Our European Vacation in Numbers : A la Randy Gangbar!

 # of Hours it took to reach destination : 20

# of Hours Mia slept on the 7 hour plane ride : 6.5

# Hours Daddy slept on 7 hour plane ride : 6

# Hours Toby slept on 7 hour plane ride : 0.4

# Hours Mommy slept on 7 hour plane ride : 0  (too excited)

# of minutes we had to get from the airplane, through customs, pick up our luggage and board the train to Aix-En-Provence : 75

# on Mommy’s anxiety scale out of 10 : 9.5

# of Espresso coffee’s Mommy mistakenly ordered before boarding the train : 3

# of Pain au Chocolat consumed on train ride : 3

# of days Mia went without Pain au Chocolat for breakfast while in France : 0

Mia quickly adapted to the French Breakfast

# of bedrooms in the Villa we rented : 4

# of different activities for kids : 6

# of Guests we had visit us in the South of France : 5

# of bottles of wine Belinda brought :  12

# of Hours it took Rob and Toby to get to the Semi Final game of the Euro 2016 : 4

# of goals by Griezeman they witnessed : 2

# of terrorist attacks that occurred at the game : 0 (PHEW!)

Time Toby got home that night : 2am (!!)

# of times we held “the Olympics” in the South of France : 2

# of times Toby made it to the  finals of Ping Pong : 2

# of Times Toby won the finals : 0

# of times Sav engaged in Ping Pong : 0

# of events other than ping pong : 8

Toby : slightly obsessed and quite good at Ping Pong

# of items on our “Scavenger Hunt” Through the surrounding small towns : 11

# of actual cats spied on the hunt :  5

# of one eyed cats spotted  : 1

# of hours Rob spent rummaging through the pool shed : 1

# of inflatable pool toys Rob discovered :  10

# of inflatable pool toys Rob discovered that did NOT have a hole in them : 0

# of Rainbow flutterboards found in the pool shed : 2

Jeremy, participating in the High Jump at Olympics #2

# of Rats that jumped out of the pool shed and scared the shit out of Rob : 1

# of times Rob approached the pool shed again after the rat incident : 0

# of hours Doug spent working : >14

# of hours Doug spent sleeping : >36

# of times Doug spoke with a German Accent : 29

# of  people Doug shared his bed with : 2
# of times Doug has read my blog and probability of him getting upset with me for posting this : 0

Mia, going to wake Doug up one day at NOON when she got TIRED of waiting for him!

# of bug bites on Savita’s left leg : 12

# of Naps Savita was allowed to take : 0

# of times Toby cried after our friends left : 2

                                                                                      

# of daytrips taken to surrounding towns : 3

            (Aix en Provence, Cassis and St Croix)

# of different hats Mia sported on the trip  :4

Mia, in Cassis, sporting one of her many hats (this one being MINE!)

PARIS :

# of full days we spent in Paris  :1 (but we were there over 3!)

# of times the kids had crepes : 2

# of sites/monuments we saw : 9

# of steps we walked  : 26,000

# of flights of stairs we climbed  :63

Someone pooched out on the train after a LOOONG day on her feet!

# of stairs we climbed at the Arch de Triomphe : 187

Family Selfie atop the Arch de Triomphe

# of strollers we used : 0

# of strollers we decided to leave behind : 1

Good Bye Stroller!  You are not needed by this family anymore :)

LONDON:

# of hours we spent waiting to get on the Double Decker Bus Tour I talked Rob into going on : 1

# of times I was frustrated by GRIDLOCK TRAFFIC while riding the double decker bus Tour : 9

# of times we aborted the tour and decided just to walk : 1

# of times we had trouble then finding the bus stop to get back on it :2

# of times we almost missed the very last bus : 1

# of times we were in a bus accident on the double decker bus : 1

# of pints consumed (read : CHUGGED) while waiting for replacement bus : 2 (plus one Fanta by Toby who didn’t understand that when I said CHUG YOUR BEER! I did NOT mean CHUG YOUR FANTA!)

