Not Just your Everyday Monopoly Game...

I have thought for a while now that I had no more good memories left to create with my dad.  This weekend was one of those weekends that proved me wrong – though challenging at times, I leave this weekend knowing now that I, and Toby especially, have new memories of my dad firmly entrenched in our brains.    I might go as afar as to NAME this weekend: The One in Which my Father Taught Toby How to Swear.

We had come down for the night to watch my dad while my mother ran a conference. She was home briefly to see then kids then off to host a dinner. This was particularly troubling to my dad who LIVES for any opportunity to go out for dinner; after she left I had a tough job keeping a disappointed “Why isn’t Grandma putting me to bed” Toby and a mournful “Why isn’t my beloved wife taking me with her out for dinner” father preoccupied from their respective abandonment.

After Mia was in bed and the baseball game was over I ventured into the basement to look through the old board games to see if I could find one of interest for the boys.  I came upstairs with an armful of old favourites but there was one in particular that caught my dad’s attention. “MONOPOLY!” he exclaimed, “I used to play that by the HOUR at the cottage”.  NB: this was WAY before my time.  My father was FAR too much of an intellectual to EVER play a game such as Monopoly with me when I had been a kid.  But he always tells the tales of long lazy summer days he spent (with my siblings) at the cottage playing Monopoly by the hour…

SO I called his bluff.

Of COURSE he was a willing play with us, he said excitedly, forgetting, temporarily about his beloved wife and his intellectual prowess.

I set the game up, explained it to Toby (and my now attentive father) and soon we were in the midst of a heated and VERY exciting game.

All set to go...

Toby loves any board game but I think his favourite part was watching my highly competitive and slightly disinhibited father take him on.  They duked it out.  They bargained over properties and rejoiced loudly whenever they got extra cash from Community Chest or were the first to land on a coveted property.  A few times my dad came dangerously close to rolling 3 sets of doubles in a row (which lands you in jail).  “OH BLOODY HELL!!!” He roared, much to Toby’s amazement.   Frequently, my dad actually DID get sent to jail, which was consistently met with an unabashed, “OH SHIT!” from his part.

Toby just about fell of his chair.

Normally, when someone swears in front of Toby we either admonish it or cover it up.

I decided that this time, JUST THIS ONCE, I was just going to let it go…at LEAST he wasn’t asking where Lynda was…

For a good 45 minutes I reveled in the absolute perfection of the moment; my dad was joyfully enjoying a very stereotypical moment of delight with his grandson; Toby was thriving in the right of passage of his very first Monopoly game; I was simultaneously managing to entertain my son AND distract my dad from his usual distress over my mother's absence.  Witnessing the enormous smiles and intense, genetically pre-programmed looks of competitive concentration on their faces is something I will not soon forget.

But it went deeper than that…I was also finally experiencing a part of my dad that only my brothers and sisters had been privy to; his unabashed, relaxed younger self who wanted nothing more than to spend an entire day relaxing at the cottage with a board game.  And Toby was seeing my dad in a whole new light - - for a brief time his Papa wasn’t the old man who constantly called out for his “beloved Lynda” but was a fierce competitor.  He was a rebellious swearer.  He was a FUN grandfather.

And then there was my dad, who, for one hour on this one particular evening, forgot that he was lonely and away from his wife.  He forgot to be anxious.  He forgot that he couldn’t remember.  He was living in the moment and truly appreciating being with us and playing a game as if it was the most typical of happenings.  For this brief moment in time I saw my dad and my son together as they should be – grandfather and beloved grandson – without the shadow of Alzheimer's marring their fun.

And THEN I asked him if he wanted to build a house on Marvin Gardens.

It seemed QUITE logical to me.  I mean, he DID own the yellow property monopoly and had a huge WAD of cash built up from landing on Free Parking twice in a row.

I got a look.

“Lyssie…” he scratched his head…"OH…I don’t KNOW!  How much is a house…OH…and WHERE do you want me to put it???  And where the HELL is your MOTHER?!?!?”

