Mia's Babies

Mia is super into babies.  And by super into babies I mean mildly OBSESSED with them.  Today I had a rare opportunity to give her some quality one-on-one time without her bossy big brother being around and the activity she chose to do involved sitting on the couch and reading Toby’s LEGO brochure to “big baby”.  I played along.  Every now and then during the story, Mia would spontaneously grab “big baby” and give her a hug, rocking her gently and saying, “Awww…Baby…Aww…” before putting her back on the couch and asking her to listen attentively as we continued to leaf through the brochure.

A few minutes into the game Mia decided to spice it up by introducing baby #2 ,“little baby”, to story time.  (Note to readers: Mia is not very creative OR accurate when it comes to naming her babies. Little baby is TWICE as big as big baby, but she has a hat.  I can only infer that having a hat makes you smaller than any other babies around.   The only other baby she owns is sort of medium sized and has a ripped off ponytail.  Her name appears to be simply “baby”.)

It was a rather spontaneous decision to involve little baby in our engrossing game of “reading Toby’s LEGO brochure to big baby”; we were mid sentence on page 3 at the “next assemble the wheels to the base of the car” part when Mia hopped off the couch announcing that she’d be “Right back!”  Initially I wasn’t sure WHAT she was getting but I waited patiently on the couch, one arm still around big baby, as I listened to her huffing and puffing all the way down the steps, one by one, to the basement.  After a minute or so I heard her start the arduous trek back UP the stairs and a minute later she triumphantly appeared, dragging little baby by the string of her hat behind her.

Although I acknowledge the great feat it was for Mia, with her chubby little legs, to make the journey to the basement to get her, I have to say, it was likely a much more perilous journey for little baby whose head I heard thump up each step as she came upstairs.  And all of that was rewarded by a gentle pat on the back, “Aww….baby…aww..” and then the monotonous version #17 of Toby’s fascinating LEGO brochure novel.

      Sometimes being a baby is hard work.  Sometimes being the 2-year-old mom to the baby is even harder.  But I presume it is worth it because one day it will all pay off and you will eventually get the pleasure of an uninterrupted hour watching the marvels of compassion, motherhood and play through the innocent eyes of your own "baby" unfold.

(Grandma, Mia and "Big baby" on Christmas Day)

A Little Christmas Reminder...

This weekend I made a fairly last minute decision to go to Toronto to a Christmas party with some of my oldest and dearest high school friends.  Each year I worry that I won’t be able to make the party- you never know when it’s going to be or what conflicts I’ll have with the date, but I am proud to say I have not EVER even ONCE missed it.  This year my attendance was ALMOST thwarted by a late afternoon pirate birthday party and one of my patients generous gift of laryngitis, but my thoughtful husband shooed me out the door, generously agreeing to care for the kids so I could pop down on my own.

It is SO refreshing to reconnect with people who you have known and loved all of your life. It is even MORE refreshing to hang out with non-medical, childless people and have a little reminder of how the rest of the world lives.

But I think perhaps the BEST part of this short trip to Toronto was my unexpected golden moment I had with my dad this morning.

My father has dementia.  It has been in the works for years, but we got the official A-diagnosis a few months ago and it has made it seem surprisingly worse.  I know it’s a clinical diagnosis and one we have suspected for years, but somehow giving this beast a name has accentuated its cruelty to me.  When someone you love has dementia - in whatever form or name it is given – you grieve slowly as the unrelenting process unfolds and you slowly watch your loved one wither away, piece by piece.  When you stop to reflect on them you see them as a progressive accumulation of things they can no longer do – my dad hasn’t read a book in years, he no longer contributes to dinner time conversation, he NEVER knows where my mother is and, saddest of all, often forgets the names of his own grandchildren.

