He's two and a half. He has most of his teeth by now. Maybe all of them. I'm not sure because I haven't ventured to put my fingers in his mouth to count. He's biting. A lot. Mostly me. I try to follow his reasoning - is he mad? bored? excited? frustrated? He's all of those things. Often simultaneously. Two year olds have a lot of feelings.
I envision myself to be the mom who stops everything to have a genuine chat about what's causing the biting. We will get to the bottom of it. No yelling. No crying. We'll hug it out and laugh about it. But, well, you know - toddlers. Lots of people are giving me lots of good advice. Some of it is working.
But what do I really need? What I really need is a break. A real one. Not for five minutes and not for an hour. But for several days in a row. And that's the thing with parenting isn't it? The hardest job in the world. The most important job in the world. But if it's a job where are the vacation days? Everyone needs a vacation now and then don't they?
And that's probably why grandparents were invented. Those wondrous people who have been there. Who get it. And who aren't too exhausted running after their own children to run after yours. So I pack up the boy and head "home" to the place that really isn't home anymore but always sorta will be. He's thrilled of course. Bobo and Ba's house would rival Disney World in his eyes. If he knew what Disney World was.
My parents have probably the world's best couch for lounging. You really shouldn't ever sit on it if you have any plans for the rest of the day. As deep as a single bed it seduces naps from even the most ardent non-napper. My body sinks into its embrace and before long I'm curled on my side and a blanket mysteriously appears to cover me from head to toe. In the distance I hear my son yell "Again Ba! Again!" My father, the one with arthritis in his knees, is running around the room with a green table cloth fastened at his neck as a make-shift cape. Dun-dun-da-da! Mac squeals with delight. I roll over.
I wake from my nap to the smell of Mom's potato leek soup simmering on the stove. Mac is in the kitchen by her side. His little body is up at her level thanks to the aid of a kitchen chair under his feet. He's "helping." Which, I know, means he's slowing down the whole process. But I don't think she minds. I pretend to keep sleeping.
Three days pass and I've had my fill of soup. A whole double batch mostly on my own. The soup and the couch and the mothering. They've all done their work on my soul and I'm renewed. I hold my boy on my lap and stroke his hair. I drink in his scent and kiss his cheek. A few days of being mothered and I'm ready to mother again.
We linger for a moment at the door as we say our goodbyes - my mother and me. I'm about to thank her for all that she's done when she beats me to the punch.
"Thank-you for coming." Her eyes are wet and she reaches out for a hug. "It's been so nice having you here to mother." Funny how things come full circle. I know there will be a day in the future when I'll yearn so badly for an opportunity to mother my grown son instead of yearning for an opportunity to take a break from it.
I laugh a little. "Thank-you," I reply. "I really needed this." And she smiles. Because she knows. She's been there too.
Showing posts with label grandparents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grandparents. Show all posts
Monday, 3 February 2014
Monday, 20 January 2014
Craving Home: Part 2
Just over 2 years ago I wrote my very first blog post. Were you reading then? If you aren't my mother than you probably weren't. You should go check it out HERE.
Don't worry, I'll wait.
All done? Excellent. In case you didn't click over, in that post I wrote about what it was like to bring my new babe home. Not to my home but to my parents' home. To the hometown I grew up in. I wrote about what it was like, as a parent, to realize that your own parents love you as much as you love your kid. That's a pretty humbling and overwhelming experience.
In the two years of blogging that have come since I've tried to, more consciously and not always successfully, frame my experiences as my own more clearly. Because it's important to remember that not all kids are fortunate enough to grow-up with parents, or with parents who love them in that unconditional, overwhelming, parent-y kind of way. And, because of post partum depression or other factors, some parents may struggle to feel that kind of emotion. But, the truth remains that in that moment those feelings were my experience. And I will never forget that trip.