# of bus tours in our future : 0

# of University reunions attended :1

# of hours the reunion lasted : 12

# of friends who attended : 11

# of friends from Canada : 8

# of UK friends : 3

# of awkward Brexit debates : 1

# of discussions around The Babysitter’s Club : 8 (not quite as awkward as the Brexit discussion but POSSIBLY not as intellectually stimulating…)

Doug : Enjoying his first crack at The Babysitters Club

# of times James spilled red wine on himself : 1

# of photos taken at the photo booth : 24

# of secret notes left between Keira/Madison and Mia/Toby : 3

# of  times I have smiled thinking about how amazing it is to see the instantaneous friendship my good friend’s children and mine : hundreds

Mia, Keira and Madison : "Just how" we predicted they would turn out many years ago over a drink at Perfect House :) (??)

IN SUMMARY :

# of consecutive days Mia had chocolate and bread for breakfast : 10

# of countries visited : 2

# of friends we reunited with  : 16

# of pictures taken : 950

# of hours spentwaiting for our suitcases at Good Old Pearson Airport : 1.5

# of times I have felt gratitude and love for my 3 traveling and life companions : millions

Thankful.

Life changing moments

Rob and the Kids on the Last Day of School

This past week was a crazy one with the end of school.  Amidst the chaos of end of school gifts, last minute trip planning, hosting a surprise wedding in our backyard (true story) and wrapping things up at work, I noticed a small note on my calendar this past Friday: “Kindergarten Celebration of Learning: 1:45pm”.  Not quite early enough to be lunch time, not quite late enough to squeak in an afternoon office.  Yup.  My whole Friday afternoon was going to revolve around said celebration of learning.

Mia awoke on Friday morning her usual bossy self.   My eyes had not yet greeted daylight when they were loudly being instructed to LOOK DOES THIS DRESS WORK???? I was under the impression that they were all supposed to wear red and suggested that perhaps her neon yellow and purple attire wouldn’t exactly fit.  YES BUT HOW DO YOU KNOW WE HAVE TO WEAR RED.  Well, I got a text message from some system that her teacher uses to contact me with last minute instructions and the one last night said they were supposed to wear red.  And WHERE WAS HER RED DRESS THEN IF THE TEXT CAME LAST NIGHT.  Well, I supposed it was in the wash.  WHY HADNT I WASHED IT.  I think because the text just came last night and I am not superman.  I am not even super mom.  It was now 7:04 and I still hadn’t opened my eyes.

Mia was already storming off in a huff.

And so started the day that needed to be compressed all into the span of time that lies between getting miss Bossy-pants on the bus and arriving in enough time to the school concert that I could still get a seat.

Even my medical student, whose last day it was with me, knew on Friday morning that all goals of the day pointed towards ME arriving ON TIME to the St Mary’s Elementary school so I could celebrate the learning that was done in play based kindergarten.

We made it with 4 minutes to spare.

I was still feeling jittery and frantic when all of a sudden the lights dimmed and a song came on.  I don’t know who sang this song but they couldn’t have picked a better one.  I don’t even remember the words, but the cheerful tune with the right amount of twang and sentimentality sent me right out of work mode.

I watched my little girl in her red dress (10 points for me!) walk down the aisle, smiling proudly at all she had accomplished so far in her 5 years of life.

And all of a sudden, as she stood meekly on that stage, hiding behind the friend beside her and concentrating oh so hard on singing the right words while using the right actions, my big little red-dressed, bossy pants was suddenly not so big anymore.

Those legs – that boldly step onto the school bus every morning without a second glance looked suddenly so tiny up on that big stage.

Her impish smile from this morning was gone and I saw instead the roundness of her face from the baby fat that is still there in her cheeks.

I saw the dimples in her arms as she waved them around with the actions.

I saw how tiny her little toes are peeking out from her (clearly overused) indoor shoes.

Instead of her usual boisterous confidence that so terrorizes her older brother, I saw instead the innocence in her smile that has seen nothing bad yet in life.

And her all knowing self-assured aura dissolved as I saw the wonder in her eyes as she watched us clap and clap and clap for her.

As I watched my baby standing there on stage I saw her again, for the first time in eons, as just that:  my baby.

Sometimes life affords us pure, unaltered moments of clarity.

As I clapped for Mia and her class, I longed for this moment to go on for longer.   I longed suddenly for this stage of life to go on for longer.  Next year this celebration would be a “graduation”.  I knew I was a LONG way off from being able to handle that.