Some things haven’t changed, though. I got home from my party last night just after midnight and was unsurprised to see his bedroom light still on.  He has ALWAYS waited up for me.  Sure enough, there he was sitting in the kitchen in his tattered old pajamas drinking cranberry juice all by himself eagerly awaiting my return.  He asked where I’d been and then announced that he was off to bed just before he made me PROMISE that I would come say goodbye to him in the morning before I drove home.

This morning I slept until after 8, enjoyed a uniquely peaceful kid-free conversation with my mother and was ready to go by 9am.   I always hesitate to wake my dad up at such an ungodly hour (he usually sleeps until well past ten – what a life!!!) but my mom convinced me to go in anyways.  I found him upstairs fast asleep and quietly kissed him on the cheek and whispered that I was leaving.  My dad went from fast asleep to loudly moaning in sadness, “Oh, NO!  I get so sad when you go, Lyssie,” he said, “I miss you so much…”  I gave him a hug and reassured him that I WAS returning in just 2 days and responded to his puzzled look by reminding him that it was Dec 23^rd and that we’d be here on Christmas day to celebrate with him.

It was as if I’d told him it was Christmas.  (Wait a minute- - I HAD told him it was Christmas!)  He was SO happy to hear the SHOCKING news that he took my hand, thanked me profusely, and then snuggled back into his pillow to sleep.  Based on the smile on his face I have no doubt he had some visions of sugarplums dancing around in there…

I kissed him again and smiled but it wasn’t until I was driving home that I realized with more clarity why I felt so invigorated.  Here I have been these past few years focusing on all of the pieces of my dad I’ve lost, when this morning I got the gift of clearly seeing all that I still have.  In such a short moment our brief exchange left me happy and fulfilled, knowing how loved I am by my father.  He’s still here this year and just showing up with the kids is going to make his day on Christmas.  What a gift it is to be able to have and share love so easily with family.

This is likely to be my last post of the year and I want to close by thanking you, as always, for following my blog and encouraging my indulgent blogging hobby with your generous comments.  I want to wish you all a wonderful Christmas season/holiday with your friends and family.  And I want to ask you to, at some point this holiday, take a moment – just a brief one – and look around at all that you have and everyone who is there with you.  And be thankful.  I know I am this year.

Merry Christmas!

My New Hairdresser

A long time ago I gave Toby his very first Doctor’s kit to play with and was amused by the fact that he immediately gravitated to the plastic scissors so he could set up a Hair Salon and play the role of “Toby the Hairdresser”.  It was not exactly how I had envisioned this doctor’s kit to be used but I wanted to foster an open carefree approach to creative play and non-gender-biased-career selections.  I also prefer having my hair done than playing monster trucks, so I went with it.

I still get regular check ups by a very thorough “Dr Henry”. Tonight, for example, he found a piece of “Black sushi” in my left ear and he KNOW S it was black sushi because he TASTED it.    (I know it ruins the story to point this out but THIS WAS TOTALLY IMAGINARY.  On the off chance that someone ACTUALLY thinks I had a piece of black sushi trapped in my ear that my son discovered with his plastic otosope; I don’t want any phone calls from CAS.  Dr Henry Jr. has a wild imagination…)

Last spring we had a family wedding and I took Toby with me to a REAL hair salon so we could have our hair done together.  This impressed him FAR more than any trip to the doctor’s had and his interest in the game of hairdresser was rekindled.   I have to say that it has lost some of its relaxing charm as Toby now insists on small talking to me while he brushes my hair, rubs various stuff into it and then aggressively combs it out. 

Tonight, I had a particularly bothersome time of it.  First off, he had me all positioned in the chair and then announced, (with a very professionally, albeit) that he had to go to the washroom.  “Are you comfortable?” he asked me, as I lay cramped sideways in the lazy-boy with my head dangling over the armrest,  “Because I have to go have a poo. "I will be RIGHT back to cut your hair after I’m done.”

I told him he should make a sign saying “The hairdresser will attend to you after his poo” and laughed to myself as he carried on with his business. Toby didn’t see the humour in it.  He takes the hairdresser role (and his nightly bowel movements) very seriously.