Two years and a few months later and I am prepping to make that same trip. This time with a toddler. A toddler who sometimes dances sweetly with me in the afternoon. But is equally as apt to bite me for no reason at all. A toddler who is my whole heart and yet also the reason for my exhaustion. He is, hands down, the most amazing part of my life.
And yet.
I just need a damn break. Not for an hour or two (I'm grateful to be parenting with a partner and although we have a lot going on these days we are both careful to give the other breaks). But for several days in a row. Because toddlers are really, really, tiring. And they just never stop moving. Have you ever watched that Toddlers and Tiaras show where they give the kid an overdose of sugar to get her all bouncy? That makes about zero sense to me right now. Because toddlers are bouncing balls of uncontainable energy in their natural state. Why anyone would try to increase that is beyond me.
Anyway. I'm heading home again. And this time I'll also be thinking about how amazing it is to have people out there who love me as much as I love Mac.
And I'm so grateful for that because it means that they will take me in and let me sleep for three days in a row and run around with Mac until they are ready to sleep for three days in a row to recover.
Shout out to all the parents of multiples, to those of you with several toddlers at once, and to the rest of us who have one toddler who feels like many. I hope you have grandparents in your life who love you that much too.
Don't worry, I'll wait.
All done? Excellent. In case you didn't click over, in that post I wrote about what it was like to bring my new babe home. Not to my home but to my parents' home. To the hometown I grew up in. I wrote about what it was like, as a parent, to realize that your own parents love you as much as you love your kid. That's a pretty humbling and overwhelming experience.
In the two years of blogging that have come since I've tried to, more consciously and not always successfully, frame my experiences as my own more clearly. Because it's important to remember that not all kids are fortunate enough to grow-up with parents, or with parents who love them in that unconditional, overwhelming, parent-y kind of way. And, because of post partum depression or other factors, some parents may struggle to feel that kind of emotion. But, the truth remains that in that moment those feelings were my experience. And I will never forget that trip.
Two years and a few months later and I am prepping to make that same trip. This time with a toddler. A toddler who sometimes dances sweetly with me in the afternoon. But is equally as apt to bite me for no reason at all. A toddler who is my whole heart and yet also the reason for my exhaustion. He is, hands down, the most amazing part of my life.
And yet.
I just need a damn break. Not for an hour or two (I'm grateful to be parenting with a partner and although we have a lot going on these days we are both careful to give the other breaks). But for several days in a row. Because toddlers are really, really, tiring. And they just never stop moving. Have you ever watched that Toddlers and Tiaras show where they give the kid an overdose of sugar to get her all bouncy? That makes about zero sense to me right now. Because toddlers are bouncing balls of uncontainable energy in their natural state. Why anyone would try to increase that is beyond me.
Anyway. I'm heading home again. And this time I'll also be thinking about how amazing it is to have people out there who love me as much as I love Mac.
And I'm so grateful for that because it means that they will take me in and let me sleep for three days in a row and run around with Mac until they are ready to sleep for three days in a row to recover.
Shout out to all the parents of multiples, to those of you with several toddlers at once, and to the rest of us who have one toddler who feels like many. I hope you have grandparents in your life who love you that much too.
Monday, 9 September 2013
Mac and Ba Fix Things
My Ba can fix anything. Ma told me so. But sometimes he needs help and Ma, Mo, and Bobo are all too lazy. So he said I could be his four-man. Which I guess means I'm as helpful as four men.
We both dressed in blue. Ba says to work you have to wear blue. Good thing I had some blue in my closet! And he gave me my very own set of tools. A drill and a hammer and a light. Just like his.
When I go to bed tonight my moms might try to steal them for themselves. So I'm going to send them home with Ba instead so that next time we fix things they won't be lost.
We did lots of drilling and banging. It was so much fun. And then we pulled the big machine that cleans dishes out and pushed a new one in.
This new one is way cooler. I can use my fingers to paint streaks on it. Which is probably why my moms bought it for me.
