Our PEI Reprieve

This summer we took our family trip to PEI.

We decided on some place simple that didn’t involve a prolonged flight or significant time change.  What we wanted was a real chance to relax.  What we needed was some time to just simply be together as a family.

The build up to these short 8 days has been immense.  While all of the chaos of house buying, year ending, moving, summer planning and nanny hiring went on around us, we went to the mere prospect of this trip as our happy place.  

Two weeks - we’d remind ourselves.  Two weeks and we will step away from this all and just be.

Whenever I found myself anxious or stressed at work I would advance my day planner ahead a few weeks to the yellow blocked out weeks of our vacation and take a deep breath.

Soon.

And now here we are.

As it often is at life, when we place all of our expectations into one singular outcome, the results are often disappointing.  As we launched off into the air in our small Air Canada Express airplane I prepared myself for this.  I said a silent reminder to myself to accept whatever the PEI trip and experience became for what it was.  But I also hoped with all my might that it would offer us the reprieve we so badly needed.

I sit here tonight on the deck of our modest cottage, sipping a glass of red wine, breathing deeply the salty sea air and I am moved to write.

PEI has not disappointed.  It has not only granted me the serenity I imagined, but it has unearthed in all of us an innate sense of belonging and recognition we didn’t even know existed.

                                                                               
                             It is majestic in its simplistic and rugged beauty. The lifestyle is simple. The people are kind.  The food is fresh.   The land is uncrowded and the houses unpretentious.   The music is joyous, and the air…you can smell the wholesomeness of the sea salt as easily as you can see its crazy effects on my curly hair.

At first I just imagined this to by my happy place, but soon realized that the feeling was mutual.  This omnipresent contentment was solidified on a drive out to Malpeque Bay earlier this week.  We were driving in silence with all the windows open and the cool air blowing our thoughts around in our heads when Toby’s singular statement summarized perfectly what we were all thinking.

“I like it here…” he said to all of us and none of us at the same time, “It’s even better than Disney world.”

I pressed him a bit on this out of curiosity.  WHAT exactly was better?  We had no organized day trips – just lounging days at the beach. There weren’t any fancy restaurants – just last minute jaunts to the fish market or the lobster suppers we attended.  We hardly watched TV but opted for late night swims or one of the millions of board games that were at the cottage.  (My kids even learned how to play twister!)

“Well…” my 6 year old tried to put to words exactly what I had been thinking all week, “There’s nothing I can think of…you just don’t have to be DOING anything here to have fun.  It just is."

Tonight when I tucked him into bed I asked him what he loved most about the trip.  His answer was one long run on sentence.  I concluded with a question about what he most looked forward to about going home.

He stared at me blankly. 

“I just kind of wish we lived here” was all he came up with.

Ironically, this is the very same conversation Rob and I had had the night before.

I reminded Toby of the million and one things we love about Collingwood, family, and friends back home and it wasn’t long before he was imagining play dates and anticipating how he was going to summarize his trip for his grandparents.

There’s something about this land that sneaks into your soul.  Or maybe it has been hidden inside of us this whole time.  Either way, I know we are all coming back from our excursion a little more connected in a way none of us can put into words.  We are also a little blonder, a little browner, a little quieter and a little calmer.   And a little more inspired to translate the quiet peacefulness of vacation and PEI life into our own life when we return.

Fingers crossed….

    I found this shell on our last day - must be a sign :)

A Trip to IKEA

A new house begs one sure thing: a trip to IKEA.

Living in Collingwood, having 2 children AND a full time job makes this a difficult task that requires a lot of fore planning.  I suppose the disaster that ensued is exactly my punishment for naively embarking on a spontaneous trip.  I accept this in hindsight.

We were all down in Toronto for an afternoon.  Mia was going for her nap, my mom was at a conference, Rob was embarking on some sort of TV sports-watching marathon and Toby and my dad were bored.  The LOGICAL conclusion?  Take these two to IKEA to buy the 9000 things we need for the new house.

