The 'S' Word

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When you are a younger sibling it sometimes takes WORK to get yourself noticed.  ESPECIALLY if your older sibling is the ever popular and loud-mouthed Toby. In this circumstance, if you want to get yourself heard, you sometimes have to think outside the box.

Mia has always excelled in this area but I think her newest technique  is by far her most ingenious.

It all came about after we moved to town and Toby started inviting friends over to play.  These weren’t family friends, these were now TOBY’s friends, and Mia often got left out of the fun.  That is, until she took this situation into her own hands.  Be it one friend or a whole group of friends, Mia’s approach is consistent; just when everyone is about to get involved in a game that centers around Toby, Mia gathers everyone around her by simply stating, “Hey guys…I’m going to say the ‘S’ word.”

NOTHING gets a group of 4 to 6 year olds’ attention like a good counterfeit act of swearing.

Occasionally someone will break off from the group and come racing over to get me, breathlessly exclaiming with a look of horror in their eyes, “MIA IS ABOUT TO SAY THE ‘S’ WORD!!!”

Sometimes she threatens repeatedly until she is sure that she is the queen bee and has everyone’s attention.

And sometimes she says it.

The actual SAYING of the S word quickly dissipates the crowd and many if not ALL of the children usually then run over to me with horrified-tattle telling-glee to inform me that MIA. SAID. THE ‘S’ WORD.

It’s hard to know HOW to react to this scenario.  Especially because I have no idea what said ‘S’ word actually IS.  None of the well-behaved children we hang out with have the guts to actually REPEAT it to me.  And Toby CERTAINLY wouldn’t tarnish his golden halo with the likes of Mia’s shenanigans.

“She can’t REALLY know the word SHIT already, can she?” Rob asked me one night when we were going to sleep

I didn’t think so but it wouldn’t be the first time I’d been duped by my angelic daughter.  Perhaps it was something inane like “shut up” or “shoot”.   I wasn’t sure how I was going to find out without mistakenly encouraging her behaviour.  

And then last weekend, quite unexpectedly,  I figured it out.

Our dog Zack had done something typical that infuriated me (I think he’d eaten a loaf of bread off the counter) and I sent him outside while remarking loudly about how low his IQ was.

When I turned around Mia’s face what white as a ghost.  She looked like she was going to cry.

“Mia!”  I rushed over to her. “What’s wrong?!?!?”

“Mommy…” she said VERY seriously, “You just said…the S word…”

I wracked my brains…what on earth had I just said?

Bread – table- dog- STUPID – that was it!

I almost burst out laughing but managed to stop myself just in time.

“You’re right, Mia. I DID say the S word. “ Then, gulping back my pride and swallowing everything I’ve ever thought about Zack since the moment we got him I added, “Zack is not stupid.  I shouldn’t have said that.”

Mia kept staring at me.  I had very clearly tarnished my reputation with her; no longer was I her infallible perfect Mommy.  I had CLEARLY violated some immensely important code in her world. 

Eventually our day went on as usual but the incident was clearly not forgotten.  That night at dinner after we had said what we were thankful for and everyone had dug into their meals, Mia put her fork down, folded her hands and made an announcement.

“Mommy said the S word today.”

Toby dropped his fork and stared at me in disbelief.

Another reputation tarnished.

Rob raised one eyebrow and looked at me questioningly as I smiled back innocently with a forced attempt at telepathy. 

“Yes. I did. I am very sorry. I said the S word.”

“WHY!?!??!”

Toby was not going to get over this.

Mia, on the other hand, had picked up her fork and was smugly enjoying her dinner while I got the third degree.

“Well…Toby…I was mad at Zack and made a comment I shouldn’t have.”

Now Rob was even MORE intrigued.  I didn’t want to SAY the actual S word again for fear that my children would report me to CAS but I was trying hard to explain myself to Toby AND subtly let Rob know that it wasn’t REALLY the word we thought it was and that I HADN’T just made the greatest Mommy-mistake of all times…

Although I managed to make it through our family dinner that night, the incident has not been forgotten.  Every now in then when I least expect it Mia reminds me with a sinister tone to her voice of THAT TIME that I used THE S WORD.

 I have learned two things from this situation:

1. I will from now on only ever refer to Zack’s shenanigans as “Silly” or “Dumb”

2.  My Mia is a force to be reckoned with….we are screwed when she hits her teens…

Mia - victorious after scoring her SECOND dessert while we were out for dinner in PEI

True Confessions : I Kinda Just Slept with my Father

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Sometimes it feels like every time I see my dad I can detect a behavioural change that jumps out and reminds me that his disease is progressing; a taunting reminder that we are losing him, piece by slow piece, to the world of dementia.

We make note of these changes in a series of predictable well-rehearsed stages.  The first stage is humour: a text from my mom informing me that dad has suddenly decided that it’s OK to spit on the floor.  (Most recently accompanied by an EMOTICON - her latest and greatest tech discovery trick…) The phase quietly changes to sadness.  The laughter subsides as we each retreat into our own heads to process the implications of this newest mannerism.  And then there’s the guilt.  The guilt phase is fleeting and unpredictable and shows up in a myriad of facets; sometimes I feel guilty that I haven’t been AS patient as I know I can be.  Sometimes I feel guilty that I’m not around more to help my mom through these changes.  A lot of the time I feel guilty that I coped and received these changes with humour.

This weekend I was faced with perhaps one of the most poignant changes I have witnessed.  Guilt be damned- it’s IMPOSSIBLE NOT to see the humour in this situation.  So I decided to share it.

