, there he was sitting in the kitchen in his tattered old pajamas drinking cranberry juice all by himself eagerly awaiting my return.  He asked where I’d been and then announced that he was off to bed just before he made me PROMISE that I would come say goodbye to him in the morning before I drove home.

This morning I slept until after 8, enjoyed a uniquely peaceful kid-free conversation with my mother and was ready to go by 9am.   I always hesitate to wake my dad up at such an ungodly hour (he usually sleeps until well past ten – what a life!!!) but my mom convinced me to go in anyways.  I found him upstairs fast asleep and quietly kissed him on the cheek and whispered that I was leaving.  My dad went from fast asleep to loudly moaning in sadness, “Oh, NO!  I get so sad when you go, Lyssie,” he said, “I miss you so much…”  I gave him a hug and reassured him that I WAS returning in just 2 days and responded to his puzzled look by reminding him that it was Dec 23^rd and that we’d be here on Christmas day to celebrate with him.

It was as if I’d told him it was Christmas.  (Wait a minute- - I HAD told him it was Christmas!)  He was SO happy to hear the SHOCKING news that he took my hand, thanked me profusely, and then snuggled back into his pillow to sleep.  Based on the smile on his face I have no doubt he had some visions of sugarplums dancing around in there…

I kissed him again and smiled but it wasn’t until I was driving home that I realized with more clarity why I felt so invigorated.  Here I have been these past few years focusing on all of the pieces of my dad I’ve lost, when this morning I got the gift of clearly seeing all that I still have.  In such a short moment our brief exchange left me happy and fulfilled, knowing how loved I am by my father.  He’s still here this year and just showing up with the kids is going to make his day on Christmas.  What a gift it is to be able to have and share love so easily with family.

This is likely to be my last post of the year and I want to close by thanking you, as always, for following my blog and encouraging my indulgent blogging hobby with your generous comments.  I want to wish you all a wonderful Christmas season/holiday with your friends and family.  And I want to ask you to, at some point this holiday, take a moment – just a brief one – and look around at all that you have and everyone who is there with you.  And be thankful.  I know I am this year.

Merry Christmas!

My New Hairdresser

A long time ago I gave Toby his very first Doctor’s kit to play with and was amused by the fact that he immediately gravitated to the plastic scissors so he could set up a Hair Salon and play the role of “Toby the Hairdresser”.  It was not exactly how I had envisioned this doctor’s kit to be used but I wanted to foster an open carefree approach to creative play and non-gender-biased-career selections.  I also prefer having my hair done than playing monster trucks, so I went with it.

I still get regular check ups by a very thorough “Dr Henry”. Tonight, for example, he found a piece of “Black sushi” in my left ear and he KNOW S it was black sushi because he TASTED it.    (I know it ruins the story to point this out but THIS WAS TOTALLY IMAGINARY.  On the off chance that someone ACTUALLY thinks I had a piece of black sushi trapped in my ear that my son discovered with his plastic otosope; I don’t want any phone calls from CAS.  Dr Henry Jr. has a wild imagination…)

Last spring we had a family wedding and I took Toby with me to a REAL hair salon so we could have our hair done together.  This impressed him FAR more than any trip to the doctor’s had and his interest in the game of hairdresser was rekindled.   I have to say that it has lost some of its relaxing charm as Toby now insists on small talking to me while he brushes my hair, rubs various stuff into it and then aggressively combs it out. 

Tonight, I had a particularly bothersome time of it.  First off, he had me all positioned in the chair and then announced, (with a very professionally, albeit) that he had to go to the washroom.  “Are you comfortable?” he asked me, as I lay cramped sideways in the lazy-boy with my head dangling over the armrest,  “Because I have to go have a poo. "I will be RIGHT back to cut your hair after I’m done.”

I told him he should make a sign saying “The hairdresser will attend to you after his poo” and laughed to myself as he carried on with his business. Toby didn’t see the humour in it.  He takes the hairdresser role (and his nightly bowel movements) very seriously.

He emerged from the bathroom with various “hairdressing objects” in his hand and his loud-mouthed sister behind him.  When she tried to climb onto my lap Toby immediately attended to his customer with the greatest of concern,  “This is my kid sister.  You can take care of her while I cut your hair.”

I pointed out to him that it wasn’t a great business idea to ask your customers to babysit your little sister while you cut their hair so Toby corrected himself and told me that she was actually his assistant.