The trip started off perfectly; it was MORE than perfect in fact.  BOTH the boys were ECSTATIC to go on an outing (especially to a place that offers soft serve ice cream at the exit) and we listened to a show tunes CD on the way there, singing our hearts out in the beautiful summer afternoon.  We got there and miraculously found a very close parking spot and entered the building to be greeted not only by a WHEELCHAIR but also a kids play area.  I signed Toby in and was handed a buzzer in case he needed us and was then set free into IKEA.

Mistake number 1:  I handed my dad the buzzer.

“What’s this for?” he asked crankily

“It’s so that if Toby needs us they can buzz us.”

“WHERE’S TOBY!?!?!?” he remembered in a fit of panic,

“He’s at the kids play area.  He’s fine.  Now lets go.”

I pushed my dad through the ingenious configuration that is IKEA as he gripped the buzzer as if his life depended on it. 

Mistake Number 2: Taking someone with dementia through a maze of room replications

“Where ARE we?” he asked as we turned each corner. “And WHERE is TOBY?” he would escalate…his grip grew tighter on the precious buzzer every time I explained it to him

We went through mazes of kitchen apparel, bedroom dressers and beds and bedside tables, desks, chairs, dining room sets and then finally the dishes, rugs and random paraphernalia.  I needed it all.  As each room enfolded, my inspiration mounted and I found more and more hidden gems of things I suddenly DESPREATELY needed.  I would hand my dad the things he could carry.  (I would not say no to a $24 wok!)  And the rest I took a picture of so I could pick it up at the very end. 

I was, in fact, too excited by my potential purchases to notice the chagrin that was escalating on my dad’s anxious face.

JUST when we got to the grand moment when we exited the maze and entered the STORAGE ROOM that housed all the amazing purchases I had been saving up this whole time, I realized I needed to get myself a different kind of cart.  One that required pushing.   

I looked down at my dad in his wheelchair who was now desperately gripping a $24 wok, a set of dishes, his cane and the precious buzzer.  He was at his limits.

Literally and figuratively, apparently.

“LYSSIE.  What in GODS NAME are you DOING!?!?!?” he asked as I pushed him over to the place you get the flat bed trolleys.

“Um….WELL…I was going to buy a few bedside tables…a desk…a couple of dressers…and maybe some chairs?”

My dad, apparently had had enough.   There was NO WAY he was willing to spend another SECOND shopping.  There was ALSO no was he was letting me forego the grip on his wheelchair for something as useful as the buggy.

I looked from my exasperated and anxious father to the rows and rows of neatly boxed furniture I had so recently decided I could not live without. 

“OK, Dad,” I said, “You’re right, I can’t push you AND the other buggy.” 

I thought initially I’d just buy my $24 wok, dishes and a few other things that I’d gathered along the way, leave my dad with an ice cream cone, and come back for the rest. 

But then we hit the check out line.

My father was a wreck.

WHO were all these people and WHY had we chosen the SLOWEST line.  And WHO was behind us and WHY were they trying to BUD ahead of us???

I grinned sheepishly at the poor innocent people behind us (who were not in ANY way trying to jump the line) and then kindly declined the gracious offer from the people ahead of us to go in front. 

JUST when I thought we had reached our lowest moment…the buzzer went off.

“TOBY!!!  It's TOBY!!! He exclaimed “He NEEDS US!! We have to LEAVE!!!”

(Again, the people in front of us kindly reiterated their offer to go ahead.)

The problem was the there were about 5 other people in front of them OR an entire maze of a store to navigate in reverse to get to the kids play area.  I had no choice but to either leave my $24 wok and other paraphernalia and take my dad to get Toby or abandon my helpless father at the checkout line to quickly grab my son.

The answer was a no brainer.

Don’t judge me.  I just really wanted that wok.

And besides, I left him with the kind couple in front of us, promising profusely to return for him AS SOON as I’d collected my son FROM THE OTHER END OF THE STORE in JUST a jiffy.

It was the FASTEST anyone has EVER ran through the corridors of IKEA. It was the QUICKEST Toby has EVER put his shoes on.  The people at the day care checkout must have thought I was secretly pregnant, in labour, and about to push;  I was back so fast I doubted that the couple in front of me would have even noticed.

