Bath time Games

This is a video I took tonight of the kids in the bath. Rob was at soccer and I was folding laundry in the bathroom (my reward for having cleaned up the dinner table AND washed BOTH of their hair and teeth without being bitten or spat on).  They had been in the bath about 5 minutes when they came up with this “game” that had them both in peals of laughter.  After about 20 minutes of listening to them I finally got the video camera out to document it .

I don’t really GET the game they are playing, nor do I understand WHY it is SO damn funny.   All I know is that as a parent of 2 there is NOTHING more wonderful to hear than the sound of your children laughing together.  I don’t need to have played any role in initiating it; just hearing it is enough to put a giddy smile on my face.

I have watched the video about 20 times since they’ve gone to bed and each time I burst out laughing with them.  It’s a video I know I will cherish when they are 6 and 8 and hate each others guts, or when they become teenagers and no longer think it’s cool to share a hotel room together on family trips.  Or when they are off at university, living hundreds of miles away from each other and me and our family home…

I’ll remember tonight –that random Wednesday evening when a boring old bedtime routine turned into mass hysteria over some inside joke I still don’t totally get.  When everything in life, for just a moment or two, was absolutely perfect.

Mia's Newest Schtick...The Stool

Mia has a little stool.  It’s her new favourite toy.  It is a cheap white fold up one that stands about a foot off the ground and was probably purchased on sale at Canadian Tire sometime last year in my post partum sleep deprivation.  We leave it by her change table so Toby could climb up and kiss her good night when we changed her into her sleep sac for the night.  She now uses it to get into her own type of mischief.

The stool is collapsible and the top turns into a handle.  At first when I saw her waddling around the house with her little stool at her side I thought it was rather cute; she looked like she was carrying a briefcase and was heading out to do some business.

Little did I know that was EXACTLY what she was setting out to do.

When I went to investigate the first bit of eerie silence (YOU know the kind, parents) I came out into the front hall just in time to see all three paintings SWINGING precariously on the wall.  Mia was standing on her stool at the base of the third one.  She had placed the stool under each one, climbed up, and given the painting a good shove with all of her might.  The eerie silence was broken by my own shriek followed by a wicked CACKLE from my devilish daughter.

The next time I saw her grab the stool, having learned NOTHING from the swinging painting incident, I found her a few minutes later standing triumphantly on the dining room table, reaching up to grab the chandelier.  I don’t know if she had intended to swing on it or change a light bulb, but I didn't hesitate long enough to find out.  This time, she had quite cleverly moved her little stool beside one of the dining room chairs and climbed up onto that before hoisting herself onto the table.  It was a well thought out, somewhat ingenious three-step process and unfortunately mean old mommy stepped in just in time to ruin the grand finale.  (As always!)

Although it is quite endearing, watching her walk around with her pot belly hanging out over her diaper, suitcase-stepstool at her side and a look of sheer devilish determination on her face, I just can’t risk seeing what she has in mind next.  The step  stool is now in the closet with other forbidden toys such as “pop up books” and old school lego pieces.

Ah, the things we learn as parents…

My Lesson in Superheroes

Toby and I had a conversation about Superheroes tonight. 

Well, actually, the FIRST conversation we had was about where it was and wasn’t appropriate to stick Spiderman stickers.  The front window and Daddy’s bedside table were NOT good places; various bodily appendages (save the obvious one) and sticker books WERE appropriate.

After Toby had wisely decided to display his Spiderman stickers on his two arms he launched into full superhero mode with his left arm chasing his right arm as he swooped around the bedroom while his loquacious mouth commentated the whole time on who was catching who and which Spiderman was getting killed.

I was only halfway through tidying up the bedroom but decided to pause and educate my son a little on the rights and wrongs of superhero doings.  In particular, I pointed out, it was NOT OK to kill anyone.  EVER.

But what if they were killing BAD guys?

Same principal applies:  It is NEVER OK to kill someone.  EVEN if they are bad guys. Bad guys had a mommy and daddy, too, who would be VERY sad if they got killed.