I am pleased to report that I have spent the last few months finagling my job in such a way that I can now be home more for the kids.  Not only do I now have the time to get them on the bus in the morning, I will also be there to greet them off the bus and accompany them on their after school activities.  It’s a juggle and a big change, but after seeing Rob do it so well this past year, I want nothing more than to “have my turn”.  As moments like this teach us, and as that crazy nosy stranger at Walmart has warned us "they grow up so quickly".  

And so next year is my year to embrace it all.  I don’t know how it’s going to go…but at the very least I suspect it will lead to more blogging opportunities...I’ll keep you “posted” :)

An Impromptu (and somewhat inappropriate) story time with Papa

We were packing up to leave my parents house.  No matter how far beyond the “baby stage” we get, packing up and leaving from ANYWHERE is ALWAYS still an involved process, a logistical multitasking shit show that involves at least one crying kid, one or two forgotten items and mass chaos, tempered only by the reassuring thought that a glass of wine awaits me at home….

IF we ever get there.

You would THINK this task would get easier as time goes on, but no, it doesn’t.  Clothes get bigger, demands get greater, car snacks get pickier, and you are faced with the option of remembering each and every stuffie the child has packed or facing the wrath of Beanie Boo Misfortune for accidentally leaving beloved creepy big eyed rainbow unicorn behind, tragically separating her from her beloved pink and purple coloured big eyed racoon mother named Roxie.  The horror, the horror.

Recently, our departures from my parents’ house have been complicated by my dad’s escalating anxiety; he doesn’t like to see people leave.  He ESPECIALLY doesn’t like to see family leave.  And the commotion of us packing up combined with the impending knowledge that SOMEONE is departing is just too much for him.  OH, the questions he asks…

On this particular occasion Toby was lying on the couch with a fever,  I was trying to pack snacks for the car ride, get both kids dressed with teeth brushed, load the car and entertain a bored Mia while simultaneously attending to my dad’s lamentations,

“Oh, Lyssie…!!!” he bemoaned “It looks like you are LEAVING ME!”

“Yes, Dad, that’s because we are going home today.”

“OH, NO!  Please stay!  Say as long as you can!  How long have you been here?”

“Since Friday”

“FRIDAY!  Wow!  Since Friday, eh?”

I run upstairs to get the toothbrushes as he yelled behind me, “What day is it TODAY?”

“SUNDAY!!!” I yelled down the stairs as I frantically made the kids beds and took one last look under the bed for any hidden Beanie Boos.

“OH, SHIT!” I heard him say from downstairs, “Sunday!  Why can’t you stay until TOMORROW?”

I rushed down to console him before he could pull any other words out of his vocabulary of “things-I-never-dared-to-say-until-I-had-dementia”

Mia, meanwhile was following me with a mysteriously big eyed fox under her right arm (HOW MANY HAD SHE BROUGHT!!??!) .  She was also holding a decrepit 1950s kids book that she had found in her room and demanding that I read it to her and Melanie the fox.

SUDDENLY I was struck with a brainwave.

“Mia,” I said earnestly, “I have to keep packing up the car but I BET if you took this book to Grandpa he might want to read it to you!”

It was either going to be a disastrous fail or the most brilliant example of “killing two birds with one stone” that I had ever come up with.

It could have gone either way, really, but much to my surprise, my father was accepting of his granddaughter’s request.  When handed a book, (APPARENTLY) he will read.  I honestly wasn’t sure that he still knew HOW to read.  But he did!  Yet another grandfatherly trait was unveiled.  And what a beautiful, normal moment my kids got to experience with him – sitting perched on the sofa beside and behind him, listening with rapt captivation to his voice.  My dad has a great voice for reading and for a moment I got lost in the memory of all of those who have benefited from his lectures – students, friends in his book club, classmates at Cambridge and UofT…he has read some of the greatest works of literature and now here he was reading…

I paused for a second

What WAS he reading to my kids?

“Jane soon befriended the little Indian girl from the forest, “Ahoy, Reface! ‘ she said as she stared at her loincloth…”

OH, Lord…It was clearly too late to change books now.  The kids (and my dad) were already quite engrossed in the story of Jane and the little Indian Girl and who was I to interrupt this perfect moment they were sharing?  Besides…I had a car to pack.