This weekend my mom took a 48 hr business trip to Vancouver.  She probably spent half of her time away travelling to and from her destination but welcomed the peace and quiet a work trip offered her; she did get ONE nice dinner out in the process.  I was happy to come down and help out with my dad for a few days and glad she had asked.

We had a low key evening together that consisted of countless retellings of the whereabouts of his “beloved wife” and an up-to-the minute countdown to her impending return home.  When I put Mia down in her bed I told her I would be sleeping down the hall in Grandma’s room and that she was welcome to come in and get me when she woke up.  Usually I sleep in the basement so this was a key piece of information for an anxious and early rising 3 year old.

Dad and I watched a dumb movie, ate pizza, and at 11:30 I told him it was time for bed.

“OK…” my anxious father said reluctantly, “Where am I sleeping?  Can I sleep with you?”

I assured my dad that he could NOT sleep with me.  That he had his OWN bed in his OWN room where he slept every night and would be just FINE.

“Of course.” 

It made logical sense to him for most of the walk upstairs.  By the time he reached his bedroom and the quiet darkness of nighttime he had changed his mind.  I barely had my pajamas on before I heard my mom’s door creak open and the thump of his cane as he hobbled down her hallway to her bed.

Reiterating my previous statement was ineffective.  He looked at me dumbfounded, “WHAT??!?! But I ALWAYS sleep in here!” he stated indignantly.

I pointed out the obvious fact that it was usually when my MOTHER was ALSO sleeping there, not when his DAUGHTER was sleeping there.  (Note – my father does NOT always sleep in there.  He does have his own bedroom where he spends most of the night.  Although he is a bit of a night wanderer so I have no doubt he spends at least some of the time in there…)

Again – dumbfounded.

Couldn’t he just lie down with me for a LITTLE bit?  Maybe while I read my book?

I had a moment.

You know those moments, when you suddenly look around the room frantically asking someone –ANYONE- is this REALLY happening?  And what’s the right answer here?  Was I fighting him off because I selfishly didn’t want to share a double bed with him and his night wandering habits or was I legit in my feelings of serious creepiness at sharing a bed with my father?

I shrugged my shoulders and told him he could lie with me for a few minutes until he got sleepy.

PERFECT.  He said and LEAPED into bed.

Alright, fine, it was more like a hobble, but I swear I would have gotten the exact same response out of EITHER of my kids if THEY had scored the jackpot prize of getting to sleep with mom.

I lay down on my side of the bed and attempted to read my book.

My quiet reserved father was suddenly chatty.

“So…” he asked, “What are we doing tomorrow?”

I gave him a brief rundown of the plan.

“Ok!” he said brightly, “And where’s your mother?”

THAT question again?

“DAD.” I reprimanded, “IF you’re going to lie here you have to be quiet”

“OH, alright.” He said and was blissfully silent for all of 10 seconds when his feet suddenly got itchy and he decided to roll them both back and forth up and down the bed in alternating succession.

That’s when he got evicted.

Dad reluctantly hobbled down my mom’s hallway and off to his own bedroom.  And I rolled over in what turned out to be failed attempt #1 of sleep.

It was a long night.  Each eviction and subsequent sleep attempt was quickly succeeded by another innocent plea and bargaining attempt by my father.  He didn’t have very many arguments but reverted to the same two lame attempts at reasoning

1.  I ALWAYS sleep here.

2.  I’m lonely.

One of which was an outright lie, the other of which broke my heart.

It was an interesting exercise in morality; balancing your innate need for sleep, your own guilt and compassion, and this engrained disturbance by the whole situation.  I toyed with the idea of going to sleep in the basement or up in Toby’s room but had also promised Mia that I’d be in grandma’s bed when she woke up.

By 4 am I finally heard the sweet sounds of his cacophonous snoring and I knew I was safe to sleep.  I closed my eyes, settled my brain, and lay there.

 Silently. 

Wide awake. 

 As I puzzled over the fact that I was not immediately sleeping I realized that every muscle in my body was tense and my brain was on high alert.  I supposed this is what one would classify as a natural response to having a wandering octogenarian with dementia intent on sleep cohabitation in such close proximity.

I’ll tell you one thing: if I were a cave man I would have survived; I have a solid alert mode.

I supposed I did doze off eventually, after the repeated shots of middle-of-the-night-wake-up-adrenaline wore off.  I slept just long enough to make my daughter’s 7 am arrival one of pure agony.  I managed to stave her off with the ceremonious handing over of the ipad and rolled over for a few more minutes of sleep. 

Twenty minutes later I was again woken by a little voice,

“Lyssie?!?” said my father

Good god he was up again.  My fight or flight response was back in full swing.

“What are YOU doing here?” he asked with kindness and genuine excitement to see me.  Clearly our recurring conversations in the night had long been forgotten.  He was so happily surprised to see me that my sleep-deprived grogginess was overturned with a sense of adoration for my poor old dad.   

The sweetness of the moment was quickly tempered by the addition of his familiar clause,

“And WHERE’S my darling wife!?!?!”

Here we go again…sleep be damned, it was time to get up for the day.

Not all changes are good changes, but not everything is entirely bad.  In many ways watching my dad’s dementia progress is like the reverse of watching my kids grow up; the days and months march on, marked by mini losses of his abilities and contrasted starkly by my kids acquisition of new language and skills.  But just as time unveils for me the true characters and likeness of who my children are, so too does my dad’s sweetness emerge; a side that he never really let out before.  And we greet both milestones good and bad with the same familiar statement which highlights what it means for all of us:  How fast time goes.   How quickly they change.   How precious this time with them is.

“Enjoy every second” the old ladies at the grocery store say to me “It will be over before you know it.”