Toby was quiet after that comment.  I went back to cleaning up the bedroom.

A few minutes later I saw him over in the corner of our room, quietly tearing up his beloved Spiderman stickers and throwing them into the trashcan.

“OH, TOBY!” I realized with shock how seriously he’d taken my words, “Don’t tear up your Spiderman stickers!  Spiderman isn’t a bad guy!”

“But Mommy he KILLS bad guys!” He said tragically.

I got down on my knees to rescue the last half of his Spiderman sticker as I explained that Spiderman doesn’t KILL bad guys, his just protects people from them.  In fact, his primary purpose was to SAVE people, not KILL people.

Toby looked at me like I’d just gone ape shit.

I persisted in my story with a fervent passion that was sure to repair the tarnished mark I’d placed on his beloved superhero.

“No matter what he’s doing, if someone is in trouble he goes RACING out and puts on his cape and RUSHES to the rescue and SAVES them!  He FLIES through the air and carries people away from burning buildings or scoops them up just before they are about to be hit by a train.  He uses all his power and strength…” 

Wait a minute…

As Toby looked at me with his big hopefully 4 year old eyes waiting attentively to my explanation I had a sudden epiphany.

I am 34 years old and I don’t know the difference between Spiderman and Superman.

The damage had already been done.  My story was immediately rendered implausible by the mere mention of a “cape.”  Spiderman doesn’t wear a cape.  He also doesn’t fly – he throws strings out of his hands that suction cup to buildings.  And most importantly of all, SPIDERMAN doesn’t RESCUE people.

I know that all now (as well as many other details on their differences) after being properly schooled on such matters in the hot tub tonight but my appalled husband. 

I suppose this is just one of many tutorials I will need to take on cartoon superheroes.   (It sounds MUCH more appealing than the inevitable Disney Princess stage that is awaiting us…)  And I guess not all superheroes are going to be as good as Superman, but I will have to cross my fingers that by also instilling good morals into him he will become a good person DESPITE what lessons he learns from TV superheroes.

And hey, maybe one day I’ll even let him watch Dexter with me… 

The End of an Era

Today was Toby’s last day at daycare.  It’s the end of an era and I wasn’t sure how to mark it for my own sense of closure.  When Toby slept in a bit this morning I panicked that I wouldn’t be able to take him by myself.  When I had to work late tonight I was anxious that I’d be too late to do the final “pick up”.  All day I walked around with a lump in my throat and a sense of mourning.

Toby has SUCH good friends at Duntroon – 3 boys in particular that  he refers to as his “Buddies”.  The thought that I was sending him off this morning to play with his buddies for the very last time was heartbreaking.  When I asked him if he was sad he said, “No, I’m not, mommy, cause it’s EVERYONE's  last day.”  The guy CLEARLY didn’t get it.   Drop off this morning was unlike any other; he raced for the first plasma car he could find and launched into a car race with his buddies before I’d had a chance to drop his knapsack in his cubby. Getting him OFF his plasma car to take a picture with his “daycare moms” was almost impossible.  

All day, the finality of today was on my mind.  Thankfully when I picked him up tonight he was one of the last kids to leave; I don’t know if I could have handled watching him say a final farewell to any of his buddies or his teachers.   As someone who is notorious for not being overly sentimental or much of a crier, I certainly appreciated the reprieve from a situation that almost certainly would have brought me to tears.

The ride home from daycare was uneventful and eventually I was home safe with my psychologically tenuous day behind me. I had made it with my reputation in tact.  No one, including myself, knew that today was a really difficult today for me emotionally; I had made it through with my secret safe and undercover.

And then, without thinking about it, I went to empty his backpack.

I pulled out some dirty shorts, a few pieces of terrible, half done artwork (lets face it, Toby is NOT an artist) a bottle of sunscreen…and a bear and a ratty old blanket I haven’t laid eyes on since Toby was 18 months old.

And it all came flooding back to me. 

Although it was 3 years ago, I remember it as if it was yesterday; packing up my baby to go to off without me for the first time, into the intimidating land of daycare.  I packed his favourite blanket and the bear that had sat by his side at Sick Kids hospital when he was so ill.  They have been with him on his little bed at daycare since that very first day.