You didn’t have to tell Mia twice!  She LEAPED out of my lap, and ran to get her OWN hair cutting supplies and before I knew it I had both the bossy-small-talking-hairdresser and his CRAZY assistant at work on my hair.

Might I remind you that I am still contorted sideways in the lazy-boy chair with my head dangling over the edge?  I had no way of seeing WHAT objects they had both grabbed.  I didn’t worry about this at first because, in typical Toby-hairdressing-fashion, I was being asked the myriad of questions that Hairdressers ask, “So…what’s your name?” he started with.  I told him. “OH, that’s a nice name.  How old are you?” I told him my age and he said, “Wow.  That’s QUITE old.  I am MUCH younger than you.”  Then he asked me my address and how many kids I had.  All of a sudden I felt a sharp pain around my left temple and there was an abrupt cessation to the questioning.

In fact, the whole hairdressing experience became suddenly quite subdued as Toby worked away.  Even his maniacal assistant stopped her frenetic brushing with an eerie silence.

Finally my hairdresser spoke again but this time without his usual professional tone,

“Uh…mommy…” he said hesitantly, “You have a cement truck stuck in your hair.”

And so I did.

One day, when my child becomes a successful and well-adjusted gay hairdresser, I hope that SOMEONE will remind him of how accepting I was of this endeavour.

The Art of Lying

I have learned a lot about lying, when kids learn to lie and even HOW kids learn to lie.  For those of you who missed it, Toby and Mia had an opportunity to be a part of a documentary on The Nature of Things called Born to be Good?  If you haven’t seen it – watch it.  Not because my kids are in it, but because it is a fascinating look at how we all develop into moral beings, when kids learn about good and bad behaviours, what is innate and what is learned.  More importantly, though, the CBC is thinking of cancelling The Nature of Things in order to opt for yet another reality show.  Don’t let this happen!!! (No, they are not paying me to post this...I really do have something to say about my kids in this post...)

Not only was Toby featured in the show as a typical 4-year-old playing with his friends, he also participated in some of the research studies.  They couldn’t use the footage of him because he was one of the only kids who didn’t “cheat” and peek behind him at the toy he had been instructed NOT to look at.  The point of this study was not to see if kids “peeked” (they all do, apparently) but to see if they then later lied about whether or not they peeked. It was all done to test the theory of what age children learn to lie at.  Researchers have narrowed it down to some time between the ages for 3 and 4.  Toby was just over 3 at the time of the study and clearly hadn’t developed a single deceptive skill yet.

Last I heard the verdict was still out on the exact age of lying-acquisition, but in our household, some newer evidence has emerged.

Despite HOW angelic and morally good your first child is, there’s no guarantee the second one will be ANYTHING like the first at ALL.

Last night at dinner, our not-quite-2-year-old delivered the most straight-faced and blatant lie I have ever heard.  I don’t even think Toby could have delivered it better.

I will set the scene:

It was a typical dinner at the Henry household.  Rob and I had long finished our meal, Toby was on his 2^nd mouthful, busy talking our ear off about Gochar and school and what the colour of the week was, when Mia decided she wanted some raspberries. 

The time interval between Mia’s initial calm request and her impatient hysterical request is about 4 seconds.  We are trying desperately to teach our little monster some patience and failing miserably at every attempt.    After the first calm, “Ras-BERRY!  Ras-BERRY!” I LEAPED off my stool, RUSHED to the fridge and actually had the raspberries in my hand and was on my way to the sink to  wash them when her ear piercing shrieks of hysterical I NEED RASPBERRIES RIGHT NOW OR I’M GOING TO WITHER AWAY AND DIE resonated across the kitchen.

Just as I was about to launch into the usual recrimination, the shrillness stopped abruptly and I turned to see Mia covering her ears with both hands.

Silence.

Finally Mia took her hands off her ears as the rest of us waited to see what would happen next.

Very seriously, with a slight furrow to the eyebrow Mia stated, “Too LOUD…..Daddy.”

I don’t know if she thought that me having my back turned to her would mean I would fall for this little act of deception.

“Mia…” I said breaking into a smile, ‘”That was NOT Daddy that was being too loud.”

And still she persisted.

Still maintaining composure she very seriously tried again, “Too LOUD….Toby.”

Now we were all in on this.

“I was NOT too loud, MIA!” said the obvious victim.

