The Anonymous Donor

This weekend I participated in a hike to raise money for our local Hospice organization.  A 7km hike is not the greatest of physical feats but the cause is one that is extremely important to me; we are trying to raise money to build a residential hospice in our area. Right now the closest residential hospice is in Barrie.  It is a gorgeous facility but it is either too far for families to travel or it means patients transferring to a different doctor in Barrie once they make the move.  As a result, out residents are left with only two options – dying at home or dying in hospital.

Today the need for a local hospice was driven home to me even more when one of my very favourite patients, whose family I have grown very close to over the past 5 months, got offered a bed at Hospice Simcoe. Although I know it is the right decision for them, saying goodbye at this stage in the game was hard on all of us.  As I explained it once to Rob, it’s like teaching Grade 8 all year and then missing the last week of school and graduation.   It will be SO nice when we will be able to truly deliver on our promise to walk with people right to the end.

I am happy to report that the hike was a huge success.  Not only did all 4 of the Henry crew participate, but there were no tears, tantrums OR injuries to speak of (all thanks to numerous boxes of raisins and good old fashioned peanut butter sandwiches.)

Today, after being told that our fundraising and perilous hiking escapades managed to raise over $85,000 I set to work at sending out a thank you email to everyone who had sponsored me.  I had a pretty good idea of who to include in the email as I had taken note of each sponsorship notification as it came in, but just to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anyone I went through my emails one last time.

As I was nearing the end of them I found a surprising one that caught me off guard.  How had I not noticed this before?  Some anonymous donor had sponsored me $500!!!! I couldn’t believe it!  I quickly perused the email to see if there were any indications as to who it was  -- there were none.  No name, no address, no email, NOTHING but the impressive sum of $500.

I was sitting in Toyota waiting for my snow tires to be removed as I made this discovery and I sheepishly admit to tearing up in public as I thought about this “secret admirer” that I must have.  I soon realized that it HAD to be a former patient or grateful family; Rob would never sponsor me that much without TELLING me about it and my parents and good friends had all already donated.  The pride of knowing that what I do means THAT much to someone was overwhelming.   I kept glancing around the room to see if my emotional response was going to go by unnoticed.  It wasn’t.  But who cared? It’s not EVERYDAY that you realize what your…

And then it hit me.

I had forgotten that in my excitement about registering for the hike and setting up my webpage I had also sponsored myself.

$500.

Anonymously.

Sigh.  It was a nice thought while it lasted…

The Scariest thing He's Ever Done

We had had lots of forewarning; the weekend had been planned out since before New Years Eve when I wrote my father a birthday card that sealed my fate by simply stating, “For your birthday this year I am going to take you out for dinner.”

At one point I had thought maybe the card would be a passing thought, but I had no such luck. He perused this card as if it contained the secret of life.  My mother tells me he kept it by his side amidst the random pile of newspapers he pretends to read each morning and his assortment of reminders, calendars and post it notes that helps keep his dementia at bay.  About twice an hour, on average, my dad would read his birthday card aloud and shriek with excitement when he read the inscription, reveling in his good luck that he was going to be TAKEN OUT for DINNER.

 WHEN, Lynda, did she think I was going to come down and take him for dinner?  TONIGHT perhaps?  Had I meant TONIGHT?  Did they have plans?   Would he be free to go? I hadn’t the heart to tell him it wasn’t for a few months down the road.  Eventually my mother hid the card…for all of our sanity.

And now here we are, I sheepishly admit, four months later and the dinner date has arrived.  The part of the equation that the card failed to mention was that it was also a present for my mother.  Dad would get a special dinner out with us and mom would be free to enjoy a guilt free evening with her friends knowing her husband was in good hands and enjoying himself.  (Theoretically, at least.)

A great deal of planning went into this single evening.   Mom had to plan (elaborately) a suitable night on the town  (complete with a full 24 hours pre and post event activities).  We had to deliver and prep the waitress about his de-alcohol ized wine, mom and her friends had to find accommodations close, but not too far away and a babysitter had to be procured.  I won’t go into details about the random tidbits of life that flew our way this weekend that nearly capsized our plans, the WORST of which being my own father’s anxiety about my mother ABANDONING him for a night with his daughter. (!!!)

