Sibling Affection...

There is nothing sweeter than watching your children fall in love with one another.

A parental love of their child is instantaneous and starts to blossom even before their heart starts beating.  The love between siblings is a slower process marred by competition for mom’s affection and competitive screaming matches.  I have always felt blessed that Toby had such an innate love of Mia.  He was never one to demand extra attention while I was breastfeeding; he readily recognized the importance of his sister’s needs and accepted that they were a priority above of his own.  I would never have known the bond of siblinghood to be so strong if I hadn’t had the privilege to witness Toby as an older brother.  I remember the days before Mia was born praying that I would be able to love my second as mucha s my first and the weeks after she was born praying that she would one day love Toby as much as he loved her.

And then Mia grew into her own and started stealing his toys.

With Toby being the competitor that he is and Mia being the bossy little ball of stubbornness that SHE is, the peaceful bliss that I bragged about in paragraph 1 was transient.  The moments of me worrying whether Mia will one day love Toby as much as he love(d) her have now been usurped by worries about little fingers being caught in slamming doors and what critical screech decibels are safe for our windows.  But every now and then I get a reminder of that precious love my first born has for his baby sister.

Saturday mornings were Toby’s hockey mornings.  He played at 1030 am and the whole family would pack up our stuff and head to the arena by 10 am so he had enough time to get into his hockey gear in order to play his game.  Rob an I have had a great opportunity to connect with other families in our Brewster Lake community and Mia even met a little girl her own age who was in skating lessons that used the ice for the hour before Toby went on.  Before you knew it, Mia had her own skates, helmet , skating buddies and ice time which took up yet ANOTHER hour of our Saturday mornings and also deflected the attention YETAGAIN from her poor older brother.

Most mornings now, we arrive at the arena in enough time for Mia to get suited up and on the ice and Toby gets lost in the pile of siblings his own age who play various 5 year old arena games that often involve screaming, hiding and LOTS of running.  I leave him to his new group of friends for the first 30 min before dragging him to the changeroom to get ready for his hockey practice.

Last Saturday Toby was unusually quiet on his way to the arena and when I asked him what was up he said that he was thinking about how he’d like to watch Mia’s skating practice for a change.

“That’s nice of you Toby’ I said and thought nothing more of it.

After we got to the arena I left Toby with his friends and frantically got Mia into her skates and attire before heading off to meet with the other moms.  After a few minutes I decided I should find Toby and went off in search of the large group of boys – he was nowhere to be found.  When I FINALLY located the boys Toby was not with them.  I started to panic and ran into each dressing room looking for him to no avail.

Finally I spotted him out of the corner of my eye.  He had moved to the cold rinkside portion of the arena and pulled a large overturned bin right beside the rink to the spot Mia was practicing.  He was sitting by the cold ice, all by himself up high on this bin, his little legs dangling, watching, with adored admiration, his little sister skate.

I think back sometimes to the weeks of panic I had thinking how much I might ruin my first born’s life by selfishly having another one; and now I have the perfect reprieve.   Toby is an old soul and although he may find a few more challenges in his life, having to share it with Mia, deep down there's nothing but unconditional love for her.  She's a lucky little girl...

Toby's First F-Bomb

Sometimes being a parent require spontaneous –on-your-feet-reactions to situations you have absolutely no forewarning or preparation for.  Case in point was our drive to school today in which Toby dropped his first F-bomb.

I know now WHY they call it an F-bomb: the sound of that ONE WORD erupting from the innocent mouth of my 5 year old created waves of bomb-like explosions that ricocheted off various parts of my brain I knew not even existed.

Here’s how the unexpected conversation went:

T: “Mommy, want to hear something funny?”

Me: “Sure!”  I say with genuine innocent enthusiasm as I got into the car

T: “Holden, my friend at school is SOO funny.  Instead of saying ‘suck your thumb’ he says ‘FUCK your thumb!”

Bah dum bum CHING!

Me: “WHAT!?!?!?!"  I said as I fell off the seat and out of the car.

A now somewhat meek Toby repeated,  “FUCK your thumb – that’s what Holden says.”

The second repetition of the word hit me just as harshly as the first.  I felt like a superhero character being pummeled to death with invisible speech-inflicted laser beams of indiscretion.

OK – I recognize now in HINDSIGHT that there is probably somewhere some literature (perhaps from Huffington post?) that educates parents on the PROPER way to react to your child’s first use of a swear word.  And I SUSPECT it says something about remaining calm, keeping it cool, minimizing the impact of the word and feigning indifference so as not embellish or permanently emblazon the word into their vocabulary.

I confess to you now that I did nothing of the sort.

“TOBY!!!” I shrieked as I regained my footing and got back into the car for the second time, “That’s a BAD WORD!!! A VERY bad word and I NEVER want to hear you say it AGAIN!!!”

Toby was shocked.

“What word is so bad, Mommy?  Is it the word FUCK?”

Once again zapped by the proverbial thunderbolt, he hit me again in quick succession,

“What does FUCK even MEAN?’

I explained to him again that it was a VERY bad word; SUCH a bad word, in fact, that a definition was IRRELEVANT and I went on to lecture him on the importance of NOT using words he doesn’t know the meaning of.