She was becoming desperate.  She could see those raspberries in my hand and she KNEW she had crossed the sound barrier/behaviour line so she tried her one last ditch attempt…with almost a question-ing tone to her somewhat quieter voice she tried,

“Too loud…Mommy?”

But the last word was muffled by the handful of raspberries that she was simultaneously stuffing into her mouth.

Some days having kids can provide priceless entertainment.

Some lessons can wait.

A Trip to the Theatre

Toby had his first “cultural experience” this weekend.  His beloved Grandma Lynda brought me up to be a well rounded cultural child by torturing me with numerous “special trips” to the symphony, the ballet, Stratford plays and all kinds of luxuries that required me to sit still, not talk and pay attention for hours and hours on end.  Or so it seemed.  I don’t think I truly appreciated how lucky I was until well after I had learned to tolerate, then enjoy and then later on love all of the things she exposed me to.

I am so pleased to know that she holds the same standards for her grandchildren and that they too will learn the art of patience through varying forms of “cultural experiences”.

Not wanting to get him too excited too far in advance, Grandma phoned Toby on Wednesday night to invite him out with her to the theatre and then lunch at Boston Pizza afterwards.  He was SO excited.  The whole family was down in Toronto for this event but it was only Toby and Grandma who set out for the big adventure on Saturday morning,

Toby chose to wear his finest pants and his black plaid sweater.  He put them on secretly in his room and came downstairs proudly flaunting his smart outfit to us.  I took the token picture with him excitedly (and somewhat nervously) standing proudly beside Grandma before they set out.

I don’t know if it was the excitement in the air, the smartness of their dressy outfits or just the joy of seeing two people you love so much revel in the pure excitement of doing something special together, but it was a fulfilling moment for ALL of us.  I returned home from my own adventures to meet an excited Toby and Grandma eager to tell me about the various details of their day.

I have to admit, a lot of the details centered around what pizza they ate and who won the checker game at Boston Pizza but there were intermingled quips about Princesses, balloons and evil step mothers to prove they HAD seen a children’s play as well.

After his exhausting day Grandma was the obvious choice for bedtime routine and she took him upstairs to read him stories.  After the stories they snuggled into bed and reminisced about their day.  Toby politely thanked my mom and then very sweetly but apprehensively said, “Grandma?  Um…I actually didn’t really like the play all that much.”

My mom was surprised but pleased with this sudden burst of candor, so maturely timed.  The funny thing was that she agreed; it HADN’T been that great of a play.  She told Toby that she appreciated his honesty and that she hadn’t actually liked it all that much either.

Toby let out a deep breath he had likely been holding in since about noon.

“OH, GOOD, Grandma,” he said with relief.  “Cause I actually didn’t like it AT ALL.”

Halloween Heartbreak: An Update

It took 5 days. (Five LOOONG and barf filled days!)  Finally today Toby was ready to go back to school.  Apart from falling asleep on the school bus on the way home, the transition back seemed smooth and seamless.   He had a great day and happily sat down to dinner with us afterwards, eager to fill us in on life at school

We had heard about the usual – who was there, who wasn’t etc. when all of a sudden his eyes got big and he dropped his fork to tell us the EARTH shattering new he had just remembered.

“Mommy,” he said very seriously, “You won’t believe it.  October is GONE.  Everything October has FINISHED!  Now there’s this NEW thing and we’re on the 5^th.”

When I asked what this “new thing” was he shook his head in disgust. “ I don’t know…all I know is that it’s the FIFTH.  I guess I’ll have to listen more carefully tomorrow.”

And with that he picked his fork up and attended to his stir-fry.

You forget how important it is to make smooth transitions with these vulnerable little sponges.  I’m sure Mrs. Shields had made a big production of November 1^st, preparing the kids for the NEW month and the NEW themes with the ritual changing of the calendar.  Toby’s favourite thing about kindergarten is the dependably predictable calendar and so far, his short career as a JK student has only included the ONE transition from September to October.   Here I was spending all of my mommy energy making sure he was fever free, hydrated and nourished enough to have the strength to go back to school when really what he needed was a heads up that it was a NEW month called NOVEMBER.

They should really include stuff like this in our mommy manuals, don’t you think?

Halloween Heartbreak

My children were born with this innate ability to break my heart, and they do it regularly, in the most unpredictable of ways.

