My Reflective Birthday

Today I turned 36 years old.  It doesn't seem possible as I still feel really young but last night I watched City Slickers and realized that Billy Crystal's midlife crisis happens at the age of 39 and that I am truly not that far from that.

I don't think I'm having a midlife crisis (at least not yet) but it does feel strange to arrive here near the orbit of mid life and be honestly pretty happy about how things are turning out.

Certainly there have been ups and downs in 36 years and loves and losses too but in general there is a lot to be thankful for - even in the messy bits.  Gratitude seem to be the galoshes you step into as you walk around the parts of your life that remind you of all the happiness - both the things that make you happy and the hard things that remind you to be happy.

At the end of every day I ask the kids what the favourite part of their day was.  It's our reminder before falling into dreamland of all the things to be grateful for that day.  On a bigger scale when we have birthdays or anniversaries in our house we remember our happiest part of the previous year.   Sometimes we also dig around in the hardest part too as remembering can sometimes take you in those places as well.  This year my happiest and hardest part of the year were the same part.

Our beautiful son who fills our house and hearts with so much joy has struggled in his six years of life.  We noticed it early as he wasn't particularly interested in talking even though he was a very social kid.  Saliva control and issues with feeding were also early signs that something was going on for him.  He met all his milestones and he was a very social kid and people could tell us what it wasn't (i.e. he didn't have autism) but they weren't really sure what it was.  He started speech and language help by the time he was 2 and things slowly moved forward with speech but it was certainly slow.  He loved preschool and had friends but he needed a little help - communication was hard and often he seemed to be like a german shepherd puppy, a big spirit in a body that hadn't caught up yet.  No one seemed to be able to figure him out, this was particularly disheartening for his doctor mother who has/had the idea that if you work hard enough at something you can always "fix" it.  We took him to doctors, most of whom were terrible, who diagnosed him with "global developmental delay" which I believe is a terrible diagnosis, wasn't true in our case and is wildly unhelpful.  Take note, paediatricians, that terminology should be worked on.  In our case it wasn't true because we knew (and he had been tested so we objectively knew) that cognitively there wasn't a problem but often it was like we were living with someone who had a stroke, he worked so hard to get a word out that we knew and he knew that he already knew.  Because he is such a loving kid and because he met all his milestones, people we knew and the doctors we took him too, reassured us that we were over-reacting about certain things and that further testing wouldn't really be of benefit.  He had a great doctor in Melbourne that said the same thing, someone I highly respect and trust.

We came home from Australia and pushed a little harder.  Part of the workup is an MRI and I hesitated on that front because an MRI for a kid means a general anesthetic which has risks.  We finally decided it was worth the risk.  We all went together and our brave little boy went off to sleep and into the MRI machine.  We didn't hear anything about the MRI for many weeks and everyone told us that it was very likely to be normal (which is another reason we hesitated to do it) so when Keith took him to the geneticist (another part of the workup - his genetic tests are totally normal) and I asked him to get a copy of the MRI report (for completeness) we were shocked. I still feel bad for the geneticist as he had no idea that he was walking into an MRI that he would have to explain when he didn't order it or really completely understand it. Cian had two injuries to his brain - one that likely happened very early in development and one that happened later around the time of delivery.  It was unlikely his actual delivery (which was fine) but could have been as simple as an infection that I didn't have any symptoms of (because I was never unwell in the pregnancy).  The genetics doctor stumbled through the explanation of the MRI report to Keith, mumbled something about "birth asphyxia" and suggested we talk to our paediatrician (who absolutely should have called us with that report).  Keith came home to his post-call wife who subsequently became hysterical about the MRI report.  There were several hours of crying in my room before a sense of calm where I realized we finally had an idea of what was going on for Cian.

Cian has cerebral palsy.

The signs now are everywhere: his right foot turns in when he is tired and is walking or running, his oral motor control, his difficulty with speech is directly related to the motor issues of getting the words out.  He has to work 10 times as hard as the rest of us to say what he wants to say.  That was a hard day but also a day I finally felt things starting to shift - after six years of trying to work through a medical system that I work in that wasn't working for my kid.

I was oddly calm with the fact that I knew he had cerebral palsy but I didn't officially have that diagnosis until it was made by someone other than Cian's non-neurologist/gynecologist mother.  So then I mama warriored everyone in order to get him a diagnosis.  I went to the head of paediatric neurologist in his clinic, introduced myself, told him I thought my son had CP and asked him to read the MRI report.  I was a woman on a mission.  The neurologist talked to me on the phone and explained the MRI while I was in the airport awaiting an international flight, a tremendous professional courtesy.  There was then a 2 year waiting list to get an "official" diagnosis and letter so thank goodness the ward clerk for my clinic and the neuro clinic are the same person and we finally got him in to see a paediatric neurologist.  That was my best day.  Dr. Appendino and his resident spent 2 hours with Cian (as opposed to the 15 minutes he was given before a diagnosis of global developmental delay by other doctors).  They figured out his major areas of difficulty, they figured out the things he liked to do, they asked us our expectations of the visit, they talked about Cian's strengths and they outlined in detail what likely happened to his brain and explained it so a doctor and a non-doctor could understand.  They cared about him.  They could see him as the amazing kid that he is.  They could see that there were things he excelled at - they believed us when we talked about all the physical things that he could do - his amazing low brace in a canoe, his flips on the trapeze, his amazing swimming ability and total domination at video games.  They explained that even though he's never had one he is at lifelong risk of seizures.  I tried to wrap my head around the future do's and don't's for him and Dr Appendino blessed me with a phrase I constantly remind myself of...

