Grieving in Pieces

I am grieving in pieces.

During my final months of pregnancy I was prone to Braxton hicks contractions.  Sometimes they were so strong I felt I was actually in labour-  only to be later disappointed when they petered out.  Other times, I was so uncomfortable I would miss out on precious hours of sleep.  It seemed so futile and unnecessary to go through pain, sleeplessness and hopefulness for a seemingly pointless outcome.  I rationalized to myself (and now continue to use this rationalization with friends and patients who suffer the same existential Braxton hicks crises) that the painful hours I put in were benefiting my cervix and somehow shortening my TRUE labour.   I took solace in knowing that this pre-emptive discomfort would shave time off the discomfort during labour. 

I feel the same way about my grief.

Alzheimer’s has robbed my dad of almost all of what he was both physically and mentally.  He can hardly walk, he has lost over 50 pounds and he can’t read or write or even carry on a conversation.   The strong, witty, intellectual athlete that he was is all but depleted.  What we have at this moment is a kind, sweet, loving dad who longs for companionship but no longer has the skills or capabilities to engage in meaningful relationships.

I still have my dad.  I still have his love and his recognition.  For that I am eternally grateful.

 But I’m grieving in pieces.

Yesterday, driving into Collingwood from our old stomping ground at Brewster Lake, Toby and I came to the crest of a high hill.  A hill which, years ago, we used to take regularly into town.   A hill upon which, regularly, my dad reiterated the same predictable line to us on, “WOAH!!! Wow!  Look at the view!  WOW!!! Look at this HILL!!!” It was always a mixture of awe at the view and terror for his life.  He would CLING to the door handle as if his life depended on it, forgetting that he had driven over this same crest of the hill hundreds of times before and somehow, miraculously survived.

I had forgotten about this hill and was suddenly hit by a throat-choking sob.

“What, Mom?” Toby asked perceptively,

“Oh, your Grandpa Boyd used to LOVE this hill.  Remember how he would always remark about how high it was and how beautiful the view was and then ask us when the heck we were moving back to Toronto?”

Toby laughed as we reminisced and I forced myself to smile and continue with feigned casualty as I rationalized with my sadness that I was “keeping his memory alive”

That’s when it hit me how odd it was.  To keep someone’s memory alive when they still, in fact, are.   I was then gobsmacked and guilted by the confusion of that thought.  He wasn’t gone, yet!   But he wasn’t him anymore.  Why had I forgotten that?  Was it right to even think like this?  

Moments like this happen all of the time.  A memory, a sadness, a thought and then confusion compounded with grief.  Sometimes I long for this to be simpler.  Some days I just want to grieve.  What a terrible thing to write for the obvious implications.

Living the Alzheimer’s decline means that we grieve in pieces, with little repireves in between.   We have moments of grief and longing when we notice how much of him is missing.  We have moments of joy when we walk into his room and see that spark of love and recognition in his eyes.  And we have these conflicts of guilt when we are living in one emotion and not the other.   I guess all there is to do is to hope for more moments of joy and that each "Braxton hicks" of grief that we feel now will somehow lessen the inevitable blow that is yet to come.

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Nein Danke

Dearest Toby,

Today you are nine.

Nine.

NEIN!!!! 

Nine  - Danke! Might make you think I'm saying “Thanks for a Great 9 years” …but it ALSO means NO THANK you in German.  I think BOTH are appropriate right now.

Lets start with the positive -- Thanks for 9 great years!  How thankful I am that 9 years ago you made me a mother; you changed my life forever, teaching me lessons I never knew before about true love and true fear.  While I had selfishly spent the first 30 years of my life focusing on me and med school and marrying daddy and making friends and buying a home, suddenly you threw yourself into the direct flight path of my life, announcing, “AHA!  Here I am!  Something that means more to you than anything you have ever encountered before!” As my love for you exploded exponentially those first few days I grew to realize that the track of success I felt my life might be on could suddenly be derailed instantaneously by anything ever happening to you.

And, just to drive home the point, you gave me a brief taste of what that terror might feel like when you were 10 months old and tried to die on us.

Thanks again for that, Toby.  You have always been quite fastidious about driving your point home.