Finally FINALLY Toby got he message and was silent for a few minutes before boldly announcing that he was SORRY that he used such a bad word and that the FIRST thing he was going to do when he arrived at kindergarten that morning would be to confront Holden and TELL him that the expression, “FUCK YOUR THUMB” was NOT a good expression because the word “FUCK” was a bad one.

I threw my hands up in the air at this point and waved my white flag.  My mommy brain had been defeated by the relentless thunderbolts of crass terminology from its superior super hero.

One can only hope I have scared him enough with my seemingly nonsensical reaction to delay any further swearing behaviour for at LEAST another few moths…or at least to buy me enough time to do some proper research, husband collaboration and practice on the subject before the next outburst!!!

More Crazy Conversations...

My mom emailed me today to recap the “day” she had had with my father.  It consisted of hours of repetitively convincing him to shower and the details of his midnight snack time adventures.  At the conclusion of her email she lamented over how long it had been since she’d seen her grandchildren and how badly she longed for some proper dinnertime conversation with them as a break from the mundane with my dad.

It just so happened that we had had a rather INTERESTING day of conversations ourselves.  Dinnertime with Mia broke the cardinal rule of “no bathroom talk” at the dinner table.  For the past week Mia has perseverated on her friend Sam at daycare.  It all started last week when Sam pooped in his pants.   Mia’s fascination with this incident is wrought with fascination and admiration.  The story was told OVER and OVER again and we couldn’t MENTION going to daycare without being reminded, “Lets hope Sam doesn’t POOP in his PANTS again!!!”  I continued to reassure her that Sam was most likely NOT going to poop in his pants again.

So tonight, when I casually asked how daycare was, Mia gladly updated us on Sam.  No, he did NOT poop his pants today but he HAD peed ALL OVER the FLOOR.

I’m not sure who this character is; I can’t tell if it’s a boy or a girl and I’m not even sure that s/he DID ever poop his pants or pee ALL OVER the FLOOR but I HAVE made a mental note not to invite Sam to any play dates anytime soon…

Toby wasn’t any sharper as a conversationalist today, I’m afraid.  We were driving home tonight along a deserted country road with no car ahead of us and no car behind us when out of the blue Toby announced that he’d “like to go there with this guy.”

?!?!?!?!

Um…

I glanced frantically around the car to see if I’d accidentally picked up some other kid from school or mistakenly let some strange man into our car.  But as you can guess all there was in the back seat was Toby, staring back eerily at me after his mysteriously misplaced sentence.

“What on EARTH are you talking about Toby?” I asked while frantically searching in my med school brain for the age of onset of schizophrenia.

“That guy…” Toby said to me as if I was an idiot, “You know…the one who’s singing right now.  He keeps saying he’ll take me there to that special place.  And I have a special place I’d like to go to.”

AHA!  The radio!  I keep forgetting that 5 year olds sometimes unexpectedly stop talking and listen to things like music and lyrics.  I listened to whatever song was playing and Toby was right – the guy DID keep promising, “I’ll take you there” over and over again before qualifying the fact that it would be “to that special place.”

I SUSPECT the singer meant it in a SEXUAL way and crossed my fingers before asking Toby with as much casualty as I could muster WHERE exactly this special place was that he wanted this (CREEPY) man to take him?

“Well, DUH” Toby said as if the answer was OBVIOUS…”The bowling alley!”

And so I reassured my mother that she might not have found the stimulating conversation she was looking for tonight at the Henry Household…but hey, sometimes switching up the craziness is all you need!! 

Conversations with Toby

One of the greatest things about our daily schedule is the fact that I get to drive Toby in to school every morning.  Last year this task seemed daunting and time consuming.  This year, having gotten the kinks ironed out and having gained the confidence to know that no matter HOW BAD of a morning we are having I will EVENTUALLY get to work (and most likely on time) I am finding it quite enjoyable...and one of the best things about it is the opportunity to have a conversation with him every morning.  We have covered a vast array of topics so far, but here are two of my favourites...

T : “Mommy, I think my friend Erin is allergic to the rain”

Me : “What makes you think that?”

T: "Well, yesterday when it was raining she asked me to make a shelter for her with my body.  And I did. “

Me: “That was nice of you”

T: "Yes, but then I got bored of standing there so I went to play with my friends and now I’m worried that she might have gotten sick cause I left her in the rain."

Toby at age 5: already being manipulated by girls.

And here's another current favourite...

T : “Mommy, I want to go to Chile”

Me : “Cool!  That would be awesome! Can I come too?”

T: “Yes.  And Daddy, too.  And I also want to go to Japan. And FRANCE because they speak French and Iceland and Prince Edward Island.”

Me: “Woah.  Toby, that’s a lot of places.  It sounds like you have a travel bug. “

T: “Maybe…but I DON’T want to go to Australia!”

Me ; : “WHY!?!?!”

T: “Because they are nocturnal.”

(insert long explanation about time zones, nocturnal animals and jet lag)

T: “OK fine I’ll go to Australia.”

Me:  “It makes me really happy that you want to travel, Toby.  In fact, Daddy and I just booked us a trip to FLORIDA this March break.”

T: “Oh, MAN!  I don’t want to go to FLORIDA!”