"Don't collapse his life."

I can't begin to tell you how much that day meant to our family.  I didn't know what to do so, of course, I baked my feelings - bienenstich is the hardest thing I know how to make and is the biggest labour of love so that is what Dr. Appendino and his staff got.  When medical care is done right it can truly change people's lives.

There have been challenges since then and surely more to come but we now have a better understanding of what is going on for our kid who had no way of telling us what was happening for him because he knew no other way.  I have been immensely blessed by women who have kids with far greater challenges than mine who have extended such kindness and support to me as I try to come to an understanding of what our future looks like as we walk with this gift of a kid.  I see my job in a new way as I live and love everyday the "worst possible outcome of obstetrics".  I am so blessed to have cared for incredible girls and young women with CP so that I have an idea of how wonderful Cian's future could be.

So I sit hear in my "gumboots of gratitude" waist deep in the mud of a midlife "crisis" I wasn't expecting and realizing that I am so thankful this year for greater understanding, for hope in the future, for truly caring doctors, for slow positive progression and for the tremendous gift of being Cian's mom.  Today as he went off to school he whispered to his sister to decorate the hall with balloons for my birthday, he turned to me, flashed that amazing smile and gave me a full-body hug.  "Happy Birthday" he said to me with such sincerity that it caught in my throat and brought tears to my eyes.  The beauty of knowing that it's hard for your kid to talk is that every word counts, nothing is wasted and that's not lost on me.  It is a truly happy birthday.

Dear Morgan

You are loved.

You came into our lives with big eyes and an open heart and we poured all the love into it we had been waiting to give you.

And you smiled.

You are part of our collective family that surrounds you with support, bear hugs and sloppy kisses.

You are loved.

One of my deepest desires in this life was to know you

To see you

To cuddle you and have you giggle

To see how you light up your parents' life

And how that light shines to the rest of us

The road before you may take you on twists and turns

It might take you to dark places and you may have wondered where your light has gone.

But it's there 

You might have to get down on your knees and blow on the coals for a while

Or flap a plate wildly

Or cheat a bit and use some paper to rekindle it

But it's always there inside of you. 

I held a candle for you today 

And I always will

So that you know you always have a safe place to come to

To help you know it's safe to spread your wings

That it's okay to try and fail and try again 

That you can question and wonder and dream.

But the truth is 

The light was inside you all along.

You are loved.

Peace and Love now and always,

Your very honoured Godmother, Auntie Amanda

Refugees

On our way home from the funeral last week we took an early flight out of Abbotsford.  I had plans with girlfriends that night and we were eager to get home from the exhaustion of the happenings of the last few days.  My cousin Syd was on our flight, his second flight ever so Emily was showing him the ropes.  Our dads were anxious that we would make it on time which is a bit funny for anyone who has seen the postage stamp that is the Abbotsford airport.  We had lots of time to play tag in the airport parking lot with Great uncle Garry and Aunty Toby and to eat funeral danishes out of the back of the car.  Once we were through security Emily made fast friends with another boy in the waiting area.  Before we knew it we were at our departure time and we still hadn't boarded.  I had thought about the fog as we had driven through it to get to the airport but there was no mention of delays so I wasn't worried.  Then they got on the intercom and canceled the flight - the pilots couldn't land.

You have to love Canadians for not making a fuss.  We all went back to the ticket area, all of us grateful that the pilots had made the harder but safer choice.  No one was yelling.  Some were stressed about getting to their destinations but were happy with the Westjet employees for their assistance.  Even though we were displaced from our original plans all seemed to be well and I ended up getting Emily and I on the next flight going to Edmonton which my parents and brother were on.  The fog hadn't seemed to abate yet though so I was skeptical that we would actually leave on that flight.  And as we lined up for security the second time my questions were answered - our second flight was also canceled.

Back on the phone with Westjet who was thoroughly apologetic because they knew we were flying for bereavement (not that fog is their fault).  I decided we should fly out of Vancouver and booked an afternoon flight out of Vancouver and so did my dad and my mom rented a car and we drove to the Vancouver airport.  All in all it was pretty easy to do but I was struck by all the people in the airport on their cell phones trying to get home to their safe spaces.  It was striking to hear so much about refugees over the last few weeks and to be stranded with a bunch of Canadians with luggage and altered plans trying to get home or to loved ones.  This is even more striking when I had just said goodbye to one of the most important people in my life who also came to this country as a refugee.

My grandparents on both sides were refugees.  They had been persecuted in Russia for being Mennonite and were conscripted to the war or worked gruelling conscientious objector duty.  My grandmother talked to us as children about how people came and took everything from the farm - they found every sac of flour - they looked in between door jams and took it all.  She watched my son run around with bittersweet happiness remembering that she had been so malnourished that she didn't walk until she was 4.  I remember the stories of the soldiers coming to rape my great aunts and how my grandmothers siblings all held hands to keep them at bay in the middle of the night.  I know the stories of how my Uncle almost didn't make the train to escape Russia with my Oma.  I watched my great aunt shake my whole life for how hard she'd been worked in Siberia.  I heard only a fraction of the stories and I know that they all suffered.  Making it to Canada was always a part of the prayer over an evening meal together - the blessing of security was not lost on them.