So sure…I could look back and say, “Nein, Danke” to all of that.  But I won’t. Because it brought you to me and me to you.  And it brought us all to where we are right now…which…ahem…. is where I’d like to put a halt on things....

NEIN DANKE to this sudden desire to grow your hair like a teenager, half covering your eyes (and the other half miraculously defying gravity with the interestingly placed cow-licks brought to you, lovingly, from your Henry family…)

NEIN DANKE to this new phase of showering and dressing yourself without my input.  For goodness sakes, you don’t even seem to need me in the change room after hockey practice but prefer that I wait for you “outside with the other parents” while you change yourself.

TOBY HENRY…might I remind you that up until a year ago you could not pick out your own SOCKS without your mother’s help!  You gotta rip the band-aid off slowly, buddy…

NEIN DANKE to sleep overs.  I know you PRETEND to be old enough and big enough to be able to fall asleep without our good night snuggles and without needing to see me for 12 hours in a row…. It all seems quite unnatural and uncomfortable for ME so I can only imagine how hard it must be for you…

And NEIN DANKE to all these new technological things you have become so fantastic at.  You were on a select Robotics team this year and exceled beyond your parents wildest expectations.  I thought robotics was a club that built robots (Duh) but as it turns out you somehow have learned to code and create programs that move robots and command them to do things.  It’s a scary skill set that goes beyond mine and has me worried that one day my coffee maker is going to start revolting and making YOU chocolate milk in the morning.

And Nein Danke to your height.  And you adult teeth. And your mature laugh and sense of humour.  It is a both a gift and a bit of torture to see so vividly the wonderfully, smart, compassionate, funny, earnest and intelligent man you are becoming.  Wonderful, because I am eternally proud.  Devastating to know that the days of you depending on me are quickly fading into the past.  Next year we reach double digits (nein danke) and although I can’t wait to see the incredible person you evolve into as each year passes, I wish I could always keep you young and innocent and my sweet little Toby.

Nine!!!!  Danke, Toby…for being Nine and for being Mine.  I’ll enjoy it all while I can!

Xo Mommy

Valentine’s Day predictabilities…with a twist

What do you get when you cross an uber creative and prolific artist with a caring, kind and empathetic heart? 

A Valentine’s Day enthusiast.

What do you get when you cross a practical, sensitive, and often anxious little boy with a purely mathermatical mind that finds artwork stressful?

A Valentine’s Day Grinch.

But public school is unforgiving.  You are not given the choice of whether or not to participate in your class’s upcoming Valentine’s Day exchange.  Oh no…there’s nothing meaningful or spontaneous in today’s approach to Valentine’s Day.  Instead parents are now sent a pre-emptive text containing each and every kid’s name in the class as well as instructions on what to bring for snack that day.

I had no choice but to engage in the daunting task of helping each of my diversely opposite children to channel their inner selves into the spirit of Valentine’s Day.

Where does one turn for such an undertaking?

Dollarama.

I got a stack of blank foam hearts, stickers, markers and pipe cleaners (??) for Mia and Dollar store pre-done Valentine’s cards (with puns on the front) for Toby.   They even had the TO and FROM part done.  All he had to do was fill in TWO NAMES (one of which was his own).

On Saturday morning we set to work.

Mia took right to it.  She insisted on individualizing each heart for her friends and carefully selected the colour scheme and personalized stickers that would be “just right” for each one.  She even remembered some of her friends in other classes, her teachers, and her bus driver…. it went on and on.  She never wavered.  Mia was BORN for Valentine’s Day crafting.

Toby, on the other hand. ...

At first he got a good chuckle out of the humorous cards.  “I hippo you’ll be my Valentine” with a hippopotamus on the front and “You MOOOO-ve me, Valentine” with a Cow on the front seemed pretty innocuous to me.  Except if you’re analytical and slightly prone to overthinking things.  Then it creates a wee bit of a problem.

“I don’t get it.” Toby said  “Do I actually REALLY have to want someone to be my Valentine if I give them one that says I Hippo that they will be my Valentine?”

