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

As Time Goes By

It turns out, in a completely unintentional and unpredictable way, that I have I jinxed things again.  As fate has it, by painting the world one way in my writing it has inevitably played out to be just the opposite.

It used to be that if I declared, on my blog, a certain characteristic of my kids they were bound to dupe me and change said behaviour IMMEDIATELY, thus making a hysterical new mother-liar of out me.  I have been manipulated since the first of them was in utero.  It’s a great conspiracy that has, until this month, never worked in my favour.

As a testament to the craziness of these unpredictable times I’m happy to report that I’ve been theoretically duped again, but this time, in nothing short of a miracle.

My dad did NOT die of COVID.

In fact, the lone man who tested positive in his l home miraculously survived and his ward remains COVID free.  They reported this to us with one nonchalant sentence: “The known COVID case on North ward 3 has since recovered.”  I do feel that sentence deserved, at the very least, an exclamation mark.  How many LTC residents survive COVID 19?  Well…we now know one for sure.

In FACT, his LTC home was recently highlighted in the news as being the first in Toronto to swab EVERY SINGLE resident and staff member.  Everyone on my dad’s ward came back negative.  My father included.  His rejection from other facilities, at the time a figurative kick in the teeth, is now, as we read the escalating number of LTC homes in outbreak, a true blessing in disguise.

My father is safe.

And so my mother is left grappling with a different kind of grief than anticipated.  We don’t mourn our loss, but we face one more rung on the descent of dementia.  He is now bored and alone with no contact from family or friends to stimulate his brain or boost his morale. And once again, we are left feeling powerless and helpless.

My mom has tried calling him on the phone.  Although his caregivers graciously offer the use of their iPhones he has never in his life known such sort of shaped device to actually be a PHONE.  Nor does he have the capacity to listen to and process who the familiar voice belongs to without visual cues.  My mom resigned herself to standing out in the cold waving at his window while he held the phone.  This worked for a little bit but only in the end just made my mother feel worse.

The helpful staff then tried the Zoom app on one of his PSW’s personal phones and dad was able to actually see her face while hearing her voice.  His first reaction was to try to lovingly touch her face.  How he must long for a familiar touch.  How my mother must long for it too.  How loving of him to try!  I believe it made her day.  The second time they tried he had learned that he couldn’t touch her but sill his face lit up.  Once again, my mother could see how much she means to him.

They say it doesn’t matter what facts are presented to patients with dementia, it’s only how a situation makes them feel that counts.  And those moments spent on zoom, though remote, impersonal, and void of personal touch, caused him such obvious joy that everyone benefitted.

Today was our turn.  I haven't seen my dad since the beginning of March when I so flippantly declared that I was “Going to see him before COVID got him”.  How I cringe now at my predictive prowess of the innocent days…

But today we all got to see him.

We waved.  The kids smiled.  He called my mothers name.  The stimulation of all of us together seemed a bit much so I tried something new.

I sat down at the piano and played for him an old classic song that he loves, “As Time Goes By”  

 It wasn’t perfect – zoom is pretty choppy. But we were all there, and we sang together.  It has probably been over 20 years since he has heard me play.   IN truth, I haven’t played much since I left home, but this Pandemic has brought out old skills in all of us, and I have a renewed joy of sitting down to play some familiar tunes on the piano.  It came as a bit of a surprise to the kids and me, that most of the sheet music I own is that of Broadway songs and old timers music.  It struck me for the first time that a lot of what I bought with my hard earned money in high school was music that might appeal to my dad’s era. (No wonder I stopped playing so much when I went out into the world of the 21st century! ) Nonetheless, it came in handy today.  And I have found over the past few weeks that there is a soothing comfort in playing these old songs.

I don’t know how much my dad took from the music – I was focused on playing and not watching him, but I do note at one point he exclaimed “that’s a PIANO” …so he got THAT much for sure!

Shortly after our singsong, we decided it was time to end the call.

In contrast to the times we leave after an in person visit, this didn’t feel like goodbye.  It felt like a fresh start of a new way of connecting.

Who would have thought that my 93-year-old dad, who never COULD figure out email or computers, would benefit from having regular Zoom meeting with 3 generations of his family?  In the midst of such changing, unpredictable and dark times, what a ray of hope and light it brought to tall of us when we signed off and said, “Lets do this again next Friday.  Same time?”

We blew each other kisses before leaning forward to hit the “leave meeting” button.

And just before the screen went blank I saw one last frozen image of all of us.

My mom.

My dad.

My kids.

My husband.

Myself.