Generational Traditions

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I’ve mentioned to you before about the many childhood weekends I would spend at my Grandparents house, eating meals around the Formica table and playing cards until all hours of the night with my beloved Grandma.  Almost every story about them revolve around some sort of mischief my grandmother and I would get into that would culminate in one of us me rolling around on their ugly brown rugs, laughing so hard we could barely breathe.

My grandfather’s role in these weekends was that of best supporting actor.  He forever played the straight man for my grandmother’s various antics and served as the voice of reason for our late night endeavours - with the exception of the KFC surprise night, of course.

There was another side to my strict and practical grandfather, though, that came out each night at bedtime.  Perhaps in an effort to quell the stimulating effects my grandmother had had on me all day, or maybe just to show me affection in his own unique way, my grandpa would tuck me into the blue bed a the end of the hallway and then sit down and play the organ for me until I fell asleep.

I can remember clearly the thin, peely, blue duvet cover and the tiny crack of light that would stream through the bedroom door; I always insisted he leave it open a crack so I could be sure to hear him play.

I have no idea how long he would play for, but I remember the calmness and sweetness of those moments, lying perfectly still, trying desperately to stay awake so I could hear his organ playing until the very end…

I am happy to report that the grand piano that I bought on kijiji has made its way safely to our new house and has now since been exposed to the more sophisticated works of Beethoven and Chopin (in addition to the occasional round of Old MacDonald Had a Farm, of course - -a classic is a classic…)

Seeing as it is in the very front open room of our house, its majestic sound echoes through every crevice and room of our house when it is played.  I don’t think I’ve ever played something with such a gorgeous sound, but having young kids around means limiting my playing time to be that of awake time…when the kids are both preoccupied and not in need of my attention…which doesn’t amount to much! I often play for them on weekend mornings while sipping my coffee, or after dinner when we feel like dancing to some music.  Tonight, I tried a new technique

As I was putting Mia down for bed I asked her if she’d like me to play her a song while she went to sleep.  She thought that sounded like an EXCELLENT idea, but knowing Mia it was probably just a calculated scheme to get to stay awake later…Toby thought it was a good idea, too and even suggested I start with Chopin’s Raindrops Prelude because it was raining out.

I sat down and played Chopin’s Raindrops prelude to the quiet darkness of a house post bedtime with the soft sounds of the rain in the background.   I finished the piece with a pause before I heard in the background the sounds of Toby holding his breath from the top of the stairs.

“Mommy…” he whispered cautiously, “Could you please play me something else?”

I was so touched by his enthusiasm that I neglected to reprimand him for being out of bed.

“Sure, honey” I responded, “What else do you want to hear?”

“Ooh…BEETHOVEN.” He said, “One of the ones that go LOUD and then SOFT.  And THEN I want to hear the Moonlight sonata.  Cause it’s night time and the MOON is out…”

It was JUST what I was in the mood to play.

As I was about to sit down and play my son’s sweet requests he whispered one last thing to me,

“Mommy…” he said (still at the top of the stairs…he is a master bargainer, this one…)

“Yes, Toby” I said from the piano bench

“…. I just wish you could play for me all night long.” He said in the most earnest and genuine way possible.  “I just love listening…”

As I sat down to play my son some Beethoven to fall asleep to, I was overcome with happiness and contentment at the ingenious the circle of life.

For the first time in a long time I thought of my grandfather.  I have such fond memories of his organ playing, but was suddenly hit with a new appreciation for it, seeing it now from the other side.  I don’t know if he knows how much I enjoyed it, but I sincerely hope I thanked him enough for all the hours he spent playing for me, and I hope I did so with the same unadulterated excitement that Toby now has for mine.  I’m so thankful for the good, simple things in life that can be passed down from generation to generation…

Kijiji and Me

I have made many amazing discoveries on Kijiji.  I have bought everything from a snow blower, to used kids toys, to tickets to TFC games on the site.  Even Zack (our dog) came from kijiji.  My kijiji obsession has saved me countless dollars, fostered a plethora of unlikely friendships and taken me on some interesting road trips across Southern Ontario. 

It always starts with a casual thought; “Hmmm…wouldn’t Rob love it if I surprised him with a snow blower for Christmas” or “Mia’s getting to the age where she might like a real doll house."  Even “I think our family might be ready to get a dog…’”

The passing thoughts are then followed by a bedtime “quick look” on my iPad followed by a harmless response to one or two adds.  

And then I’m on a mission.

These missions USUALLY culminate in one pivotal moment when I’m hooked and declare THIS VERY __________ (insert current kijiji item of obsession) as the VERY BEST one in ALL of Ontario.  And I then need to buy it INSTANTANEOUSLY before ANYONE ELSE discovers it.  My causal search then takes a nose-dive into frantic.  The very last step in my lunacy culminates in a very responsible text to my husband “I’m going to be late tonight.  If I don’t come home give this address to the police.  I’m off to buy a ______!!! (Fill in the blank)

At first Rob wasn’t all too thrilled about my texts.  The first time, just as I was about to ring the doorbell to see the set of kids’ skis I so desperately wanted, he called me and demanded to know where on earth I was and what the hell I was doing. I reassured him that I was in a suburb in the middle of Horseshoe Valley with very poor cell phone service but I would call him as soon as I had my hands on the most PERFECT pair of used skis for Toby.

He has since gotten used to my spontaneously creepy warning texts and has chalked it up to one of the many thrills of being married to me.

I think.

I have also met some very kind people on my kijiji quests.  Buying Rob a snow blower for Christmas one year when I was 8 and a half months pregnant was particularly memorable and stands out in my memory as one of my greatest purchases, one of my MOST poorly thought out plans and one of my greatest feats of pregnancy.  (Which says a lot when the grand finale of the whole thing is to expel an 8-pound child out of…) 

I digress.