Soon enough, the care was packed; Jane and the Indian girl had become friends and were busy trapping wolves together when I finally decided to interrupt.  We said goodbye to my father.

“I’ll MISS you I’ll MISS you I’ll MISS you” he emoted as he kissed us each goodbye.

We waved frantically from the road and promised to return soon.

“SO….” I said, turning around in my seat as soon as we were on the highway, “Lets talk a little bit about that book Papa read to you…”

You’ll be glad to know that I DID explain to them that the term “Indians” is no longer considered polite and  that there are lots of “Indigenous peoples” who don’t actually wear loin cloths or have pet wolves but are meaningful people in society etc. etc.

I think the kids got it.

In fact, I KNOW that Toby got it. 

I know that because we had butter chicken and tiki masala for dinner.  And as I raised my well deserved glass of wine, the lingering memory of my dad’s impromptu story time still glowing in my memory, I toasted to a good weekend, a safe trip home, and a delicious Indian meal to come home to.

“Uh…. MOMMY!” my oh so perceptive and sensitive 8 year old pointed out, “PLEASE!  It’s called INDIGINOUS FOOD!

Not Just your Everyday Monopoly Game...

I have thought for a while now that I had no more good memories left to create with my dad.  This weekend was one of those weekends that proved me wrong – though challenging at times, I leave this weekend knowing now that I, and Toby especially, have new memories of my dad firmly entrenched in our brains.    I might go as afar as to NAME this weekend: The One in Which my Father Taught Toby How to Swear.

We had come down for the night to watch my dad while my mother ran a conference. She was home briefly to see then kids then off to host a dinner. This was particularly troubling to my dad who LIVES for any opportunity to go out for dinner; after she left I had a tough job keeping a disappointed “Why isn’t Grandma putting me to bed” Toby and a mournful “Why isn’t my beloved wife taking me with her out for dinner” father preoccupied from their respective abandonment.

After Mia was in bed and the baseball game was over I ventured into the basement to look through the old board games to see if I could find one of interest for the boys.  I came upstairs with an armful of old favourites but there was one in particular that caught my dad’s attention. “MONOPOLY!” he exclaimed, “I used to play that by the HOUR at the cottage”.  NB: this was WAY before my time.  My father was FAR too much of an intellectual to EVER play a game such as Monopoly with me when I had been a kid.  But he always tells the tales of long lazy summer days he spent (with my siblings) at the cottage playing Monopoly by the hour…

SO I called his bluff.

Of COURSE he was a willing play with us, he said excitedly, forgetting, temporarily about his beloved wife and his intellectual prowess.

I set the game up, explained it to Toby (and my now attentive father) and soon we were in the midst of a heated and VERY exciting game.

All set to go...

Toby loves any board game but I think his favourite part was watching my highly competitive and slightly disinhibited father take him on.  They duked it out.  They bargained over properties and rejoiced loudly whenever they got extra cash from Community Chest or were the first to land on a coveted property.  A few times my dad came dangerously close to rolling 3 sets of doubles in a row (which lands you in jail).  “OH BLOODY HELL!!!” He roared, much to Toby’s amazement.   Frequently, my dad actually DID get sent to jail, which was consistently met with an unabashed, “OH SHIT!” from his part.

Toby just about fell of his chair.

Normally, when someone swears in front of Toby we either admonish it or cover it up.

I decided that this time, JUST THIS ONCE, I was just going to let it go…at LEAST he wasn’t asking where Lynda was…

For a good 45 minutes I reveled in the absolute perfection of the moment; my dad was joyfully enjoying a very stereotypical moment of delight with his grandson; Toby was thriving in the right of passage of his very first Monopoly game; I was simultaneously managing to entertain my son AND distract my dad from his usual distress over my mother's absence.  Witnessing the enormous smiles and intense, genetically pre-programmed looks of competitive concentration on their faces is something I will not soon forget.

But it went deeper than that…I was also finally experiencing a part of my dad that only my brothers and sisters had been privy to; his unabashed, relaxed younger self who wanted nothing more than to spend an entire day relaxing at the cottage with a board game.  And Toby was seeing my dad in a whole new light - - for a brief time his Papa wasn’t the old man who constantly called out for his “beloved Lynda” but was a fierce competitor.  He was a rebellious swearer.  He was a FUN grandfather.