This is where my efforts to instil gender equality have backfired.  Where once I could have suggested he just give the (?overly suggestive) hippo card to one of the boys in his class, this suggestion was now met with an incredulous look, an eye roll and a headband onto his desk.  Unbeknownst to me, Toby’s benign Hippo message could be misinterpreted by both male AND female students in his class.  According to my accurate over thinker, of course.

The most DIFFICULT of cards turned out to be the unabashed MERMAID card that had a beautiful mermaid on the front with the very forward message, “I LOVE YOU, VALENTINE” on it.

Toby almost fell off his stool when he read it.  (And I thought we had a problem with the Hippo one….)

“Ooh, TOBY!” his unhelpful sister exclaimed as she picked the card up off of the floor, “Who are you going to give THIS one to?”

“NO ONE!” Toby said with his head still in his arms.  “NO one.”

“But she’s so pretty!” Mia lamented, saddened by this pointless waste of such a beautiful card.

I grabbed it out of her hands before she could make her anxious brother even more of a wreck.

“It’s OK, Toby” I reassured him, “this is why I bought you TWO packages – you don’t have to use them all!”  I gave myself a secret pat on the back for forking out the extra $2 for the second pack at the dollar store.  Do I know my child or do I know my child?

You would think that writing the recipients name and his own name on 20 cards would be EASY, but his sister, who handmade each and every card herself, was finished hours before him and was off playing with her friends while Toby sat there wondering if his friend Liam or Ryan would find the “Have a Doggone Good Valentine’s Day” card (with the…you got it…dog on the front) funnier.

I can happily report that eventually, both children completed the daunting task of Valentine’s card making and as they headed off to school today, their backpacks heavy with the appropriate number of classroom Valentine’s cards to be delivered, I heaved a sigh of relief knowing that another year had gone by without blowing my cover of being a sub par parent. 

Now, as you can gather from this post, I am not one for Hallmark occasions.  I take no joy in obligatory celebrations that are merely a make work project for us overtired parents.  But I will admit to one thing that I learned this year….

Hidden at the bottom of their neatly stacked mommy enforced school Valentine’s cards, I found something that changed my mind.

At the bottom of Mia’s cards, I found the piece of heart shaped cardboard that was part of the foam hearts packaging.  On it she had attached a few modestly placed stickers and had written, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mia, Love Toby xoxo”.  When I asked her about this she said quite matter-of-factly “Well, I know Toby doesn’t love to make Valentine’s cards so I thought I’d just make one for myself so he doesn’t have to.”

And at the bottom of Toby’s pile?

You got it.  The Mermaid Valentine.

To: Mia

From: Toby

He is a man of few words.  But he isn’t afraid to show that when it comes right down to it, the only girl he truly loves is his little sister.

So there you have it.  Right in the midst of our busy lives, of my complaints about the phoniness of red pink and white day, at a time when I was least expecting or looking for it…I found two acts of true love that made my heart stop.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Everyone.

Miss Mia Turns 6!

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 Dearest Mia,

On the day after your 6^th birthday I find I know not what to write. This won’t come as a TOTAL shock seeing as I have had writer’s block for close to a year now…but also because it is hard to capture the essence of you on paper.  You are so much bigger than that... You have a spirit and a humour that transcends words and blog entries and I know I won’t be able to do you justice.

Every morning, I have the gift of waking up to you.  The militaristic timing of it at precisely 7:01 is NOT the most joyous part of it, but being greeted by your enthusiastic and excited approach to the day is something I know I will look back on and miss in years to come.  You are a morning person just like your daddy.  As soon as your little eyes open they FILL with excitement for what looms ahead and the minute your clock turns to 7 I hear you skipping down the hall to share the exciting news with me, “MOMMY!  Its MORNING!”  I am so glad I get to be the one with whom you share your JOY ever y morning.

For your birthday this year, Care bought you a GLITTERY shirt that says JOY.  It is just PERFECT for you.  You are pure JOY.  You are my YES girl.  You are an Optimist.  You LOVE life and yes, you still insist that the only proper way to kiss is SMACK DAB on the lips.   Earlier this year you and Toby got a bad case of a stomach bug that had you up all night (you even insisted on sleeping on the bathroom floor).  I told you that there was NO LIP KISSING allowed for 14 days.  It was as if I’d taken away chocolate.  You were immediately on the countdown and regularly announced (Loudly, and often in public.)  “THREE MORE SLEEPS UNTIL WE CAN KISS ON THE LIPS AGAIN!!!!”  I am quite surprised that CAS has not been in touch, yet….