  The 80-year-old man who sold me his snowblower took one look at my belly and then very kindly offered to call his daughter over to help us move it into my car.  I don’t know how I had THOUGHT I was going to hoist the 500-pound machine into the back of my Rav 4.  All I knew was that I had to get it home by 5pm so that I could hide it before Rob got home.

The man’s daughter had a broken leg but she pulled her weight better than the old man and my bulging belly.  Between the three of us invalids, we managed to get it in the car and he even gave me some blood stained blankets he had lying around in his garage so that it didn’t scrape up the back seat of my car on the way home.

I didn’t ask.

This week I went on one of my favourite kijiji missions ever: I bought our family a lovely baby grand piano.

I have been looking around for a while and had my eye on this one in Barrie for quite some time.  As all things go with kijiji and me there came a day (which happened to be this Monday afternoon) when it suddenly clicked and I could wait no more.  I called the owner and arranged a STAT visit.  I phoned a moving company who promised to deliver it the very next day (assuming I bought it) and I left work early to head out on the road to check out my latest discovery and seal the deal.

I took one step into the man’s house and knew instantly that this was the piano for us.  It was gorgeous.  The man was a violinist.  I bonded with him for the first 15 minutes as we talked about music and sound and pianos and acoustics.  I felt the need to prove to him that I was worthy of his beautiful and beloved piano and we shared countless stories of our mutual love of music and piano and he admired my ability to play the French horn and I marveled at his ability to play the violin.

He made a big show of opening up this beautiful piano.  He raised the huge black mahogany lid and lit the candle-like light that stood on top of it.  He pushed the pristinely polished black leather bench forward and then ushered to me with a graceful hand motion.

“It’s yours.  Play.”

After all that build up, I put my bag down, rolled me sleeves up, sat down and positioned myself on the bench.

I had forgotten to bring my music.

He looked at me expectantly.

Being a mom of young children, there is only one song I know by heart.

I put my head down, lowered my hands onto the beautiful keys and began to play.  And soon the beautiful baby grand piano filled his house with the sweet sounds of….

Old MacDonald Had a Farm.

I played it first at Middle C.

Then I played it up a few octaves to try out the high notes.

Then I played it down a few octaves to try out the low notes.

I am QUITE sure that the man, at this point, thought I was a complete LUNATIC, trying out the various cadences of Old MacDonald on his big fancy grand piano.

If I had anyone I knew well with me I could have made a joke of it,

“And now the SCARY VERSION” I could have said before playing it on the low notes.

“And now the FAIRY VERSION!!” before playing it on the high notes.

But I couldn’t.  This man was far too sophisticated for that kind of joking.  And I was about to make far too large of a purchase to do so without testing out each and every key, even if it meant having to play Old MacDonald 6 times in 6 different octaves in order to make sure I hit every note on the piano at least once.

My testing complete, I was happy to say that each and every key on that lovely grand piano worked quite nicely and can adequately carry the tune of Old MacDonald Had a Farm.

My children will be pleased.

As for the lovely owner of the piano, I'm not so sure... he accepted my cheque with tears in his eyes.

He’s a kijiji novice, apparently.

I promised to send him a picture of his piano once we had it in our house.  He nodded silently, still probably wishing the last few notes he had heard out of his baby hand't been "e-i-e-i-o".

Perhaps if I had been a wee bit more prepared and actually taken some music with me I could have avoided the embarrassment of my Old MacDonald playing.  But that’s part of the excitement of my kijiji buying.  You just never know where or to whom it’s going to take you next.  I’m already looking forward to my next adventure…

A Trip to Loblaws

Does the title of this post seem redundant and ominous?  It is…feel free to stop reading right now if you would prefer not to relive the mistakes I have previously made.  Or go ahead and read along and shake your head at me thinking “WHY DOESN’T SHE LEARN!?!??”  I did the same thing to myself on my way home.  It wasn’t IKEA but it was an adventure nonetheless…

 I once again found myself again in Toronto this weekend with both kids and my dad and a full day to fill.  Rob was watching soccer and Mia was napping and I thought, “Hey, why don’t I give you a peaceful hour or so to yourself and take my dad and Toby shopping at Loblaws”…

Is this starting to sound familiar?

Not to worry- this would be NOTHING like our last excursion to IKEA.  I am a well seasoned shopper at the Loblaws at St Clair and Bathurst.  I know exactly where to park, where to drop dad and Toby off so they can see me the ENTIRE TIME that I am shopping, and where to buy them coffee and a muffin while they watch me.  In fact, the last time I shopped with them there happened to be free face painting and cake.  I don’t know what they were celebrating but we all had a good time.  The members of previous excursion who could remember such were VERY keen to return.

And so I set out, loading an excited 6 year old and an eager 87 year old into my car; we were off for another great adventure with visions of free cake and face painting dancing in our heads.

As soon as we got to Loblaws it was all wrong.  Where was our favourite parking spot?  What happened to the little bakery that sold coffee and muffins right at the entrance?  And WORST of all…WHERE was the RAILING that let people from the upper floor café WATCH the shoppers?!!?   This was the most devastating change.  My ability to shop with my crew hinged on the fact that they could both see me at all times.  I enjoyed my false sense of freedom to shop and roam around on the understanding that I would look up, smile, wave enthusiastically and shout “HELLO UP THERE!” every time I put something into my cart.  Toby and dad would always return an equally enthusiastic smile, wave and incoherent shout and then I would carry on to the next item on my list.  My railing of freedom had been replaced with a BRICK WALL, painted a modern colour of brown and accessorized with a baby grand piano in front of it.   The smile, wave and shop game came to a quick halt.