Me: “But we were going to go to Disneyland and see Mickey Mouse and Cinderella’s Castle and the Magic Kingdom…”

T: “Nah…I’d rather just go to the trampoline place in Collingwood.”

Kids can be SO weird sometimes…

Saying Grace...Part II

Oh, the drama of dinnertime grace…it’s making the blog again.

As I prefaced in my last post about grace, I am not a terribly religious person, but I find the simple act of taking a moment at dinnertime to reflect on what we are thankful for an important one for our family.  It also, incidentally, is often the most revealing and sometimes humourous time of our day, especially noting the differences it brings out in our two children.

Toby loves to say grace and does so earnestly and thoughtfully.  He is very careful to cover all of the necessary gratitudes and often throws in some extra special thoughts and thank yous at the end.  It’s a great way for me to gauge what he’s worried about and whom he is playing with in the playground.  Often it’s the only way I get a glimpse into what he has done all day…

Mia, on the other hand, finds the whole process long and tedious and wants to get on with eating (or complaining about) her dinner.  We have tried to engage her by asking her to say something; she staunchly refuses.  Lately we have had to resort to crossing our hands while Toby is speaking just in order to keep her from rudely eating while her brother slowly and meticulously says his grace.

The other day we were engrossed in something Toby was saying when all of a sudden we heard a loud SNORING sound coming from Mia. She had put her head down on her arms, closed her eyes and was loudly pretending to sleep.  I don’t know HOW she knew it was a way of indicating boredom – but it certainly caught our attention.  Thank GOODNESS Toby burst into angry accusations; it somewhat covered up my inadvertent guffaw of laughter and gave me a second to regain control before politely disciplining Mia against interrupting Toby’s grace with her snoring.

Yesterday Toby demonstrated to us a song they sing at school.  The words go something like, “Thank you God for giving us life! Thank you god for giving us (insert something nice)” and he sang a hearty round of it.

To our surprise Mia perked up a little, listened attentively and then clapped along!  Finally, some participation!  And just to reinforce her commitment to dinner-grace-rebellion she threw in an enthusiastic “Ah---MEN!....BABY!!!”   at the end.  We may have to send her to Evangelical school…

Mia's Daycare Woes

My little Mia is charming us and breaking our hearts at the same time.  Although earlier this weekend I got to portray her feisty self as she one-upped her brother, the softer side of her has been putting our family through even greater emotional turmoil lately as we all struggle to help her through her latest ordeal.  It has come as a great shock to ALL of us that our outgoing, social and fun-loving little girl hates and despises the thing she was so excited to love: daycare.

 I give her props for being consistent – I imagine it’s difficult to be absolute in your emotions when you are a dithering 2 year old.  Mia never wavers: she absolutely, consistently and dramatically LOATHES going to daycare. 

We send her to the same place that Toby went; it is a wonderful, loving and enriching atmosphere and she goes for 2 half mornings a week.  TWO HALF mornings.  As in a 4 hours stint.  TWICE in a week.  It’s like, 6.75% of her total week.  Nevertheless, it’s as if we send her off to an inexhaustible torture chamber the way she carries on at the slightest mention of it.

 The first few weeks we took it as a given; every kid cries initially when they start daycare.  By the third week we softened a bit and started to feel badly – Rob and I each started trying to get out of having to take her.  By this week even TOBY is heartbroken by her sad lamentations on daycare mornings.

This morning as soon as Rob opened the door to her room she burst into tears, “MIA DON’T WANT TO GO TO DAYCARE TODAY!!!”  The wailing continued for 20 minutes.  Rob tried to empathize and hug her tears away.  He tried distracting her with breakfast and exciting plans for the week ahead.  He tried encouraging her to be brave.  Finally he put his foot down and demanded that she stop wailing.

 Nothing worked.

Finally, about 20 min later, a distraction came in the form of a task.  Mia loves to be helpful so when I told her we had to go wake Toby up she perked up slightly.  When Rob told her she could jump on him to wake him up she even paused her dramatic sniffles to accompany me downstairs. 

Poor Toby was fast asleep when his despondent little sister accosted him with a giant full body jump.  NO one likes to be woken up – ESPECIALLY not Toby and ESPECIALLY not with a full body drop kick from his little sister.

“MIA!!! I’m not in the MOOD for you to JUMP on me yet!!!” he said with his eyes still closed and his pillow over his head.

Mia, as you can imagine, sat down and burst into tears.

I explained to Toby that Mia, although TRYING to be brave, was not happy about it being a daycare day.  He digested this for a moment before gallantly joining the family in our attempt to help her out.

“OK, Mia” he said with his pillow still over his head an his eyes still firmly shut, “I’m ready for you to jump on me, now!!!”  Through tears she accepted the challenge and immediately dove on top of him, quickly turning what would normally have been a competitive full-body flail into a comforting hug.  Toby lovingly reciprocated before throwing the pillow off of his eyes and graciously announcing ”Mia, look!  You woke me up!”  Mia actually GIGGLED at this and for a brief moment this morning all was right in our world.