This year you have loved school and learned to read and write.  You regularly leave me love notes and sometimes even write them for Jack Jack, too.  Your reading is incredible and

you have shown that the “Lets just try this and see how it goes” approach to anything unknown really does work well!

Your other love is that of traveling.  When we were in Paris this summer you spent a LOOONG time picking out your souvenir and finally chose a sparkly shirt with the Eiffel Tower on it.  You have INSISTED on wearing it almost DAILY.   Being a mom sometimes entails making up rules that you didn’t realize NEEDED to be made up.  I have had to add to the list of  “Don’t touch your poo” or “Don’t put your toys in the toilet”  a new rule : “You can’t wear the same shirt 3 days in a row”.  You still fight me on it all the time but I think your kindergarten teachers are glad that it now exists.

Just as I love my mornings with you, I also enjoy our nightly chats and snuggles.  You DO like your sleep and there is NO keeping you up past your bedtime if you are tired.  After particularly exhausting days in kindergarten you have been known to slip away from the dinner table only to return a few minutes later dressed in your pyjamas.  You've also done that at parties and on Christmas eve.  Although probably not the pinnacle of polite hosting moves, it certainly gets the message across : You're ready for bed.

Lately, you have been asking me about your bedtime lullaby.  I used to sing you the song "The Water is Wide" when you were just a baby.  I don't know when or how we got out of the habit of me serenading you to sleep but somehow it got replaced by SK gossip or nightly debriefing of Junie B. Jones' latest antic.  I was appalled to realize the other night that I had COMPLETELY forgotten the words.  But I did my homework.  And in preparation for your birthday this year, I relearned them and sang them to you again last night, for the first time in a long time.

Here it is :

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The water is wide, I can’t cross o'er
and Neither have I wings to fly
Give me a boat that can carry two
And both shall row my love and I

There is a ship and she sails the sea
She's loaded deep, as deep can be
But not as deep as the love I'm in
I know not if I sink or swim

Oh, love is gentle, and love is kind
The sweetest flower when first it's new
But love grows old and waxes cold
And fades away like the mornin' dew

The water is wide, I cannot get o'er
Neither have I the wings to fly
Give me a boat that can carry two
And both shall row my love and I

I chose this song for you, six years ago, as I watched you peacefully breastfeeding one night.   As I rocked you in the quiet solitude of the night I heard over and over again the line "For love is gentle and love is kind".    It fit that moment and the depth of my love I felt for you just perfectly.

My great hope in life, Mia, is that we will always share that gentle, kind love that wakes me up every morning and snuggles and laughs you to sleep every night.

Happy Birthday, sweet Mia.  You are loved and we are so blessed to call you ours.

xoxo Mommy

Our European Vacation in Numbers : A la Randy Gangbar!

 # of Hours it took to reach destination : 20

# of Hours Mia slept on the 7 hour plane ride : 6.5

# Hours Daddy slept on 7 hour plane ride : 6

# Hours Toby slept on 7 hour plane ride : 0.4

# Hours Mommy slept on 7 hour plane ride : 0  (too excited)

# of minutes we had to get from the airplane, through customs, pick up our luggage and board the train to Aix-En-Provence : 75

# on Mommy’s anxiety scale out of 10 : 9.5

# of Espresso coffee’s Mommy mistakenly ordered before boarding the train : 3

# of Pain au Chocolat consumed on train ride : 3

# of days Mia went without Pain au Chocolat for breakfast while in France : 0

Mia quickly adapted to the French Breakfast

# of bedrooms in the Villa we rented : 4

# of different activities for kids : 6

# of Guests we had visit us in the South of France : 5

# of bottles of wine Belinda brought :  12

# of Hours it took Rob and Toby to get to the Semi Final game of the Euro 2016 : 4

# of goals by Griezeman they witnessed : 2

# of terrorist attacks that occurred at the game : 0 (PHEW!)

Time Toby got home that night : 2am (!!)