It was with a sense of horror and impending doom that I suddenly realized WHY there had been free cake and face painting the last time I was there.

THEY WERE CELEBRATING THEIR UPCOMING RENOVATIONS.

When your convoy consists of an 87 year old with dementia and an anal 6 year old with an impeccable memory, changes do NOT work in your favour.

I put on a cheerful face and tried to make the best of the situation.  No, they would not be able to get muffins but there were CROISSANTS and COOKIES at this new bakery.  And no, they could NOT watch me shop, but there were lovely big windows so they could watch all of the action on St Clair which (perhaps???) was more exciting than watching from above as I chose bananas.

My suggestions were met with skepticism.

Maybe one of them would like to play the piano?

The skepticism was soon accompanied by a displeased arm crossing.

I left the two of them sitting by the big windows and promised to come back with some sort of baked delicacy shortly.  I decided my best approach was to do a staggered shop.  (Was this even allowed?!?!)  I grabbed a cart and did a mad dash through the produce section.  I looked like a crazy woman, grabbing fruits and vegetables, throwing them into the cart un-bagged, and unexamined.  I got what I thought was about 50% of my list before going back to this new FANCY bakery and ordering them each a drink and a treat.  I settled for these extra large chocolate chocolate chip cookies, a coffee for dad and ludicrously expensive lemonade for Toby.  I left my cart by the bakery’s unimpressed barista and raced up the stairs to find my boys.

I have never been met with such a welcome before.  “Oh, Lyssie, thank GOODnes…” dad said, “I thought you weren’t coming back!”  I gave them each a hug.  They both agreed that the uber large chocolate chocolate cookies were adequate stand-ins for the muffins and greedily grabbed their drinks and set to work devouring both.  I listened patiently to their tales of the adventures on St Clair Ave and then told them I would be back shortly after I had finished my shopping…I promised not to be gone for long…

On the stairwell I transformed back from attentive caregiver to mad-crazy-don’t-think-I-won’t-push-you-over-if-you-get-in-the-way-of-my-cart-shopper and hit the meats and frozen foods section.

I got ALMOST everything on my list and was heading to check out when suddenly I got the innate maternal sense that my boys needed another check in.  So I left my cart strategically located in the dog food section (because it was the least populated) and raced back upstairs for a quick check-in before heading to the checkout.

Rounding the corner at the top of the stairs I was met by a very solemn Toby (who now felt the chocolate chocolate chip cookie had been TOO large and was upseeting hi stomach) and a very EMPTY table by the window.  Where the HELL had my father gone?!?!?

“Papa had to go to the bathroom.”  Toby said matter-of-factly and then pointed down the looooong hallway to the bathrooms. 

He hadn’t gotten far.

There he was, without his cane or his wheelchair, holding onto the side of the lovely, modern brown-painted-brick WALL, hobbling himself towards the men’s washroom.  I raced over to him and promised to get him his wheelchair.  Those 50 feet he walked unassisted in his desperate quest to get to the washroom was probably the most amount of exercise he has had in years.  I quickly rescued him with his wheelchair and got him the rest of the way.

“There you go, Dad,” I said, wheeling him right up to the door.   “You go in and go to the washroom and I’m going to check on Toby.”

I raced back down the long hallways and found Toby sitting by himself at the table, working on his colouring book, still lamenting the fact that I had fed him TOO large a cookie and that it made his stomach hurt.

It could easily take my dad 20 minutes to tend to his business in the bathroom and suddenly my mind went back to my cart that was sitting unattended in the dog food aisle.  I couldn’t even conceive of the disaster that would ensue if someone stole my cart and I had to start again.  We would be here until next weekend at this rate.  So I decided I would take Toby with me, get the cart, and come back up to get my dad after he was done.

The Loblaws at St Clair and Bathurst is a LARGE store.  This was no small feat.

And so we returned 10 minutes later, cart and kid in hand, to find my dad patiently sitting in his wheelchair outside of the men’s washroom.

I went running over to him, “That was quick!”

The look on his face told me I was wrong, “I haven’t even BEEN yet!”  He said to me, “I couldn’t FIND the washroom!”

OH GOOD GOD.

So I took Toby and the cart back to the window and then went back down the hallway and this time WALKED my dad INTO the bathroom, PAST the urinals and directly INTO one of the toilet stalls.  I smiled to the man who was using the urinal on the way back out.

I had no choice but to sit and wait with Toby this time as my dad did his business.  Toby and I coloured 5 pictures, counted all the blue and red cars that went by and watched my ice cream melt as we waited for my dad to finish.

Finally I looked up and there he was, back in his wheelchair, sitting outside the men’s washroom.  Before I could get all the way down the hallway another man came out of the bathroom and was chatting to my dad.  I could tell he was being enlisted to rescue my dad from his predicament so I picked up my pace. 

Just before I arrived I heard my dad say to him, “Oh, THERE she is!  Thanks for your help!”  The man gave me a sideways look of disgust and carried on down the hallway towards the elevator.

“Oh, I’m SO HAPPY to see you!” my dad exclaimed, “I was just starting to worry that you weren’t going to come back for me!”

“Dad,” I said, crouching down, “I would never leave you.  I was just down the hall.  Now…what was it you said to that man?”

“I told him I didn’t know where my wife was!” he said triumphantly.

Oh, shit.  No wonder the creepy stare.

“And you do know I’m not your wife, RIGHT?!?!”  I clarified.

Dad thought this was REALLY funny. 