I think about that as I watch the Syrian refugee crisis and the Canadian response to it.  We have so much in this beautiful country and most of us came from somewhere else.  Fear is not the appropriate response.  I'm not a political science person but for the people that are afraid that accepting refugees will threaten our national security - don't you think that pouring love into people who have lost everything will return love for our country one hundred fold?  I think most Canadians believe that we can do better and I truly hope that's reflected in how we vote for the country we want moving forward.  I want to be proud of our country again.  Canadians are amazing people and our leadership should reflect that.

So it goes. Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.” ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

Grandpa's Funeral

We said goodbye to my definition of the "best man" (Note: Keith is a close second and my dad is pretty great too).  Nonetheless, my grandpa was the man I compared all men to.  It's hard when the immortal in your mind succumb to their mortality.

My parents, Emily and I flew in the day before the funeral to get things ready. I had the music and we had to ensure that the technology of the seemingly stuck in time Mennonite church would be compatible with all my Apple gear.  We met the pastor of the church who I have known since we were young at camp and who we have met with as each of my grandparents have passed over the last few years.  He had gone to see my grandfather the day he died and although Grandpa struggled for words under his dementia and delirium he managed an "Amen" for Pastor Brown.

We finally figured the technology (it took a bit of work) and went back to the hotel.  I had shown my parents the slideshow before we went to the church. They both liked it which was a relief because it's hard to do something so personal on behalf of your family. My mom loved the songs too which seemed to fit perfectly in my 2am decision-making stupor but were still meaningful for her in the light of the day.  My brother came that night and watched it and my grandpa's tag phrase "well there you go" is written at the end and my brother burst into tears. The grief comes in waves.

The next morning we met up with family over breakfast and got ready for the graveside.  My "baby cousins" and I had only seen each other 3 weeks ago and this was far different circumstances.  The tears bubbled up and wouldn't be denied.  I met my cousin Kelly's boyfriend Kyle and went to shake his hand and he hugged me.  I told him that I had been waiting to meet him - he was the sunshine of my day.  Emily and I had a big talk about how she had to be quiet at the graveside.  Her tante Betty gave her a flower and she was very good.  She was quiet for the prayers and put her gerbera daisy on the casket in her bobby socks and Mary Jane shoes.  I told Em to go and hug Uncle Brandon's hand and she went up to him and said "Boo!"  I promptly shushed her but then realized that is exactly what my grandpa would have said. There in the hot midday sun I stood arm in arm with my Aunt Betty and at the same time we said how Grandpa would have loved that sunny day - he would have been outside not wearing a shirt.  Great minds think alike and speak aloud at the same time.

We had a quick trip to Starbucks before the church service.  Emily entertained with her strawberry milkshake and her singing and giggles.  Before we headed to the church I walked her around the pond behind the hotel.  A middle-aged Aboriginal lady asked the time and since my cell phone was at the church for the music it was the first time I hadn't known in a really long time.  Lily talked to Emily and asked her how she was and Emily went and held her hand for a minute.  The man sitting with Lily asked how "mom" (that's me) was doing because "they cared about mom too"  - it was so reminiscent of the walks I used to make with my grandfather.  People would always come up to him and talk about anything and soon it felt like they had known each other forever.  Everyone was a friend for Grandpa - just waiting to be discovered. 

The music at the church wasn't the orchestra I would have wanted for him but it was the familiar songs that he would have played loudly on the record player.  We walked in to "Shall we gather at the River" and I can hear him singing it.  Aunty Betty went first with the Eulogy. She referenced how my grandpa used to always have a quote when he would write cards to us and he did.  I treasured those cards and the thoughtfulness he put into the words he chose.  Bets settled on Winnie-the-Pooh and friends to help weave her story about the man my grandfather was.  She talked about how he was a wealthy man - not in money perhaps but in all the ways that truly count.  I think of how some of my medical colleagues talk about how they can't afford things and I am baffled that I had a childhood where I felt like I wanted for nothing on a far more meager salary in my grandparents' home.  She talked about his faith, his work ethic, his love of music and his gratitude.  That he certainly has instilled in all of us - we can credit him for that.  How thankful he was for everything he had here in Canada, all the people he met, the food on his table and the faith in his heart.  Bets did such a good job or representing what Grandpa meant to her and in turn what he meant to all of us.  My dad read a piece that he had written a few months ago about my Grandpa and how he was preparing for his chapter beyond this life.  It centred around the hymn Blessed Assurance which we sang subsequent to that and all of us were holding hands and bawling.  The soprano just couldn't do it on that one - the music caught in my throat. 

My cousin Syd, who seems to have grown up suddenly into a man and a dad, read my grandpa's favourite scripture reading and we all watched the slideshow together, again in tears.  My second cousins on my Grandpa's side laughed about how my aunties on my grandma's side cooed at my grandpa's picture from younger days but you can't blame them - he was a looker.  At the end the pastor spoke and shared some personal stories about Grandpa where he also got choked up and had a hard time getting his words out too.  That is how beloved my grandfather was - not just by his family but by everyone that knew him.  The pastors words meant a lot to all of us.   