# of times we held “the Olympics” in the South of France : 2

# of times Toby made it to the  finals of Ping Pong : 2

# of Times Toby won the finals : 0

# of times Sav engaged in Ping Pong : 0

# of events other than ping pong : 8

Toby : slightly obsessed and quite good at Ping Pong

# of items on our “Scavenger Hunt” Through the surrounding small towns : 11

# of actual cats spied on the hunt :  5

# of one eyed cats spotted  : 1

# of hours Rob spent rummaging through the pool shed : 1

# of inflatable pool toys Rob discovered :  10

# of inflatable pool toys Rob discovered that did NOT have a hole in them : 0

# of Rainbow flutterboards found in the pool shed : 2

Jeremy, participating in the High Jump at Olympics #2

# of Rats that jumped out of the pool shed and scared the shit out of Rob : 1

# of times Rob approached the pool shed again after the rat incident : 0

# of hours Doug spent working : >14

# of hours Doug spent sleeping : >36

# of times Doug spoke with a German Accent : 29

# of  people Doug shared his bed with : 2
# of times Doug has read my blog and probability of him getting upset with me for posting this : 0

Mia, going to wake Doug up one day at NOON when she got TIRED of waiting for him!

# of bug bites on Savita’s left leg : 12

# of Naps Savita was allowed to take : 0

# of times Toby cried after our friends left : 2

                                                                                      

# of daytrips taken to surrounding towns : 3

            (Aix en Provence, Cassis and St Croix)

# of different hats Mia sported on the trip  :4

Mia, in Cassis, sporting one of her many hats (this one being MINE!)

PARIS :

# of full days we spent in Paris  :1 (but we were there over 3!)

# of times the kids had crepes : 2

# of sites/monuments we saw : 9

# of steps we walked  : 26,000

# of flights of stairs we climbed  :63

Someone pooched out on the train after a LOOONG day on her feet!

# of stairs we climbed at the Arch de Triomphe : 187

Family Selfie atop the Arch de Triomphe

# of strollers we used : 0

# of strollers we decided to leave behind : 1

Good Bye Stroller!  You are not needed by this family anymore :)

LONDON:

# of hours we spent waiting to get on the Double Decker Bus Tour I talked Rob into going on : 1

# of times I was frustrated by GRIDLOCK TRAFFIC while riding the double decker bus Tour : 9

# of times we aborted the tour and decided just to walk : 1

# of times we had trouble then finding the bus stop to get back on it :2

# of times we almost missed the very last bus : 1

# of times we were in a bus accident on the double decker bus : 1

# of pints consumed (read : CHUGGED) while waiting for replacement bus : 2 (plus one Fanta by Toby who didn’t understand that when I said CHUG YOUR BEER! I did NOT mean CHUG YOUR FANTA!)

# of bus tours in our future : 0

# of University reunions attended :1

# of hours the reunion lasted : 12

# of friends who attended : 11

# of friends from Canada : 8

# of UK friends : 3

# of awkward Brexit debates : 1

# of discussions around The Babysitter’s Club : 8 (not quite as awkward as the Brexit discussion but POSSIBLY not as intellectually stimulating…)

Doug : Enjoying his first crack at The Babysitters Club

# of times James spilled red wine on himself : 1

# of photos taken at the photo booth : 24

# of secret notes left between Keira/Madison and Mia/Toby : 3

# of  times I have smiled thinking about how amazing it is to see the instantaneous friendship my good friend’s children and mine : hundreds

Mia, Keira and Madison : "Just how" we predicted they would turn out many years ago over a drink at Perfect House :) (??)

IN SUMMARY :

# of consecutive days Mia had chocolate and bread for breakfast : 10

# of countries visited : 2

# of friends we reunited with  : 16

# of pictures taken : 950

# of hours spentwaiting for our suitcases at Good Old Pearson Airport : 1.5

# of times I have felt gratitude and love for my 3 traveling and life companions : millions

Thankful.

Life changing moments

Rob and the Kids on the Last Day of School

This past week was a crazy one with the end of school.  Amidst the chaos of end of school gifts, last minute trip planning, hosting a surprise wedding in our backyard (true story) and wrapping things up at work, I noticed a small note on my calendar this past Friday: “Kindergarten Celebration of Learning: 1:45pm”.  Not quite early enough to be lunch time, not quite late enough to squeak in an afternoon office.  Yup.  My whole Friday afternoon was going to revolve around said celebration of learning.