It unraveled from there.  Eventually the game was abandoned, Toby went to bed, and dad took comfort in eating bananas in the corner of the kitchen while he waited, impatiently,  for the return of his beloved wife.

I often remind my mother, when dad picks up a particularly trying new habit, that “this too shall pass.”   I just never realized before that it also now applies to all of good moments, too.

Guess who got Boardwalk and Park Place?  Dad was NOT happy!!!

Dad wasn't sure that having all 4 railroads WAS a good thing...that was before he realized he got $200 every time we landed on one of them...!!!

The Adventures of Baby Joseph : Part 2

Baby Joseph has been a part of our lives for a good 3 months now, and just as it is with any baby who comes into this world, we couldn’t imagine life without him.

Seriously.

Similar to how we have to find accommodations for the dog when we go away for a weekend, or a vacation, or even a day trip to Toronto, so too must we now find some suitable arangements for Baby Joseph.

Luckily, we have been blessed, from the  Christmas before last, with a Canadian Girl named Hannah.  Her birth name is “Adventure Girl” and she came with a compass and a diary, and a back pack, and some canisters of bear spray. But her main calling in life, as it turns out, is to be the guardian of baby Joseph.

I won’t lie to you – it’s a fairly easy job.  Baby Joseph does nothing but sleep in the same outfit and blanket he was Christened in at Grandma’s house on Christmas day.  Mia does not change his clothes, his blanket OR his hat.  But Hannah does.  And Hannah is OFTEN up at night with him.  I know, because Mia “laments” over her poor Adventure Girl’s  hardships each morning over her honey-flavoured yoghurt.
“Poor Hannah” she will say as she takes a big scoop of yoghurt and honey, “Baby Joseph cried ALL. NIGHT. LONG”

“Oh, dear” I will throw in as I frantically throw together lunches for the 3 of us while simultaneously coaching Toby at his spelling words for the week,

“Yes…” she will pause between mouthfuls, “AND she had to change his diaper THREE TIMES.  And he got sick. And had a fever.  And Hannah gave him some medicine.  But he had to sleep with her.  And then he threw up on her PILLOW but she washed it.  And now he is very sick so she will take him to the doctors today.”

“Wow.”  I chime in just to prove that I am a good mother and that I am listening.

“Could I have some raisin toast with cinnamon cream cheese?” she will then ask, just to drown the hardships of what her Canadian Girl doll had to face last night.

“Of course”

So you can IMAGINE that…now how shall I phrase this….it’s not that I don’t think Mia CARES about babay Joseph…but more so that I just implicitly TRUST in Hannah’s unique capabilities.

Hannah is TWELVE, I should mention.  Which is old enough to know how to write in a journal and hike in forests that are so complicated you need a compass.  And you CAN have your OWN baby by the time you are fourteen.  According to Mia, of course.

SO when our friends were over last weekend and Mia was having her own adventures in the big City with Grandma Lynda and her two deserving beanie Boos and caring for my Cabbage Patch Dolls Stephanie and Carmella, I didn’t think twice about telling our dear neighbor’s daughter that she could play with baby Joseph when she was visiting.  And when the time came for her to leave, I didn’t think it would be THAT big of a deal to let her take Baby Joseph with her to her house NEXT DOOR as long as she PROMISED to bring him back the next day. (Preferably, BEFORE Mia got home.)

It’s funny what a few glasses of wine can do to your memory.

Mia arrived home happy and refreshed and RAVING about Toronto and the subway and the symphony and the percussion instruments  and the cymbals and….

WHERE. On EARTH was BABY JOSEPH.

“OH…” I said, “Yes, well the little girl next door was over and she took good care of him and they were playing, so might I suggest you check in your playroom.”

As you can well deduce, he was not there. It wasn’t until she had unsuccessfully checked both the playroom, basement AND her brother's room that I suddenly remembered…

“Um…Mia…” I said sheepishly, “I totally forgot that baby Joseph MIGHT have actually had a sleepover next door last night..."

Miss Mia did not say a word.

Very calmly, and with an eerie yet tranquil silence she marched downstairs, into the mudroom and put on her coat.

