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.
Monday 23 March 2015
Saturday 21 March 2015
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.
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.
Monday 16 March 2015
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.
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.
Saturday 7 March 2015
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
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.
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