It's a good thing I was here to help my Ba. I don't think four men could have fit in our kitchen anyway! And Ba says I'm the best four-man he's ever had.
Monday, 19 August 2013
Breath
He already has a virus. Croup we suspect. So we're watching him. Listening to breaths and looking at snot. The job of a parent is immensely glamourous. Under the weather and under the covers. We spend the day snuggled on the couch watching Barney on endless repeat. Sick baby days were easier when I still had control over the remote. We're big and little and short and tall. Some are in the middle some are very small. Are you big or little Mac? I ask him. Big Mac. He responds with pride.
And then his breath changes. We don't know if this is a serious development or not. Sometimes I worry that in this two mom family we jump to the worst possibilities first. But we head to CHEO (The Children's Hospital of Eastern Ontario) anyway.
And so begins one of the scariest days of my parenting experience thus far. One nurse listens to his breath and calls a second nurse. There seems to be a correlation between how many medical professionals enter the room and how bad the situation is. One nurse, two nurse, red nurse, blue nurse. They talk to each other but not to us. A now quite lethargic Mac is slumped over my shoulder whining but I try to hear what they are saying over his mumbles.
Dual symptoms.
I don't hear air on the left side.
The worst part about ER visits is the wait. Hours in a room with coughing, sneezy, and oozing kids and their tired and stressed out parents. One hour, two hours, seven hours. You should bring a charger for your iPhone. You are going to be there a while. But this time is different. We skip the wait and head directly to an isolation room. Turns out that the wait is not the worst part.
"Does the nurse think this is serious or does she just have bitchy resting face?" Tracy whispers to me. I'm not sure either.
In our private room Mac is clingy and unhappy. They show us how to administer Ventolin which means that one of us holds him down while the other tortures him. He holds us equally responsible. Then prednisone. And more Ventolin. We need to do it every 20 minutes, and then every hour, and then every 2 hours.
No more puffs. No nice. Mac whimpers on repeat.
The probable diagnosis is asthma but he's too little for the official test. The doctor is nice and reassuring. He asks if there is a family history of asthma and Tracy begins to tell him that she had a puffer as a child too. I give her a quizzical look and realize that she has forgotten her lack of a biological connection to our child. We all laugh. I forget sometimes too.
He needs to make it to two hours without needing Ventolin to be allowed to go home. As much as we want him to be better we both admit that we'd prefer the security of the hospital. But as we wait we talk about the parents we know that do this wait-and-see dance far too regularly. Children with special needs and serious illnesses who have spent more time in hospital rooms than any one person should. It becomes easier to put our day in perspective.
Eventually it is discharge time and we are uneasy. Tracy asks the kind doctor questions about risks and time frames. With each question the fear in her voice increases. The doctor can see her face flush red and he finds the words she needs to hear. He turns to her and says that in the last 15 years not a single person under the age of 18 has died from asthma for not getting to hospital fast enough. Tears stream down her face with relief and she thanks him profusely.
At home we continue with the Ventolin and the prednisone. I stay awake and listen to him breath. In and out in and out in and out. Two days pass and the scary part is over. Tracy is calm and begins to return to normal. But, as is my way, I've deferred the anxiety. I did the same thing when I was 22 weeks pregnant and we nearly lost our boy. I was eerily calm through the ordeal as my wife panicked enough for both of us. Mama instincts took over. I kept calm for him. But anxiety deferred is not erased. It comes eventually.
The second day comes to an end and I'm a wreck. I call my mom and ask if she can come. She doesn't ask why. She and my dad are here 16 hours later. And we are all breathing better.
You can help support Mondays with Mac by shopping the following deals! I will receive a small commission with each sale.
Hurley – up to 50% off zulily Back to School sale!
30% off Crazy 8's Entire Store: Prices Starting at $2.79
And then his breath changes. We don't know if this is a serious development or not. Sometimes I worry that in this two mom family we jump to the worst possibilities first. But we head to CHEO (The Children's Hospital of Eastern Ontario) anyway.
