An Update on Gochar

Some of you have asked, maybe more of you have wondered what has happened to Gochar.  Even I, after a few blissful months of Gochar-less rantings find myself wondering if Gochar has finally and TRULY moved on. But he always  (ALWAYS) resurfaces like annoying outdated fashion styles or pesky cold sores; EVENTUALLY he always comes back.  I have resigned myself to the fact that Gochar is ALWAYS going to be there, lurking in the shadows, ready to one-up me when I least expect it.

Don’t get me wrong - I LOVE the fact that Toby has an imagination.  He is the boy who spent his first year of kindergarten art class drawing“Attendance Sheets” and hot air balloons (aka a solitary blob of varying colours on the right hand side of each piece of ‘art work’).   I tried to explain to his doting kindergarten teacher that he doesn’t contain an ounce of creativity in his bones, yet still she persevered with the tenderness of a veteran of her trade, “I always say to Toby, ‘And what can you see TODAY from your hot air balloon?”

Whether we can attribute his growing creativity to his beloved and attentive teacher or whether it’s just something he’s now willing to indulge us in, his imagination is blossoming.  And hence, so are Gochar’s antics.

Gochar continues to have many birthdays and usurp Toby’s sister’s triumphs with those of his own . His age continues to be an ambiguous and ever shifting mystery.  Sometimes Toby tells me about Gochar’s grandchildren; just yesterday Gochar lost his very first tooth.  Gochar is VERY good at sports (SEVERAL of his relatives won Gold at the Olympics), he eats EVERYTHING on his plate (except for those days when his gluten intolerance is in high gear) and now sometimes says bad words that Toby unsuccessfully tries his very hardest NOT to repeat.  We have actually had to create a new rule in our house:  “Even if Gochar said or did something that is considered rude, repeating it OUT LOUD in the context of a story WILL STILL get you in trouble.”

It was in arguing the establishment of this rule with Rob and Toby that I actually thought to myself, “Have I actually GONE crazy?”  Someone would tell me if I had, wouldn’t they??

The interesting thing about Gochar’s place in our family is that Mia has yet to comment.  Though she now understands everything we talk about and eagerly listens to and engages in all of her big brother’s antics, she has never ONCE asked the question we have ALL been secretly wondering for the past 3 years…

WHO the HECK is GOCHAR???

The answer is out there…I’ll let you know when we get any closer to the truth.

Our Random Update in 2 Scenes...

Tonight at dinner we ate some of Mia's leftover birthday cupcakes.  They had a TON of icing on them and I said, "WOW! Thos are GOOD! I like SUGAR!!!" and Mia quickly chimed in, "Me, TOO!  I LOVE sugar!" to which Toby said in his serious, melancholic tone..."Mommy...you know what Gochar is allergic to?"  

"Let me guess" I said still determined not to have my sugar high ruined by his lamentations, "SUGAR?!?!?"

"No." he said.  "Gluten."

That's the 21st century for you - where even IMAGINARY FRIENDS are intolerant to gluten.

After dinner tonight the kids were playing horsey and rough housing with one another to the point that Toby bonked his nose HARD on the floor.  (Rob thinks he might have broken his nose).  There was a lot of crying, ice packs to the face, and rocking in the grey chair.  It was so dramatic even Mia felt badly and rubbed Toby's hair.  She didn't say much but then when I was rocking her to sleep she wanted to debrief,  "Know what my favourite part of the day way?" she asked as we rocked in the dark. "What?" 

"Playing horsey with Toby"

"Yes, but Toby got hurt, Mia, didn't he..."

Mia let out a big sigh,,,"Poooooor Toby..." she said ,"He's a LONELY Man...."

She is trying hard to enlist some empathetic tendencies…

That's all from our end.  Life continues to be a roller coaster ride of 3 and 5 year olds and their ensuing and never ending diversions.  