And then there was my dad, who, for one hour on this one particular evening, forgot that he was lonely and away from his wife.  He forgot to be anxious.  He forgot that he couldn’t remember.  He was living in the moment and truly appreciating being with us and playing a game as if it was the most typical of happenings.  For this brief moment in time I saw my dad and my son together as they should be – grandfather and beloved grandson – without the shadow of Alzheimer's marring their fun.

And THEN I asked him if he wanted to build a house on Marvin Gardens.

It seemed QUITE logical to me.  I mean, he DID own the yellow property monopoly and had a huge WAD of cash built up from landing on Free Parking twice in a row.

I got a look.

“Lyssie…” he scratched his head…"OH…I don’t KNOW!  How much is a house…OH…and WHERE do you want me to put it???  And where the HELL is your MOTHER?!?!?”

It unraveled from there.  Eventually the game was abandoned, Toby went to bed, and dad took comfort in eating bananas in the corner of the kitchen while he waited, impatiently,  for the return of his beloved wife.

I often remind my mother, when dad picks up a particularly trying new habit, that “this too shall pass.”   I just never realized before that it also now applies to all of good moments, too.

Guess who got Boardwalk and Park Place?  Dad was NOT happy!!!

Dad wasn't sure that having all 4 railroads WAS a good thing...that was before he realized he got $200 every time we landed on one of them...!!!

The Adventures of Baby Joseph : Part 2

Baby Joseph has been a part of our lives for a good 3 months now, and just as it is with any baby who comes into this world, we couldn’t imagine life without him.

Seriously.

Similar to how we have to find accommodations for the dog when we go away for a weekend, or a vacation, or even a day trip to Toronto, so too must we now find some suitable arangements for Baby Joseph.

Luckily, we have been blessed, from the  Christmas before last, with a Canadian Girl named Hannah.  Her birth name is “Adventure Girl” and she came with a compass and a diary, and a back pack, and some canisters of bear spray. But her main calling in life, as it turns out, is to be the guardian of baby Joseph.

I won’t lie to you – it’s a fairly easy job.  Baby Joseph does nothing but sleep in the same outfit and blanket he was Christened in at Grandma’s house on Christmas day.  Mia does not change his clothes, his blanket OR his hat.  But Hannah does.  And Hannah is OFTEN up at night with him.  I know, because Mia “laments” over her poor Adventure Girl’s  hardships each morning over her honey-flavoured yoghurt.
“Poor Hannah” she will say as she takes a big scoop of yoghurt and honey, “Baby Joseph cried ALL. NIGHT. LONG”

“Oh, dear” I will throw in as I frantically throw together lunches for the 3 of us while simultaneously coaching Toby at his spelling words for the week,

“Yes…” she will pause between mouthfuls, “AND she had to change his diaper THREE TIMES.  And he got sick. And had a fever.  And Hannah gave him some medicine.  But he had to sleep with her.  And then he threw up on her PILLOW but she washed it.  And now he is very sick so she will take him to the doctors today.”

“Wow.”  I chime in just to prove that I am a good mother and that I am listening.

“Could I have some raisin toast with cinnamon cream cheese?” she will then ask, just to drown the hardships of what her Canadian Girl doll had to face last night.

“Of course”

So you can IMAGINE that…now how shall I phrase this….it’s not that I don’t think Mia CARES about babay Joseph…but more so that I just implicitly TRUST in Hannah’s unique capabilities.

Hannah is TWELVE, I should mention.  Which is old enough to know how to write in a journal and hike in forests that are so complicated you need a compass.  And you CAN have your OWN baby by the time you are fourteen.  According to Mia, of course.

SO when our friends were over last weekend and Mia was having her own adventures in the big City with Grandma Lynda and her two deserving beanie Boos and caring for my Cabbage Patch Dolls Stephanie and Carmella, I didn’t think twice about telling our dear neighbor’s daughter that she could play with baby Joseph when she was visiting.  And when the time came for her to leave, I didn’t think it would be THAT big of a deal to let her take Baby Joseph with her to her house NEXT DOOR as long as she PROMISED to bring him back the next day. (Preferably, BEFORE Mia got home.)

It’s funny what a few glasses of wine can do to your memory.