Mia awoke on Friday morning her usual bossy self.   My eyes had not yet greeted daylight when they were loudly being instructed to LOOK DOES THIS DRESS WORK???? I was under the impression that they were all supposed to wear red and suggested that perhaps her neon yellow and purple attire wouldn’t exactly fit.  YES BUT HOW DO YOU KNOW WE HAVE TO WEAR RED.  Well, I got a text message from some system that her teacher uses to contact me with last minute instructions and the one last night said they were supposed to wear red.  And WHERE WAS HER RED DRESS THEN IF THE TEXT CAME LAST NIGHT.  Well, I supposed it was in the wash.  WHY HADNT I WASHED IT.  I think because the text just came last night and I am not superman.  I am not even super mom.  It was now 7:04 and I still hadn’t opened my eyes.

Mia was already storming off in a huff.

And so started the day that needed to be compressed all into the span of time that lies between getting miss Bossy-pants on the bus and arriving in enough time to the school concert that I could still get a seat.

Even my medical student, whose last day it was with me, knew on Friday morning that all goals of the day pointed towards ME arriving ON TIME to the St Mary’s Elementary school so I could celebrate the learning that was done in play based kindergarten.

We made it with 4 minutes to spare.

I was still feeling jittery and frantic when all of a sudden the lights dimmed and a song came on.  I don’t know who sang this song but they couldn’t have picked a better one.  I don’t even remember the words, but the cheerful tune with the right amount of twang and sentimentality sent me right out of work mode.

I watched my little girl in her red dress (10 points for me!) walk down the aisle, smiling proudly at all she had accomplished so far in her 5 years of life.

And all of a sudden, as she stood meekly on that stage, hiding behind the friend beside her and concentrating oh so hard on singing the right words while using the right actions, my big little red-dressed, bossy pants was suddenly not so big anymore.

Those legs – that boldly step onto the school bus every morning without a second glance looked suddenly so tiny up on that big stage.

Her impish smile from this morning was gone and I saw instead the roundness of her face from the baby fat that is still there in her cheeks.

I saw the dimples in her arms as she waved them around with the actions.

I saw how tiny her little toes are peeking out from her (clearly overused) indoor shoes.

Instead of her usual boisterous confidence that so terrorizes her older brother, I saw instead the innocence in her smile that has seen nothing bad yet in life.

And her all knowing self-assured aura dissolved as I saw the wonder in her eyes as she watched us clap and clap and clap for her.

As I watched my baby standing there on stage I saw her again, for the first time in eons, as just that:  my baby.

Sometimes life affords us pure, unaltered moments of clarity.

As I clapped for Mia and her class, I longed for this moment to go on for longer.   I longed suddenly for this stage of life to go on for longer.  Next year this celebration would be a “graduation”.  I knew I was a LONG way off from being able to handle that.

I am pleased to report that I have spent the last few months finagling my job in such a way that I can now be home more for the kids.  Not only do I now have the time to get them on the bus in the morning, I will also be there to greet them off the bus and accompany them on their after school activities.  It’s a juggle and a big change, but after seeing Rob do it so well this past year, I want nothing more than to “have my turn”.  As moments like this teach us, and as that crazy nosy stranger at Walmart has warned us "they grow up so quickly".  

And so next year is my year to embrace it all.  I don’t know how it’s going to go…but at the very least I suspect it will lead to more blogging opportunities...I’ll keep you “posted” :)

An Impromptu (and somewhat inappropriate) story time with Papa

We were packing up to leave my parents house.  No matter how far beyond the “baby stage” we get, packing up and leaving from ANYWHERE is ALWAYS still an involved process, a logistical multitasking shit show that involves at least one crying kid, one or two forgotten items and mass chaos, tempered only by the reassuring thought that a glass of wine awaits me at home….

IF we ever get there.