Well…it turns out they did, as did everyone else in IKEA who was remotely close to the check out counter area that afternoon.

As I rounded the corner to the checkout area, a very helpful couple I had never before seen in my life reassured me that my dad was JUST FINE and had been moved to the far end of the cashiers area.  As I walked down I saw dozens of customers heave huge sighs of relief.

And there he was.  He had gotten himself OUT of line, turned around and was loudly banging his can on the floor and then the shelf in front of himself.

(I am happy to report that he was still holding onto the $24 Wok)

“Hey, Dad!” I said as cheerfully and nonchalantly as I could muster. “Ready to check out now?”

“Harumph…” he said in reply. “I WANT TO GET OUT OF HERE.”

This is when Toby brilliantly leaned in, “Don’t you want to get an ice cream cone, Papa?”

My dad thought about this for a split second but his anger was unwavering.

“No.  I do NOT. WANT. AN. ICE CREAM CONE.”

We were both shocked.

But we stood in line anyways and bought the damn wok.

It was then that I noticed that the ice cream cone place was right at the exit of the store.  This could either work in my favour (how long does a man with dementia remember his solemn promise NOT to get an ice cream cone?) or work against me (how gracious CAN any 6 year old be about not getting said promised ice cream cone?)  I was dangerously close to having both an 87 year old and a 6 year old temper tantruming at the same time so I promised them both that as SOON as we got the HELL out of this store we would FIND an ice cream place.

And yes, those were my exact  words.

We made it past the ice cream place and to the exit doors and were JUST about through when the LOUD alarms that started sounding caused both of my boys to throw their arms up in the air and over their ears.

My wok fell on the floor.

Of COURSE it was us that had set the alarm off.  Why wouldn’t it be?  What more could happen in one simple trip to IKEA?

The rest of the story goes like this:

We were escorted back into IKEA, screaming senior and 6 year old in tow, reprimanded for having taken an IKEA wheelchair out of the store, escorted to the exit closest to our car and kindly, yet firmly, sent on our way.

Not 5 minutes later I had them both seat belted into the car and we were on our way.   A few minutes down the road I had both of them belting out “The Sun will come out Tomorrow” and all was right again in their world.

“Well,” my dad said smiling, “that was fun.  Did you get what you wanted, Lyssie?”

“Not exactly, Dad” I answered honestly, “But I’ll get it next time.  How about going for an ice cream, now?”

“Oh, YES, “ He answered, “That sounds LOVELY.”

My dad and Toby, enjoying an ice cream cone together at Baskin and Robins...just down the road from the dreaded IKEA 

Dental Differences

There is nothing that better highlights the differences between your two kids like their very first appointment at the dentist.  We are fortunate to have found a lovely, family friendly dentist in Collingwood who offers “peek-a-boo” appointments for 3 year olds so they get familiar with the staff and the place and the whole process before embarking on their first official tooth cleaning.

When I took Toby to his peek-a-boo appointment three years ago he was still in his very shy and obedient stage.  He took the whole things VERY seriously.  He didn’t make eye contact with the hygienist.  I had to pick out his pair of sunglasses for him.   He sat in the chair stoically and solemnly, not even cracking a smile when she showed him the "tickle spray" or the "sucky thing".  In fact, he was SO well behaved that the hygienist and I decided- what the heck – why not just do his first teeth cleaning right there on the spot!   He certainly wasn’t going to kick up a fuss....  And he didn’t.  In fact, I had to check a few times to make sure he wasn’t asleep during the process.

We left the appointment and I couldn’t have been more proud of my boy.

And then there was Mia.

Mia awoke the morning of her Peek-a-book appointment and BOUNCED out of her crib and IMMEDIATELY demanded to put on her very best summer dress and her patent leather shoes. 

I will leave the rest of the differences for you to pick out from the below photograph.

Yes, those ARE leopard skin cat-eye sunglasses.  No, I did not have to pick them out for her.