The look on the man’s face (who was waiting by the elevator when we walked back by) was NOT amused.  And it got even less amused when Toby cheerfully welcomed him back with a big suggestive, “Hi, Papa! How was the bathroom?" 

Why, oh WHY could I not have taught my kids to call him GRANDPA instead of the ambiguous ‘Papa’?

I swallowed my pride.  The worst of the hurdle was over.  My kid and my father were safe, toileted and fed and I had a cart full of the necessary groceries (including a now fully melted tub of ice cream).  I had one more hurdle and that was the checkout.

I am happy to report that checkout and delivering the groceries to the car went off without a hitch.  I returned to the men out of breath but with a great sense of accomplishment.  Dad rejoiced at the fact that I had (once again) come back for him and Toby joined in his triumph.  As I wheeled them out of the horribly changed Loblaws dad asked, “Where to next, Lyssie?!”

“How about a quick stop at the LCBO on the way out, “I suggested “I feel like maybe having a glass of wine when we get home.”

“Good idea!” dad said. 

And lo and behold, just as it always was, there was the LCBO right in front of us at the exit...At least Loblaws had the good sense not to change EVERYthing in their renovations...

The End of an Era

Today we got rid of Mia’s crib.  It wasn’t just your typical landmark transition from baby to toddler bed; this transition marked the end of an era for our family.

I bought this crib 7 years ago, piggy backing on the extensive research that Care put into cribs (for both of us newly pregnant moms at the time) and then hijacked a ride down to North York with her in her mom’s Toyota Highlander (the biggest, most extravagant care we could conceive of at the time) to pick them up.

We had a great day, driving to the random warehouse just north of Toronto.  We complained about pregnancy, contemplated the future and daydreamed about our babies together while getting lost repeatedly in the confusing world of North York.  It was absurdly funny; the kind of laid-back day I so naively took for granted back then. 

I remember picking out a pale oak coloured crib to match my pale pine coloured house at the time.  If ONLY I had known how much I would LOATHE light coloured wood by the time I was at the end of maternity leave I would have gone with the dark one.  I also remember passing up in the little kit they sold that converted the crib to a “day bed” for the child when they were old enough to transition to a real bed.

I wasn’t being cheap: I was being entirely practical.  My brain was having a hard enough time rationalizing the fact that I would soon need a CRIB for an actual BABY, let alone the fact that one day THIS baby and ALL of their potential siblings (and WHO KNEW how many that would be!)  would be big enough to no longer even NEED a crib.  It was kind of like trying to understand Einstein’s theory of relativity: it was mind-boggling.

“No, “ I said politely to the salesman, “I don’t think I will take the transition kit today…”

And now here we are, LIGHT YEARS later, after all of time and life has warped shape and some how transitioned itself (WITHOUT the transition kit) to the other side of infinity.

I made it.

WE made it.

I find myself now with a 6 year old and a 3 year old whom I couldn’t even imagine life without.  And my husband, who I have been to the moon and back with.  Whom I have weathered two labours, 2 maternity and 2 paternity leaves with.  With whom I lived in that little ICU room at sick kids for the two most grueling weeks of our lives.  My husband, whom I love exponentially more and in hundreds of different ways than I did that day way back when I naively embarked on this journey and bought us the crib.

I felt it was only fitting that it was with him that I dismantled this meaningful crib.   And as Rob and I started to take the crib apart he suddenly stopped, looked at me with knowing intensity and then asked the question that only my husband would think to ask in this great moment of transition and sadness and triumph,

“Uh..Lyss…do you remember if you screwed together the front of the crib or the sides of the crib first?  I think it is important to know which order it needs to be unassembled and then reassembled in…”

No, I did NOT remember.

“SERIOUSLY?” he answered. “You have a TERRIBLE memory.”

HOW had I forgotten (in the 7 years that has passed) such a VITAL piece of information?  Perhaps it was because I was deep in the depths of a pregnancy fog that has still not entirely lifted…perhaps because I was whistling and daydreaming to myself while I put the crib together…or maybe, hey, maybe I don’t REALLY pay attention to those sorts of details from SEVEN YEARS AGO.

I offered up some useful hints and practical suggestions, (none of which made up for the fact that I had carelessly disposed of more useful pieces of information) but somehow we managed (miraculously!) to get the crib apart and into the trailer.  And we’re still married.

There is a new little baby in the world that is now enjoying the comfort of a (very pale and slightly ugly) oak wood crib.  There is a little 3 year old who cries herself to sleep every night in the scary world of her new big girl bed.  And there’s a now grown up little girl who lies there at night, marveling at how quickly time has gone by and hoping it slows down a bit so she can cherish these moments, and all the transitions and joys that come with being a mom…

Toby, the crib's original member, on his first night at home...

Mia, slightly less neurotically swaddled, enjoying the crib in her first week

Thunder storm negotiations

Mia hates thunderstorms.  Ever since she was rudely awoken from her beauty rest one night, she has had an intense fear and hatred of them.  When one is lurking, or even mentioned on the radio, she seizes up with terror and sets about on a stream of frantic questions.

Tonight at dinner the sky was ominous.  It wasn’t raining yet but every now and then off in the distance  you could hear the faint sounds of rumbling thunder.  I talked loudly over the first few rumbles but on the third one she froze dead in her tracks.  Her head and torso paralyzed with fear, it was only her eyes that were able to swivel frantically towards me; she looked like a crazy haired chamelion.

“Uh….WHAT was THAT??” she asked, dropping her fork.

It was SO TEMPTING to ease her fears with a little white lie.  It would have made the rest of dinner and our evening SO much smoother if only we could have faked our way out of the impending storm.  One look at the darkening sky told me my idea was futile.