A mother will do ANYTHING for their child.

I raced after her.

She had already arrived at our next door neighbours house and was knocking on the door by the time I caught up to her.

“Hello, Mia!” my dear friend announced at her unexpected arrival “How was the trip to Grandma’s house and the symphony????”

She got not a response.

“”Um…” I said awkwardly running up behind her, “We thought we’d come and collect Baby Joseph…!!!”

Good friends can take cues from even the subtlesest of body language cues.

“Oh, YES, of COURSE!” and she raced up stairs. 

Dear little, girl, however – - not so subtle.

“I took GOOD CARE of Baby Joseph! He was SAFE with me!” she announced from her highchair.

If looks could kill.

Mia grabbed baby Joseph out of my friend’s arms and promptly put her boots on before stomping back out the door.

I stayed for a bit to chat (of course) before heading home.

Arriving home, I was greeted by an ANGRY Mia who was vehemently SWEEPING the garage floor.  As I approached she dropped the broom, turned her back to me and MARCHED into the house, shifting towards me ever so slightly before slamming the door to deliver her message,

“NEXT time, I’d like it if you could ASK me FIRST.”

And so it appears that baby Joseph, despite his full time 12 year old nanny and unenthusiastic welcome into this world, IS indeed well loved.   And it ALSO appears that Mia has polished AND perfected her approach, not only to babies and little girls, but  also to dealing with unruly teenagers.

I sent myself straight to time out.
I

The Adventures of Baby Joseph : Part One

This past Christmas my mom decided she would buy my ever-maternal-baby-loving-daughter a unique one of a kind gift that she then did not yet have : a MALE baby doll.  Mia has about 30 little babies that she tends to regularly – changes their diapers, alternates turns sleeping with them, dresses them, bathes them and washes their hair regularly.  Apart from Kindergarten, she has another full time job of being a mom to MANY a baby.  But so far all of them have been girls.

Until there was baby Joseph.

My mom spent a LOT of time picking out the perfect baby boy for her deserving granddaughter.  I know, because amid the Christmas rush of my family and palliative practice, I had to sneak in regular trips to my iphone between patients and Christmas concerts to give my opinion on the latest “baby boy doll option”.  Eventually the very perfect, most anatomically correct and scarily lifelike baby boy doll was found, bought, and wrapped all in the span of one hypertensive patient and a pap test, and my mother has ever since had to revert to her usual day to day texts about dad’s bowel habits and funny facebook posts.

Eventually Christmas day came and the anticipation about the baby doll was palpable the minute we walked into my parents’ house.  We opened the usual suspects first- socks, underwear, clothes books and educational placemats.  And then, when my mother could stand it no more, the big looming box from behind the tree was brought forth and presented to my overtired, somewhat overwhelmed daughter.

She tore it open and then paused.

“Mia!  Wow! It’s a baby BOY!!!”  I exclaimed in a desperate attempt to spark some sort of life force back into my flaccid daughter while simultaneously trying to stop my mother from deflating.

“OH.” She said

“Yes, Mia, look!  He has a soother and diapers!!" added my mother in her own attempt at self preservation.

“Oh.” She said.

The happenings of Christmas 2015 are somewhat foggy in my memory but I believe something to the effect of this happened : Mia placated both of us by taking her new baby boy out of his packaging, wrapping him in a blanket and then putting him down in a corner to sleep before pretending to be engrossed in the wording of her new educational placemat.

I refused to even make eye contact with my mother,

“Well, of COURSE he’s tired” I said, as if this was the most normal reaction to the most very perfect-est gift ever, "Go give Grandma a hug and tell her how happy you are to have a baby boy doll.”

HINT HINT.

It wasn’t until I was putting her down to bed that night, after a long and overwhelmingly exciting Christmas day, that Mia finally confided in me the truth about her erratically out of character reaction to her new baby (BOY) doll…

“Mommy…” she whispered into the darkness, “I think I’m going to call him Baby Joseph.” She said as she cradled him in her arms.

“That’s an excellent name, Mia. “

“Mommy…” she said questioningly,

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“At first….I thought he was real….IS he real, Mommy?”

