A Tale of Two Children

The other night, as Mia was stalling her bedtime, she found Toby sitting by the computer attentively watching the women's 100m final from the 2016 Olympics.

WHY was he watching this?  It’s a long story involving zoom calls, trivia nights, second place finishes and a little boy’s desperation to win.  I'll leave it at that.

The interesting part of this story was that neither kid knew I was on the couch reading my book and I got to overhear a completely unadulterated raw unedited version of what I would describe as a conversation that perfectly typifies each of my kids.

I will summarize it for you:

“Hey, Toby- what are you doing?” an inquisitive Mia whispered, hoping to remain undiscovered for as long as possible post- pyjama-donning-teeth-brushing.

“Shh….” whispered Toby, his face about 2 cm from the screen “I’m watching a race!”

“Ooh!  What race IS it?"

“It’s the women’s 100m final from 2016.”  He said without looking up

“What?  WHY are you watching THAT?” she asked

“BECAUSE,”  Toby pulled up a chair for her.  “It’s exciting.  Want to watch?”

Mia looked around and, finding no greater alternative, sat down hesitantly.

“OK.” She said, “Who are we cheering for?”

“Well I usually just cheer for the one I think is going to win” (Toby has a long standing problem committing to cheering for ANYONE until he knows for sure his loyalties will lie with the winner…)

“Well which one is THAT?” she wanted to know,

Toby wasn’t sure.  He hesitated and thought pensively for a minute.   It was a wee bit defeating to him that he couldn’t actually remember a MOMENTOUS event such as an OLYMPIC RACE.

Mia didn’t have time to wait for his verdict before exclaiming, “Well I’m going to cheer for DAPHNE.”

“Who the HECK is Daphne?” he asked, turning his attention away from the screen for the first time since she’d sat down

“The one in the really nice yellow shirt with the braids”

Toby snorted in disgust.  He could tell what SHE was basing her loyalties one.

He tried to change the subject

“Can you IMAGINE how NERVOUS the must all be?” he asked, putting his nose back up to the screen

“WHY?”

“Um...because they are about to run a FINAL RACE at the OLYMPICS in front of the WOLRD.” 

His voice rose as he spoke, his nervousness palpable

Mia had nothing to say to that and instead contemplated the line up.

“How do they decide what to wear, Toby?”

“I don’t know” (nor care...I’m sure he was thinking)
“do they HAVE to wear their hair in a pony tail?”

“NO idea, Mia”

“Ooh I like their SHOES!” she said as the camera panned out for the race to start

Toby rubbed his hands together nervously as Mia sat back,

Perhaps as a way to stop her from distracting her from asking any more silly questions or perhaps legitimately, Toby suddenly slammed his hand on the desk and announced that he had REMEMBERED who had won.

“Ooh is it DAPHNE!?!?!” Mia asked,

Toby said he was QUITE sure that it was not.

Mia was not easily deflated.  Probably because she didn’t AVTUALLY care.  Her allegiance to Daphne was based on a brightly coloured singlet and spanned a grand 2 minutes of her life.

“Well…” she sighed, “I hope she doesn’t come LAST.”

Toby, still trying to get at least SOME reaction out of her refused to relent, “I’m pretty sure she does, Mia”

She gave him a frustratingly nonchalant shrug.

The gun went of and Toby leaned even closer to the screen, the long awaited moment of anticipation (4 years later, for the second time) was upon him.  A full 10 seconds he had to wait for the exciting verdict.

And the winner was,

“HA!” Mia said, “DAPHNE WON!!! HOORAY DAPHNE.”

Toby was defeated.  Not only did his memory fail him but he had hedged his bets on cheering for basically anyone BUT Daphne.  Just when he was about to explode Mia asked, “How come they get sweaty for just THAT!?!?”

Toby opened his mouth and looked at her speechlessly. 

Their eyes met- Mia’s in earnest question, Toby’s probably trying to decide whether to answer or strangle her.

  Oh my poor competitive boy....one day your life will be easier having lived with your ever unintentionally-lucky-yet-competitively-challenged younger sister.  The lessons in patience she has taught you...

And with that thought I declared my presence and send them both off to bed...

So Long Old Faithful...

There has been much anticipation, calculated patience and great games of waiting but today  -FINALLY – after 2 years of decision-making – I handed in my RAV 4 for a nice new corporate car.

My RAV 4 was NOT In great shape.  Ravaged by years of post partum insomniac driving, late kindergarten arrivals to St Mary’s, long trips to Chatham and Toronto, a newborn, a toddler, a hairy dog that released his anal glands every time we arrived at a new destination, an intimate encounter with one yellow post, one deer and one flying wild turkey…this car has seen better days.