“I think it was thunder Mia…off in the distance…” (of course)

Mia’s first protective instinct is completely irrational and TOTALLY out of character for her (or ANY 3 year old for that matter…)

“I think it’s bedtime.” She said resolutely, still without moving her head or body at all.

It was 5 o’clock.

I went on to reassure her that it was NOT yet bedtime, that the room was dark because of the clouds and that we were all safe in the house where thunder and lightening couldn’t hurt us.

The idea of going straight to bed as soon as the storm arises is actually quite irrational seeing as the FIRST thing she does during a midnight storm is to LEAVE her bed (or crib) and come and find us before staunchly REFUSING to have ANYTHING more to do with her room.  I don’t get much sleep during thunderstorms…

Well…if she wasn’t allowed to GO to bed to AVOID the storm, her next step was to prepare herself.

“Tonight, Mommy, if there’s thunder I’m going to just come and find you in your bed.”

I want to be the kind of mom that is attentive to my children’s needs.  I love that she finds comfort in me and that I am able to ease her middle of the night fears, but this was my one and ONLY chance to argue my point in order to get myself a full night’s sleep.

“Or you could just stay in YOUR bed, Mia,” I began, “Because YOU know the thunder won’t hurt you but all of your babies don’t know that yet and they may want you to stay with them in your crib and tell them that it’s OK and that the thunder won’t hurt them.”

With another sideways glance of a chamelion, my wise 3 year old made it CLEAR to me that she could see through my feeble attempt at sleep preservation and sloughed my suggestion off without missing a beat.

“NO, my babies don’t need me.  They have ANOTHER mommy in the crib who will do that for them.”

Oh REALLY…and WHO was this other mommy?  I called her bluff.

“BIG Mommy.”

I was about to ask another question about Big Mommy when Mia hastily got down off her stool and ran to her bedroom.  She was gone a few minutes (presumably rearranging things?  Finding said ‘Big Mommy’?) and then rushed back to the dinner table after definitively SHUTTING her bedroom door behind her.

“Yup!” she said resolutely, “I had a talk with them.  NO ONE in my crib is scared of the thunder and BIG MOMMY is in there with them in case they get scared.”

Well, that’s one thing I can cross off of my worry list.

“So if the thunder comes tonight I will come and find you, RIGHT, Mommy?”

“Right, Mia.”

Sometimes it feels good to be needed.

Shania's Greatest Hits

Today was a rainy day in PEI.  We were all cooped up in the cottage with ‘nothing to do’ which quickly turned into multiple episodes of Franklin, a jigsaw puzzle trifecta, play forts in the bunk beds, rounds of mastermind and battleships, reading the newspaper on the ipad (s) and a Henry spa.

That killed an hour.

Slowly we adjusted our “on the go” vacation speed to slow and lazy rainy day speed and settled into the rhythm of jigsaw puzzles.  We had 3 on the go – a 20-piece Dora one, a 100 piece Harry Potter one and a 1000 piece PEI landscape one.  Can you GUESS who was doing which one?

While all this was going on, Rob decided some music was in order and turned on the CD player to the one of 5 CDs they had left for us at the cottage: Shania Twain’s Greatest Hits.

Some of you may groan at the idea of country music; some of you may launch into song at mere thought of one of her catchy tunes; some of you may smile at our patriotism.  But I bet none of you get that gut wrenching nauseous feeling as the memories of the Sick Kids ICU comes flooding back.

Shania, as some of you might remember, was what we listened to, ad nauseum, in Toby’s ICU room.  All because one day, for one brief second, our ventilated, unconscious and perilously sick 10 month old tapped his foot to the tune of “Man I feel like a Woman”.  It was the first sign of life we had seen from him in days.  It was the first glimmer of hope we had received in our long and arduous journey.  It was a sign we all desperately clung to until something more tangible was available.

We played song after song hoping that Shania’s voice - whatever it was he liked enough to tap his little 10-month-old toe to – would continue to lift him and us out of the dark hole we were in.

At the time I found the music uplifting.  I remember people writing to me on our care page about listening to Shania at home and thinking of us; I remember Natalie typing out the words to “From this Moment” and noting how applicable it was.  In addition to my hopeful visions of getting Toby off of life support, taking him home, watching him recover enough to eventually take his first steps and then grow up healthy and unharmed from his arduous stay, I also envisioned myself writing to Shania and thanking her for her inspirational and uplifting music.  I imagined her writing back to us and giving us free tickets to a show that I would take a healthy, much older version of Toby to before dragging him back stage to thank her personally for writing a song that inspired him to tap his little toe and offer his desperate mom, dad and grandma that small glimmer of hope we so desperately needed that day.

We did get home.  He did recover.  And he did take his first few steps shortly thereafter, but not to the beat of any Shania Twain.  Removed from the desperation of our Sick Kids ICU room, I suddenly wanted nothing more to do with anything we had just been though.  I just wanted normal life.  I didn’t need reminders.  Every Shania song to me was nothing but a souvenir of being in a place I did not want to remember.

Have you ever been in a place that was so abysmal that it caused you to reflect longingly on the past and frantically on the future, impatient for it to come and rescue you from your current situation? 

Have you ever been in a place where your ONLY solace was a Shania Twain CD?

It’s not that I haven’t heard her since.  Every now and then a familiar one comes on the radio and before I get too far into my dark fantasy I find myself switching the station.  It’s automatic.  I’m like my own emotion regulating DJ.  It’s just never a ‘convenient time’ to be driving around in my own private therapy session.  It’s for this reason I put her greatest Hits CD in the back of our CD console one day.  Life has moved on. 

And then today, on some rainy day in a cottage on the coast of PEI, we come face to face again as my husband naively and cheerfully puts her CD in the player and cranks up the volume.