The moment of happiness was fleeting; soon we had to get dressed, fed and have our teeth brushed with the eventual destination hanging over our heads like a gloomy cloud.  Mia cried through it all despite Toby’s further attempts to cheer her with stickers, promises and more hugs.   By the time we arrived at daycare even Toby was close to tears.

“Mommy…it makes me so sad to hear Mia crying!” he sniffled to me after we dropped her off.  It had been a hard morning for all of us.  By 8:15 am this morning I was an emotional mess myself, waffling somewhere between the pride I felt for my loving and giving son and the sadness and confusion I had for my poor lost little girl.

I certainly hope she gets used to daycare soon – for ALL of our sakes!

Daily Competitions in the Henry Household...

Mia always likes to one-up Toby.  It’s not an easy task with Toby not only being 3 years older than her but also being athletic AND a fierce competitor.  Whether it’s getting to the bathroom first to brush their teeth or racing around the driveway the fastest on their plasma cars, Mia doesn’t let Toby’s edge ever dissuade her from a good race.

The other night we were at the dinner table discussing Toby’s newest favourite thing about school: French class.  He told me that his teacher had taught him a new song called “Bonjour mes amis” and then proceeded to sing it to me.  I clapped loudly and enthusiastically, encouraging his linguistic aptitude before having my hands YANKED away from me by a very competitive Mia.  She took me face in her hands and turned it towards her so she could be sure to have my 100% undivided attention so she could tell me that SHE, TOO had been taught a new song at school.

“Oh, yes, Mia” I said having no choice BUT to turn my attention to her, “What song did YOU learn today?”

 Whatever bit of my attention she hadn't captured by holding my face in her hands she sure got with her answer, 

“Venga los Amigos!” she stated triumphantly in a perfect Spanish accent.

I don’t know WHERE Mia is being taught songs in SPANISH but she sure knows how to one-up her brother! 

Mia's Baby Renaming Project

I don’t know what it is about kids going to daycare that brings on the whole gender confusion issue…I remember it happening with Toby; it has happened again with Mia.

Yesterday morning we had an unexpected sleep in.  It wasn't the blue moon impossible scenario of BOTH kids sleeping past 7am on the EXACT SAME MORNING.  (I am a staunch believer that that does NOT happen unless your kids are drugged or you have a miraculous parental horseshoe up your bum.) No, it wasn’t a sleep in because of our kids; it was s sleep in INSPITE of our kids.  Because somehow, with the first few weeks of school under our belts, we parents were just SOOOO tired that, no matter how hard Mia screamed, we just didn’t hear her until 7:30.

As you can imagine with Mia, she had taken her 30 min of solitary abandonment to reorganize her crib.  And by the time we finally realized our mistake and RUSHED in to get her, she smiled up at us quite contentedly,  proudly announcing that she had officially renamed all of her babies.  We both took our turns listening attentively and getting reacquainted.

As you may recall, Mia’s baby naming skills, up to this point, have been less than impressive.  IN fact, I would venture to call them predictable, banal and generally erroneous.  Today, her new names were actually no longer predictable or banal, but I hate to say – still (possibly) erroneous?  The verdict is still out on that one…

I can’t remember what big baby was renamed but little baby (the big one that smells like baby powder and is wearing a dainty pink sleeper) is now called “William”

Hmm…I said after an hour of insistence and consistency on Mia’s part,
“Do you know someone named William at daycare, Mia?”

“Oh, yes, “ she said proudly, “There’s a girl named William at Daycare.”

That was, in no doubt, true.  I also learned some other facts about William. “She” is in Erin’s group, is older than Mia, has long hair and often sits beside Mia at circle time.  William likes to play on the plasma cars and wears running shoes.  You know – all of the pertinent details.

Unraveling the mystery of Mia’s daycare life takes me back to one of the pillars of Socratic thinking: wisdom is knowing how little we know.  (I KNEW that CLS 225 class at Queens would eventually come in handy!!) Although we now know a child named “William” exists at daycare it brings up a whole host of questions: who IS this William child?  Is she really female with really cool parents who are pushing the whole “naming your girl a traditionally male name makes her kick butt” boundaries or is Mia just really bad at distinguishing boys from girls?  Instead of teaching her colours and numbers should we instead have spent more time focusing on gender differentiation strategies?  And if this is the case HOW do we correct this innate flaw without resorting to basic gender stereotypes?

I am pleased to say that this whole experience has taught me that Mia has a great sense of tenacity.  The more we ask, the stronger her conviction about little baby’s name change to William.  And I have to say- it has actually grown on me…maybe one day I will actually have a granddaughter named William.  If she’s anything like her boundary-pushing-stereotype-shredding-Mama she’s go

My Grown-Up Senior Kindergarten-er

Today was Toby’s first day of Senior Kindergarten.

It was an exciting day and contrasted greatly with the first day of kindergarten LAST year when I was forced to abandoned him while he stood destitute in the middle of the yard, ostensibly the ONLY kid who didn’t have anyone to play with.  Today he leapt away from me and into a fast paced game of “tag/hug your friend/run away from the girls” that took off from right where they had left it at 3pm on June 28^th of this year…

I won’t pretend that Toby didn’t have ANY first day jitters; on the way into town he talked my ear off about random things (as he does when he’s nervous) and finally paused for a thoughtful second to say “My stomach feels a little weird today, Mommy, but Don’t worry I’m being TOBY THE BRAVE because I’m in SENIOR kindergarten today.”