After the service we had some refreshments downstairs at Eden church which feels the same as when I was a little girl.  My dad's siblings had come to pay their respects as well as other people I had meant through a lifetime of loving my grandparents - neighbours, fellow residents at the senior estates, quilters, church workers and extended family.  It was nice to be around people who knew what a gem of a person we had lost.  After the service Emily was so hyper after hours of being quiet (and she did it - Hallelujah!)  She ran around the hall downstairs and my second cousin lifted her high to touch the ceiling just like I remember his dad doing to us when we were small.  Kyle (Kelly's boyfriend) dared Emily to get a pickle from the kitchen after they were put away and darned if she wasn't all up for a dare (she nailed it - did I mention this Kyle guy seems great).  She then helped the old guys stack the chairs and rolled each circular table to its place with a different Henry at Eden but I felt the Henry I knew smiling in approval - cleaning up after services like that was often his job and seeing Emily take that torch with such gusto was very heartwarming.   

We went back to the hotel exhausted and ate in a haphazard grazing-type fashion at the hotel restaurant and they lovingly accomodated us.  It was nice to be together after such an exhausting heart-heavy day.  Even though we don't see each other often it was nice to so easily take comfort in each other.  That is again the legacy of love that my grandparents left.  Despite all the hardship that they saw in their life they poured love into us til our cups runneth over.    How blessed I was to love them both so much and be loved so completely.  How thankful I am for having them in my life, for having them at my wedding, for their love of my husband, for their cuddles of my children.  How brave they were to take the lives that were handed them and mould it into something so beautiful and kind and generous.  I have a different knowledge of grief now as I have had such a loss in my life - but how lucky I am to feel this loss because I was loved and loved so much.

Grandpa's Memorial

My Grandpa

My grandfather passed away this past week.  He had just turned 90. 

I told Keith several years ago that when my grandfather passes away I will be a mess.  True to form – I did not disappoint.  Keith will turn in a corner in our house and I will be at the computer with tears streaming down my face.  Emily told me “Mom, I’m a little sad about your grandpa too – you can share my grandpa if you want.” And Cian slept on the floor beside my bed the night I found out and when I got up and went downstairs when I couldn’t sleep he woke up and followed me.  Despite my Grandpa reaching his milestone birthday a few weeks ago and having the opportunity to spend time with him just a short time before he passed away I can’t help feeling a little lost without him.

Losing my grandpa feels different than when we lost my grandma a few years ago.  We all stood at her grave wounded like we had witnessed a trauma.   Even though she died of cancer in her 80s it was shocking and felt unfair to lose her so quickly and violently.  My grandpa has faded without her.  In some ways we lost them together and now I just feel the aching pain of the finality of it all.  The two people that cradled my childhood are gone.   Despite watching them age in front of me I have never seen them as old.  They are still in their 50s in my head; strong and working in the garden.  My grandfather chasing me around with his shirt off – hanging me upside down as I shove raspberries or a plum in my mouth.  I think of our long walks as he bestowed the wisdom of a lifetime of hardship and adversity which never hardened him.  No matter where we walked someone would come up to him and be touched by his kind spirit –it was infectious. 

I have been planning some of the music for his funeral this week and I keep being drawn to songs from the Muppet Show, which seemed so strange and inappropriate but they kept coming up nonetheless.  Then I finally realized that we used to watch the Muppet Show after Wheel of Fortune.  I have memories of being fresh from the bath and sitting on his lap as the opening song would come on the TV in the little TV room- cosied up all together.  How lucky I was to have a childhood full of cosy memories and feelings like that.

Grandpa always had music playing in the house; usually loud hymns on the record player in the living room.  He usually made a joyful noise J.  When my mom called to tell me he passed away that’s exactly what I did – loud hymns and baking – it was like they were with me.  Poor Keith when I woke him up at 0730am insisting I was in desperate need of more eggs.

When I was a little girl my Grandpa used to get up really early to go work at the hospital and would be back mid-afternoon for tea time with my Grandma and I in the backyard garden.  When I would visit him at the hospital everyone clearly loved and respected him very much.  When I would get hurt, as children are wont to do – especially me, he would put his glasses on and sit me up on the bathroom counter, take out the hydrogen peroxide and the Q-tips and clean whatever wound I had gotten myself into.  So, of course, as a child I thought my grandpa was a doctor.  And I wanted to grow up to be everything he was.  I work at the operating room table instead of cleaning the operating room floor and I am liked in my job but I hope that one day I have the love and respect that my grandfather had in the hospital – by the doctors, nurses, everyone.  That kind of reverence comes from a lifetime of character and I hope to keep plugging away at it.  Mostly I want to do him proud.  The opportunities provided to me that he couldn’t even dream about – the divide is not lost on me and I am so very thankful for every opportunity as a grandchild of refugees.

Character is the defining feature of my grandfather.  He knew who he was and he made deliberate choices to be the kind of man that we all loved and respected.  He did not take the easy road.  He cultivated his faith and it truly was his foundation.  So much of my faith in God is because of how I watched God move in him.  He had tremendous compassion for all people.  He was Christ’s example in my life.  He was the example of a loving family man I searched for and found in a life partner.  He was my hero and I miss him terribly and I am so thankful to have had him in my life for 35 years. 

Rest in Peace Grandpa.  Picturing you and Grandma in Heaven together gives me such comfort.  We all love and miss you very much.  

Back to the Chaos

We are renovating our little house to serve us better as we don't want to leave it.  This enterprise started about a month late and Keith and the kids have spent the last 3 weeks hiding out at my parents to avoid the mess.

