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

Mia's last day of Daycare...

This is an absolutely crazy time of year.  Between Rob’s end of school wrap up, the finalization and planning of summer camps/trips/nanny schedules, the year end festivities, BBQs and celebrations for both kids and an unanticipated surge in the number of palliative patients on my caseload, we have been moving at warp speed on a daily basis.

I often think of that scene from Spaceballs when they turn the velocity of the ship to LUDICROUS speed and, with the sudden acceleration making his face gaunt with disfigurmenet he says,  “BUT WE CANT TURN IT UP!!! WE’RE GOING TOO FAST!!!”

Too late.  I hear you, Spaceballs.  We’re going too fast.

Amidst the rush and micromanagement of various “to-do” lists, it suddenly fell on my plate to take Mia to daycare today.  And as we were packing up to go I somehow remembered that today was her last day of daycare.  For the summer…and…oh wait a second…for LIFE.

I paused – just for a split second – to let this sink in. 

Hmmm…

And then the dog barfed and the toothpaste fell on the floor and Toby couldn’t get his sunscreen cap off and WE WERE GOING TO MISS THE BUS and the moment was gone.

Of COURSE, of all mornings, there was crazy construction on the way to daycare.  We were late, but I still somehow remembered to bring in Mia’s hand made card and give it to her daycare teacher and before I knew it, she was with her group, about to go outside.  One last time.

I was rushed back out the door as an excited group of 2 year olds crowded the front hall to put their outdoor shoes on.  But as I ran down the path back to my car I felt time grind to an unexpected halt.

I turned.

And I looked at the door that had just shut behind me.

That door.

It seemed like yesterday and forever ago that I first opened that door, innocently and nervously dropping off my golden haired little 15 month old boy at his very first day of daycare.

And today, for the last time, I am leaving my grown up 4 year old baby girl.

There was no great ceremony to mark the end of Mia’s daycare life.  There was no hoopla for us, as a family, even though we have spent 6 years opening and closing that door to this wonderfully secure place that has nurtured our children through our most trying of days.

I supposed in life this is often how it goes; unceremoniously, the doors before us and behind us open and close.  We wander in, wander through and wander past, not always knowing which doors are significant.  My only hope is that life continues to bring me more times to pause and reflect and be thankful as one door closes and another opens.  It was but a small moment in my day today, but that brief opportunity to disembark from the lightening fast speed train of life to spend a moment in quiet reflection aligned everything back into perspective. 

Thank you, Duntroon, for nurturing my children in their early years.  For preparing them for kindergarten in ways we as parents cannot.  For creating some regularity and consistency in their lives.  For forcing me to delve deep into my inner often untapped soul of creativity each year for that damn Trike-a-thon. For letting us come early and late and somewhere inbetween.  And for loving our children.  Thank you for playing such an important part of their journey.

Toby Henry, on his First day at Duntroon Daycare, Sept 2009, age 1.5

Mia Henry, on her Last day at Duntroon Daycare, June 2015, age 4.5

We're all doomed...

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“JUST so you know, Mommy,” Mia announced tonight at dinner, completely out of the blue, “I am doomed.”

I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted an update on the kids, but just in case you’re wondering - -Mia is still only 4 years old.  (Going on 17, of course.)

Before I got the courage to ask my 4 year old why she was “doomed” and what on earth she was “doomed” for, she jumped in with a question,

“Mommy…” she pondered out loud, “What does DOOMED mean?”

Breathing a sigh of relief I explained it as something really bad that inevitably happens beyond your control.  She seemed quite spooked by the definition.

“Oh…” she said very seriously.  “I don’t think I’m doomed then. “

then a pause and (I swear to you) a mischevious look to the side,

“…But TOBY is.”

NO reaction.

(Phew)

“Toby?” Mia attempted to catch his attention as he quietly ate his supper, IGNORING her antics, “Toby!  I SAID you are DOOMED!”

He continued to ignore her, eating his pasta in mock-sister-immune-bliss.

“Oh, FINE” she said going back to her dinner, “Toby you’re JUST DOOMED.” She concluded for the last and final time.

I could tell by his sideways glance that the bait was hooked,

“No, Mia,” he said calmly between bites, “I am NOT DOOMED.”

“YES YOU ARE, TOBY YOU ARE DOOMED!”

It was as he was about to throw his milk at her that I decided it was time to step in.  I pointed out the extremely obvious fact that Mia was not using nice words, that (despite this) Toby should still not throw his milk at her and that he was, in fact, NOT doomed, despite his sister’s crazy prophecies.

After a few minute all was right again in our world.  We finished dinner and loaded into the car on our way to the end of school BBQ.   As we were driving along Toby realized that one of his fingernails was crooked.