Mia arrived home happy and refreshed and RAVING about Toronto and the subway and the symphony and the percussion instruments  and the cymbals and….

WHERE. On EARTH was BABY JOSEPH.

“OH…” I said, “Yes, well the little girl next door was over and she took good care of him and they were playing, so might I suggest you check in your playroom.”

As you can well deduce, he was not there. It wasn’t until she had unsuccessfully checked both the playroom, basement AND her brother's room that I suddenly remembered…

“Um…Mia…” I said sheepishly, “I totally forgot that baby Joseph MIGHT have actually had a sleepover next door last night..."

Miss Mia did not say a word.

Very calmly, and with an eerie yet tranquil silence she marched downstairs, into the mudroom and put on her coat.

A mother will do ANYTHING for their child.

I raced after her.

She had already arrived at our next door neighbours house and was knocking on the door by the time I caught up to her.

“Hello, Mia!” my dear friend announced at her unexpected arrival “How was the trip to Grandma’s house and the symphony????”

She got not a response.

“”Um…” I said awkwardly running up behind her, “We thought we’d come and collect Baby Joseph…!!!”

Good friends can take cues from even the subtlesest of body language cues.

“Oh, YES, of COURSE!” and she raced up stairs. 

Dear little, girl, however – - not so subtle.

“I took GOOD CARE of Baby Joseph! He was SAFE with me!” she announced from her highchair.

If looks could kill.

Mia grabbed baby Joseph out of my friend’s arms and promptly put her boots on before stomping back out the door.

I stayed for a bit to chat (of course) before heading home.

Arriving home, I was greeted by an ANGRY Mia who was vehemently SWEEPING the garage floor.  As I approached she dropped the broom, turned her back to me and MARCHED into the house, shifting towards me ever so slightly before slamming the door to deliver her message,

“NEXT time, I’d like it if you could ASK me FIRST.”

And so it appears that baby Joseph, despite his full time 12 year old nanny and unenthusiastic welcome into this world, IS indeed well loved.   And it ALSO appears that Mia has polished AND perfected her approach, not only to babies and little girls, but  also to dealing with unruly teenagers.

I sent myself straight to time out.
I

The Adventures of Baby Joseph : Part One

This past Christmas my mom decided she would buy my ever-maternal-baby-loving-daughter a unique one of a kind gift that she then did not yet have : a MALE baby doll.  Mia has about 30 little babies that she tends to regularly – changes their diapers, alternates turns sleeping with them, dresses them, bathes them and washes their hair regularly.  Apart from Kindergarten, she has another full time job of being a mom to MANY a baby.  But so far all of them have been girls.

Until there was baby Joseph.

My mom spent a LOT of time picking out the perfect baby boy for her deserving granddaughter.  I know, because amid the Christmas rush of my family and palliative practice, I had to sneak in regular trips to my iphone between patients and Christmas concerts to give my opinion on the latest “baby boy doll option”.  Eventually the very perfect, most anatomically correct and scarily lifelike baby boy doll was found, bought, and wrapped all in the span of one hypertensive patient and a pap test, and my mother has ever since had to revert to her usual day to day texts about dad’s bowel habits and funny facebook posts.

Eventually Christmas day came and the anticipation about the baby doll was palpable the minute we walked into my parents’ house.  We opened the usual suspects first- socks, underwear, clothes books and educational placemats.  And then, when my mother could stand it no more, the big looming box from behind the tree was brought forth and presented to my overtired, somewhat overwhelmed daughter.

She tore it open and then paused.

“Mia!  Wow! It’s a baby BOY!!!”  I exclaimed in a desperate attempt to spark some sort of life force back into my flaccid daughter while simultaneously trying to stop my mother from deflating.

“OH.” She said

“Yes, Mia, look!  He has a soother and diapers!!" added my mother in her own attempt at self preservation.

“Oh.” She said.

The happenings of Christmas 2015 are somewhat foggy in my memory but I believe something to the effect of this happened : Mia placated both of us by taking her new baby boy out of his packaging, wrapping him in a blanket and then putting him down in a corner to sleep before pretending to be engrossed in the wording of her new educational placemat.

I refused to even make eye contact with my mother,

“Well, of COURSE he’s tired” I said, as if this was the most normal reaction to the most very perfect-est gift ever, "Go give Grandma a hug and tell her how happy you are to have a baby boy doll.”