Although the hygienist had fun with her quirky personality and Mia's "wiggly-giggly" approach to the dental chair, a different conclusion was drawn at the conclusion of her appointment.

“Um...Maybe we should just wait to clean those teeth of hers until she’s 4….”

I couldn’t have agreed more.  There was no way she could have kept still in that chair for another second.

But despite the differences, I left that appointment equally proud of my energetic-life-loving little girl.  

Now if only I could borrow bit of Toby's calmness and Mia's eagerness the next time I have to see the dentist...

Every Day Luxuries

Becoming a mother means giving up certain luxuries in life -- some of which you don’t even REALIZE are luxuries until you notice their absence.  Take showering, for example.  Rob LOVES to shower.  He wakes up every morning and LEAPS triumphantly from his bed to the shower and claims the invigorating nature of his morning shower is enough to explain his non-dependence on coffee.

I dislike showering. I like to be clean, but when I wake up in the morning, warm and snug in my bed, the last thing I usually want to do is disrobe and get myself soaking wet.  Having the insanely untameable hair that I have, I don’t usually have a choice.  But SOMETIMES, on weekend when we don’t have to be somewhere first thing in the morning I get the rare luxury of indulging in coffee and breakfast FIRST and THEN working up to my shower.  It is on these mornings that I actually want to take a moment and ENJOY my showering experience…

It is also on these mornings, however, that the ABSENCE of this basic human luxury becomes glaringly obvious.  Inevitably ONE of my three dependents will come up with an essential question, an unexpected disaster or a scintillating conversation topic that just CAN’T WAIT the 5 minutes that I attempt to escape.

This weekend, having garnered some recent indignation around this injustice, I prepared for my shower.  I made sure both children were fed, dressed and entertained.  I left my mother supervising (while eating her breakfast and reading the paper) and enlisted Rob as BACK up supervisor, informing him of my intent to shower.  IN PEACE.

I was just at that critical moment when you have fully lathered your hair with shampoo and it is dripping in your ears so you can’t really hear right and just about to hit your eyes and sting your contacts, when a little voice came from the other side of the shower curtain.  I looked like a blind and slightly deaf Sasquatch.

“Mommy….” It said hesitantly yet angelically,

“Yes, Toby” I said impatiently

“Um…. I have a question for you”

“Is it urgent? Do you have to ask me RIGHT NOW while I’m in the shower?”

He thought about this long enough for the soap to fully clog my left ear and drizzle down my right eyelid.  I now looked like a LOPSIDED blind and slightly deaf Sasquatch.

“Yes.”

“Is it something that Daddy can answer for you?”

He thought about this for a bit.

“No.”

“Is it something that Grandma can answer for you?”

“No."

OK then.  I was now fully removed from the relaxing sound of my shower and turned the water off so I could hear Toby’s pressing question.

“What is it…?”

As I stood there shivering, soaking wet, buck naked, and covered in soap from head to toe, Toby asked his question

“Well…” he said, “I was just wondering what your favourite part of your day has been so far.”

It took a moment for me to register that THAT was the pressing question.  It took another moment for me to come up with a suitable response.  It was 8:45.  I had been up for less than 2 hours: hard to really put a finger on the BEST moment of those 90 minutes but I certainly had an inkling as to what my LEAST favourite moment was.

I told him it was when I had been asleep and sent him on his way, only to have to relive the EXACT. SAME. SCENE. two minutes later when I had just gotten the conditioner lathered all over my hair. 

Obviously not content with my initial answer, this time he was back with a slightly different variation on his original question. “What do you THINK is going to be your best moment today?”

Just as I don’t know why having 5 minutes to oneself in the shower is such an impossible task, I still have not figured out WHY he was suddenly questioning me on this train of thought.  But I waved my white flag of shower-bliss, rinsed off, and attended to Toby (who by then was waiting with my towel in hand) to give him a proper answer to his question.  

I resisted the urge to answer with an activity that took place during their naptime or after their bedtime… Like a good mommy does, I said that watching him play soccer would likely be my very favourite moment of the day.