My stomach LURCHED forward at the mere mention of the name.

I remember VIVIDLY the last time he had been referred to as “Toby the Brave”; it was while he was intubated on life support in the ICU of Sick Kids Hospital.  He was the tiny little 10month old version of himself, clinging desperately to his life, and had just endured a chest tube placement earlier that day to drain the fluid that was collecting in his lungs.  We turned on a Shania Twain song that he loved and my mom noticed him tapping his little toes to the beat.

 We called him Toby the Brave because it was the best way we knew how to explain the complex emotions that set into motion at the mere glimpse of our little boy returning.  It was the first time we had any sense of relief since the whole ordeal had begun.  It was our way of selfishly projecting onto him the strength it had taken all of us to endure those crucial first few days.  We called him Toby the Brave because it was the first reminder we had of his spark, his love of life, and his love of Shania Twain.  Our Toby was coming back to us…

So you can imagine how out of context and ridiculously EXTREME the innocent remark he made had impacted me.  I ALMOST turned around to correct him and say, “Oh, come ON kid, it’s just KINDERGARTEN” when I realized that it was, ACTUALLY, a rather normal, insightful and perhaps commendable thing to say on your way to your first day of senior kindergarten.

So instead I took a deep breath and thanked the IPod God of last week that Shania Twain wasn’t spontaneously playing on the radio that day.

After my full day of anticipation, the 3pm pick up was anticlimactic.  He greeted me with his usual sweet enthusiasm and all the sparcity of information that I have come to expect of my 5 year old.  As we sat eating our celebratory first day DQ ice cream cone he did make one comment that struck me…

“Mommy…” he said licking his ice cream cone, “One of the teachers today had PURPLE on THIS Part of her eyes” (he pointed his sticky fingers to his eyelids). 

“Yes,” I explained, “Those are your eyelids and that would have been eye shadow.  Do you think it looked pretty?”

“Nah…” he said with a casual offhandedness I would expect from a teenager, “I just thought it looked WEIRD…and SEXY.”

That's TWICE in one day his words stopped me dead in my tracks!  If I have been struck by ANTHING today it’s the simple fact that SENIOR kindergarten kids sure are grown up..and man it happens fast!!!

Mia's First Week of Daycare...and an astounding coincidence on the Elliptical

This week marked Mia’s first week of daycare.  It was a big week for ALL of us: Rob and I mourned the graduation of our baby to the next stage, Mia FINALLY got to put a back pack on and “go to school” like her idolized big brother, and Toby got a few mornings to have our nanny Shelly all to himself…

Monday morning arrived and Mia bounced out of her crib, eager to go.  She wolfed down her breakfast, raring to get her backpack on and be out the door.  We had PLANNED for Rob to take her at 8:15 but her eagerness tugged on my maternal heartstrings so I decided to take her myself.  By the time we had her dressed, sun screened, fed, appropriately photographed and ready to go…it was still only 7:50.

(I can’t believe I am going to write this next sentence in a blog about my kids…)

And so we were out the door much earlier than anticipated.

(???WTF??  never again as long as I live…)

About halfway to daycare Mia started to sense that something wasn’t quite as good as it initially seemed when she realized we had left her blanket at home.  I explained to her that big girls don’t take their blankets to daycare.    Hmmm…suddenly this whole “big girl thing” was starting to lose some of its appeal.

I tried to cheer her up with some friendly facts about daycare.  I told her some of the activities she would like, the names of some of her friends who would be there and who her “teachers” would be. 

She liked the names of her teachers but announced that she would not be hugging them.  I reassured her that she wouldn’t have to hug them on her first day, but maybe she’d like to sit on one of their laps during her first circle time?

“No thanks,” she said determinedly, ”Mia will sit on Mommy’s lap at circle time.”

That’s when the car ride and the whole I’m-a-big-girl-I’m-ready-to-start-school-schtick came to an abrupt end.  By the time we arrived at daycare she had made up her mind,

“Mia wants to got home now, mommy.”

I kind of wanted the same thing…

But I left her there, with her new backpack safe in her cubby and her beloved Dora shoes snug on her feet, surrounded by lots of potential friends, plasma cars and games; an inconsolable mess of tears.

Lucky for me, I had a busy day at work that quite successfully took my mind off of things.  I actually almost forgot about the emotional turmoil of my morning until lunchtime when I was dutifully exercising on the elliptical and out of the blue a song cmme on my iphone that brought it all right back to me.

It was the Indigo’s version of Mia’s bedtime song.  I haven’t sung her this song in a few months; she has now graduated to nighttime serenading that incorporates her activities and whereabouts of her day, but just after she was born and up until very recently the song I sang her every night was “The Water is Wide”.

I chose this song for Mia one night when she was only a few months old.  It’s not a song I had heard often but one that Henri Audet does a beautiful rendition of.   (And EVERY song that Henri Audet sings is a good one!!)  As I sat there rocking my beautiful baby girl the line from this song, “For love is patient…and love is kind…” popped into my head and after she fell asleep that night I went through our CDs and managed to find the song, learn it and have sung her to sleep with it every night from then on.