We’ve all been there – stunned into silence by the pressure of a single moment in time.  I could appreciate her innocent interpetation of years and years of us reiterating to her what a “good mommy” she was finally culminating in the awarding of a REAL baby.  Who just so happened to be…A BOY.

I got it.  I get it. 

I reassured her.

And unto us a child is born :  I present to you, Baby Joseph.

Toby : Now you are 8!

My dearest Toby, today you are 8!  You are facing your 8^th year with your usual mature excitement and unending quest to be older, better, faster, stronger. You certainly have high expectations of yourself – but you live up to them well.  When I look back on where you have come this year, I know you won’t be disappointed.

In grade 2 with several of your best friends, you have flourished.  Your ongoing love of math and your determination to read at higher and higher levels have served you well.  You are challenged each week with your spelling tests and although I don’t think you’ve EVER successfully gotten the bonus word correct I don’t think you’ve ever gotten a predetermined spelling word incorrect.

This year you’ve started taking piano lessons and you love them. You still love Beethoven but are discovering other artists as well.  I think your favourites right now are still Taylor Swift, Katie Perry and Lady Gaga…but we’re working hard to expand your tastes!

In addition to piano, you have also discovered a passion like no other...HAMBURGERS.  It started one day at the Beaver and Bulldog when, in your determination to prove that you could order from the ADULT menu, you ordered and ate an ENTIRE burger (with all the fixin's) all by yourself.   You LOVED and DEVOURED the ENTIRE thing...with the exception of half of the sauce and the multitude of crumbs that were in their usual halfhazard arrangement all over your face and hair when you were done...(You may be 8 but you are still just as messy as you were when you were 2...)  Since that time you have been on a perpetual quest to replicate that very first perfect burger.  And as for ordering from the kids menu...I think you've made your point! 

In Niagara Falls.  The burger was gone in 5 minutes flat.

At the Huron club - you finished all by the last bite!

...AND some evidence of your usual PIZAZZ -- WHAT A MESS!!!

Perhaps your greatest love right now is that of Harry Potter.  You and Daddy and I are reading the books and you can’t WAIT to read them.  Sometimes you insist on heading up to your bedroom before your set bedtime just so you can get some extra Harry Potter time in.  You are HILARIOUS to read to – you often cover your face, laugh out loud or sneak under the covers during the scary parts.  You are so grown up to be able to handle and understand the book…but it’s still nice to see little Toby in there who needs his Mommy’s arms to hide in during the scary parts.

You did your Grade 2 speech on Harry Potter and were incredible

And, as always,  you are an ever patient and loving big brother.  Granted, there are MOMENTS….but for the most part your true innate goodness and love for your sister shines through.  Even when she DOES usurp you on your birthday by causing last minute game changing plans due to sudden onset of fever – you still gave her half of your chocolate chip birthday muffin, despite it all….

You and your sister on our final night in Florida

Toby, you are kind, sweet, loving and full of life.  When we first met 8 years ago today I knew I loved you will of my heart…and as each year passes I know the reason why more and more.

You and your Grandparents on your birthday night...right after your hockey game, of course!

My little girl turns 5!

Today my baby girl turns 5.

FIVE!

I can’t believe it was only 5 years ago that you burst into our world, Mia!   That Toby instantly became a BIG (mature!) brother, that Rob became a daddy to his little sidekick and that I met you, “my” girl.

I said in that very first post (where I confessed that I had actually really WANTED a girl…DESPERATELY) that your name “Mia” was fitting because in Italian it means “Mine.”

What a crazy thing to say about your child.  Sure, they are “yours”, but no one owns anything, and if there is ANYTHING in this WORLD I wish to impart to you, my strong spirited, independent child, it is that NO one owns you.   You are your own person, paving your own way in life, learning from your own mistake and independently making and achieving your own dreams.

And from what I know of you already, Mia, you are doing nothing short of just that.