FINALLY, after finding a last minute replacement babysitter (for the unreliable 14 year old who randomly decided on THIS WEEKEND of all weekends, to garner a social life) we were out the door, Carl Jung de-alcoholized wine deceptively in hand, ready to face a night of repetitive questioning as to the whereabouts of my poor mother.

Not long into dinner, just when I thought I had heard every story there was to hear about playing hockey in Cortina and teaching high school English at Northview, the cloud of anxiety lifted off my dad; he and Rob started debating the new rules of hockey and who the greatest sports heros were.  I realized it had been a very long time since I'd last had such a natural and meaningful conversation with him.  It was then that I brought out the “Questions cards”.  It is something my dad has always loved as it gives him free reign to reminisce, reflect and then talk about himself.  Each card contains a simple question, “Who is your greatest hero?” or “What was your greatest fear”.  You never know where it is going to take the conversion, but as long as it doesn’t go back to “WHERES LYNDA” we are good with just about anything.

A few interesting conversations unraveled before we hit the “What is the scariest thing you’ve ever done?” card.  My dad, the man who couldn’t for the life of him tell you what day it is or where on earth his wife had gotten to, didn’t miss a beat. “That’s EASY.” He said, “Going over Niagara Falls.”

I was met with was a split second of shock, speechlessness and unexpected humour all at once and there was only one reasonable response to his statement; I spit my precious mouthful of Shiraz all over the white table cloth.

It seemed ludicrous at first, but he had some robust and consistent details to corroborate his tale.  It was the 1950s.  They went over in a little boat.  He went with his teaching buddies at the time. They wore lifejackets.  Why was I looking at him like he was crazy? LOTS of people do it all the TIME.

Was he full of shit?

Of COURSE he was full of shit.  I think there was only ONE PERSON in the history of the WORLD who has ever travelled over Niagara Falls and lived to tell the tale.  But who am I to squash the most interesting story my dad has ever told me? 

As the night went on we kept coming back to this epic adventure over the falls that took place sometimes in the 1950s.  My dad eventually started chuckling as he told it and shaking his head, ‘You guys are making me think this didn’t happen the way you keep ASKING me about it like it’s RIDICULOUS” he said at one point.

Eventually and rather painlessly, our night out came to an end, with none of us really knowing where the truth began or ended. 

I suspect sometime in his life, my father took cowardly trip on the Maid of the Mist, but after last night he still has me guessing.

What I DO know for sure this: tonight my dad is back home with his pile of papers, pretending to get caught up on the world events that went on while he was on his quick jaunt to Collingwood.  The Stanley Cup playoffs are probably on in the background, which he will feign watching later.   His martyr of a wife is again loyally by his side and he probably has no recollection of the anxiety he had felt in her absence a mere 24 hours earlier.  All is right in his world again.

He may one day find that card I gave him and wonder whether I ever DID take him for dinner.  He’ll probably even call tomorrow night complaining that we never get to see one another, but this time I’ll know a little secret: we did, Dad.  And it’s a night at least ONE of us will never forget.

(My dad - -the great adventurer...and surprisingly good storyteller!)

Multitasking

On the drive home from daycare tonight,  Tobywas eating an apple, pensively looking out the window when he suddenly broke the silence with a startling announcement,

“Mommy!” he said proudly, “Do you KNOW what I can do at the SAME TIME???”

“No, I don’t” I replied curiously, “Tell me…”

“I can EAT and Look out the window at the SAME TIME!!!”

I know all mothers think this but for REAL, it’s true- - my child is a genius.

Our Lady Gaga

 Sometimes life doesn’t turn out EXACTLY as you’ve planned it.

I recognize that introducing a blog post with a statement like that will have everyone wondering who died, which one of us lost their job or what new town we are moving to.  I will forewarn you; to the average person, this unexpected change of plans may seem trivial, but to my mother it was nothing of the sort.

My mother reacted to the news of my first pregnancy with a similar amount of enthusiasm as she reacted to that of my engagement; it was a slow clap.  To put it lightly.  This is not to say she wasn’t excited; lets just she just needed some extra processing time before unleashing the fervent mania of her own excitement.