For the past 21 days we have been on the countdown to Halloween.  Usually it’s on the way to school but sometimes it’s over dinner that the conversation comes up: “How many sleep until Halloween?  Twenty?” Toby would ask, hopeful that he had miscounted and the days would be fewer than anticipated.  They never were- - he was always right, and his patience was put to a test on a daily basis.

When FINALLY the big day arrived, Toby could hardly believe his good luck.  He put his costume on to go to school in with such excitement it was contagious.

The line between your child’s happiness and your own is often blurred.  I spent Halloween morning in my own cloud of excited anticipation for the much-awaited event, until, of course, I got the phone call from school.  Toby was sick.

Of ALL DAYS!!!

I rationalized this impossible scenario to myself by assuming that

a) The school was overreacting

And b) that it was probably nothing we couldn’t drug up with the usual concoction of Tylenol and Advil in order to squeeze some trick or treating in anyways.

To my dismay, I was wrong.  Even TOBY had lost his vigilance towards the most anticipated event.  Arriving home that night, I found him lying on the couch in a giant ball of feverish lethargy.  Not only did he not CARE that he was missing Halloween but he had an unrelenting and rapidly escalating fever and, just to make his point loud and clear, vomited all over the place as I walked in the door.

I took Mia out trick or treating anyways.  She was, I have to say, a very cute chicken, and she took the job of walking up to each house and holding her bag out rather seriously which made her an even CUTER chicken.  But deep down I was heartbroken.  I felt like I used to feel going to weddings as a single person while all of my friends had dates.  And although it was really nice of them to share their dates with me during the slow dances, it didn’t replace the ache I had longing for my OWN date to be there.

The day after Halloween, Toby was feeling no better and he had STILL not even broached the topic of his missed Halloween.  After putting him to bed at a record early time of 5pm, Mia suddenly had an epiphany: she had mom and dad ALL to HERSELF.

It was just after bath that the full realization of her single child status hit home.  She came bouncing onto the couch with her bottle and blanket and loudly tried to determine which parent she would sit with,’ Meeena sit DADDY!” she said climbing onto his lap, only to announce a few seconds later, “Meeena sit MOMMY” and crawled over to me.  Finally she settled in between us, pulled the covers up to her chin, picked up her bottle and solemnly announced with a satisfied sigh, “Meeena home...”

Life is exhausting; I’ve had my heartbroken by both of my children all in the span of 48 hours.  While Toby’s heartbreak came from sadness and empathy, Mia’s was all pride and joy.   It’s amazing how loving two people so much can bring such wild and fluctuating emotions to your day-to-day life.  What a wild ride this is…

Hurricane Sandy's Morning Lesson

Just when you think life can’t possibly get any busier, along comes Hurricane Sandy.

At first it started with an eye roll on my way to work.  SUUUURE I needed to get my emergency-preparedness kit ready.  RIIIGHT it’s going to be SO windy that I need to come up with an evacuation plan for my family.

How about I wear a raincoat to work and plan to stay indoors tonight?  That sounds a little more realistic; those weather people are ALWAYS stirring up drama.

And so I eye-rolled away at the frantic warnings and Presidential address.  In fact, I believe I was watching something in that vein when the power abruptly went out on us last night. 

“At least I’m not in the back corner of the basement running on the treadmill,” I thought to myself as I heard Rob shriek as he was pummeled backwards into the wall as a result of the sudden cessation of forward momentum.

Having the lights go out is romantic. 

Until you remember that you have two kids, a dog, and a house that relies on well water for all of the necessary amenities.  AND that you have only just recently won the annual “it’s cold enough to turn on the furnace” debate (which is now suddenly a moot point).  And that your husband is a big smelly I-just-ran-on-the-treadmill-and-I’m-sweating-all-over-and-there’s-no-water-to-take-a-shower-with-mess.

If that doesn’t zap all romance out of the situation I don’t know what does.

And so we frantically ran around the house, putting extra blankets on sleeping kids, trying to figure out what lights and appliances needed to be turned off, how to light the gas fire place, where the batteries to our flashlights were and calling Hydro One to report what must have been the 93,000 home to lose powered.