“Oh good.”  He said, watching me as I got changed, “So is that what you were thinking about in the shower??”

I guess, by becoming parents, we lose some of the "every day luxuries", but we gain the unexpected joys of having someone care SO MUCH about how our day is going that they just can't wait 5 minutes to ask us...

Road Biking Woes

I have always been a reluctant exerciser.  But something about living through two pregnancies (and the aftermath) has nudged me into a new phase of gratefulness.  Nowadays, finding the time and having the ability to exercise is a privilege I am eternally thankful for.   It has yet to loose its appeal…

As such, when Mia was a year old, instead of going for a 3^rd child I took a different approach; I bought myself a road bike.

I can’t tell you how much I love the opportunity to go for a “bike around the block” after the kids go to bed.  When you live up in the sticks like us, “around the block” is a good 20km ride.  Biking past rolling farm fields and grazing cows with the never-ending sky above and the setting sun casting a romantic glow on the earth below, it is an idyllic way to get some exercise.

I was so rapt with my new bike that I even agreed to participate in the hospital fundraiser – the Wasaga Beach duathlon.   The first time I participated I was a novice.  I came some dreadful place that had 3 numbers in it and Toby had to cover his eyes when he saw my abysmal placing.  By the second year I had upgraded to toe clips and had started passing the grazing cows with much more oomph so I expected more from myself.

My-slightly-more-competitive-and-incredibly-athletic-but-completely-unhelpful-colleague kindly pointed out to me with much wonder and amazement that I had managed to finish the bike portion of the duathlon with the EXACT SAME TIME as the year before.  That is quite the feat.  And much as I tried to rationalize it in my head (must have been the shoe changing and the wind)… I was deflated.

THIS year, now that I am in my THIRD year of road biking, I decided that I was going to actually APPLY myself and try NOT to get the EXACT same time as last year.   I have purchased a “thing” that records my speed, time and distance.  I have a few set routes and I not only record my stats, I actually CHALLENGE myself to improve and go faster each time.  Somewhere in my brain I have the magic speed of “30km/hr” as a good target to strive for…

Today I set out on one of my more regular routes.  Right away I could feel something was different.  I felt invigorated.  I FLEW up the first few hills and careened down the slopes with more speed than I have ever felt on my bike.  When I reached the flat portion I had myself in highest gear and yet my legs were going hard – my speed was over 35km/hr and it was totally flat.  Even the cows, I kid you not, looked up with a sense of awe as I flew past them.

I’m going to be honest with you, now, and share with you the thoughts that ACTUALLY went through my head today as I whizzed down the abandoned back roads of Rob Roy today.

1.  I might ACTUALLY have a secret talent for biking.  All this time (36 years to be exact) I have been a mediocre athlete at EVERYTHING (except for basketball at which I am appalling).  But maybe just MAYBE I have found my calling.

2.  It must be my big thighs.  I’m like Clara Hughes.  If my parents had only monopolized on my big thighs and started me at road biking when I was younger maybe I COULD have made it to the Olympics…

3.  I have a cousin, Scott, who is a phenomenal biker.  (He even won the Centruion50 the other year.) I started rethinking my entire genetic gene pool.  Maybe we DO share some of the same athletic genes.  I should do the Centurion this year.

4.  I think I might need to get a faster bike.  I’m literally in my highest gear and this is easy.  If I had a really EXPENSIVE road bike (like the one the dude in the store tried to up sell me to) it would probably have higher resistance levels for athletes like me and then I’d be able to go faster.  Yup, the only thing holding me back right now is just the fact that I have but an entry-level bike…

It was at this time that I had to break from these delightful thoughts and stop as I had reached the turnaround part in my bike route.  I won’t lie to you - I really WANTED to keep going, but I had to stick to the prescribed route so that I could see by just how much I had obliterated my previous time.

And so I turned around.

There’s an Irish Proverb out there that goes something to the effect of “May the wind be always on your back”.

I get that now.

The wind, on the way home, was most definitely NOT always on my back.  In fact, it was blowing so hard in my face that the first thing I had to do was downshift.  Twice.  I then had to avert my eyes from the dust and debris that was being violently FLUNG into it. 