There is SO MUCH you have done this year- you’ve mastered swimming without a lifejacket, skiing independently,  reading, writing, playing hockey and even the routine of JK.  You take it all in stride and approach all these new challenges with confidence , optimism and your quirky sense of humour.

You are certainly your own unique person who is quickly carving their own place in this world and our family.

For example – our family (Daddy, Toby and I…heck, we can even throw in Grandma Lynda to boot – sorry mom) has not one iota of a creative bone between the lot of us.  But you love nothing more than to do art.  You draw, create, craft, glue, cut, invent and paint whenever you get the chance.  In fact, some Fridays when your poor little body and spirit is all worn out from a full week of JK and it takes every last bit of strength for you to walk from the bus to the house, if I lay out some sort of craft for you to do, you will reenergize in silence as you work away, and I can see the passion and spark for life reignite through your creative spirit.

You tell me regularly, “I am going to be an Artist, Mom.  You know why? Because I am VERY talented and I am a VERY good at art AND I LOVE to draw and paint.”

(I have no doubt you will be a very modest one, as well.)

One of my favourite moments of this year came around Halloween.  It had been a particularly long and challenging week for you and I decided that I should pre-emptively plan on having some sort of craft ready for you this particular Friday when you got home.   I managed to find a bunch of small white pumpkins at the grocery story and laid them on the counter.  When you and Toby got home I told you to both go downstairs to the craft cupboard and pick out whatever items you would like to use to decorate your own pumpkins.

Toby emerged immediately carrying 2 makers : a black one and an orange one.

You took your time.  I was almost about to come down stairs and check on you when I heard your determined steps coming up the basement stairs.  I could tell by the fact that you were taking each step one at a time that you were carrying QUITE the load.  Sure enough ,you were.  You emerged from the basement with a bucket of markers, glue, felt, glitter sticks,  Halloween stickers, tissue paper bits and scissors.

What on EARTH were you going to DO with all of that?!??! I nearly asked but stopped myself as I remembered your fragile end of the week self.  I kept my mouth shut and opted instead to merely observe the masterpiece you were about to create.

After 3 minutes Toby’s project was complete.  He only ended up needing to use one of his two markers; he painted his white pumpkin orange and declared the job done.

You, my dear, took your sweet time.  In complete silence, with your messy hair often dangling in the glue and a serious look of intense contemplation on your face you coloured, glued, cut, pressed, admired and ended up creating a pumpkin masterpiece.  When you were finally done you showed me what you had made : your white pumpkin was elaborately coloured (in non-traditional pumpkin colours, I might ad) and adorned with stickers and a felt cape which matched the “quilt” and “pillow you also made for it which was a patchwork of tissue paper scraps glued into what must have been a very meaningful pattern onto  a large and small piece of felt.

You carried this pumpkin and its lovingly made quilt and pillow around with you for months after Halloween ended.

Toby ended up using his orange pumpkin as a soccer ball later that very same day.

The other thing that defines you, Mia, is the mature, somewhat bossy, but exceptionally loving way in which you are a mother to your “babies”.  Adventure girl, Horsalina, Natasha and Baby Joseph are among your lucky kin and you take your responsibilities as their parent VERY seriously.  Every morning you are the first one awake at some ungodly hour that comes before 7.  (I don’t even ask anymore).  While the rest of us sleep away, you thoughtfully get your children up, dressed, fed and ready for the day, chatting and singing all the while to them in your carefree, happy morning way.  By the time the clock turns 7 and you have our blessing to come wake us up, you always enter voice first, recounting some humorous tale of the previous hour about how baby Joseph took his first steps, or how Adventure girl was up all night with a fever and you had to tend to her.

You want to be an  artist when you grow up but  your other deep rooted passion is that of motherhood.  I also know that you will excel at both.

And although your confident, independent approach to the world has me feeling guilty that I hastily and improperly labelled you as “mine”, I have to say, that of all the pleasures you have bestowed on me this year- - watching you flourish, mother and create, the thing that still makes me smile the most is the knowledge that for now, even though you are 5 going on 15, you’re our little Mia.  We couldn’t have asked for anyone better.