The upstairs bathroom is gutted and the new plumbing has started.  The kitchen has lost it's floor and it's ceiling and half the cabinets are down (to allow for the plumbing changes).  The backyard lost the old birch tree and the pine got a significant trim.  Things are coming along but we are definitely still in the demolition phase.

And on Friday Keith and the kids came home.  Our house, while they were gone, felt like an empty shell of itself.  Like the life had been sucked out of it.  Eventually this old house and I settled into our quiet routine over the 3 weeks - mostly it was on its own and I worked.  We probably both missed the cacaphony of yelling and running.  Now the noise is back in full swing but the heart of our house is under repair and it shows.  We have gravel, drywall and dust in the kitchen - it feels like our house is getting open-heart surgery and the ribcage is trying to hold it together in the interim.

How lucky we are to love this house so much.  To read stories in secret campouts in the closets.  To make new kitchen homes in the storage room.  To shuffle out the old useless chimney and breath new life into its main spaces.  How many memories we've made here and how many more we hope to make.  My family has come home to run around in the hallowed arteries of a new beginning - in what's familiar laced with the possibility of new life, moving forward and supported by what's past.

Childhood

I've read a lot of articles about childhood recently.  How the childhood of my generation was so much better than the ones that have come after.  How we are ruining our children with technology and inactivity.  How we need to stimulate our children with all sorts of different activities and that you can never do too much for them.  And, how danger lurks around every corner and how you can't let your children out of your sight for a second or someone will take them or someone with call CFS in fear that someone will take them.  It's exhausting to feel like you are always doing it wrong or that you could be doing things better but that is parenting; for every generation I suspect.

Yesterday I let my children do whatever they wanted in the morning because it was Saturday morning and I remember waking up and having the freedom to decide the fate of my day.  Cian played some video games and Emily coloured and dressed up as a cat.  I sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and left them alone.  They came to me when the pancakes were ready, we did a puzzle and then they went back to playing.

I had a brief moment when I thought I should play with them but then instead went for a bath and read my novel. After my bath I thought I would take them to the store but Cian found the summer stuff that Jen and Mike had returned to our house that morning and wanted to play with his newfound toys.  He brought the water table to the back deck and filled it with water.  It was mild outside and the water was not warm but he had a great time playing in the water in the early afternoon, still in his pajamas.  Emily found him, half undressed on her way to her room and she wanted to play in the water too.  They both took off all their clothes to splash each other with the water.  I got them the sidewalk chalk and they drew all over the back deck, asking before trying each new area "Can we write on the BBQ?" "How about the glass door?"  Gleefully they sprayed water, drew with chalk and became cleaning "robots" and spent hours on the deck playing naked covered in chalk.   Truthfully I had a couple moments that I worried people might see my naked children from the street or the lane and express their disapproval and then I realized that I did not care.  I remember playing for hours at randomness and enjoying fresh air and goofing around with nowhere to go.  The idea of going to the store was completely abandoned. Instead I decided to round out an "old school" Saturday and make zweibach like the mothers before me.  As my kids squealed and ran around the deck the "smell of love" was baking in my kitchen.  The kids ran in as the buns were coming out of the oven and I had to shoo away eager fingers from the steaming cooling racks as familiar smells wafted through the house.  Smacking bums up to the bathtub to clean up before snack.

The kids begged for buns before dinner and I fed my "fresh from the bath" children white bread and sweet preserves as they vibrated with delight.  We cleaned up the house getting it ready for their teenage babysitter to arrive.  They had Kraft dinner and sausage for supper and then watched a movie with their babysitter before bed and their parents went out.  They didn't even realize we had left.  Cian had a bit of an upset stomach while we were gone and Keith talked to him on the phone.  He said he was feeling better and went to bed - we did not come home early.  We enjoyed our dinner and show and then Keith drove the sitter home.  I put the remaining zweibach into old bread bags - like my grandmother used to do - before heading to bed.  A great Saturday.

Parenting is hard in any generation I think.  Our generation has access to the internet and every idea imaginable, it can be overwhelming all the things you aren't doing and aren't trying with your children.  That you are somehow denying them every option available because you have enhanced awareness of all these options.  It's paralyzing and I find it often prevents me from enjoying simple things that used to bring me joy and that I want to share with my kids.  The freedom of nothing to do.  The delight of a surprise afternoon activity.  Sunshine...water...fresh air....and homemade traditions baking in the kitchen.  It's a reminder for me to do less and plan less and maybe read less articles on the internet.

Creative Time on Mother's Day

Our tradition for days like Mother's Day or Father's Day is to give the other person time to have family time if they want but also to do other things they enjoy.  Today I got to spend some time in the loft (which I have completely rid of anything exam-related) and worked on the video I've had in my head since we left Australia.  Also, on days like this I get a little nostalgic (as I do every day that ends in y).  Anyway, it took longer to figure out how to share it than it did to make it but in case anyone wants to see the finished product - here it is.

Thanks to everyone who encouraged us to go to Australia last year and for all the people who came into our lives while we were there to share in our amazing experience.  I truly believe that the Land Down Under healed my soul and taught me how to breathe again.


Our Year in Australia

First Sleepover

Cian and his friend Henri have been asking to have a sleepover for months.  Henri's mom and I finally figured out that this weekend would work and that we would take Henri Friday night, that way the boys would have two nights to recover before going back to school.