(Let me just pause for a moment to smugly add that I at NO POINT needed to use the single can opener or the canned food I had been so ARDENTLY cautioned to keep in stock by the local radio announcer)

We finally put all practicality aside and went to bed for the night only to be awoken 7 hours later by a hungry, and rather impatient almost-2-year old’s repetitive request, “LIGHT – ON!  Light – ON!”  And back into action we sprang!  Complete darkness and intense coldness embraced our 7am bodies as we scurried around the house lighting candles in an attempt to mitigate the effect these dire conditions would have on our sensitive (light requesting) 2 year old.  Finally the house was as good as it was going to get and we went in to get our frustrated Mia out of her crib.

They say that seeing the world through the eyes of a child makes everything better.

And they were right.  Mia didn’t care that she was cold, nor that the wind was still howling against our house.  As we prepared ourselves for her usual terse remarks about the abysmally dark and sad state of our house, Mia burst into song.

“Happy TOOOO!!!!” she shouted excitedly, clapping her hands together, “Happy TOOO!!!!!” she sang as her bewildered eyes took in the myriad of candles we had lit around the house.

Mia, always ready for a party, had taken one look at all the candles and made the obvious assumption: she had woken up to someone’s birthday party.

One, Two, Or Not!

Mia’s newest obsession is with the game of Hide and seek.  She is not only quite an avid participator, but she is much more adept at the game than Toby ever was at such an early age.  She has come up with a few hiding spots that are, although not ingenious, quite sufficient at hiding enough of her to make a game out of it.  Then again, it doesn’t get much worse than hiding in the middle of the room (which Toby used to do, triumphantly, during his games of Hide and Seek).

The other night, though, her true hide and seek sense of humour came through.  I got home for a very brief interval between my regular office day and my night shift in the after hours clinic.  I had initially planned to stay at work but called at he last minute to say I’d be home for a short time to hang out with my family.

I burst through the doors to a dead quiet, empty house and was greeted only by a very serious Mia who was eerily standing alone in the front hall.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, slightly disappointed that they weren’t all around to hang out with me in my brief interlude at home.

But Mia’s next expressive and overly enunciated word explained it all,

“HIDING!!!” she said in an excited whisper and threw her chubby little finger up to her lip to emphasize her point before covering her eyes with both hands and quickly reciting her Hide and seek mantra, “One….two…OR NOT!”

AHA!  So Rob WAS excited to see me.  SOOO excited, in fact, that he and Toby were making a game out of it.  This was EXACTLY what I needed and why it is worth the extra driving!

I quickly dropped all of my work stuff, grabbed her hand and set of about the house  reciting the phrase, whith childish flare, “Wheeeeere’s DADDY?   Wheeeeere’s TOBY?” while I looked in all of the obvious hiding spots.

I believe I was looking under our bed, bum in the air, a giggling Mia by my side, when Rob and Toby came stomping up the stairs, loudly declaring their whereabouts (they had been in the basement getting something out of the freezer for dinner) and blatantly dissolving the imaginary game of hide and seek that Mia had so ingeniously invented.

“What are you looking for?”  My uber-practical husband asked expectantly.

“You?”  I answered sheepishly…

Sometimes life is just more fun seen through the eyes of a 20 month old…

Toby's First Homework Assignment

Toby was sent home the other night with his first ever homework assignment. 

Drumroll, please….he had to count as high as he could count.

I figured this activity would be an easy one and decided to engage him in it this afternoon as we drove home from school.

It took about 20 minutes, but all on his own, he made it to 127.  Yes, that’s right, ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY SEVEN.  All in a row.

Toby approached the task with a very serious, slow and methodical, over-enunciated determination.

It was, quite possibly, the boringest undertaking motherhood has ever presented me with.

When he hit 43 he dropped one of his raisins and I thought the challenge was over.  Turns out it was only a brief 10 second reprieve before he announced that he was going to go back to 40 and repeat 40 through 43 to be sure that he was still on the right track.

When he got to 75 a strangely parked car appeared out the window.  Again, a glimmer of hope came to mind, but still the monotonous count went on right where it left off after we had fully explored WHY this car was parked sideways halfway up Pretty River Parkway.

At last he reached 99 and took a great pause before asking, “What comes after 99 mom, TEN?”

“No!” I encouraged eagerly, “Ninety Nine is the last number before….ONE HUNDRED!  You did it!  You counted to ONE HUNDRED!”  

But what came next?

You got it…

“One hundred…and ONE…”

Finally he reached 126 and rather abruptly announced that he couldn’t count any higher because his voice was tired.