I huffed.

I puffed.

I pedaled as hard and as fast as my Clara Hughes thighs would take me, but I couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried, break 20km/hr.

At one point I actually had to WALK up a hill.  In my fancy clip-in-I'm-a-real-road-biker-I-know-what-I'm-doing-shoes.

OH, my poor ego.  

I arrived home deflated and dejected and about 10 minutes longer than it had taken me to do the exact same route two weeks prior.  All super-biking-power-abilities had fast been obliterated from my brain.   As I walked in the door to an absolutely quiet house (all 2 kids and 1 husband were fast asleep) I soaked up the blissfully tranquility.  I still had a few minutes to myself before putting my mommy hat back on…I guess in the end it’s OK not to be a fantastic athlete.  I may never improve on my time at the Wasaga Beach Duathlon.  My thighs may never be as powerful as Clara Hughes and Scott and I may never bond over our first place finish at the Centurion, but I can tell you one thing…I definitely think my decision to buy a road bike was a good one…

A Special Friendship

There are lots of things to feel guilty for when you’re a mother: not spending enough time with your kids, not doing as thorough a job at work as you’d like, not taking time to nurture your friendships, not devoting enough undivided attention to your spouse…such is life when you’re a mom I guess.

A constant source of guilt for me these past few years is that of Toby’s long bus ride.  Because we live “in the red zone” Toby has a 1 hour bus ride to and from school.  (Sometimes longer in the winter!) When I first heard this I decided on the spot that I would drive him in to school every day.  He has never once had to take the bus twice in one day.   After a few weeks of JK, hearing his sad lamentations about his long bus ride, and often having to carry my sleeping boy off the bus some evenings, I made it my mission to also try to pick him up on Tuesdays and Fridays.  It mitigated the problem somewhat but greatly complicated my own life and provided the potential for extreme guilt when I was unexpectedly delayed at work on a precious Tuesday or a Friday.

This year, mature enough not to sleep on the bus anymore, yet having developed the logistical skills to compound my guilt, he found other problems with the bus ride – too hot, too cold, too boring, too long.  Our only attempt at an after school playdate this year failed miserably after his BFF announced that he bus ride was TOO LONG and he was never coming over again.

But we must weather the storm if we want to see the rainbows.

As a guilt-ridden mother I heard only the pathetic lamentations.  It took me a while to pick up on the hints that Toby was also giving me about something good that was emerging from his arduous bus rides. 

My first hint came at Christmas time when Toby looked disgustedly at all the Christmas gift cards I had purchased  – nanny, teacher, day care worker, doctor etc.

“Um…Mommy…AREN’T you FORGETTING someone???”

Oh, shit, please, NO…There was NO WAY I was forgetting someone; I had wrecked my brains making sure I had everyone covered.

“What about PAUL…” he left the sentence hanging awaiting that joyful moment when I realized how right he was to have pointed out my gross misjudgement in overlooking…PAUL…the mysterious man I had never even heard of.

Every bad thought in the world went through my head as I tentatively asked who in the world this PAUL was…??

“Um…my BUS DRIVER, obviously!!”

(Yes, go ahead and read it that way - when correcting his mother, my 6 year old speaks like a teenager)

I was more prepared  the second time around when this exact same conversation happened just before Valentines day and I had mistakenly put aside the biggest Valentine for Mrs Shields and ONCE AGAIN overlooked poor Paul.

 Paul – the 65 year old (at least) dude who drives Toby home every day and gruffly waves to me from beneath his ball cap when I wait to greet Toby from the bus – was the (joyful?) recipient of the lone SPECIAL valentine that comes in the Walmart 28 pack of Valentines.  It was also the only card that Toby wrote a special message on.

“Thank you, Paul

Love,

Toby”

Coming from him, it was indeed special.  And so I questioned him a bit about it.  I told him that it was a very nice card he had made for Paul and asked him what he was thinking him for.

“For talking to me.”  was his quiet answer.

