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.