THANK GOD.

“Good, job, Toby!” I said, “Tonight when we get home we can tell Daddy and write in your school agenda that you can count to One hundred and Twenty Six.”

My concluding remarks were initially met with silence before a quiet but still determined whisper came from the back of the car,

“One hundred and twenty seven…”

The Sad Boy on Page 4

Mia’s vocabulary is exploding in front of our eyes.  I absolutely ADORE this stage that she is going through; the daily excitement over her new words, the bizarre American accent she uses when she over-annunciates things and the weird facial contortions is takes her to say the most basic of words are all so endearing that I want to stick her in a bottle and keep her 20 months old forever.

OK who am I kidding?  I don't REALLY want her to stay 20 months old forever; that would put a SERIOUS damper on my future life plans.  Suffice it to say, I am enjoying this stage immensely.

Tonight, however, her rapidly growing language skills brought us a new challenge.    We were enjoying some carefree time in the basement; Toby was perusing a Sports Illustrated and wondering aloud why Daddy hadn’t been invited to run against Usein Bolt in the 100m final at the Olympics while I was indulging in the latest Food and Wine magazine.  Mia, wanting to be part of the action, grabbed one of Toby’s books, and asked me to read it to her.

It was a rather boring book about 2 little kids who find an egg and the egg breaks and they are sad but then the chicken lays another egg and they are happy again.

(Who WRITES these books!?!?!?)

She was only partially paying attention until we hit the part where the boy was SAD.  I made a sad face as I said it so she would know what I was talking about and then I moved on.

Mia looked at me, looked at the book, and then promptly (and rather bossily) turned the page BACK and DEMANDED to know what was UP with the sadness.  Phrased in typical Mia-speak:

“SAD BOY?”

I explained that he was sad because the egg was broken and boldly flipped forward to the next page.

WOAH WOAH WOAH!!!! She proclaimed (In typical Mia –speak: “SAD!!!!”)  before turning the page BACK with her tight little fist.

She stared again at the sad little boy before making her melancholy observations,

“Sad HAT”

she lamented

“Sad SHOES”

as she pointed to his pitiful feet

“Sad BOY….”

she grieved, still holding tight to the page so I didn’t DARE try to tear her away YET AGAIN from her experience of this boy’s intriguing moment of anguish.

She sat very still for about 30 seconds, (which is probably the equivalent of 5 years to my dad) and then looked up at me with the most empathetic and hopeless look as she very sweetly asked, “HUG?”

Yes, Mia. You can hug the boy.

And so she gripped the book in her hot little hands and hugged the poor sad little boy with all of her love.

I’m still not quite sure WHY she was so fascinated by the poor sad boy on page 4 of the book, but I’m glad to see that she isn’t all just a bundle of mischievous energy; she can be pretty sweet, sometimes, too.

True Professions of Love

When Toby started stringing 2 word sentences together it wasn’t long before he melted our hearts with “I wuv oooo” in our arms each night at bedtime.  It has got to be, hands down, one of the most euphoricaly-drug-simulating moments that parenthood gives you.

And once again, we fall victim to sibling-assumptions.

Mia, who has been stringing 2 or 3 words together for months now, absolutely REFUSES to indulge our parental cheesiness.  Each night when I put her down to sleep I say, “night night, Mia, I love you!” to which she replies with an offhanded wave of her hand and a gruff, “BYE BYE.” 

Rob has even started practicing with her, “Mia- - I LOOOVE YOU!!” he’ll say in his most endearing voice only to be met with her dead pan stare and the now humorously predictable, “BYE BYE.”  Apparently she thinks this is the logical response to someone’s confession of love.

But this weekend I finally duped her.

Mia has a very busy social life.  She attends dance classes, swim lessons, gym, music, rhythm and rhymes at the Early Years center, the gymnastics club at the YMCA…I really cannot keep up with her busy weekly schedule.  Somewhere, during ONE of these groups, she heard the song Skinnamarink – you know the one – that ends each verse with a heartfelt “I LOVE YOU!!!!”

Shelly informed me of her new obsession with this song and the bait was on the hook.  By the end of the weekend she was humming the tune and eventually I actually heard, for the first time ever, those 3 sweet words come out of her mouth.

“I love BUUUU!”  She said with so much genuine love I felt instantaneously jealous for the recipient of her very first pronouncement of love:  her beloved blanket.