He emerged from the bathroom with various “hairdressing objects” in his hand and his loud-mouthed sister behind him.  When she tried to climb onto my lap Toby immediately attended to his customer with the greatest of concern,  “This is my kid sister.  You can take care of her while I cut your hair.”

I pointed out to him that it wasn’t a great business idea to ask your customers to babysit your little sister while you cut their hair so Toby corrected himself and told me that she was actually his assistant.

You didn’t have to tell Mia twice!  She LEAPED out of my lap, and ran to get her OWN hair cutting supplies and before I knew it I had both the bossy-small-talking-hairdresser and his CRAZY assistant at work on my hair.

Might I remind you that I am still contorted sideways in the lazy-boy chair with my head dangling over the edge?  I had no way of seeing WHAT objects they had both grabbed.  I didn’t worry about this at first because, in typical Toby-hairdressing-fashion, I was being asked the myriad of questions that Hairdressers ask, “So…what’s your name?” he started with.  I told him. “OH, that’s a nice name.  How old are you?” I told him my age and he said, “Wow.  That’s QUITE old.  I am MUCH younger than you.”  Then he asked me my address and how many kids I had.  All of a sudden I felt a sharp pain around my left temple and there was an abrupt cessation to the questioning.

In fact, the whole hairdressing experience became suddenly quite subdued as Toby worked away.  Even his maniacal assistant stopped her frenetic brushing with an eerie silence.

Finally my hairdresser spoke again but this time without his usual professional tone,

“Uh…mommy…” he said hesitantly, “You have a cement truck stuck in your hair.”

And so I did.

One day, when my child becomes a successful and well-adjusted gay hairdresser, I hope that SOMEONE will remind him of how accepting I was of this endeavour.

The Art of Lying

I have learned a lot about lying, when kids learn to lie and even HOW kids learn to lie.  For those of you who missed it, Toby and Mia had an opportunity to be a part of a documentary on The Nature of Things called Born to be Good?  If you haven’t seen it – watch it.  Not because my kids are in it, but because it is a fascinating look at how we all develop into moral beings, when kids learn about good and bad behaviours, what is innate and what is learned.  More importantly, though, the CBC is thinking of cancelling The Nature of Things in order to opt for yet another reality show.  Don’t let this happen!!! (No, they are not paying me to post this...I really do have something to say about my kids in this post...)

Not only was Toby featured in the show as a typical 4-year-old playing with his friends, he also participated in some of the research studies.  They couldn’t use the footage of him because he was one of the only kids who didn’t “cheat” and peek behind him at the toy he had been instructed NOT to look at.  The point of this study was not to see if kids “peeked” (they all do, apparently) but to see if they then later lied about whether or not they peeked. It was all done to test the theory of what age children learn to lie at.  Researchers have narrowed it down to some time between the ages for 3 and 4.  Toby was just over 3 at the time of the study and clearly hadn’t developed a single deceptive skill yet.

Last I heard the verdict was still out on the exact age of lying-acquisition, but in our household, some newer evidence has emerged.

Despite HOW angelic and morally good your first child is, there’s no guarantee the second one will be ANYTHING like the first at ALL.

Last night at dinner, our not-quite-2-year-old delivered the most straight-faced and blatant lie I have ever heard.  I don’t even think Toby could have delivered it better.

I will set the scene:

It was a typical dinner at the Henry household.  Rob and I had long finished our meal, Toby was on his 2^nd mouthful, busy talking our ear off about Gochar and school and what the colour of the week was, when Mia decided she wanted some raspberries. 

The time interval between Mia’s initial calm request and her impatient hysterical request is about 4 seconds.  We are trying desperately to teach our little monster some patience and failing miserably at every attempt.    After the first calm, “Ras-BERRY!  Ras-BERRY!” I LEAPED off my stool, RUSHED to the fridge and actually had the raspberries in my hand and was on my way to the sink to  wash them when her ear piercing shrieks of hysterical I NEED RASPBERRIES RIGHT NOW OR I’M GOING TO WITHER AWAY AND DIE resonated across the kitchen.