And so begins one of the scariest days of my parenting experience thus far. One nurse listens to his breath and calls a second nurse. There seems to be a correlation between how many medical professionals enter the room and how bad the situation is. One nurse, two nurse, red nurse, blue nurse. They talk to each other but not to us. A now quite lethargic Mac is slumped over my shoulder whining but I try to hear what they are saying over his mumbles.
Dual symptoms.
I don't hear air on the left side.
The worst part about ER visits is the wait. Hours in a room with coughing, sneezy, and oozing kids and their tired and stressed out parents. One hour, two hours, seven hours. You should bring a charger for your iPhone. You are going to be there a while. But this time is different. We skip the wait and head directly to an isolation room. Turns out that the wait is not the worst part.
"Does the nurse think this is serious or does she just have bitchy resting face?" Tracy whispers to me. I'm not sure either.
In our private room Mac is clingy and unhappy. They show us how to administer Ventolin which means that one of us holds him down while the other tortures him. He holds us equally responsible. Then prednisone. And more Ventolin. We need to do it every 20 minutes, and then every hour, and then every 2 hours.
No more puffs. No nice. Mac whimpers on repeat.
The probable diagnosis is asthma but he's too little for the official test. The doctor is nice and reassuring. He asks if there is a family history of asthma and Tracy begins to tell him that she had a puffer as a child too. I give her a quizzical look and realize that she has forgotten her lack of a biological connection to our child. We all laugh. I forget sometimes too.
He needs to make it to two hours without needing Ventolin to be allowed to go home. As much as we want him to be better we both admit that we'd prefer the security of the hospital. But as we wait we talk about the parents we know that do this wait-and-see dance far too regularly. Children with special needs and serious illnesses who have spent more time in hospital rooms than any one person should. It becomes easier to put our day in perspective.
Eventually it is discharge time and we are uneasy. Tracy asks the kind doctor questions about risks and time frames. With each question the fear in her voice increases. The doctor can see her face flush red and he finds the words she needs to hear. He turns to her and says that in the last 15 years not a single person under the age of 18 has died from asthma for not getting to hospital fast enough. Tears stream down her face with relief and she thanks him profusely.
At home we continue with the Ventolin and the prednisone. I stay awake and listen to him breath. In and out in and out in and out. Two days pass and the scary part is over. Tracy is calm and begins to return to normal. But, as is my way, I've deferred the anxiety. I did the same thing when I was 22 weeks pregnant and we nearly lost our boy. I was eerily calm through the ordeal as my wife panicked enough for both of us. Mama instincts took over. I kept calm for him. But anxiety deferred is not erased. It comes eventually.
The second day comes to an end and I'm a wreck. I call my mom and ask if she can come. She doesn't ask why. She and my dad are here 16 hours later. And we are all breathing better.
You can help support Mondays with Mac by shopping the following deals! I will receive a small commission with each sale.
Hurley – up to 50% off zulily Back to School sale!
30% off Crazy 8's Entire Store: Prices Starting at $2.79
Monday, 5 August 2013
Toddler's Don't Keep
Mac has been with his grandparents in Sudbury for a whole week. I adore seeing the bond between him and his Bobo and Ba deepen. And the break from toddler meltdowns was pretty nice too. But OMG I MISS MY BABY! So today I won't be blogging. Instead, I will be driving to the always lively (not really) town of Deep River, which is half way between Ottawa and Sudbury (i.e. half a bajillion hours away) to pick up my son.
And since I won't be blogging today I decided to write you a poem instead. OK, I actually just changed the words of someone else's poem. But that's basically the same thing right?
Reader, o reader, come see my child,
Bright in the eyes with energy that is wild.
It takes an hour to get him comfy in bed,
But, oh, the bliss of the smell of his head.
Where are his mothers who should be blogging?
They are in the car, long weekend highways are clogging.
[whatever. you try rhyming with blogging].