She still says BYE BYE as I kiss her lovingly good night and tell her how much I love her each night, but I now KNOW that she can say it and one day, when she realizes that I’m JUST as great as her beloved blanket, I’m going to hear it for real.

…I’ll keep you posted.  Until then - -BYE BYE.

I will conclude this post with a video of something Mia DOES share willingly: The singing of Happy Birthday with the delivery of a Lego Tower Birthday Cake.  It seems to be her newfound obsession.  As you will be able to tell from this short clip, she is missing 66% of the words to the song but the message gets across crystal clear.

Minor Construction Mishaps...

I am under strict instructions from my uber-supportive-texting-friend that I need to post a summary of what took place yesterday at the YMCA.

In fact, I will paraphrase for you her 2 word response to my text of woe: “Blog it.”

The YMCA is under construction.  Ordinarily this sort of thing doesn’t affect my day to day life but this weekend I dropped by for a last minute treadmill run and let me just say…I blame what unfolded that morning ENTIRELY on the construction. 

I was feeling so proud of myself for actually ATTENDING the gym on a WEEKEND that my post-workout gait was slightly quicker and more spry than usual.

So peppy and confident was I, in fact, that I decided to check my email on my phone as I confidently strode into the change room to shower.

SO carefree was I post workout that I didn’t even look UP from my phone until I found myself unexpectedly in the shower room amid several running showers.

And multiple naked, HAIRY asses.

I did the only logical thing to do under this scenario: I froze.

And then I bolted at top speed out of the men’s change room.

“Did anyone notice?”  My friend texted back (after a several preceding LOL and BAHAHAHAH texts).

The truth is I don’t know.  I suspect I made a fairly discreet and quiet entrance but I undoubtedly blew my cover on my frenetic exit.  I can’t say for sure whether I screamed or not, but I definitely tripped over at least ONE bench and sent my entire body SLAMMING into the exit door (which turns out to be a PULL, not a PUSH door) for my Grande finale.

It goes without saying that this weekend I think I’ll skip the gym.

Kindergarten Update!

Thank you all for your kind emails, comments, phone calls and for humoring me in my moments of mommy-weakness.  I am happy to report that today came and went without a hitch.  Toby woke up in great spirits and his excitement about kindergarten proved to be contagious.  We laughed and chatted all the way in to town and it wasn’t until about a block before school that he announced rather suddenly that his “tummy felt weird.”  I reassured him that mine did, too.

Drop off was fine.  He rallied his shyness and eventually mustered up the courage to come out from behind my legs and was sitting by the window with some of the bigger SK boys when I left.   He even casually shrugged off my eager suggestion that we wave to one another as I walked past his kindergarten window on my way back to the car.  I could tell he was going to be just fine.

Before I knew it, 3pm was upon us and I was able to come and pick him up.  I was SO eager to hear about his day. 

My anxieties have quickly dissipated and I have entered the realm of bemused investigative work.  Deciphering what ACTUALLY went down today has been an exercise in creative questioning and patience.  Rob and I have spent the evening working on it and this is what we have thus far : 

-       He has 3 teachers.  Two of them are called “Mrs. Shields”.  The other one is called The French Teacher.

-       He does not have French classes.  This lady does not teach them French, nor does she speak French.  She accompanied their class to the gym to play duck duck goose and the reason he calls her The French Teacher is that is what the other kids call her.

-       He didn’t get a turn at duck duck goose; each time someone went around he was called a Duck.
      He has a "medium" number of kids in his class.  More specifically, he has "between zero and nine" kids in the class.

-       One kid cried.  One kid got hurt and had a bleeding elbow.
      He didn't sing any songs or read any books. They did SUGGEST he participate in Arts and Crafts but he refused so someone traced his hands on the board for him.  (Probably "Mrs Shields"...)

-       At Kindergarten they call Circle time “Science Centre”.  I was corrected about 5 times tonight after mistakenly referring to circle time by its former name.

-       They start “science center” every morning by putting their hands together, saying something, and then saying “Amen”.   They pronounce it “Ah-men” not “Hah-men” like they do at church.
      He didn't go to the bathroom at all today.