 “Um…. are any of the engine lights on?” the Toyota dealership asked as part of the appraisal process.  Yes.  All of them.  “Any current visible damages?”  Cracked windshield, multiple dents, rust corrosion on the back door from an unfixed accident.  “Non functional parts?”  Oooh just a few seatbelts and air bags…

They came back in from the inspection, despite being appropriately forewarned, professionally trying to stifle their laughter and offered me an amount that was purely based on pity.

Then there were the hoops – oh so many hoops.  A VIN and an RIN number.  A notarized piece of paper on my official corporate letterhead (which doesn't ACTUALLY exist) stating that I hereby allowed ME to apply for an RIN for ME.  Notarized, of course by someone who has enough digits behind their name to legitimately be able to verify that it was in fact ME allowing ME to apply for an RIN for ME.

Confused?

I will spare you further details.  Suffice it to say that what I thought might be an “OK! I’ve decided to buy THIS one!” turned into an agonizingly long process.  I even tried to shorten it by offering to take the model on the lot that we test drove.  “Sure!” they said, “Just do these 10 things first!” 

(All jokes aside, they were EXTREMELY helpful and efficient…but it’s just like when you have kind of had to pee for the past hour and then suddenly you find yourself legitimately  in FRONT of the toilet with the only barrier between you and comfort being the pants that you are wearing and suddenly you CANT WAIT the 5 seconds it takes you to undo your belt and button and lower them…)

I agree.

That was a weird example.

But you get my drift.

Despite all of this – TODAY WAS THE DAY!  I had it carefully planned out so that I could pick up my new vehicle after meeting #2 prior to meeting #3 and 4 with enough time for hospice rounding in between.  And, of course, a wee little intro joy ride with Rob and the kids somewhere in the middle.

“Did you have a name for the car?”  my Toyota dealer asked as he unceremoniously took the expired keys from my eager hands.

“Uh….NOPE!” I said, nonchalantly closing a chapter of my life in order to open the next one as quickly as possible.

I had time to admire the flawless, dentless, pristine car from a distance as I signed the myriad of papers.   I sat patiently through the hour-long tutorial on all of its new fangled systems.  I drove AND passenger-ed with the family on our tour to our friend’s houses and to a celebratory coffee at the Starbucks drive through (this IS still COVID times, don’t forget) and then I had a few solo trips to and from hospice and the hospital.

And so I sit here tonight, the long wait finally over, and I have but one emotion.

I miss my old car.

 The new one is clean and up-to-date and spotless.  But my old one had character.  It was the exact shade of blue that your grandmother would choose to colour her grey hair.  It still has paint remnants from the hospital posts and that CRAZY wild turkey that took it on at 100kmph on the highway to Wasaga.  There’s a red marker stain on the back right hand seat from Mia’s artistic prowess and a carpet stain on the other side from Toby’s carsickness.    The trunk is still speckled with Zack’s impermeable dog hairs.

It’s not often that life makes you stop and think about how far you’ve come in the span of a mere decade.  Day to day, life inches along at a seeming snails pace of growth and change.  Yet old cars remind of how far we’ve come marked by those who has travelled in them, and when.

I love the new car smell of my new car, but maybe I should have lingered over the familiar smells of my old car before turning it in.  They say that smell is your strongest sense and the one most connected with memory.  If I had maybe paused a second longer perhaps I could have willed myself to smell, one last time, all that this past decade gave to me:

The smell of newborn Mia on her way home from the hospital.

The smell of our dog Zack, sun kissed and pond soaked from a weekend at the lake.

My dad’s shaving cream and after-shave from his freshly shaved face as I drove him out for dinner in Collingwood while mom was away.

The sand from a day at Wasaga beach.

The smell of mosquito spray and dirty clothes from Toby’s weeks at camp.

Take out sushi dinners- a family favourite.

The smell of chlorine from the weeklong trip with the Grandparents to the waterslide capital of the world in Minnesota.

Kids.  So many kids.  Laughing on the way to and from birthday parties.

The children’s tears on their last day of kindergarten.  And grade one.  And grade 6.

My private tears from Mia’s first day of kindergarten.

The smell of stale coffee from early morning risings to the airport that then sat abandoned during weeks long vacations, and awaited us on the quiet, content trips home from the airport.  From Florida.   And Halifax.  And France. And  even Australia.

Maybe I should have named my car.  Maybe I should have taken one last glance and smell of it before so joyfully jumping into another one.