Oh, I've grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue
The toddler is waiting, and look, he grew!
Words that need writing are way past due
Pat-a-cake darling and peek peek-aboo.
The Twitter's not done, Facebook's lonely too,
But in the backseat of my car there's the most beautiful view.
Look! He's learned new words and can count past two!
Ma, Mac-do, put on my shoe.
The social media and writing can wait 'til tomorrow
Because away from their mothers toddlers keep growing as I've learned to my sorrow.
I'm sorry dear readers, please come back next week.
I'm playing with my toddler, and toddlers don't keep.
And since I won't be blogging today I decided to write you a poem instead. OK, I actually just changed the words of someone else's poem. But that's basically the same thing right?
Reader, o reader, come see my child,
Bright in the eyes with energy that is wild.
It takes an hour to get him comfy in bed,
But, oh, the bliss of the smell of his head.
Where are his mothers who should be blogging?
They are in the car, long weekend highways are clogging.
[whatever. you try rhyming with blogging].
Oh, I've grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue
The toddler is waiting, and look, he grew!
Words that need writing are way past due
Pat-a-cake darling and peek peek-aboo.
The Twitter's not done, Facebook's lonely too,
But in the backseat of my car there's the most beautiful view.
Look! He's learned new words and can count past two!
Ma, Mac-do, put on my shoe.
The social media and writing can wait 'til tomorrow
Because away from their mothers toddlers keep growing as I've learned to my sorrow.
I'm sorry dear readers, please come back next week.
I'm playing with my toddler, and toddlers don't keep.
Tuesday, 30 July 2013
Bobo, Ba, and Mac
The drive between Ottawa and Sudbury is a long one. If you aren't familiar with Northern Ontario geography it is approximately 1 bajillion hours. To put it in perspective it is slightly farther than New York City to Pittsburgh, slightly less than Chicago to Kansas City, and nearly exactly the distance between Tuscan and Las Vegas. However, during each of those drives there are a number of interesting places to visit. The drive between Ottawa and Sudbury is mostly trees with Tim Horton's coffee shops strategically placed every few hours to accommodate addicts like myself.
When Mac's Dad, NYC resident Andy Hall, visits he regularly comments on how nice it is to be surrounded by grass and trees. "You live in such a park like setting" he has said. So he might really enjoy the long drive between Ottawa and Sudbury. I, on the other hand, hate it.
It has been a year since I was home last. It shocked me to realize that. But my parents have an inability to be away from Mac for more than four weeks at a time so I guess that their continued visits have offset my usual homesickness.
Mac is well into the Toddler stage so it's a roller coaster of highs and lows these days. Of course, our trip to Sudbury was met with a few meltdowns. Like the time we wouldn't let him fall down the stairs and break his neck.
It's easy to understand why he's so happy there. The word "no" is used very selectively. Yes, you may eat peanut butter straight from the jar. Yes, you may make phone calls to China. Yes, you may insist on going to the park at 6 AM. No, you cannot play in the stove. See how that works?
I'm not sure where Mac got the idea to call my dad Ba and my mom Bobo. At first it sounded a bit ridiculous. But, the more he says it the more fitting it becomes. In Mac's presence my mother is as excited and animated as any Bobo The Clown impostor could be. And Mac feeds off her energy. She is the sun and he's a solar powered battery. And after a week with Bobo he could likely power a big Sudbury truck all the way to Ottawa.
In Sudbury my son rarely stops smiling. And that is why I drive the one bajillion hours to get there.
________________________________________
Update! The buy now button has been removed as these are all sold out!! Thank-you for your interest. If you would like to arrange a special shoot for grandparents/grandchildren please message me at kristin@mondayswithmac.com for details.
Do you want to celebrate the love between your child(ren) and parents? In honour of my son's love for his Bobo an Ba, I am offering FIVE Grandparent(s) and me shoots for only $75. Each session will take approximately an hour and you will receive 10 edited photos with print release as well as one 8x10 print (something I almost never do!).