“OH…” I say as my stomach flops upside down and my hand reaches, from the other side of the cottage, for the imaginary ‘off button’.  “This CD…”

Rob looked at me puzzled.    I looked at him with equal measures of puzzled amazement.  Oh the bliss of a bad memory.

I reminded him of it and he gave an “Aha!  Oh, yes THAT!” that you would give to being reminded of a funny story from someone’s wedding.

And so we listened to Shania.

At first, I paid close attention to every word and was reminded of something different each time a different song came on.

But here’s what I learned from taking a walk down memory lane today in the safe place of serene PEI in the presence of the 3 (fantastically healthy) people that I love the most:

1.  It is much, MUCH more normal to dance to “Man I feel like a woman” with your daughter than your son.

2.  In hindsight, it seems kinds of creepy that I DID dance to “Man I feel like a woman” with my 10-month-old son.  Why did no one point that out to me?

3.  Not EVERY song on that CD is tarnished by a memory.  In fact, MOST of the CD isn’t all that applicable to where we were.  Like, “Whose bed do your boots lie under?? “ What could I have POSSIBLY found to relate to with that one??? And “You’re invited to a party- a party for two.”  That was CLEARLY not about an ICU room party. 

4.  Time heals all wounds.

5.  Despite all the good AND the bad associated with it, Shania Twain is a pretty amazing Canadian artist.

6.  A crystal ball might have been nice.  If only I could have seen us all dancing together while the rain poured down around us.  Our family of four.  Our health.  Our happiness. Our love.  I don’t need to see any further into the future, but I could have done with a brief glimpse of today during those dark days at Sick Kids.

I guess that’s what faith is.

I close with the words to the most poignant of her songs that still send a shiver up my spine.  I suppose it’s ideally suited to a wedding, but I decided today that I’d take this song with me – no matter how much time passes, this will always be the song that symbolizes my bond and promise to my son.  But I’ll leave the rest of them behind.  Especially “Man I feel like a woman”  -- someone else can have that as a “theme song.” 

From this moment

Life has begun

From this moment you are the one

  Right beside you is where I belong…. from this moment on.

 From this moment, I have been blessed.

 I live only for your happiness

And for your love I’d give my last breath

 From this moment on…

Our PEI Reprieve

This summer we took our family trip to PEI.

We decided on some place simple that didn’t involve a prolonged flight or significant time change.  What we wanted was a real chance to relax.  What we needed was some time to just simply be together as a family.

The build up to these short 8 days has been immense.  While all of the chaos of house buying, year ending, moving, summer planning and nanny hiring went on around us, we went to the mere prospect of this trip as our happy place.  

Two weeks - we’d remind ourselves.  Two weeks and we will step away from this all and just be.

Whenever I found myself anxious or stressed at work I would advance my day planner ahead a few weeks to the yellow blocked out weeks of our vacation and take a deep breath.

Soon.

And now here we are.

As it often is at life, when we place all of our expectations into one singular outcome, the results are often disappointing.  As we launched off into the air in our small Air Canada Express airplane I prepared myself for this.  I said a silent reminder to myself to accept whatever the PEI trip and experience became for what it was.  But I also hoped with all my might that it would offer us the reprieve we so badly needed.

I sit here tonight on the deck of our modest cottage, sipping a glass of red wine, breathing deeply the salty sea air and I am moved to write.

PEI has not disappointed.  It has not only granted me the serenity I imagined, but it has unearthed in all of us an innate sense of belonging and recognition we didn’t even know existed.

                                                                               
                             It is majestic in its simplistic and rugged beauty. The lifestyle is simple. The people are kind.  The food is fresh.   The land is uncrowded and the houses unpretentious.   The music is joyous, and the air…you can smell the wholesomeness of the sea salt as easily as you can see its crazy effects on my curly hair.

At first I just imagined this to by my happy place, but soon realized that the feeling was mutual.  This omnipresent contentment was solidified on a drive out to Malpeque Bay earlier this week.  We were driving in silence with all the windows open and the cool air blowing our thoughts around in our heads when Toby’s singular statement summarized perfectly what we were all thinking.

“I like it here…” he said to all of us and none of us at the same time, “It’s even better than Disney world.”

I pressed him a bit on this out of curiosity.  WHAT exactly was better?  We had no organized day trips – just lounging days at the beach. There weren’t any fancy restaurants – just last minute jaunts to the fish market or the lobster suppers we attended.  We hardly watched TV but opted for late night swims or one of the millions of board games that were at the cottage.  (My kids even learned how to play twister!)

“Well…” my 6 year old tried to put to words exactly what I had been thinking all week, “There’s nothing I can think of…you just don’t have to be DOING anything here to have fun.  It just is."

Tonight when I tucked him into bed I asked him what he loved most about the trip.  His answer was one long run on sentence.  I concluded with a question about what he most looked forward to about going home.

He stared at me blankly. 

“I just kind of wish we lived here” was all he came up with.

Ironically, this is the very same conversation Rob and I had had the night before.

I reminded Toby of the million and one things we love about Collingwood, family, and friends back home and it wasn’t long before he was imagining play dates and anticipating how he was going to summarize his trip for his grandparents.

There’s something about this land that sneaks into your soul.  Or maybe it has been hidden inside of us this whole time.  Either way, I know we are all coming back from our excursion a little more connected in a way none of us can put into words.  We are also a little blonder, a little browner, a little quieter and a little calmer.   And a little more inspired to translate the quiet peacefulness of vacation and PEI life into our own life when we return.

Fingers crossed….

    I found this shell on our last day - must be a sign :)