-       He had two breaks for lunch.  During the first one he ate his sandwich and during the second one he ate his apple.  What he REALLY wanted to eat was his applesauce but he couldn’t find his spoon.  No, Mrs Shields was not there to help him find it because someone's Grandma was in charge of the class during the lunch times.  (He didn't remember her name).  When I emptied his lunch bag he had all his desserts sitting there untouched (INCLUDING his Cars gummies!) with his spoon sitting on top and no sign of his applesauce.  Another mystery...

-

That’s the update from our end!  I promise not to report any further drama until at least Monday when he has to start taking the bus on his own.  Until then, have a great weekend! 

Someone's got the Pre-Kindergarten Jitters!

Alas, the day we have long been waiting for, dreading, and over-discussing is finally upon us: tomorrow morning, I send my baby boy off to kindergarten.

I’m a practical person.  I know when it is reasonable and when it is not reasonable to be anxious about things.  I know the difference between a REAL problem and what is just a PERCEIVED problem.

And then I had children.

My emotional instability on the last day of Toby’s daycare took me by surprise, but I had ALWAYS thought that I would greet the first day of Kindergarten with a LOT more rationality and a lot LESS emotion than most other parents.   Once again, I prove myself wrong.

Here’s what I DON’T have to worry about:

Toby is fully potty trained

Here’s what I have been losing sleep over for the past few weeks:

Who his teacher is and what he/she will be like

How he is going to get his lunch bag opened

How he is going to handle the 1.5-hour bus ride home (!!!)

How he is going to do at drop off that first day

How I am going to do at drop off that first day

Whether he is going to make any friends

Whether he is going to make too many friends and not listen to the teacher

Whether he is going to eat his Cars Gummy Treats before any of the healthy stuff I’ve packed for him

How tired and cranky he is going to be after a full day of learning

Whether I can ever do anything fun with him ever again on a weekday…

The list goes on.

Toby, on the other hand, has no IDEA how significant an event this is.   He has not asked a single question and his only concern is whether or not he’s going to remember all of the “rules on the bus”. Yesterday, after offhandedly announcing that he only had ONE MORE SLEEP until Kindergarten I asked him how he felt about it.

“Oh, fine” he said as if I’d asked him if he’d rather have spaghetti or pizza for dinner.

I probed a little deeper,

“How does GOCHAR feel about school, Toby?  Is Gochar excited too or is he a bit nervous?”

Toby thought about this for a while as he pensively chewed his raisin bran.

After a few moments he shook his head conclusively, “No, Gochar isn’t nervous. He’s just excited.”

So I’m all-alone here on the nervous-bus on the night before kindergarten.  But I have reached the stage of acceptance.  I know tomorrow is inevitable; I have to just let whatever happens come my way.  Maybe this time tomorrow night I will have a lot less to worry about at night?  Hopefully???!

Tonight, as I snuggled my little boy to sleep he asked me to read him the Dr Seuss book “Oh the Places You Will GO”.  I hadn’t read this book since a family friend gave it to me after getting accepted to medical school.  It is TRULY ironic that he asked me to read it to him tonight.

As I read it I had one of those clairvoyant moments as parents.  Those moments in time you consciously watch yourself live through knowing full well you will think back upon them for years and years to come.  Moments you cherish so much they almost make you cry as they unfold before you.

The book is, perhaps, more suitable to a grade 8 student or a high school graduate, but as I read it to him tonight I realized that this is likely the last time I will be able to lie in bed with him and snuggle him to sleep the night before such a big event.  (I HIGHLY doubt that the 18-year-old version of Toby will let me lie with him and play with his hair while I read him “Oh the Places You will Go” before his first day of University.)

And so I poured my heart into it and read it to him, and to myself, and to every future version of Toby as he faces life’s biggest moments.

Toby:

  One day you may come upon this blog and read it, and it may be the only way you will know what I said to you the night before I let you out into the real world of school, and bullies, and lunch boxes, and school bus rides.  It may have come from Dr Seuss but it also came from my heart.

“Congratulations!  Today is your day.  You’re off to Great Places!  You’re off and away!  And will you succeed?  Yes, yes you will 98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.  Kid, you’ll move mountains!  Today is your day.  Your mountain is waiting…so…get on your way.”

Sometimes letting your children go is the hardest thing we have to do as parents.  But, as I will likely realize over the next few weeks, it is also one of the most important.

Good luck tomorrow to all of Toby’s 4-year-old friends and buddies…and all you parents, too!  I send you off tomorrow with pride, love and hope, Toby-Bear.  Go move mountains…