Just as I was about to launch into the usual recrimination, the shrillness stopped abruptly and I turned to see Mia covering her ears with both hands.

Silence.

Finally Mia took her hands off her ears as the rest of us waited to see what would happen next.

Very seriously, with a slight furrow to the eyebrow Mia stated, “Too LOUD…..Daddy.”

I don’t know if she thought that me having my back turned to her would mean I would fall for this little act of deception.

“Mia…” I said breaking into a smile, ‘”That was NOT Daddy that was being too loud.”

And still she persisted.

Still maintaining composure she very seriously tried again, “Too LOUD….Toby.”

Now we were all in on this.

“I was NOT too loud, MIA!” said the obvious victim.

She was becoming desperate.  She could see those raspberries in my hand and she KNEW she had crossed the sound barrier/behaviour line so she tried her one last ditch attempt…with almost a question-ing tone to her somewhat quieter voice she tried,

“Too loud…Mommy?”

But the last word was muffled by the handful of raspberries that she was simultaneously stuffing into her mouth.

Some days having kids can provide priceless entertainment.

Some lessons can wait.

A Trip to the Theatre

Toby had his first “cultural experience” this weekend.  His beloved Grandma Lynda brought me up to be a well rounded cultural child by torturing me with numerous “special trips” to the symphony, the ballet, Stratford plays and all kinds of luxuries that required me to sit still, not talk and pay attention for hours and hours on end.  Or so it seemed.  I don’t think I truly appreciated how lucky I was until well after I had learned to tolerate, then enjoy and then later on love all of the things she exposed me to.

I am so pleased to know that she holds the same standards for her grandchildren and that they too will learn the art of patience through varying forms of “cultural experiences”.

Not wanting to get him too excited too far in advance, Grandma phoned Toby on Wednesday night to invite him out with her to the theatre and then lunch at Boston Pizza afterwards.  He was SO excited.  The whole family was down in Toronto for this event but it was only Toby and Grandma who set out for the big adventure on Saturday morning,

Toby chose to wear his finest pants and his black plaid sweater.  He put them on secretly in his room and came downstairs proudly flaunting his smart outfit to us.  I took the token picture with him excitedly (and somewhat nervously) standing proudly beside Grandma before they set out.

I don’t know if it was the excitement in the air, the smartness of their dressy outfits or just the joy of seeing two people you love so much revel in the pure excitement of doing something special together, but it was a fulfilling moment for ALL of us.  I returned home from my own adventures to meet an excited Toby and Grandma eager to tell me about the various details of their day.

I have to admit, a lot of the details centered around what pizza they ate and who won the checker game at Boston Pizza but there were intermingled quips about Princesses, balloons and evil step mothers to prove they HAD seen a children’s play as well.

After his exhausting day Grandma was the obvious choice for bedtime routine and she took him upstairs to read him stories.  After the stories they snuggled into bed and reminisced about their day.  Toby politely thanked my mom and then very sweetly but apprehensively said, “Grandma?  Um…I actually didn’t really like the play all that much.”

My mom was surprised but pleased with this sudden burst of candor, so maturely timed.  The funny thing was that she agreed; it HADN’T been that great of a play.  She told Toby that she appreciated his honesty and that she hadn’t actually liked it all that much either.

Toby let out a deep breath he had likely been holding in since about noon.

“OH, GOOD, Grandma,” he said with relief.  “Cause I actually didn’t like it AT ALL.”

Halloween Heartbreak: An Update

It took 5 days. (Five LOOONG and barf filled days!)  Finally today Toby was ready to go back to school.  Apart from falling asleep on the school bus on the way home, the transition back seemed smooth and seamless.   He had a great day and happily sat down to dinner with us afterwards, eager to fill us in on life at school

We had heard about the usual – who was there, who wasn’t etc. when all of a sudden his eyes got big and he dropped his fork to tell us the EARTH shattering new he had just remembered.