Our wide smiles frozen in time with renewed hope,

the words of his favourite song still echoing in our minds,

“You must remember this.

A Kiss is still a kiss.

A sigh is just a sigh

The fundamental things apply.

As time Goes By…”

One Last Goodbye

I have said my good byes a thousand times.

The first time I left him at his long-term care home.

Every March break.

Every Christmas

Every Birthday

When we left for 6 weeks to Australia.

Most recently, as COVID started to hit, I made a special trip.  “Better go have a good long visit with my dad, just in case.”

Each time I leave I feel a poignant sense satisfaction.  I have had a good life with my dad.  I have been an attentive daughter.  I have done my part.  I have said goodbye.

There was no chance that I might suffer any regrets.  

Was there?

 He has lived a good 92 years.  (I got the best 42 of them).  We have left no word unsaid, no stone unturned.  My relationship with my dad is the most uncomplicated of all relationships in my life.  And although it has altered and fluxed as his dementia ascended on his brilliant mind, it has held firm in the tenants of love, respect, laughter and tenderness.

Last night, incidentally, I heard word from my mother that COVID has entered my dad’s Long-term care facility.  I had been expecting this.  It was no surprise.  I took it as complacently as my mother typed it.  Yet at 4 the morning it hit me in the deepest parts of my heart.

I just want one more goodbye.

I want to feel his face in my hands. I want to see the familiar spark of recognition light up in his eyes when I enter the room.  I want to tell him how much I love him.  It’s not much, but it’s enough.  It’s him. 

I am not naïve.  I am a health care worker.  (At one point I considered becoming a virologist…. I understand how viruses work.) I always knew that the end of the world was going to be blamed on a virus.   If I could have taken stocks in this prediction I’d have been a millionaire, but I never could have imagined that I would have had anything but a pragmatic approach to my own father’s  demise.  He is 92.  He has lived a good life.  We have left nothing unsaid, no stone unturned.

And as much as this satisfies my intellectual prowess it negates any chance I have a protecting my greatest fears from the age-old act of naivety.

I just. Want. One. More. Goodbye.

What a cruel twist of fate that I have dedicated my life to making sure every patient of mine is granted their idyllic and self-proclaimed perfect ending. The hours I spend, counselling family members at their loved ones death beds so that they are not left with remorse or complicated grief.

And yet I can’t offer any of that to my father, or to myself. I can’t escape the images of him dying alone, gasping for air, in the confines of his hospital bed at the long term care facility in Toronto.

In this great age of uncertainty I don’t know how to reconcile this.  I don’t know how to be there for him while not exposing myself or my mother or my family or my patients.  It’s impossible. I only know one thing:  my deep longing to know that I still have one more chance to hear his voice recite poetry, feel his firm hand gently hold mine, see his joy of visiting his grandchildren…

I realize that this is the piece of grief that lies at the essence of all loss.  No matter how young or old, how good or evil a life, how perfect or strained your relationship, how deserving or undeserving of treatment in the midst of a global pandemic, the grief over the finality of life is manifest in that longing for just one last…anything.   

I just want one more goodbye.

Toby- Turns 12 ...another by dad...

Another Blog-spot by Dad…what is this writing world coming to…Alyssa?

Toby, some might say that you are an old-soul.  I would agree with this statement, but I am going to make an effort to get you to realize the importance of this.  Every time we say this, we laugh a little, but you need to know that this is something that we are very proud of, in you, everyday.

Eleven years ago, I watched you nearly die in a hospital in Orillia.  The doctor had told us that one of the things that seemed to keep his SATs up was my singing.   Alyssa said that I needed to be strong, go back to your bedside, and sing to you.  The problem was that I would start singing and then think about how much I was going to miss enjoying time with you later in life, if you didn’t make it.  I didn’t know what I was going to do with myself.  Then I would start to cry, which would prevent me from singing.  Talk about momentous moments that make you who you are.  The good news is that you made it through that near-death experience…and you are who you are because of it…and I have the same emotions rise in me today, when I watch you do so many things…except this time, they are tears of elation!

This year in hockey, the season was not much to get excited about, but you were a joy to watch.  I would watch you get your hands on the puck in your own zone.  You would make a move to your left or right and everyone would think that you were going to cough up the puck…BUT, all of a sudden, the atmosphere would change.  You would dart past one defensive skater, then the next…it was a marvel to watch.  Just when I was sure that you would have taken the puck too deep into the offensive zone, you would swing in towards the goalie like you were on a mission, and make an amazing upper cut shot over the goalie.  Everyone would cheer.  At the same time, no one would notice, but I would have tears in my eyes because in that moment, I was not just proud, I was just plain lucky to have you in my life.  The passion in you, Toby, is something that only seemed to show up later in life for me.  Never give this up, in anything that you do!  It is so incredible to watch every day.