Mia's Baby Renaming Project Revisited

As a follow up to my previous post about Mia’s inability to accurately or consistently name her babies, I thought I should update you on things for posterity.  I am pleased to report that she has made some progress in name designation:

her largest baby is now consistently called “Big Baby” and her floppy little dollar store baby is now officially “Little Baby”.  This Christmas Santa got her a doll whose name was “Emma”.  It shocked all of us when she actually referred to Emma by her name.  She continues to do so.  These are HUGE developments in the world of our non-conformist little Mia.   She does still have a variety of other naked, androgynous babies whose names are ethereal mixes of the latest babies she has seen at daycare.  My good friend Sarah just had a baby named Ben so most of them have since acquired his name.  For now….

Perhaps the greatest and most shocking development in this storyline, however, occurred just this week.  Toby was very excited to give Mia her birthday present: her very own little white stuffed puppy dog that comes in a purse.  He had every right to be excited to give it to her; she ADORES her new dog and proudly takes the puppy with her on ALL of her latest adventures.  She can now often be found proudly flaunting herself around the house in her new tiara, her plastic high-heeled shoes and jewels, pushing her baby in a stroller while holding her new purse and puppy in the other hand.  If it weren’t for her potbelly I swear she’d be Paris Hilton.

Since Wednesday was her birthday and her puppy was new we let her bring puppy with her to the dinner table.  Puppy was even granted her very own seat right beside her.  (In her purse, of course).  During the meal, Rob earnestly asked Mia the question she has notoriously bombed in the past, “Mia, does your new puppy have a name?”

Now having the maturity and wherewithal of a THREE year old, Mia didn’t miss a beat.

“Oh, YES!” she said nodding her head and chewing her pizza pizza, “her name is RITA.”

As if that wasn’t enough, it turns out puppy Rita also has a last name: Robinson.

Now every night when I tuck Mia into bed I say goodnight to her and I am sure to include Big Baby, Little Baby, Emma, Androgynous Babies collectively named Ben (for now) and her newest addition…Rita Robinson.

Mia, Daddy, Rita Robinson (hanging upside down in her purse) and their tieras...

Miss Mia Turns 3!!!

Three years ago today it was bitterly cold but I insisted on going for my then-ritualized nighttime waddle after the kids had gone to bed.   It was my painful and desperate attempt to induce labour.  My mother, not wanting to upset me, graciously bundled herself up to come with me so I wasn’t walking the icy and darkened streets alone.

It was on this particular walk that my mom made the sweeping statement that “Babies are ALWAYS born in the middle of the night.”

Of course I argued her point; I was beyond curmudgeonly and we had run out of the usual topics of conversation.  She rolled her eyes at me,

“Name ONE BABY who was born between the hours of 8am and 4pm”

Jordan Holloway. 

Her argument was that his mother  had been in LABOUR during the night so it didn’t count.

I threw my arms up in the air.  With THAT type of specification and the length of MOST labours, NO ONE was going to meet her ridiculous criteria.

I still remember her very next words that served as the final impetus for Mia’s arrival,

“Look, Lyssie, all I’m trying to say is that no one wakes up at 7am, goes into labor, and delivers the baby at 4pm in the afternoon.  It’s never REFINED like that.”

Less than 24 hours later, after a 7am-4pm labour and arriving just before the civilized hour of 5pm, Mia made her grand entrance into the world

It was the first and LAST thing she ever conformed to.  It was the first of MANY times she flipped the inaugural bird to my mother and the rest of the world.

Since that time, Mia has lived up to that very first statement by being predictably unpredictable, doing things in her own way, on her own terms, and constantly giving us plenty of things to laugh about.

We find her now, approaching her 3^rd birthday, a strong willed, independent and quirky little girl.    While she can keep up with her busy brother in soccer, wrestling and running games,  we often find her by herself, sweetly rocking one of her many babies, softly kissing their head and shushing them in sweet maternal loveliness. 