It is ludicrously ironic that this song came on my  iphone the same day that Mia started daycare – I am not making it up.  To whatever heavenly being shuffled my 600 song playlist to that exact song on this exact day I will be eternally grateful, because it gave me the opportunity to listen attentively and evocatively to the words that had long ago become rote to me…I will share the lyrics of this song with you :

The water is wide, I can’t cross o’er

And neither have I wings to fly

Give me a boat that can carry two

And the boat shall row my love and I

There is a ship and she sails the sea

She’s loaded deep as deep can be

But not as deep as the love I’m in

I know not if I sink or swim

For love is gentle…and love is kind

The sweetest flower that first was new

But love grows old and waxes cold

And fades away like morning dew

The water is wide, I can’t cross o’er

And neither have I wings to fly

Give me a boat that can carry two

And the boat shall row my love and I…

I listened to the words on the elliptical that day, with an attention I hadn’t given them since Mia was 2 months old and I first dusted off the CD.  I’d like to say that the words of that song are the perfect fit for Mia’s first day of daycare…they aren’t entirely but they did strike meaning for me in a number of ways.

 Although I would have liked to have given her wings to fly, I know that’s not possible.  I guess as parents all we can do is to help our kids build their boat, load it up for them with skills and love and happiness, and then help them to sail away as we wave fiercely from the shore, praying for smooth waters.

One thing I know for sure and knew for certain this morning – the sweet and gentle love I have for my dear Mia hasn’t faded a bit since those innocent days when I rocked her sweet baby-ness to sleep.  Though she has grown and learned and now  challenges me with her independence and zest for life, a mother’s love will never "grow old” or "wax and wane”.  Though it changes shape and focus, it continues to grow and blossom with every little thing that she does.  And although she spent this morning trying her best to convince me otherwise, my now big-girl Mia will always be my little baby.

Shirtless Sibling Dance Parties

I am an only child; as such I was very excited to give Toby a sibling, NO MATTER HOW MUCH EFFORT IT TOOK ON MY PART so that he would have someone to play with.

I remind myself of this regularly, now, as Toby and Mia have entered a new stage of “playing together in Toby’s room”.  Mia enjoys the novelty of being actually ALLOWED in his room and Toby enjoys the novelty of setting the rules and being the boss.  Rob and I, I have to admit, enjoy the novelty of some moments of peace and quiet in which we can carry on a conversation together that we actually get to complete.  Without interruptions.

This new activity, as blissful as it sounds, is not without its perils.   When it first started Rob and I took our new found freedom WAY too seriously and let the antics carry on for a few minutes too long the first few times.

We have since had to establish a few ground rules:

1.  Mia is not allowed to paint with marker on either the walls OR her legs

2.  Mia is not allowed to pee on the bed

3.  Mia is not allowed to open, close or smash Toby’s blinds onto the floor.

Last night after a particularly long day of work, I snuck down to Toby’s room to retrieve a hug from my darling kids.  I found them both on the bed, half naked, with Dance Mix 1997 blaring in the background; they were dancing their hearts out.

“WE’RE HAVING A DANCE PART!!!” Toby exclaimed while a shirtless Mia bounced horizontally in the background.  “YOU CAN’T COME IN UNLESS YOU’RE DANCING!!!”

I had no choice BUT to dance with them for a few minutes, before returning upstairs to start dinner. 

As a parent there is nothing better than to see your two children enjoying each other’s company, in whatever capacity it comes…and hey, I think I’ve got at least a few years before the whole “shirtless part” needs to worry me…

That Ugly Formica Table

I have been having a particularly stressful few weeks this past month and was contemplating it all on my way to work this morning.  Nothing major, just basic life stuff like flat tires, employee woes, house renovations and work stress, all of which you can add the suffix #firstworldproblems to.  No matter how trivial they all seem, the culmination of them all at once had me desperately searching my memory bank for my quieter, simpler “happy place”.

And out of the blue I found it: my grandparent’s Formica kitchen table.

You know the kind of table – the one with the wobbly tin legs that is a mixed colour or barf green and fecal brown that matches perfectly with any orange corduroy couch.  The kind that has cigarette burn marks on it and a wrap around metal piece that lifts off around the edges.   The kind that signifies for me hours and hours of card games, lovingly made grandma meals and late night surprise snacks.

This morning, I could think of nothing better than the simplicity of life when I was young and used to spend entire weekends sitting around this ugly table.

I had never really taken the time to think long and hard about my visits to my grandparents’ house.  They were a regular part of my childhood, and always something I looked forward to.   Theirs was a simple bungalow with décor and appliances that matched beautifully with this god-awful Formica table.  My Grandpa’s high tech stereo system played non-stop 88.1 cheesy soft listening music and it was there that I got introduced to such greats as Carly Simon, Neil Diamond and saxophone jazz.

In hindsight now its seems CRAZY to me that my grandmother never had ANYTHING better to do ALL weekend other than play cards with me.  I used to wait impatiently at the bathroom door for what seemed like HOURS for her to get ready in the morning.  (This was probably about as stressful as my weekend would get.)  FINALLY after a few jokes about “not falling in the toilet” (that had me on the floor in peals of laughter every time) my grandma would emerge and the card games would start.