As you turn 12, you are also beginning to accept the humour in laughing at yourself.  Alyssa is very good at this…I have needed to do some personal learning in this realm, but you are getting the hang of it pretty quickly…especially about your inequities.  For example, you are nearly a teenager, and you still cannot get all of the food from your plate to your mouth without it getting all over your face, shirt, floor, and counter.  Thank God you have accepting parents!  We have learned to accept this fault in you, but we are a little concerned about your first dating experience.  The girl that you date may not appreciate having to say in the middle of the evening, “You have a little pasta sauce on your shirt…and cheek…and wrist…think you may have dropped some on your pants too…oh, and wait one second (right before you kiss her), there is a little piece of pasta in your long flowing hair.”  Wow, what an experience that may be for you. 

Of course, you have become more curious about the idea of dating.  I don’t think that you are keen to have a date yet, but Alyssa and I both appreciate being asked about our first dating experiences separately.  Alyssa was cornered in the car and I was cornered at the Brier, and yes, we shared our own personal stories.  One day you will share your own, hopefully with us…it is coming!

The final piece, for me, in your 12^th year is the fact that you have a sister that you would never admit to caring for, but you are always thoughtful and willing to connect with her.  We know that she drives you crazy sometimes and wants to monopolize every moment of your time, but you do love her to pieces.  These are the circumstances that I know you are learning to appreciate others, treat others with respect, and give someone the time that they deserve.  In other words, you are learning a great deal of patience and amazing life lessons, all because of your sister.  Who would have thought? 

In simple terms, your old soul translates into a passionate, honest, kind, and loving young man who can appreciate the humour that life throws you.  Keep on this track of life, and you will not only continue to make your family proud of you.  You will make so many people feel as though they are just lucky to know Toby Henry.

Mia Turns 9 - Oh My...

Potentially the First Birthday Blog by Dad…and Potentially the Last…

Mia, you have become the light of our lives. You have grown so very much in this past year.  Who would have thought that you would begin to grow into a young woman.  I know, I know, you are only 9, but oh my, the changes that have begun to take place are going to lead to someone who takes the world by storm!

At this time in 2019, we had planned out a ‘trip around the world’ for my ‘year off’.  Well, you were definitely the most excited.  You were telling the world too!  We could be standing in the liquor store and the cashier would ask you were doing and you would respond with, “We’re going for a trip around the world next year”.  We did have to have a few conversations after that about how important it is to talk about the ‘topic at hand’ with responses that were not disclosing to everyone were we were headed and when.  You were definitely becoming more assertive. 

You were also becoming more passionate about the sports that interested you.  You rejoined the soccer team, although I don’t think that you scored any goals last summer.  You played some basketball, although you seemed to want to socialize with the girls more than anything.  You loved going to gymnastics with Charlie R. where you learned just how good she was at gymnastics, while you worked on your backward walk-overs incessantly!  And finally, you asked if you could play hockey again.  We weren’t sure if this was because you actually wanted to play hockey or because we spent so much time going to and watching Toby’s hockey that it was your way of taking control of the situation and getting the attention from your mother and I.  Regardless of the ‘why’, you have fallen in love.  There was only one Friday night, early on in the season, where you insisted on not going to hockey.  After the arguing and tears, we made it there, only to have you arrive at the car and say, “Thank you so much for making me go to hockey, that was the best practice ever, and I love hockey”.  We might make an all star out of you yet Mia.

Mia you are becoming a brilliant young mind.  I see this in your daily interest to read and your ability to use words that I did not even know that you knew, get fluently used in a sentence, “Occasionally, I feel like I would like you to just listen to me more carefully, daddy”.  Who says things like this, when you are 9?  You are thoughtful and kind.  I see this when you take the time to apologize to Toby when you do something that upsets him.  You are determined and strong willed.  This is evident when you will just not back down from your brother…or your parents.  We have talked about the importance of compromise, but your inner strength will take you far…especially when you go shopping.  You are also hilarious and full of positive energy.  Sometimes you get tired, and your ‘down side’ comes out, but you are becoming more self-aware of this and creating even more laughter with all of us.  This is never more apparent when you are shopping, because you are willing to try on anything, and give your honest opinion of it, while sharing the laughter of putting on ridiculous outfits. 

You make us proud every day.  I look forward to seeing just how much of a difference there will be when you reach double digits, only a year from now.  Happy 9^th Birthday Mia.