HINT HINT.

It wasn’t until I was putting her down to bed that night, after a long and overwhelmingly exciting Christmas day, that Mia finally confided in me the truth about her erratically out of character reaction to her new baby (BOY) doll…

“Mommy…” she whispered into the darkness, “I think I’m going to call him Baby Joseph.” She said as she cradled him in her arms.

“That’s an excellent name, Mia. “

“Mommy…” she said questioningly,

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“At first….I thought he was real….IS he real, Mommy?”

We’ve all been there – stunned into silence by the pressure of a single moment in time.  I could appreciate her innocent interpetation of years and years of us reiterating to her what a “good mommy” she was finally culminating in the awarding of a REAL baby.  Who just so happened to be…A BOY.

I got it.  I get it. 

I reassured her.

And unto us a child is born :  I present to you, Baby Joseph.

Toby : Now you are 8!

My dearest Toby, today you are 8!  You are facing your 8^th year with your usual mature excitement and unending quest to be older, better, faster, stronger. You certainly have high expectations of yourself – but you live up to them well.  When I look back on where you have come this year, I know you won’t be disappointed.

In grade 2 with several of your best friends, you have flourished.  Your ongoing love of math and your determination to read at higher and higher levels have served you well.  You are challenged each week with your spelling tests and although I don’t think you’ve EVER successfully gotten the bonus word correct I don’t think you’ve ever gotten a predetermined spelling word incorrect.

This year you’ve started taking piano lessons and you love them. You still love Beethoven but are discovering other artists as well.  I think your favourites right now are still Taylor Swift, Katie Perry and Lady Gaga…but we’re working hard to expand your tastes!

In addition to piano, you have also discovered a passion like no other...HAMBURGERS.  It started one day at the Beaver and Bulldog when, in your determination to prove that you could order from the ADULT menu, you ordered and ate an ENTIRE burger (with all the fixin's) all by yourself.   You LOVED and DEVOURED the ENTIRE thing...with the exception of half of the sauce and the multitude of crumbs that were in their usual halfhazard arrangement all over your face and hair when you were done...(You may be 8 but you are still just as messy as you were when you were 2...)  Since that time you have been on a perpetual quest to replicate that very first perfect burger.  And as for ordering from the kids menu...I think you've made your point! 

In Niagara Falls.  The burger was gone in 5 minutes flat.

At the Huron club - you finished all by the last bite!

...AND some evidence of your usual PIZAZZ -- WHAT A MESS!!!

Perhaps your greatest love right now is that of Harry Potter.  You and Daddy and I are reading the books and you can’t WAIT to read them.  Sometimes you insist on heading up to your bedroom before your set bedtime just so you can get some extra Harry Potter time in.  You are HILARIOUS to read to – you often cover your face, laugh out loud or sneak under the covers during the scary parts.  You are so grown up to be able to handle and understand the book…but it’s still nice to see little Toby in there who needs his Mommy’s arms to hide in during the scary parts.

You did your Grade 2 speech on Harry Potter and were incredible

And, as always,  you are an ever patient and loving big brother.  Granted, there are MOMENTS….but for the most part your true innate goodness and love for your sister shines through.  Even when she DOES usurp you on your birthday by causing last minute game changing plans due to sudden onset of fever – you still gave her half of your chocolate chip birthday muffin, despite it all….

You and your sister on our final night in Florida

Toby, you are kind, sweet, loving and full of life.  When we first met 8 years ago today I knew I loved you will of my heart…and as each year passes I know the reason why more and more.

You and your Grandparents on your birthday night...right after your hockey game, of course!

My little girl turns 5!

Today my baby girl turns 5.

FIVE!

I can’t believe it was only 5 years ago that you burst into our world, Mia!   That Toby instantly became a BIG (mature!) brother, that Rob became a daddy to his little sidekick and that I met you, “my” girl.

I said in that very first post (where I confessed that I had actually really WANTED a girl…DESPERATELY) that your name “Mia” was fitting because in Italian it means “Mine.”

What a crazy thing to say about your child.  Sure, they are “yours”, but no one owns anything, and if there is ANYTHING in this WORLD I wish to impart to you, my strong spirited, independent child, it is that NO one owns you.   You are your own person, paving your own way in life, learning from your own mistake and independently making and achieving your own dreams.