We only ever played one game: Mexican Poker.  And I know for a fact that it is not just my retrospective memory that makes me believe we played it incessantly; we did.  We played for hours in the morning until Grandma had to get up to make lunch.  After calling Grandpa in, we then sat at around the table and ate cheese dreams or tuna sandwiches and banana muffins.  My grandpa and his dentures could win a contest for the slowest eater in the world.  Unfortunately his slow eating also paired with a robust appetite so I would often have to sit for a good 30-60 minutes after finishing my own meal, listening to the sounds of his dentures clickety clacking as he calmly and thoroughly chewed his cheese dream and then patiently scraped every last speck of muffin off the muffin wrapper with his Swiss army knife.

As soon as lunch was done and Grandpa was back out puttering in the garage, the cards would come out again and the game would resume.  We played so hard we sometimes forgot to get dinner ready on time.  We played so hard we had cramps in our hands from shuffling.  Over time we established brilliant theories on how cards started to arise in sequence if you played for long enough and finally had to resort to getting a proper card shuffler to ensure accuracy and relieve our sore hands from the monotonous duty.

We played so hard that one night when the clock struck 11pm Grandma poked her head up from her hand and realized for the first time that evening that Grandpa was missing.  She quickly went from competitive card mode to flat out panic when she also realized it was 11pm and WAY past my bedtime.  I THINK we might have also forgotten about dinner, too.  We searched the house high and low for Grandpa but he was nowhere to be found.  Grandma assumed the worst, “Oh SHIT, Lyssie,” she said with her gold teeth gleaming deamonously, “I think we’re in big trouble.”

It was right then that we heard the front door open and in walked Grandpa who had gone out to surprise us with a big bucket of KFC – our midnight treat.

I can so vividly remember the intense feeling of happiness I felt that night, enjoying a bucket of KFC with my grandparents at midnight, sitting around the Formica table, rehashing the scores of the last 5 round of poker and laughing at Grandma’s neurotic terror over losing Grandpa. 

When I think about today and my stress over picking the right stone for our new fireplace, having to replace a tire on my SUV, signing the kids up on time for the correct sports teams and activities,  it contrasts starkly with the easy happiness of those weekends at my grandparents house.

I hope, in the midst of our busy lives, I will make time to have moments like those with my own kids.  And I hope my kids will have weekends with their grandparents that leave them feeling loved and connected.  And I hope that one day someone loves me the way I did them; enough to have them crying on their way to work one day over the simple memory of an ugly Formica table.

Sleep Rebellion Tactics

I reserve judgment on which of my children reigns victorious for this evening's competing attempts at bedtime rebellion; I will leave the final verdict to you after I enlighten you on this evening's shenanigans.  

You know those nights - -after a particularly long day of work, when all that stand between you and the couch is the daunting task of putting your own children to bed.  It should be marketed as some sort of ancient torture technique.  It NEVER goes over well.  What unfolded tonight happened in the following sequence :

1.  Rob cheerfully left for soccer, kissing both of our angelic kids goodnight as they stood mild heartedly on the front steps, waving their loving goodbyes in endearing earnestness.

2.  All hell broke loose.

After what seemed like hours, Mia started asking to go to bed (a few minutes earlier than her stated bedtime of 7pm).  I guess she was just messing with me because when I called her bluff (at the cruelly early hour of 6:58 pm) her response was an instantaneous stop, drop and wail.  By the time I had her up the stairs her legs had miraculously stopped flailing but when she then pulled a completely irresolute inability to choose her bedtime story it started all over again.

As I calmly sat in her rocking chair, waiting with the miraculous and unwavering patience that we mothers deserve a medal for, she managed SOMEHOW to calm herself down enough to pick out the same 2 books we have read every night for the past 2 weeks.

The girl likes her routine.

I closed my eyes and read the books by memory as I rocked her in her chair.  She seemed to calm down a bit but every so often reached up to pry my eyelids open.  When the stories were over I turned off her bedside light and was about to sing her her bedtime song when I felt her aggressive little FIST on my mouth, clamping it shut.

“No, Mommy, DON’T sing yet,” she said in a stern whisper, “First I’m going to tell you a story.”

My eyes popped open with curiosity and once again I called her bluff,

“OK, Mia…tell me your story.”

Mia’s story, said her husky yet sweet bedtime voice as I rocked her to sleep, went something like this,

“Once there was a man.  He was in a pond.  He was very sad.  It was scary because this man was in a pond.  He was a man in a pond. And he couldn’t get out of bed because you know why? Because he had blood on his finger.  He had blood on his finger because he SQUEEZED it.  Like this.  He SQUEEZED it like this and there was blood and it was on his finger.  And he was in a pond and he could NOT get out of bed and then his mommy came and she saw blood from his leg and he had blood on his leg and he could not get out of bed so his mommy came with blood on his finger and his leg and that’s the end.”

I have to say, it was a pretty good attempt at her very first improv story telling gig.  The story itself MIGHT have lacked a little in its plot line consistencies, character development and overall point, but it got points for creativity and ingenuity.

And it’s a whole lot better than some aspects of Toby’s approach.