By the time dinner was finished (after telling her the news of pregnancy #1) mom was CLEARLY going to be OK with it and had ALMOST put aside all implications the news had made on her advancing age.  Not long after acceptance, the discussion soon shifted to more practical concerns:

WHAT was the baby going to call her?

What ensued was a run down of every POSSIBLE name “the baby” could conceive of calling her and why each and every one was COMPLETELY unacceptable ad utterly appalling.

At the end we narrowed it down to the one and ONLY name my mother would ever HEAR of being called: Grandma Lynda.

And then, a mere 7.5 months later, after laying eyes for the first time on her grandson, that stoic-bear-with-me-while-I-get-myself-adjusted-to-change woman who was previously so controlled and precise about her feelings turned into a giant ball of Grandma-Lynda mushiness.

We watched the sappy version of my mother unfold as the days, weeks, and months went by.   Slowly we began to get used to the excited, childlike clapping of her pristinely manicured hands as she entered her house, and the biweekly phone calls that regaled us with her passionate longings for her oh-so-missed grandson.

But the true test came when Toby himself learned to talk and respond to my mother with his own sentiments of love.  As you may remember with your own kids, their first expression of love is in the sweetness of the words, MAMA and DADA .  In Toby’s world only one word could possibly come next and believe it or not, it wasn’t “Grandma Lynda” but a slightly slurred although entirely consistent, GAGA.

Still baffled by the dreamy state of grandmotherly-intoxication that had overtaken my practical mother, we were yet further dumbfounded by the ease at which she took this.  Not only did my mother accept her new nickname (which would have fallen under the ENTIRELY UNACCEPTABLE category 2 years previously) but she proudly flaunted it and asked him to repeat it at every opportunity.  And Gaga she was.

Proving her insanity clairvoyant, she one day called me at work to tell me she had just heard on the news that there was a SINGER named LADY Gaga.  Could I BELIEVE IT?  Yes, I told her, I did know that, but might I suggest that she NOT go and Google it?

And then Mia came along.  

Mia, as well all know, has a mind of her own.  She has developed a few words but doesn’t use them consistently as she prefers her usual “point and hiss” or “point and shriek” which, on the whole, works quite well when it comes to getting-exactly-what-you-want-when-you-want-it.

And so it came as no surprise to all of us when Mia suddenly proclaimed (in a way that only Mia could do) that Grandma Lynda would now go by “Nana”.

If we had ranked the various choices for unacceptable “Grandma” names, I think that NANA would have fallen dead last.  But, as only her grandchildren have EVER been able to do, my now softened mother accepted this entirely prejudiced nickname with grace and joy and is now proudly sporting the name Nana in all its glory.

The other day, feeling rather brave, I pointed this out to my mother and reminded her of the strict criteria she had once imposed on the correct taxonomy of her prestigious position. 

She laughed and sighed before saying, “Well…at least I’m not GRANNY.”

We have no plans for a 3^rd child, but I somehow suspect if a mistake were ever to happen, that I know just what baby #3 would call her…

This Goalie means BUSINESS

For Easter this year, our amazing nanny, Shelly, left the kids their very own Easter presents which we set out for them to find when we arrived home from Chatham.  Toby’s was full of the usual Cars 2 accessories: trucks, lego and colouring books, while Mia got her very own homemade Easter bonnet and a pair of dainty little pink gloves.

Both things were an instant hit; Mia immediately gravitated to the colouring books full of paper she could tear apart with her naughty little fingers (and crayons she could eat) while Toby scooped up the gloves and announced that he was a soccer GOALIE. 

Since Easter, we have been amused by even more soccer games, this time with Toby as the goalie, always sporting his new dainty pink “goalie mitts”.  Sometimes, if the game goes into overtime and it is past his bedtime, he goes to bed with the gloves on.  This morning he was wearing them when he came upstairs.  I don’t know if he played a game in his sleep or if they were the first things he thought to put on in the morning, but one thing is certain; when it comes to sports, Toby lets NOTHING get in his way -- not even a little pink frilliness.