You would THINK this task would get easier as time goes on, but no, it doesn’t.  Clothes get bigger, demands get greater, car snacks get pickier, and you are faced with the option of remembering each and every stuffie the child has packed or facing the wrath of Beanie Boo Misfortune for accidentally leaving beloved creepy big eyed rainbow unicorn behind, tragically separating her from her beloved pink and purple coloured big eyed racoon mother named Roxie.  The horror, the horror.

Recently, our departures from my parents’ house have been complicated by my dad’s escalating anxiety; he doesn’t like to see people leave.  He ESPECIALLY doesn’t like to see family leave.  And the commotion of us packing up combined with the impending knowledge that SOMEONE is departing is just too much for him.  OH, the questions he asks…

On this particular occasion Toby was lying on the couch with a fever,  I was trying to pack snacks for the car ride, get both kids dressed with teeth brushed, load the car and entertain a bored Mia while simultaneously attending to my dad’s lamentations,

“Oh, Lyssie…!!!” he bemoaned “It looks like you are LEAVING ME!”

“Yes, Dad, that’s because we are going home today.”

“OH, NO!  Please stay!  Say as long as you can!  How long have you been here?”

“Since Friday”

“FRIDAY!  Wow!  Since Friday, eh?”

I run upstairs to get the toothbrushes as he yelled behind me, “What day is it TODAY?”

“SUNDAY!!!” I yelled down the stairs as I frantically made the kids beds and took one last look under the bed for any hidden Beanie Boos.

“OH, SHIT!” I heard him say from downstairs, “Sunday!  Why can’t you stay until TOMORROW?”

I rushed down to console him before he could pull any other words out of his vocabulary of “things-I-never-dared-to-say-until-I-had-dementia”

Mia, meanwhile was following me with a mysteriously big eyed fox under her right arm (HOW MANY HAD SHE BROUGHT!!??!) .  She was also holding a decrepit 1950s kids book that she had found in her room and demanding that I read it to her and Melanie the fox.

SUDDENLY I was struck with a brainwave.

“Mia,” I said earnestly, “I have to keep packing up the car but I BET if you took this book to Grandpa he might want to read it to you!”

It was either going to be a disastrous fail or the most brilliant example of “killing two birds with one stone” that I had ever come up with.

It could have gone either way, really, but much to my surprise, my father was accepting of his granddaughter’s request.  When handed a book, (APPARENTLY) he will read.  I honestly wasn’t sure that he still knew HOW to read.  But he did!  Yet another grandfatherly trait was unveiled.  And what a beautiful, normal moment my kids got to experience with him – sitting perched on the sofa beside and behind him, listening with rapt captivation to his voice.  My dad has a great voice for reading and for a moment I got lost in the memory of all of those who have benefited from his lectures – students, friends in his book club, classmates at Cambridge and UofT…he has read some of the greatest works of literature and now here he was reading…

I paused for a second

What WAS he reading to my kids?

“Jane soon befriended the little Indian girl from the forest, “Ahoy, Reface! ‘ she said as she stared at her loincloth…”

OH, Lord…It was clearly too late to change books now.  The kids (and my dad) were already quite engrossed in the story of Jane and the little Indian Girl and who was I to interrupt this perfect moment they were sharing?  Besides…I had a car to pack.

Soon enough, the care was packed; Jane and the Indian girl had become friends and were busy trapping wolves together when I finally decided to interrupt.  We said goodbye to my father.

“I’ll MISS you I’ll MISS you I’ll MISS you” he emoted as he kissed us each goodbye.

We waved frantically from the road and promised to return soon.

“SO….” I said, turning around in my seat as soon as we were on the highway, “Lets talk a little bit about that book Papa read to you…”

You’ll be glad to know that I DID explain to them that the term “Indians” is no longer considered polite and  that there are lots of “Indigenous peoples” who don’t actually wear loin cloths or have pet wolves but are meaningful people in society etc. etc.

I think the kids got it.

In fact, I KNOW that Toby got it. 

I know that because we had butter chicken and tiki masala for dinner.  And as I raised my well deserved glass of wine, the lingering memory of my dad’s impromptu story time still glowing in my memory, I toasted to a good weekend, a safe trip home, and a delicious Indian meal to come home to.

“Uh…. MOMMY!” my oh so perceptive and sensitive 8 year old pointed out, “PLEASE!  It’s called INDIGINOUS FOOD!