Whereas Mia had delayed bedtime with her feigned-story-choosing-indecisiveness, Toby was three game plans ahead of me by the time I finally had Mia tucked in her crib.  He had laid out on his bed his two LONGEST books from his bookshelf.  They were books I hadn’t read in YEARS and together probably extended bedtime by a good 10 minutes.

And then he remembered that he hadn’t brushed his teeth.

And then he remembered that he hadn’t peed since lunchtime.

Or had a glass of water since breakfast 2 days ago.

And had lost his pillow somewhere upstairs.

(I can’t even type all f this without rolling my eyes...)

Finally it got to the time when I was able to START the epic Berenstein Bear sagas.  And FINALLY the epic Berenstein Bear sagas were over.  I sang him his good night song and came upstairs.

After my never-ending bedtime with the two of them, I sat out here on the deck, for a while, listening to the birds go to bed (cheerfully, I might add!) and contemplating how I might transpire this all into a blog post.  As I came inside (about 30 min later) to get my computer up popped TOBY from behind the kitchen counter with Mia’s hair elastic in his hand.

“Mommy!” he said in self-defense as I inched towards him, “I found Mia’s hair elastic on the floor of the bathroom and didn’t know what to do with it!  So I brought it to you!  I am just trying to help!!!!!”

Not only had he scared the daylights out of me...I just couldn't buy the explanation.  OR the tears the ensued when I explained that to him.

And so I leave it to you…was it the ingenious story telling or the fabricated attempt to “help me” that wins the day?

SPOILER ALERT: It was neither.  The winner of the night was CLEARLY Rob, who avoided all of the above shenanigans with his Monday night soccer game. 

Canada Day in Three Words

As I was driving home this morning, after a wonderful fun filled Canada day weekend I heard a call in show on the radio.  The question posed to listeners was to summarize their Canada Day weekend in 3 words.

I came up with many different variations on a theme to summarize my own weekend

like : Campfire, Watertrampoline, Neighbors

Or  : Food, Booze, Fun

Or : Relaxing, Refreshing, Reconnecting

Even : Dad’s Demented Backpain

After a fun filled weekend with a wide array of activities I had trouble selecting just THREE words.  

This weekend we took the kids out to the village for dinner one night.  The excitement of “going out for dinner” was palpable as Mia put on her pretty red dress and cardigan and Toby allowed me to actually wash the grass stains off his knees for once.  We sauntered through the Village while the kids ran ahead and marveled at the number of tourists.  We rolled our eyes while the kids sneakily placed an order for CHOCOLATE milk (reserved only for UBER special occasions such as this) and enjoyed sharing pizza and stories before heading out for ice cream in front of the live stage.

Sunday we put the Water trampoline in the lake and invited our neighbors over to celebrate with swimming, jumping, splashing and Sangria-drinking (can you guess which one of the above I partook in?!?!?) before making the kids dinner over the fire.  Toby couldn’t believe that it had taken 5 whole years of his life before he was introduced to the miraculous invention of Smores.  Mia, ever the little sweet tooth, wasn’t surprised in the least and ate them with a fervent “I always suspected something like this existed” attitude.  While the adults drank and ate separately the kids watched a movie before we all reunited later for fireworks.

Monday we took an impromptu trip to Toronto to rescue my dad from his debilitating back pain that struck suddenly in the middle of the night.  My mom almost took him to ER it was so bad.  She had her institute that week so would be gone ALL day on Monday and for the rest of the week.  So we packed everyone up and sped down to Toronto to help out.

And that’s the funny thing about Dementia.

When sweet little Mia walked in first and very earnestly asked, “Papa, is your back sore?” he smiled, patted her on the head and then confidently stated, ”Nope!  I feel great!”  He didn’t know enough to even PRETEND to have had a sore back.  And so we were forced to make the most of this unnecessary emergency trip by making ourselves feel better with an afternoon movie in a real theatre, a trip to the local splash pad and after dinner Gelatos.

And so you can see my dilemma I had, trying to summarize my weekend in THREE Words.  But I think I got it just right : I LOVE MY KIDS!!!

(OK that’s four words – but I’ve never been known at concise.   It took me the whole drive up to come up with my “three” words and I obviously didn’t get to call in and share them, but felt the need to document this on my blog for posterity)

Rob and I had SO much fun together and with our kids this weekend, I feel I can say with great confidence that I officially want to freeze time and keep my kids this age forever.

In summers past we have had fun but either one of the kids was too young or I was too pregnant to fully be able to enjoy summer activities.   I had a heads up this weekend that we are coming into a new stage, one with endless possibilities and one that lets us ALL have fun (while still attaining adequate amounts of sleep…yes, that’s right - -any ideal weekend in my world MUST still involve the necessary 8 hours sleep requirement.  Having kids has given me Post Traumatic Sleep Disorder.  I will never be able to party like I used to again…)

I don’t think my kids are likely to remember the Canada Day weekend of 2013 when they were 5 and 2.5 years old, so I just had to document it for them, and for my future self to read when the cause me to pull my hair out with frustration; this weekend they proved to not only be flexible and resilient but also a ton of fun.  Right now I can’t wait to spend every weekend this summer with them…and all the days in between.

                                                                  "Love. My. Kids."