Henri came over at 4:30 pm with his little Cars suitcase in tow and the boys escaped to the basement without any formals greetings or goodbyes.  They played for hours with trains and video games and semi-watched Big Hero 6 amongst 6 year old boy ideas of goofiness and rambunctious play.  We had pizza and birthday cake (for Keith) and around 8:30 pm we started the bedtime process.

Emily was sad that she wasn't having a sleepover ("I didn't pack any of my stuff !!" she said) so we decided she would have a sleepover with Mom.  So Emily, Mooma bear, unicorn and bee all spent the night with mommy in the big bed.

It only took a few times coming into the boys room to tell them to go to sleep before they finally succumbed to exhaustion.  I thought that part of the sleepover would be worse so that was a welcome surprise.

Despite falling asleep shortly before 10 the boys were up at 640.  (The little diva slept til 1030am)  The morning was full of Lego Batman and breakfast and lots of squeals and laughter.  Dr. Leslea came over around lunchtime to pick up Henri and both of them were upset about the ending of their fun.  What a wonderful thing for both of them: little boy friendship. :)

Kid-free Vacation

Last week I went to a conference in Orlando and Keith came with me.  My parents came out to watch the kids and it's a testament to how fun my parents are that our children had no issue with us going to Disneyland without them.

The conference was good.  I learned a lot and met a few people.  I'm unclear why that has to occur in a windowless, severely air-conditioned room but I'm not an organizer so it is what it is.  It was definitely worth going so that's positive.

After the conference we spent a day at Universal and a day at Disneyland. We blitzed Universal - going on 17 rides and doing all the big splash rides,  stood in awe at all the creativity in the Harry Potter exhibitions (it's amazing), had Butterbeer and basically we were giant nerds.  We were there for 13 hours running from ride to ride like kids.  With two minutes to spare we made the last run of the E.T. ride, hopped on the bikes and floated over the city to the sounds of that iconic music.  What a memory and I caught Keith watching me as I relived childhood memories. The perfect way to end off the night.

We spent the next day at Disneyland.  We went to Pixie Hollow to meet our daughter's favourite Tinkerbell (thanks for blowing her a kiss Tink!) and I had reserved Fastpasses for Keith's favourite rides.  As we were standing at the gate to enter the Space Mountain roller coaster suddenly it washed over me how lucky we were to have all these memories together.  That after almost 11 years together that we have shared almost a third of our lives and that he is the only person that will remember what it felt like as we walked into Diagon Alley together or as we sat together having snacks waiting for Disney's electric parade.  I am the only person who got to see him see his first big character parade at Disneyland and watch him take pictures to show our kids.  I regularly realize how lucky I am to be in a loving marriage but I don't think I'd thought about the memory aspect and how for people who aren't married anymore how that's an added hurt to what they have to go through. That your memory companion isn't with you anymore.  For all my friends where that is part of your life's journey I hope you know I'm thinking of you and that I don't take what I have for granted.

We sat on the stoop on Main Street that evening and watched the Electric Parade and the fireworks show.  What amazing creativity and wonder - I can't wait to share it with the kids when they are a bit older.  We spent a lot of time thinking about how we would share this adventure with them - it's a nice way to spend a day in Disneyland - preparing to share it with your kids.  It was a wonderful break for Keith and I to recharge and to come back to our kids with a newfound enthusiasm.  It was also really good for them to spend solo time with their grandparents - I remember the times I had alone with my grandparents with such fondness and it's so good for them.  Even if they get spoiled rotten as yesterday would attest:

Cian:  Mom I want ice cream with cookies in it.
Me: Where did you get something like that?
Cian: YOUR mom gave it to me - OMI!

Tooth Fairy

Cian lost his front tooth on the weekend and put a note under his pillow for the tooth fairy.  In the morning I had forgotten that the tooth fairy came in the night and brought him a loonie and four quarters (our tooth fairy is clearly a frugal Mennonite).  He runs out of the room with his coins and proclaims "MOM, I HAVE MONEY!"  and without a thought or hesitation "I'M GOING TO BUY EMMY A CAR!" How does that not melt your heart?

I told him the tooth fairy had brought that money for him and that he could spend it on himself but he wanted to buy a car for his sister so Keith took him to the store and luckily Hot Wheels were on sale for $1 each so Keith convinced him to get one for Em and one for himself and he would cover the taxes.

What a great kid - so proud to be his mom.

Springsgiving

I have decided that I am doing a big Thanksgiving meal in every season.

There are many reasons for this:

1) I love throwing dinner parties
2) I love filling the house with people
3) I love spending all day cooking and baking in my pajamas
4) Not everyone I love can come to the fall Thanksgiving
5) I have too much to be thankful for - it can't fit into a once a year activity

So I figured four times a year would be a much better prospect and that way I can experiment with different food and differing groups of friends.  The constant at each I have decided will be my Grandmother's perschke.  It's my tribute to her at each dinner, like she's always there with me in the kitchen.

We had Springsgiving last Sunday and it was a smashing success.  Devin was visiting, we had our staple family members there and close friends with their kiddos.  An extended adult table and an attached kid table was great fun and there was lots of food and beverages.  Everyone said what they were thankful for (including cups!) and it was great to reconnect with old friends and get to know new ones better.  There is so much to be thankful for in my life and hopefully celebrating gratitude will help me raise thankful children too.  Thanks to all our friends and family near and far for all that you are in our lives.