Her palate for chocolate and all things sweet is unparalleled.  This Christmas I brought home that disgusting PC Chocolate Soda and did a blind taste test for my parents, Rob, Toby and Mia.  We all smelled it, took a sip, and guess who was the first to guess correctly?

“ITS CHOCOLATE….” She said in an astounedly dreamy voice.  While the rest of us grimaced and poured it down the drain, Mia gleefully finished her (very small) taste test, and has since then marveled at that magically perfect beverage that never materialized again.

Mia makes us all laugh on a regular basis.  Whether it’s her odd pronunciations of words such as DESSERT (pronounced De-THE-rt) or Usually (pronounced Yooooo-s-oooo—ly) or her crazy dress up get ups that she proudly walks around boasting, there is never a dull moment with her around.

Perhaps my greatest pleasure comes from watching Mia and Toby together.  There was a long stretch of time in my life when I questioned how on earth I was ever going to be able to parent two children at the same time.  I still have those moments, but seeing their mutual love of one another blossom and reciprocate, I know that by having Mia I gave Toby the greatest gift I could ever give him.   This year I can add this clause:  And Vice Versa.

Dearest Mia,

I know you are SO excited to turn 3 years old tomorrow.  You know how to hold up 3 fingers and you love the fact that if you turn the number 3 on its side it makes an M for Mia.  I look forward to celebrating the day with you with all of your babies, a big chocolate cake with whipped cream for de-the-rt and a nice cozy meal with your adoring brother and father.  You bring us all so much joy; we couldn’t imagine what we ever did without you.  I hope one day you will be a Mommy too, because I know you will be SUCH a great one, but more importantly so that you one day know how very much I love you, my sweet pea.

Happy Birthday to you

 Love Always,  Mommy xoxo

A Different Kind of New Years...

It is 7:30pm on New Years Eve and everyone in my house is asleep INCLUDING the dog. 

We had high hopes for tonight; a meticulously planned dinner party with oysters, champagne tastings and midnight poutine bar with some of our very favourite couples.  We had hyped up the sleepovers for the kids, made convoluted plans to have the dog appropriately fed and toileted, and even  had the trampoline place rented for post festivities child-minding while we nursed our hangovers the next morning.

And then Toby got gastro.

My boy doesn’t do anything half-heartedly.  While some people feel sick, barf, and are done with it, Toby not only chooses a momentous day (last year it was Halloween) but also allows the bug to completely take over his body and mind.  Rob found him wandering the basement delivering puddles of vomit to unsuspecting places just after midnight.  He then proceeded to replicate his wandering shenanigans 4 more times before daybreak.  By the time it was morning Rob had done 3 loads of laundry, showered himself and Toby and Lysol-disinfected the basement and his room twice.  All while I was sleeping.  (I married a good man.)

Mia, on the other hand, woke up with some diarrhea neatly tucked into her diaper and that was the end of it.

Needless to say, my heart went out to my two boys today.  We cancelled our evening plans and had a pajama and movie day, trading our lavish dinner for beef broth, saltines and ginger ale with a whiff of zofran on the side.

I am sitting here alone by the fire while everyone else sleeps (Rob PROMISES he will wake up in an hour to make dinner with me and usher in the new year…we shall see!) and I’m feeling surprisingly grateful for this rare moment of solitude in which to reflect on our year.

I think the feeling that I have right now – which I have every time Toby gets sick (in his own dramatic way) is that of gratitude.  Seeing your child sick and then bouncing back to health is a little reminder of how precious and full of life they are, yet how vulnerable they can be at times.

In a lot of ways this is the predominant feeling I get when I reflect back on 2013.  Rob had his big car crash in May (he was fine but his car was not) and finished off the year by hacking his 2^nd finger up with an axe on Christmas Eve.  Both events were DEVASTATING to Rob but after decompressing (!) he came around to realizing how fortunate we are.  Both events left us feeling thankful that Rob and the others were unscathed and that all 10 fingers are securely in place.  It also reminded us of the amazing friends we have in our lives. We have several lawyer friends who jumped in to give us hours of free advice and are still walking us through the process.  We have doctor friends who arrived on Xmas eve to sew up Rob’s finger and reattach his fingernail, which has since proven to be but a decorative ornament on his now grotesque finger.