It’s been an important decade of growth and memories and I can’t even imagine what memories will swirl through my head 10 years down the road when I hand over my next car.

So long, old faithful Rav4.  You’ve served us well!

 

Smoothie Memories

I had a sudden flashback this morning.   Sometime between my morning family practice zoom meeting and my first patient OTN visit, as I washed out the dirty smoothie glasses in the sink, I remembered a similar moment in time an era or so ago.  Except it wasn’t  the physical washing out of the smoothie glasses that I remembered- those got put in the sink in a mad rush to get everyone out of the house on time - it was a vague recollection of someone asking me what in particular made me feel successful.  And I said, quite clearly, in that pre-COVID time, that it was the odd day where I had time to make a smoothie for my kids in the morning that made me feel like I was winning at life.   

What a completely ludicrous answer.

Today, the morning smoothie is just as much a part of our routine as is our daily walk and and virtual French lessons with Grandma Lynda.  In fact, the morning smoothie is now so commonplace that every now and then my kids don’t FEEL like having a smoothie and opt instead of scrambled eggs or an omelette.

I actually had to stop and think, my hands covered in soapy water, to remember what it was that made smoothie making SO difficult.

First, there was an alarm clock that went off.  Not mine- I never heard Rob’s alarm because it went off way before the sun even thought about rising – and he was often out of the house before MY alarm went off.   I would then shower.  (EVERY DAY!)  And put on REALLY NICE work clothes – this is pre scrubs, remember – before waking my kids ups.  I remember there was a VERY PARTICULAR way I was allowed to wake Toby up.  It involved quietly entering his room, turning off his fan and waiting patiently for the first sign of movement before softly whispering, “Toby.  It’s 7:15! Time to get up!”  Then there was the MADRUSH to make lunches.  LUNCHES!  What a painful procedure!   There was the hunt for Tupperware lids that fit, the fight over who got which leftover, the nagging from Toby not to forget a SPOON again.  There was the silent self beratement at feeding my kids such an inadequate array of processed foods – granola bars, yoghurt tubes, cheese strings,  fruit cups- UGH.  The daily mental note to self to google how to make homemade granola bars.  Every now and then there was “litterless lunch day” which required the extra step of taking all of the above items out of the packages and putting them in appropriately sized Tupperware first.  Then I’d make my own lunch.  Then I’d sign their agendas.  Sometimes we would have to do a last minute refresher on spelling words. Then we’d have to make sure the kids got DRESSED and brushed their teeth AND HAIR.  All BEFORE school started!!  And there was a firm deadline -8:22.  That bus driver waited for NO ONE.  Then the mad rush home to vacuum, clean the kitchen and get myself to hospice before I got myself to my FULL waiting room of family medicine patients in Wasaga Beach.

I was starting to remember why throwing a homemade smoothie into this mix was such an accomplishment.

Nowadays my kids wake up when their bodies are ready to wake up.  I can leave my office to hug them each good morning and then handdeliver them a smoothie to their classroom.  All of which is within a 25 m radius.   We take breaks in all of our days to go for walks or bike rides.  Lunch we do together.  Often, between meetings or virtual patient visits, I check in on them and see how their day is going.  Rob and I sometimes drink tea or coffee on the front porch before we start our afternoons. And there isn’t a fruit cup or a cheese string in the house. 

Smoothie successes aside, I now have time to languish over my hospice visits.  My palliative patients who are well enough to leave their house don’t have to sit in my uncomfortable office chairs to see me- it turns out that OTN visits from our respective couches is just as intimate, if not more so. 

I have to admit that I no longer count “smoothie making” as a measure of my success each day.  I’m not sure how I would answer that question right now – perhaps staying healthy and keeping my kids happy?  Or perhaps it was completing my first easel canvas painting with Mia the other week.  Or maybe it’s when I come through victorious over Rob at our family Top Chef challenge night? 

If you had told me it would take a world pandemic to get my kids away from processed lunches I probably would have believed you.  If you had told me that it would take a pandemic to even fathom a world where we slowed down to such an extent that priorities and goals completely shifted to unforeseen levels I probably wouldn’t have.

I don’t know how I fully measure my success right now but I can tell you how I will measure it in the future.  Looking to a future era when we reach a new balance and a new “normal” and expectations go back to in class learning and full office days and rep hockey and processed lunches, I’m going to measure my own success by my ability to hold tight to these shifted priorities and remember the time when the world might have been a bit scarier, but made a whole lot more sense.  Ironically, it has taken a pandemic to make our lives that much healthier.

One of Several Family "Top Chef" Cookoffs