Spring Break

This past week we had a visitor in our basement during Spring Break....the beloved Devin Bruce.

The kids woke up every morning at 6am (and the last night at 4am - ohhh Cian) and would "sneak" downstairs to jump on their teddy bear of a buddy tucked in behind the couch in the basement.  They would play video games and watch fun shows, have story time and dance parties.  The "guy with the beard" was a huge hit as always.

Keith had a buddy to play boardgames and card games with (I have no interest in Game of Thrones the card game) and I had someone to get dressed up with and go out for a fancy dinner and watch old movies in an old theatre (Roman Holiday at the Met - so lovely!).

Our "new" friends met our "old" friend over the course of his time here and became fast friends too.  Lots of food and sightseeing recommendations which ended up with fresh donut discoveries making it back to our house (a delicious perk!).

It's occasionally a little awkward still (only for Devin and I) but that is changing over time, like a dissonant chord progression that might not be what you expect but is lovely just the same.

Our Sincere Kid

One of the many great things about Cian (and sometimes one of the harder things to contain) is how excited he gets about things.  When I watch other kids his age who are shy or already don't want to seem uncool, Cian moves through the world in a constant state of "EVERYTHING IS AWESOME!"

On Saturday he was invited to his friend's pirate birthday.  He signed his card and wrapped his gift (Lego of course, what kid doesn't want Lego?)  and we told him that he had to wait until the big hand was at the 12.  Cian stood under our kitchen clock for 15 minutes holding his present for his friend in both hands patiently waiting for the clock to turn 1.  He had a blast that afternoon.

Today he went on his first school field trip.  They were taking buses to the Forks to go to the Children's Museum and then to the Manitoba Theatre for Young People presentation of Spot: the Dog.  Keith had read the instructions for parents the night before and made him a lunch (usually in half day kindergarten they only need a snack).  At 0715 Cian called me downstairs to show me his sandwich. "Dad made me a sandwich and it has a pickle and spicy cheese and meat!  I am going to put my lunch here on the top of my backpack."  There was almost 2 hours until school started.  He had dressed himself 40 minutes before he had to - he was ready.  Again, he had a great day (and is in such an awesome class as I think the record was set for number of adult volunteers on this field trip).

I love the reckless abandon in which he pursues life.  Extreme emotion has it's downside as everybody knows but we don't often talk about the good side.  About how amazing it is to be caught off guard by unexpected snowflakes on a Monday morning.  Or how great it is to have a friend come and visit.  Or to snuggle into bed after a long day.  You come from a long line of people who get excited about peanut butter kid.  It's something you'll have to manage at times but I hope you never, ever lose it.  I love seeing the world through those bespeckled sparkling eyes and infectious grin.

My Happy Place

I have been on call for the last 4 weekends in a row and I was absolutely ready for a break.  We still have birthday parties and other commitments but there is nothing like sitting in the sunshine with a cup of coffee watching my children play.

I come from a long line of "Home is where the heart is".   As our kids get older we have talked about how to adapt our house to meet the changing needs of our family.  Every time I look at other houses I feel like I'm cheating on our house.  We've dug down the foundation and nestled our children's play space in that cocoon.  We've lovingly painted every wall and stained all of the wooden bones of this old place.  We've celebrated it's 100th birthday.  We have laughed and cried with friends over long dinners and board games.  We've tucked our friends and family into corners of our little house we've used as various guest "rooms".  My hand runs across the lower railing my dad created overnight with the sounds of the air nailer still present in my consciousness.  Our loved ones saddle up to the kitchen island for chats and a cup of coffee.  Our children took their first steps in that kitchen and continue to have their dance parties there.  Wherever I look there is heart and memory in this house.

So here we stay in our little house in Wolesley.  I plan the backdoor facelift that hopefully makes a few things more workable but for now I can't think of a place I would rather enjoy the sunshine than my own backyard.

Emily's 3rd Birthday

Yesterday our baby girl turned 3.  Not a baby anymore, although she didn't really want to be a baby from the start.  She has been excited for weeks about her party and how all her friends were coming.  I clearly was brilliant enough to think that a 3 year old's Dora birthday should occur in our home organized by a mother who would be postcall from obstetrics.  Thank the Lord that the call gods were benevolent and I had some sleep the night before.  When I came home in the morning I'd had some sleep and was able to enjoy watching her brother bring her presents down for her (easel from Cian and play kitchen from us).

Emily had been very clear for months that she wanted a Dora birthday so decorations were purchased in the traditional orange, purple and hot pink.  There were balloons and snacks and a bull pinata.  I had planned activities but doing Cian's birthday had taught me that kids basically just want to play and don't really care about specific party games (at least the kids we hang out with). Cian had the wherewithal to ask to be spared that chaos of a 3 year old birthday party and Dr. Leslea (who is my hero) picked him up an hour and a half before the birthday to hang out with his friend Henri and go to the zoo. (They had a blast.  On a side note, we need to see the new polar bear exhibit it sounds amazing).

Despite the theme she wanted to wear her Frozen party dress and even let me pull a brush through her hair.  She was ready.  In the afternoon there were six 2-3 year old girls and 1 three year old boy playing and exploring our Dora-themed Casa Morris.  There were snacks, lime slush drinks, nachos and lots of fruit; all of Emily's favourites.  We hit the Fort Knox version of a pinata that only broke when Keith speared it with a broom handle and we ripped open the thick cardboard (seriously what were you thinking Target?). We had Emily's Dora cake and opened her generous presents from her friends.  Everyone seemed to have a really fun time especially Emily.