I grabbed these long lost treasures and final mementos of my little baby boy in a  fervent embrace, letting all of my pent up sentimentality out as I hugged and smelled them.  They both smelled of daycare.  I burst into tears.

Toby ignored my tears and grabbed for his bear and blankie.  “Give bear to me, Mommy!  I’m going to introduce him to his new friends!”, he said excitedly as he ran downstairs to his room to place bear with his other beloved stuffed animals.

And just as bear will make “new friends” with the numerous other stuffed animals in Toby’s room, so too will Toby meet some new friends in kindergarten this fall.  I guess I have to be OK with that; it’s all part of his journey.  But I know that wherever he ends up, whatever friends he makes, his very first friends, the Duntroon Buddies, will always have a very special place in ALL of our hearts. 

Happy summer, everyone…

Father's Day Performances

This Fathers Day weekend we celebrated with some much-needed quiet time at home as a family.  We caught up on European Soccer, lawn mowing, BBQ cooking and sleep.  It was just what we all needed!

Today, we celebrated with Rob’s favourite breakfast, Toby’s soccer practice, putting the docks in the lake, and a rainy afternoon showing of the movie “Annie”.  It was the first movie I saw in a theatre as a child and I LOVED it. I was SO excited to show it to Toby, but was shocked at how SAD it was!!!!  Toby stated afterwards that he didn’t like it but I think he was reacting to the fact that he had to sit there for 2 hours listening to me sniffle away. (I’m not much of a crier- - Toby caught a rare glimpse today and didn’t know quite what to do with me…)

Father's day evening, after an early family dinner, we sat down to what has now appeared to have become a bit of a Henry family tradition; a post dinner performance for the lucky parent whom we are celebrating that day.

You may recall the botched attempt at my “birthday parade” from earlier this year.    I will leave it up to you to determine which “show” was worse.  Let's just say, I don’t think we are making MUCH progress as a family, although Toby DID try to preemptively mitigate things this time by outright REFUSING to allow Mia any role at all in the performance.  And he also stated that it was NOT a parade.

I will leave you with the first and last takes so you get the full idea and can judge as you please.

Before you view, however, please note :

1.  I did not dress Toby today.

2.  My role tonight was to be the official announcer.  (I’m not just being bossy.)

3. In take #1 I am not laughing AT my son getting hurt, I’m laughing at the slow, dramatic cry that accompanied it.

4. You may notice that by take #2 the “fire race” has been downgraded to a dance party to Rob’s guitar music.

5.  Learning from the "king of Pop" himself, Toby ends his show by grabbing his crotch.  It's subtle- don’t miss it!

The gift of friendship...

It has been another crazy weekend here at the Henry household…so crazy, in fact, that I feel compelled to share. 

A long while ago I started planning (in conjunction with numerous other keen Thunderbay-ites) a reunion weekend for our friends in Thunder Bay.  Organizing a time when 8 couples from across Canada (Ok, fine Ontario and Manitoba) can come, en masse with children and spouses, and gather all together is next to impossible.  Believe it or not we FOUND the PERFECT weekend and I just happened to be June 9^th.

That was, it SEEEMED like the perfect weekend until I went to write it on the calendar and realized we had a wedding in Toronto that Sunday.  That was around the time that Rob called up from the basement to remind me that it was also the weekend before his report cards were due.

Ok, so maybe not QUITE the perfect weekend.

As it turns out, it was also the weekend that Mia would come down with hand, foot and mouth disease and Toby would develop his 27^th bout of croup.

I am triumphant in my announcement that I SURVIVED the weekend. But not only did I survive it, I come away feeling completely exhausted, slightly jaundiced and…completely rejuvenated.