The Return of the Loony Bin

Sending your youngest off to kindergarten is like watching them age a few years all in the span of 24 hours.  Having your eldest be the one holding her hand and watching out for her at school jumps his level of maturity into a whole new realm as well.  Having both things happen in the span of one week gave me a temporary delusion that my kids are all now grown up.  For some reason, I got to thinking that perhaps I now live in a house with sane, independent individuals who have similar, rational thought processes like my own.

It lasted only a few days but today I was reminded of the fact that I do, in fact, still live in a loony bin.

Mia, on her second day of school, was asked to bring 4 things that represent her into school in a paper bag.  She set right to work on this and picked out four rather random, entirely purple yet completely endearing items.  I PROBABLY would have picked things a bit differently but hey -- little miss “I’m now independent” was having NONE of my suggestions.  And who was I to interfere with her very first bit of junior kindergarten homework?

So off she went with a plastic purple butterfly, her deformed dollar store baby doll with the head that is falling off, her soccer metal and a random piece of (you got it) purple artwork.

When I asked her innocently how her “presentation” had gone today she very matter-of-factly told me that it was just FINE.  She then proceeded to forget every single detail of it. 

“What did the teacher say?”

I don’t remember.

“Did they ask you questions about your things?”

            I forget

“Did everyone like your items?”

            Nonchalant shoulder shrug

The only thing she was adamant about was the fact that I was NOT allowed to empty her things from this brown paper bag.

“Why not?” I asked, trying to empty it anyways, “BECAUSE. “ She said, rolling her eyes at me, “It has to STAY in my backpack EVERY DAY.  ALL YEAR LONG.”

OH.  But of course.

“Did your teacher tell you that?”

She faltered for a half second before admitting that she didn’t EXACTLY remember but she was PRETTY SURE.  I think a kindergartener’s “pretty sure” is code word for “I give up.  I have no idea what I’m talking about.”

I some how convinced her to take her things back to her room and was in the midst of putting things away when she took a sudden sympathetic interest in her poor little dollar store baby with the head that was falling off.

“Poor baby,” she said rocking her, “Do you want to sleep with mommy tonight?”

I engaged her a bit in this sweet moment of lovely maternal delusionment and somehow we got onto the topic of babies and Mia playfully told me that this baby actually belonged to “Mr. O” (Mr. O is her bus driver)

“OH,” I said curiously, “Do you think Mr. O has a baby?”

She ROARED on the floor with laughter.

“Mommy…I said MR. O!!!!  You know…the BUS DRIVER!!!!”

Ya. I KNEW that.

“No…Mommy…SERIOUSLY” she said, “I was making a JOKE.”

I asked her to clarify why Mr. O’s parental status seemed SO hilariously absurd to her.

“BECAUSE!” she said, still enjoying the ludicrousness of our conversation, “He’s the BUS DRIVER!”

Blank stare.   I was CLEARLY not getting the joke.

Eventually she came out with the obvious punch line

“Bus drivers can’t have BABIES!!!!”

“Why not?”

“Because…” she said with the laughter dying out of her smile…”Because…well…they just CAN’T Mommy…because they don’t ever go HOME!”

And just like that the conversation was over and the little dollar store baby whose head is falling off was whipped out of my humourless arms.

Just when you think you couldn’t be even more out of the loop with your children’s vantage point on the world, I was recounting this story later to Toby and Rob and Toby ROARED with laughter.

“Oh, Mia…” that’s so silly “ he said with the know all of an 80 year old man, “Mr. O DEFINITELY goes home.  I know that for a FACT.”

I wasn’t actually asking for any factual proof that the bus driver wasn’t homeless but I got some anyways,

“He HAS to go home because I have noticed…” and here his detective voice got serious and earnest, “I have noticed that he doesn’t have a WATERBOTTLE on the bus.  And APPARENTLY you have to have water EVERY THREE DAYS or else you DIE.  So Mr. O obviously DOES go home at least once every three days to get water.”

And then his seriousness died off and he again laughed openly, “Silly Mia…Mr. O lives on the bus…!”

That’s right, folks.  I live in a loony bin.