The day before her birthday I asked Em what the best parts of turning 3 were and she counted off: chocolate, syrup and .... chocolate syrup (she has never had chocolate syrup).  I hope now our little goofball ham will count her 3rd birthday party as one of her favourite things (at least for the next few days).

Happy Birthday Emily.  Thank you for all your crazy antics and the joy you bring to our lives.  We love you so much.

Remembering an Old Friend who Died Young

This week marked 10 years since the tragedy in Mayerthorpe.  For those of you that don't know, four mounties were killed there and one of them was my friend, Peter Schiemann.

I remember I was in medical school when I heard about the shooting.  Someone from my class asked me if I knew the mounties who were shot and I remember scoffing at them that Alberta wasn't as small as people in Toronto think it is.  Little did I know that the world was smaller than I thought.  I remember being at the gym and looking up at the news and my feet stopped moving.  How was it possible that I would know one of those four mounties that had been talked about all day?  How was it possible that I would be staring into the face of an old friend in a red uniform?

For the next several days I watched the news and the funerals and the national outpouring of grief.  Four brave young men affected our collective consciousness and it tore a little deeper because it was painted by the loss of innocence I felt that we weren't immortal anymore.  And that the good guys didn't always win.  The tragedy of treachery's triumph may happen in other countries but Dudley Do-right always gets his man.

In the coming weeks I drafted a letter to Peter's parents.  You could see the toll it took to be the grieving parents for a country overwhelmed by this loss and playing that role seemed to make these men inadvertent figureheads and "larger than life" is no comfort to people missing the small moments with their children.  I wanted Peter's mom to know how much he meant to me in the short time that we were friends.  She wrote a beautiful letter back demonstrating a number of attributes I admired in her son.

In reading the news stories that have marked the 10 year anniversary of Mayerthorpe I came across an interview with Peter's dad.  He talked about how much he wanted to remember more than the day that Peter died. That there were many beautiful years together with a wonderful son and that he wanted to remember that.  So on this anniversary I want to remember Peter, not for the day that ended his life, but the day that he completely endeared himself to me.

Peter and I were in Concordia Concert Choir together.  I was the little Mennonite girl in the group with a big liberal axe to grind, the feminist gay-rights activist.  He was the kind-hearted pastor's kid, quiet in the shadow of his older brother, always with a smile on his face.  We were both in first year together and despite my vocal outcries of all the things I felt the Lutherans were doing wrong (at my Lutheran school) we became friends.  On choir tour we went to Concordia Ann Arbour.  There was a guy that liked my "Ford" truck T-shirt (unbeknownst to him this was an inside joke at the time as I was dating a guy with the last name Ford).   This guy was following me around campus until I ran into Peter who promptly soaked me head to toe with a Super Soaker.  I then wrestled him to the ground and once I had him pinned asked if he would pretend to be my boyfriend for the weekend because this guy kept following me.  Peter, with that fantastic grin on his face, wet in the mud and without struggle as I had clearly bested him at wrestling (or so I thought), obliged.  He was a very sincere and caring "fake boyfriend" for the remainder of our time in Ann Arbour.  The guy who liked my Ford T-shirt was even more smitten after he thought Canadian girls wrestled you to the ground in the mud to ask you out.  He was sorely disappointed that I had betrothed myself to Peter.

Peter showed me gentleness and kindness when so many people at that time wanted to rein in this wild girl with the vocal leftist theology.  We never talked about that.  He never told me that he was worried about my soul or that I was clearly wrong and this was the laundry list of reasons why.  He showed his faith through his tremendous compassion.

We lost touch after that.  I focused on drama at Concordia and went on to the U of A and med school and Peter went on to join the RCMP which was a dream I remember him talking about even then.  My fondness for him never faded though.  I told Peter's mom I married a guy very much like Peter Schiemann.   That his "fake boyfriend" attributes were something I wanted in my life in a very real way.

After his death and his tremendous bravery he still impacted me.  I try to practice medicine as a "calling" the same way someone would be called to the ministry or to the RCMP.  When I am afraid in my job I think of his amazing sacrifice and how he must have been scared but that he did what was right anyhow.  In the fall someone said that if Ebola came to Canada they would never come to work and although I have seen death and the thought of Ebola scared me, in my heart I knew that I would never run like that.  I would try to be as brave as Peter.

Imagine that in his short life on this earth he affected me so profoundly in such a short amount of time.  Think of all the people he knew longer and how he impacted their lives.  He was more than Mayerthorpe and so were all the other mounties that died that day.  Their death is what we know of them as a nation but they lived and we honour their lives and the lives that they touched.

Rest well my friend.  Thank you.

Ain't Got Time to Die

New Blog

I decided that I missed blogging from Australia and blogging from Kenya and even though it's not as exotic our little family has lots of misadventures right here at home.  Therefore, I have put on my old blogging pants (which look at awful lot like my regular pants) and have made a blog for our everyday life.  This is a way to chronicle what's happening to us and what I'm thinking about and put it all in one location for future reflection or comedy fodder.  Either way it's nice to record the comings and goings of our little Morris family back in the heart of Manitoba.