“Mommy,” he said very seriously, “You won’t believe it.  October is GONE.  Everything October has FINISHED!  Now there’s this NEW thing and we’re on the 5^th.”

When I asked what this “new thing” was he shook his head in disgust. “ I don’t know…all I know is that it’s the FIFTH.  I guess I’ll have to listen more carefully tomorrow.”

And with that he picked his fork up and attended to his stir-fry.

You forget how important it is to make smooth transitions with these vulnerable little sponges.  I’m sure Mrs. Shields had made a big production of November 1^st, preparing the kids for the NEW month and the NEW themes with the ritual changing of the calendar.  Toby’s favourite thing about kindergarten is the dependably predictable calendar and so far, his short career as a JK student has only included the ONE transition from September to October.   Here I was spending all of my mommy energy making sure he was fever free, hydrated and nourished enough to have the strength to go back to school when really what he needed was a heads up that it was a NEW month called NOVEMBER.

They should really include stuff like this in our mommy manuals, don’t you think?

Halloween Heartbreak

My children were born with this innate ability to break my heart, and they do it regularly, in the most unpredictable of ways.

For the past 21 days we have been on the countdown to Halloween.  Usually it’s on the way to school but sometimes it’s over dinner that the conversation comes up: “How many sleep until Halloween?  Twenty?” Toby would ask, hopeful that he had miscounted and the days would be fewer than anticipated.  They never were- - he was always right, and his patience was put to a test on a daily basis.

When FINALLY the big day arrived, Toby could hardly believe his good luck.  He put his costume on to go to school in with such excitement it was contagious.

The line between your child’s happiness and your own is often blurred.  I spent Halloween morning in my own cloud of excited anticipation for the much-awaited event, until, of course, I got the phone call from school.  Toby was sick.

Of ALL DAYS!!!

I rationalized this impossible scenario to myself by assuming that

a) The school was overreacting

And b) that it was probably nothing we couldn’t drug up with the usual concoction of Tylenol and Advil in order to squeeze some trick or treating in anyways.

To my dismay, I was wrong.  Even TOBY had lost his vigilance towards the most anticipated event.  Arriving home that night, I found him lying on the couch in a giant ball of feverish lethargy.  Not only did he not CARE that he was missing Halloween but he had an unrelenting and rapidly escalating fever and, just to make his point loud and clear, vomited all over the place as I walked in the door.

I took Mia out trick or treating anyways.  She was, I have to say, a very cute chicken, and she took the job of walking up to each house and holding her bag out rather seriously which made her an even CUTER chicken.  But deep down I was heartbroken.  I felt like I used to feel going to weddings as a single person while all of my friends had dates.  And although it was really nice of them to share their dates with me during the slow dances, it didn’t replace the ache I had longing for my OWN date to be there.

The day after Halloween, Toby was feeling no better and he had STILL not even broached the topic of his missed Halloween.  After putting him to bed at a record early time of 5pm, Mia suddenly had an epiphany: she had mom and dad ALL to HERSELF.

It was just after bath that the full realization of her single child status hit home.  She came bouncing onto the couch with her bottle and blanket and loudly tried to determine which parent she would sit with,’ Meeena sit DADDY!” she said climbing onto his lap, only to announce a few seconds later, “Meeena sit MOMMY” and crawled over to me.  Finally she settled in between us, pulled the covers up to her chin, picked up her bottle and solemnly announced with a satisfied sigh, “Meeena home...”

Life is exhausting; I’ve had my heartbroken by both of my children all in the span of 48 hours.  While Toby’s heartbreak came from sadness and empathy, Mia’s was all pride and joy.   It’s amazing how loving two people so much can bring such wild and fluctuating emotions to your day-to-day life.  What a wild ride this is…