And from what I know of you already, Mia, you are doing nothing short of just that.

There is SO MUCH you have done this year- you’ve mastered swimming without a lifejacket, skiing independently,  reading, writing, playing hockey and even the routine of JK.  You take it all in stride and approach all these new challenges with confidence , optimism and your quirky sense of humour.

You are certainly your own unique person who is quickly carving their own place in this world and our family.

For example – our family (Daddy, Toby and I…heck, we can even throw in Grandma Lynda to boot – sorry mom) has not one iota of a creative bone between the lot of us.  But you love nothing more than to do art.  You draw, create, craft, glue, cut, invent and paint whenever you get the chance.  In fact, some Fridays when your poor little body and spirit is all worn out from a full week of JK and it takes every last bit of strength for you to walk from the bus to the house, if I lay out some sort of craft for you to do, you will reenergize in silence as you work away, and I can see the passion and spark for life reignite through your creative spirit.

You tell me regularly, “I am going to be an Artist, Mom.  You know why? Because I am VERY talented and I am a VERY good at art AND I LOVE to draw and paint.”

(I have no doubt you will be a very modest one, as well.)

One of my favourite moments of this year came around Halloween.  It had been a particularly long and challenging week for you and I decided that I should pre-emptively plan on having some sort of craft ready for you this particular Friday when you got home.   I managed to find a bunch of small white pumpkins at the grocery story and laid them on the counter.  When you and Toby got home I told you to both go downstairs to the craft cupboard and pick out whatever items you would like to use to decorate your own pumpkins.

Toby emerged immediately carrying 2 makers : a black one and an orange one.

You took your time.  I was almost about to come down stairs and check on you when I heard your determined steps coming up the basement stairs.  I could tell by the fact that you were taking each step one at a time that you were carrying QUITE the load.  Sure enough ,you were.  You emerged from the basement with a bucket of markers, glue, felt, glitter sticks,  Halloween stickers, tissue paper bits and scissors.

What on EARTH were you going to DO with all of that?!??! I nearly asked but stopped myself as I remembered your fragile end of the week self.  I kept my mouth shut and opted instead to merely observe the masterpiece you were about to create.

After 3 minutes Toby’s project was complete.  He only ended up needing to use one of his two markers; he painted his white pumpkin orange and declared the job done.

You, my dear, took your sweet time.  In complete silence, with your messy hair often dangling in the glue and a serious look of intense contemplation on your face you coloured, glued, cut, pressed, admired and ended up creating a pumpkin masterpiece.  When you were finally done you showed me what you had made : your white pumpkin was elaborately coloured (in non-traditional pumpkin colours, I might ad) and adorned with stickers and a felt cape which matched the “quilt” and “pillow you also made for it which was a patchwork of tissue paper scraps glued into what must have been a very meaningful pattern onto  a large and small piece of felt.

You carried this pumpkin and its lovingly made quilt and pillow around with you for months after Halloween ended.

Toby ended up using his orange pumpkin as a soccer ball later that very same day.

The other thing that defines you, Mia, is the mature, somewhat bossy, but exceptionally loving way in which you are a mother to your “babies”.  Adventure girl, Horsalina, Natasha and Baby Joseph are among your lucky kin and you take your responsibilities as their parent VERY seriously.  Every morning you are the first one awake at some ungodly hour that comes before 7.  (I don’t even ask anymore).  While the rest of us sleep away, you thoughtfully get your children up, dressed, fed and ready for the day, chatting and singing all the while to them in your carefree, happy morning way.  By the time the clock turns 7 and you have our blessing to come wake us up, you always enter voice first, recounting some humorous tale of the previous hour about how baby Joseph took his first steps, or how Adventure girl was up all night with a fever and you had to tend to her.

You want to be an  artist when you grow up but  your other deep rooted passion is that of motherhood.  I also know that you will excel at both.

And although your confident, independent approach to the world has me feeling guilty that I hastily and improperly labelled you as “mine”, I have to say, that of all the pleasures you have bestowed on me this year- - watching you flourish, mother and create, the thing that still makes me smile the most is the knowledge that for now, even though you are 5 going on 15, you’re our little Mia.  We couldn’t have asked for anyone better.