An Odd sort of Evening

Tonight was shaping up to be a night just like any other night until something CRAZY happened.

Toby found…wait for it…a cardboard tube.

Formerly known as the inside of a paper towel role, this cardboard tube was IMMEDIATELY transformed into a megaphone and it was announced to all of us that the Henry Family Skating Show was about to begin.

EVERYONE took this seriously. Rob, sitting back in the recliner, volunteered to be the announcer while Mia ran to her room to grab her blankie and Zack pranced around excitedly. I sat back, hoping to get off easy with mere spectator status but was quickly reassured that I had the uber important role of cheer leading and Mia-watching, both of which proved to be arduous and/or critical at various parts of the show.

While Toby regaled us with his various figure skating antics, Mia interpreted the Skating show in her own unique style.

Debriefing the show now, we are still unsure as to what exactly Mia thought was going on. In the end, her shtick included the arduous task of lifting her (fairly heavy and snot laden) blankie onto the living room chair and then standing back and pointing to it while bowing her head repeatedly in gracious acceptance of our puzzled (yet enthusiastic) applause. She followed this act up with a backwards walk into the chair before lowering herself into a seated position. (After which more applause was granted).

Repeat x 10 and you have the gist of what Mia did all evening. Think of it what you may – this was, in Mia’s opinion, a formidable performance, and as she landed each time with a resounding BOUNCE she sported as smile so swollen with pride it almost forgave the crusted snot that encompassed her various facial orifices. Needless to say, we rewarded her peculiar routine with the expected naïve parental laudations of applause and laughter, ensuring for life that she will become a snot-infested narcissist.

Meanwhile, poor Toby was racing by, performing the perilous acts of hardwood floor-sliding and double standing broad jumps, trying desperately to win our approval as the skating show feature performance, while repeatedly being out shone by the random acts of confidence displayed by his sister.

It was a very entertaining evening indeed. But, as it is with all child-centered activities, the Skating Show soon met its eventual and unfortunate ending with an abrupt arrest; Mia touched the forbidden stereo system for the 4^th time (landing herself in timeout) and Toby threw the inevitable hissy fit for not having our undivided attention. As all great things end these days, we had both kids in fervent tears and both parents bemusedly shaking their heads.

And then it was bedtime.

And how was your evening?

The Latest Toby-isms

The other day, enjoying a particularly indulgent March break, I told Rob that I wanted to eat something “light” for lunch. Rob wholeheartedly agreed. Toby, trying to find his place in our adult conversation, nodded his head in agreement and said knowingly, “Yeah. I’ve had too much DARK food lately. Lets have something light.”

After enjoying our “light lunch” (Not dark lunch!) we got back into the car to find the sunroof open. It was 24 degrees out and the beginning of March. (During our absurdly delightful yet slightly terrifying freak March weather…) Can you BLAME me for leaving the sunroof open?!?!? Apparently Rob can. After being appropriately reprimanded for my careless action, I said with exasperation, “Oh come ON, Rob. Do you REALLY think anyone is going to CRAWL through my sunroof and steal our car?”

Rob was silent. I had made my point.

A few minutes later, however, Toby piped up,

“Mommy…” he said with the sweetest of intentions, “GOCHAR could climb through your sunroof!”

Thanks a lot, kid.

And then on a completely different day, in a totally unrelated situation, Toby and I were heading to daycare when he excitedly pointed out of his window and announced that he had seen a SQUIRREL in a TREE!

There are times in life when you have to REMIND yourself that you are a mommy and that even if something doesn’t SEEM exciting on the surface, it is not justification for squelching your 4-year-old's sense of wonder at the world.

And so I tried my best to disregard up all of my I-have-lived-in-Ontario-my-whole-life-and-probably-seen-about-a-thousand-squirrels-in-my-day-and-they-all-look-the-same-to-me-cynicism and said as cheerfully as possible, “Wow. That’s neat, eh?”

“Yes, Mommy!” my excited know-it-all continued, “That one must have just come out of hibernation! That means it must be SPRING!”

And then there are other mommy moments, when your child catches you so off guard that you almost ram your car into the nearest parked tree.

You know, the one with a squirrel in it.