Toby's New Bus Mate

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A long while ago, in a different era, under completely different circumstances when the future was 100 years away and the present was a blur of exhaustion and toddler-hood, I remember trying to console my poor little 4 year old Toby as he lamented to me, after his first week of school, about how long, tiring and lonely his bus ride home from kindergarten was.

I had to summon some great inner strength to get through the conversation without crying; his sadness broke my heart.  Deep down I KNEW that this hour long bus ride, at the end of a very long day of kindergarten, was a torture no child should have to endure.  But it was how things had to be at this point in our lives and confessing the former wouldn’t make things any easier on him .  And so I listened and consoled;  I cried in private.  Most importantly, I reassured Toby that one day soon he wouldn’t be the only child on his bus - -that his little sister Mia would some day ride it with him and it would be the 2 of them on a great long adventure up the mountain on their magic school bus.

Toby wanted desperately to believe in my optimism, but as we both peered down at his drooling, babbling, then 15 month old baby sister, it seemed a bit far fetched.

“I can’t WAIT, Mommy” he said to me bravely, “I just can’t WAIT until Mia can come with me on the bus!!!”

Toby clung to this hope for both of his kindergarten years and would ask regularly WHEN EXACTLY this day would arrive that his sister could come with him.  He often would excitedly tell Mia about the amazing time they were going to have together on the bus and would pre-emptively reassure her, “Mia, one day you, too are going to have to take the long bus ride home but don’t worry…if you get tired you can close your eyes and have a sleep.  And we can play games together.  It will be SO fun, Mia” he would say to his 18 month old sister as she would idly sit by and pick her nose or attempt to throw his books out the car window.

Eventually, last year, we made the move to town and his new bus route became a source of joy;  short, sweet and filled with his very best friends, our lamentations about the bus ride now centered on the fact that he NEEDED to have after school playdates with his friend because they didn’t get enough TIME together on the bus to finish Pokeman trading etc.

I had all but forgotten my long ago prophecy until last night, as I tucked my now 4-year old Mia into bed and talked to HER about the plan for her first day of kindergarten.

“Tomorrow, Mia, YOU get to go on the bus JUST like Toby.  And you can sit with him all the way to school and he will tell you where to go when you get off and he will meet you on the same bus after school and sit with you on the way home.”

And all of a sudden…I remembered.

Was this day REALLY here?  Just like that- - here I am, as if no time has passed between Toby’s first week of JK and Mia’s.   What a jolt of reality to the idle monotony of daily life; a humbling reminder of the speed of time.   We talk a lot about the future, how we want life to unfold, how we expect things to be.  I feel like we often wish away these young years with reassurances of easier times to come.  “Man life will be SO EASY when they are both in school all day every day…” 

I’m sure I’ve said that a dozen times.

What a gift it is to slow down and let the full force of the past 4 years hit me square in the conscience.

My baby has just gone off on the bus to big kid school for the first time today.  We shouted accolades of her bravery and maturity and packed her a lunch designed for 8 year olds.  It was a theatrical façade of her “grown up” status that still seems like a hoax.  I drove behind the bus the whole time and greeted her at the other end.  We both stood tall and proud in the schoolyard, together, until the bell went and then we both cried. She loves her teachers but missed me today. She wasn’t entirely sure if she had to take her belt off to go to the bathroom but was too shy to ask.  She hardly touched her big girl lunch.  I know all this because we spent a good time snuggling on the couch when we both got home after our day apart.

But this façade will only be such for a short tome longer.   One day very soon she will not cry when she gets to school.  She will not spend the day missing me and she will devour her lunch and complain that I didn’t pack enough.  And our after school snuggle will soon be replaced with playdates and swim lessons and, one day even further away, homework.

So for now I will cherish the snuggles and rejoice in the fact that Toby, after many years of patiently waiting, finally has his bus-mate.  Life is good.  Today, yesterday and tomorrow…I must think twice before wishing these moments away…

Mia, holding Toby's hand, as she boards the bus for the first time

Miss Mia

And excited Toby and an apprehensive Mia

My and my girl