Every second of our weekend was planned and jam packed, but amid the chaos of flying, catching up, eating, drinking and “getting there on time” we had moment after moment of pure perfection:  From the peaceful comfort of good friends chatting for hours around a campfire, to the total submersion in love that we all fell into, while watching two people who are so obviously MEANT to be together unite. Meeting the babies and children of friends I haven’t seen in years and watching little friendships form among them; sitting beside one of my longest standing friends at the wedding of another in the ultimate high school reunion; dancing the Horah in a room filled with the romance of the setting sun; rainy weather that can’t come close to dampening the spirit of children at a festival; serious life-and-death midnight chats over gin martinis and the midnight poutine bar. 

I can’t thank the world enough for the many friendships I have all across the country.  It is indeed overwhelming to celebrate them all in the span of one lowly June weekend, but sometimes in life, a little sleep deprivation is worth every minute.

Thank you, friends.  Until next time!

Yes, Toby is STILL funny...and random

Caught between the chaos of life with 2 and a full time job, I often overlook the random bits of funniness that come out of Toby’s mouth.    The number of times I hear my mother tell me to “write that down!” should be an indication to me that I should.  But I don’t.   This week has been a particularly funny one and I’ve collected a few random snapshots of my 4-going-on-40-year old boy.

Yesterday he and Grandma Lynda were bonding in the hammock.  Grandma was pretending to interview him and was asking him questions about himself; ‘So, Toby, what colour is your soccer jersey?  What did you have for lunch today?  What is your favourite sport?”  Toby was right into it.  Soon Grandma turned the game around and asked Toby to interview her.  “OK!” he said eagerly, “Grandma…WHAT is my name?” He asked.  My mom explained to him that when he was the interviewer he had to ask HER the questions.  Toby thought about things for a minute before finally coming up with his opening question, “Grandma.” He said, very seriously putting the pretend microphone up to her mouth, “Do you have…a hairdresser?”

How’s THAT for random?

Not 24 hours later, on a completely different subject in some other mental zone of Toby’s stratosphere, we were having dinner tonight when Toby proudly announced that there was a new kid at daycare whose name was “Eminem”.

I asked him to repeat the name about 4 times for clarification and it was indeed not a mistake.  Toby is unwavering in his nomenclature; the kid’s name is EMINEM.

Navigating through the rest of the conversation was a difficult one.  I in no way wanted to plant an idea in Toby’s head that this child’s name was at all anything to make fun (or take note of) but I was indeed VERY curious.  So I started with some neutral questions.  Was Eminem a boy or a girl?

You would THINK this would be an easy one.

Toby thought and thought.  As I waited with pretend ambivalence he chewed his bagel and cream cheese, contemplating in lavish slothfulness while I waited with baited breath.  Finally, after swallowing his mouthful, wiping his face with his napkin and taking a sip of milk he cleared his throat and said,

“I don’t know.  I’ll have to ask.”

WHAT!??!?! How do you not KNOW what sex s/he is?

The questioning from my part got even MORE challenging at this point.  Is there a politically correct way to point out clues to a child’s gender without reinforcing dated stereotypes?  It took a good bit of thought and mental trial and error before I came up with my next careful question: 

“Whose group was Eminem in?”

“Erin’s”

(Well THAT got me a lot of information).

“What sort of things did Eminem like to do at daycare today?”

“Oh,” Toby said casually, “Eminem just kept coming over to my group.”

Finally Rob got exasperated by my cautious approach and took it upon himself to get some hard and cold facts. “TOBY” He said directly in an exasperated attempt to get some semblance of a concrete answer “Does Eminem play with TRUCKS or DOLLS?”

I could see the hard work on creating a gender-neutral-approach-to-life dissipate with that one simple and terrifyingly revealing question.

I did what any LOGICAL parent would do in such a situation:   I offered the both dessert.

And so I leave you with the mystery of Eminem.  Did a famous rapper disguise himself as a 3-year-old androgynous member of Erin’s group today at daycare?  Or does the booming metropolis of Duntroon host a family who has boldly chosen the name of Eminem for their politically-correct-and-slightly-ambiguous-child?


As always, the truth is out there.  Between me, my loud mouth and somewhat random son, and my politically incorrect husband, we WILL get it for you.  But until then, I'll leave you with the one question I can answer : YES, my mother DOES have a hairdresser.