Toby’s year was highlighted by sports.  This year Rob coached Toby’s soccer team and I think for the rest of our lives we will forever refer to it as The Dream Team.  It just so happened that all the boys on his team were his best friends from class PLUS his best buddy from daycare, Connor.  The boys had SO much fun all summer long meeting on Saturday mornings to play soccer together and were undefeated this season which only served to rile up Toby’s soccer ego and enthusiasm.  As winter rolled in we were fortunate enough to find adequate replacement with hockey.  Although this team is missing his very best buddies, it has finally allowed him to make friends with some of the local kids and parents in Feversham and Singhampton.  He played his first game on Dec 23^rd and they lost 18-5, which quite quickly mitigated his feelings of invincibility from his summer of undefeated soccer.

Miss Mia has continued to live up to her middle name; she reminds me more and more of my Grandma as she unveils her mischievous and fun personality.  She has SUCH a sweet tooth, whenever she devilishly tucks in to a particularly delectable treat, hiding it away from the rest of us; I swear I catch a glimpse of my Grandma in her flickering eyes.   Mia has also started to show us her softer more maternal side. She has about 6 babies who sleep with her every night.  She talks to them as she falls asleep and as soon as she wakes up.  When I go in to get her every morning I find her rocking one of them, singing a song, patting their back or just reassuring them “there, there, baby, there there”.  It is great to see that there’s another side to my rough and tumble girl.

My fire is starting to dwindle and if I have any hope at all of salvaging my evening I must go and wake Rob up so we can do our NYE quiz and make some dinner.

I am signing off this year with feelings of good fortune, good friends, and hopefully no ominous rumblings in my tummy…I wish you and yours all the same.

Sibling Affection...

There is nothing sweeter than watching your children fall in love with one another.

A parental love of their child is instantaneous and starts to blossom even before their heart starts beating.  The love between siblings is a slower process marred by competition for mom’s affection and competitive screaming matches.  I have always felt blessed that Toby had such an innate love of Mia.  He was never one to demand extra attention while I was breastfeeding; he readily recognized the importance of his sister’s needs and accepted that they were a priority above of his own.  I would never have known the bond of siblinghood to be so strong if I hadn’t had the privilege to witness Toby as an older brother.  I remember the days before Mia was born praying that I would be able to love my second as mucha s my first and the weeks after she was born praying that she would one day love Toby as much as he loved her.

And then Mia grew into her own and started stealing his toys.

With Toby being the competitor that he is and Mia being the bossy little ball of stubbornness that SHE is, the peaceful bliss that I bragged about in paragraph 1 was transient.  The moments of me worrying whether Mia will one day love Toby as much as he love(d) her have now been usurped by worries about little fingers being caught in slamming doors and what critical screech decibels are safe for our windows.  But every now and then I get a reminder of that precious love my first born has for his baby sister.

Saturday mornings were Toby’s hockey mornings.  He played at 1030 am and the whole family would pack up our stuff and head to the arena by 10 am so he had enough time to get into his hockey gear in order to play his game.  Rob an I have had a great opportunity to connect with other families in our Brewster Lake community and Mia even met a little girl her own age who was in skating lessons that used the ice for the hour before Toby went on.  Before you knew it, Mia had her own skates, helmet , skating buddies and ice time which took up yet ANOTHER hour of our Saturday mornings and also deflected the attention YETAGAIN from her poor older brother.

Most mornings now, we arrive at the arena in enough time for Mia to get suited up and on the ice and Toby gets lost in the pile of siblings his own age who play various 5 year old arena games that often involve screaming, hiding and LOTS of running.  I leave him to his new group of friends for the first 30 min before dragging him to the changeroom to get ready for his hockey practice.