As it turns out there’s a rule on Toby’s bus that you can’t talk to the bus driver.  But every day after the last kid is dropped off and it’s just Toby and Paul left on the bus Paul will say to Toby, “Ok, Toby, come on down and talk to me” and the two of them will “chat” for the rest of the ride home.  Toby informed me that his talks with Paul on the bus are sometimes his favourite times of the day.

I asked him what they talked about.

“Oh you know, Mom…the usual stuff.”

I most certainly do NOT know what the usual conversation topics are when an elderly bus driver to talks to a young chatterbox kindergarten student. 

“Well…usually Paul will tell me about the weather.  And I tell him just little stuff.  Like how our house is laid out and how far my bedroom is from you guys.  And how I have to walk down the hall and up the stairs to get to you.  Or about the score in the hockey game last night.”

I was starting to get the gist of it…what Toby had found on his long bus rides home was the simplicity of an easy friendship.  In the past 2 years I had done nothing more that wave from our porch to the old man in the driver’s seat, not realizing the special place he has in Toby’s heart or the important role he has had in easing one of my major mommy anxieties.

And so it came as no surprise to me (but the irony was not lost on me either) that Toby’s immediate reaction to the news of our impending move into town was that of sadness, “Aw, REALLY?  Mom…you know what I’m going to miss the MOST?  My bus ride…”

As the end of Toby’s final year in kindergarten comes to a close I have a lot to be thankful for and a lot of presents to buy.  But this time I am well prepared and will definitely NOT be leaving Paul out.  In fact, I know he’ll be getting an extra special Thank you card…from both of us, this time.

An Unreliable Service Report

A TERRIBLE thing happened in our house last night.

...Wait for it…the tooth fairy forgot to come.

I know, I know…you’re probably thinking the same thing I was thinking when I found out; it’s because we live on the mountain.  Cell service is sketchy, internet service is slow, and apparently all correspondence between the Tooth Fairy and 6 year olds who lose their teeth at school is also imprecise.

I have to just clarify one very important point, though, before you jump to conclusions - this was NOT Toby’s first lost tooth.  The tooth fairy DOES, in fact, know where we live, and she DID come through TRIUMPHANTLY with the first tooth, offering a congratulatory note AND a whole TWONIE to the monetary-naïve child.  I was expecting nothing more than a loonie or a quarter on this second time around, but NONE of us were anticipating a blank slate…

I am partially relieved and partially saddened to report that the other parents at soccer have informed us this morning that this is NOT the first time the tooth fairy has overlooked a newly-toothless child.  Whereas Santa NEVER leaves a child unnoticed on Christmas Eve, according to the parents of the Skye Blue 5/6 Collingwood Soccer Club team, this has happened before and quite possibly MAY happen again.  Interestingly, there is also apparently an exponential increase in the tooth fairy’s forgetfulness that is proportionate to the number of children in the family.  With this being only the 2^nd tooth of our first child it means only one thing; Mia is screwed.

There are lots of hypotheses as to the whereabouts of said Tooth Fairy last night.  I, personally, am blaming it on the 2014 FIFA World Cup of Soccer.  I, being the good little mother that I am, went to bed on time whereas my husband stayed up WAY past his bedtime to catch up on all of the PVR’d games of the day.   I DO remember saying to him, SOMETHING to the effect of, “DON’T stay up too late or you MAY have to contend with the Tooth Fairy in the middle of the night.”

My advice was not heeded.

I was, quite smugly, glad that it was to Rob’s side of the bed that our tragically tearful 6 year old lamented his miserly-woes at the early hour of 6:45 this morning.  Toby usually sleeps in until 8am but had awoken EARLY this Saturday morning to see what the Tooth fairy had left him.

The mystery may never be completely solved but one thing is certain : no matter HOW exciting the PVR’d soccer games are tonight, the tooth fairy WILL appear to collect tooth #2.  And, as Toby has been reassured by ALL of the Collingwood soccer moms AND both sets of grandmothers, he is SURE to receive a HIGHER sum of money as a result of her forgetfulness….so much for it only being a loonie this time…