(For real.  This kid notices EVERYTHING.  He takes life VERY seriously.)

“Mommy.” He said with equal parts concern and curiosity, “I think one of my fingernails is coming in crooked.”

“Uh, huh” was about all the sympathy I could muster...

“Well…I guess this just means I’m going to have crooked teeth AND crooked nails.” said a sad voice from the back.

Meanwhile, another much more cheerful voice joined in on the conversation,

“Well ALL of MY nails are STRAIGHT and all of MY teeth are straight.  So there you go, Toby.  YOU. ARE. DOOMED.”

I’m not going to sugar coat the rest of the drive to the school BBQ.  It wasn’t pleasant and doesn’t represent any of my more stellar parenting moments.  But we, as parents, must take triumph in the small things, if only for self-preservation.

Mia, as it turns out, has a great knack for vocabulary.  She MAY turn out to be a cruel, un-empathetic, callous individual who triumphs in art of torturing others, but she’s a quick learner of new words.  And we have to take our small victories where we can get them.  Otherwise -- you got it -- WE.  ARE. DOOMED.

Mother's Day : A lesson in Gratitude

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I will not be posting a picture perfect snap of me and my kids on our idyllic Mother’s Day this year.

I awoke at 7am to the simultaneous ring of my pager (I’m on call) with the impending news of 2 new admissions, as well as the voice of my children asking why I wasn’t out of bed yet...No sleep in for me this year.

I ate breakfast surrounded by a cranky Toby who is just recovering from gastro and still can’t eat and a ravenous Mia who is now 1 week post gastro and making up for lost time while gloating about it to her queasy brother.  Needless to say, it wasn’t the big family brunch we have had on past years.

I spent my morning rounding on the inpatients at the hospital, answering phone calls, putting out fires, discussing CT scans with radiologists and antibiotic adjustments with pharmacists,  and missing out on the fun family adventures my crew was having at the lake.

When I had finally finished at the hospital I ventured out on a bike ride.  Right when my odometer joyfully announced that I was at the 15km halfway mark of my ride the heavens opened up and a down pour ensued.   Quite possibly the very WORST time for the rain to start while on a bike ride, I now had the full 15 km distance to do over again in the rain.

And then, after making a wonderful big meal for my family for Mother’s Day,  I got called in to assist in the OR the second I went to dish out the plates.

Sound awful?  Well…actually…not so fast…

So here's my picture :

Please ignore the state of all of us in this picture.  We are dishevelled; on call hair and glasses for me, post gastro pallor for my kids.  But we are smiling.

We are smiling because, for the first time in 8 days, we are healthy. You know that innate sinking feeling of unsettledness you get when your kids are sick?  Mine dissipated this morning.  And what follows is a joyous explosion of the heart called gratitude.  Despite the bleariness, my eyes are announcing that all is right in my world again.

Yes, I had to work today, but I’d venture to say that working in the hospital on Mother’s day is one of the best days of the year to do so.  There were cakes and treats everywhere.  Nurses gave out hugs and patients wished me a Happy Mother’s day.  I brought roses to hand out and my colleague brought cookies.  As we passed them out to patients and staff the smiles grew.  One lady in particular, a withered soul with a wispy voice saw me handing a rose out to one of my patients in the next bed and sweetly asked, “Is that a …FLOWER?”  I told her it was and offered to give her one,

“Oh, YES” she said excitedly in the saddest, oldest voice ever, “I would LOVE a flower.”  I put it into a styrofoam cup of water and placed it on her table.  “THANK YOU” she exclaimed breathlessly, “It’s BEAUTIFUL.”  She smiled so hard I thought her teeth might fall out. 

I left the hospital that morning feeling appreciated, and hoping fervently for these sweet old souls that I wouldn’t be their only visitor today.

And then I went on my bike ride.  I was indeed at the farthest point in my ride when it started to rain, but as I ventured down a different road to make the return shorter, I rode past a cemetery, with a long line of cars in front of it.  I watched as people offered flowers, in the rain, to their loved ones.  "What could be worse than biking in the rain?" I had thought to myself only a few minutes earlier...I then had 14km of fresh rain and solitude to reflect on how lucky I am not to have to send or receive flowers in a cemetery this mother’s day.

And the dinner time interruption?  A new mom in the waiting…a baby in an undesirable position…my very favourite operation to assist with  - - a Csection.  What a privilege it is to help ease a new being into the world and in doing so, create a mother…on Mother’s day.

It might not have been my perfect Mother’s Day.  But it offered a perfect perspective on what’s important in life.

Happy Mother’s day, Everyone.  May it find you all healthy, dry, appreciated and full of gratitude.