Last Saturday Toby was unusually quiet on his way to the arena and when I asked him what was up he said that he was thinking about how he’d like to watch Mia’s skating practice for a change.

“That’s nice of you Toby’ I said and thought nothing more of it.

After we got to the arena I left Toby with his friends and frantically got Mia into her skates and attire before heading off to meet with the other moms.  After a few minutes I decided I should find Toby and went off in search of the large group of boys – he was nowhere to be found.  When I FINALLY located the boys Toby was not with them.  I started to panic and ran into each dressing room looking for him to no avail.

Finally I spotted him out of the corner of my eye.  He had moved to the cold rinkside portion of the arena and pulled a large overturned bin right beside the rink to the spot Mia was practicing.  He was sitting by the cold ice, all by himself up high on this bin, his little legs dangling, watching, with adored admiration, his little sister skate.

I think back sometimes to the weeks of panic I had thinking how much I might ruin my first born’s life by selfishly having another one; and now I have the perfect reprieve.   Toby is an old soul and although he may find a few more challenges in his life, having to share it with Mia, deep down there's nothing but unconditional love for her.  She's a lucky little girl...

Toby's First F-Bomb

Sometimes being a parent require spontaneous –on-your-feet-reactions to situations you have absolutely no forewarning or preparation for.  Case in point was our drive to school today in which Toby dropped his first F-bomb.

I know now WHY they call it an F-bomb: the sound of that ONE WORD erupting from the innocent mouth of my 5 year old created waves of bomb-like explosions that ricocheted off various parts of my brain I knew not even existed.

Here’s how the unexpected conversation went:

T: “Mommy, want to hear something funny?”

Me: “Sure!”  I say with genuine innocent enthusiasm as I got into the car

T: “Holden, my friend at school is SOO funny.  Instead of saying ‘suck your thumb’ he says ‘FUCK your thumb!”

Bah dum bum CHING!

Me: “WHAT!?!?!?!"  I said as I fell off the seat and out of the car.

A now somewhat meek Toby repeated,  “FUCK your thumb – that’s what Holden says.”

The second repetition of the word hit me just as harshly as the first.  I felt like a superhero character being pummeled to death with invisible speech-inflicted laser beams of indiscretion.

OK – I recognize now in HINDSIGHT that there is probably somewhere some literature (perhaps from Huffington post?) that educates parents on the PROPER way to react to your child’s first use of a swear word.  And I SUSPECT it says something about remaining calm, keeping it cool, minimizing the impact of the word and feigning indifference so as not embellish or permanently emblazon the word into their vocabulary.

I confess to you now that I did nothing of the sort.

“TOBY!!!” I shrieked as I regained my footing and got back into the car for the second time, “That’s a BAD WORD!!! A VERY bad word and I NEVER want to hear you say it AGAIN!!!”

Toby was shocked.

“What word is so bad, Mommy?  Is it the word FUCK?”

Once again zapped by the proverbial thunderbolt, he hit me again in quick succession,

“What does FUCK even MEAN?’

I explained to him again that it was a VERY bad word; SUCH a bad word, in fact, that a definition was IRRELEVANT and I went on to lecture him on the importance of NOT using words he doesn’t know the meaning of.

Finally FINALLY Toby got he message and was silent for a few minutes before boldly announcing that he was SORRY that he used such a bad word and that the FIRST thing he was going to do when he arrived at kindergarten that morning would be to confront Holden and TELL him that the expression, “FUCK YOUR THUMB” was NOT a good expression because the word “FUCK” was a bad one.

I threw my hands up in the air at this point and waved my white flag.  My mommy brain had been defeated by the relentless thunderbolts of crass terminology from its superior super hero.

One can only hope I have scared him enough with my seemingly nonsensical reaction to delay any further swearing behaviour for at LEAST another few moths…or at least to buy me enough time to do some proper research, husband collaboration and practice on the subject before the next outburst!!!