To claim yours, click Buy Now below and an official gift certificate will be emailed to you within 48 hours.
If you have questions email me at Kristin@mondayswithmac.com
When Mac's Dad, NYC resident Andy Hall, visits he regularly comments on how nice it is to be surrounded by grass and trees. "You live in such a park like setting" he has said. So he might really enjoy the long drive between Ottawa and Sudbury. I, on the other hand, hate it.
It has been a year since I was home last. It shocked me to realize that. But my parents have an inability to be away from Mac for more than four weeks at a time so I guess that their continued visits have offset my usual homesickness.
Mac is well into the Toddler stage so it's a roller coaster of highs and lows these days. Of course, our trip to Sudbury was met with a few meltdowns. Like the time we wouldn't let him fall down the stairs and break his neck.
But Sudbury is a wonderland of sorts for Mac. There is the sprawling green space for him to run without any nagging from his city-dwelling moms who can usually be heard saying "not too far Mac" "stay close Mac" "This way" "Stay away from the road." And there are big trucks everywhere he looks. People in the city drive far too few trucks for his liking. But the highlight of Sudbury is absolutely Bobo and Ba.
Approximately every 30 minutes during our entire visit my son can be heard squealing "Yay Bobo! Yay Ba!"
And if they manage to get out of his line of sight and then return he will run with his arms held wide excited for their embrace.
It's easy to understand why he's so happy there. The word "no" is used very selectively. Yes, you may eat peanut butter straight from the jar. Yes, you may make phone calls to China. Yes, you may insist on going to the park at 6 AM. No, you cannot play in the stove. See how that works?
I'm not sure where Mac got the idea to call my dad Ba and my mom Bobo. At first it sounded a bit ridiculous. But, the more he says it the more fitting it becomes. In Mac's presence my mother is as excited and animated as any Bobo The Clown impostor could be. And Mac feeds off her energy. She is the sun and he's a solar powered battery. And after a week with Bobo he could likely power a big Sudbury truck all the way to Ottawa.
In Sudbury my son rarely stops smiling. And that is why I drive the one bajillion hours to get there.
________________________________________
Update! The buy now button has been removed as these are all sold out!! Thank-you for your interest. If you would like to arrange a special shoot for grandparents/grandchildren please message me at kristin@mondayswithmac.com for details.
Do you want to celebrate the love between your child(ren) and parents? In honour of my son's love for his Bobo an Ba, I am offering FIVE Grandparent(s) and me shoots for only $75. Each session will take approximately an hour and you will receive 10 edited photos with print release as well as one 8x10 print (something I almost never do!).
To claim yours, click Buy Now below and an official gift certificate will be emailed to you within 48 hours.
If you have questions email me at Kristin@mondayswithmac.com
Monday, 24 June 2013
Farmer Mac
"Are we going to go to the farm and see the horses?" My wife asks our son as we buckle him into his car seat. A grin that falls somewhere between Opie and Denis the Menace spreads across his face and he holds his hand out flat while repeating "nummie, BoBo, nummie, BoBo." BoBo is what he calls my mother. And she once took him to a farm and taught him to feed the horses with a flat hand. So now he assumes she will be present wherever there is a horse. "No BoBo," we tell him. He seems confused.
I'm pretty excited to get to Tracy's Aunt and Uncle's farm. If you know me this might confuse you. I'm hardly the farm kinda gal. But I know my kid is going to love this adventure. He naps on the drive and before we know it we are driving down the dirt road. We pass a girl riding a horse. That's Tracy's cousin. Then a man on a 4 wheeler. That's Tracy's uncle.
After a rainy morning the air is moist and thick with mosquitos. But instead of dreading opening the doors of our air conditioned car I find myself pointing to things out the window and getting Mac to bounce with excitement in the backseat.
We have barely hugged our hellos when Tracy's uncle Larry tells us that one of the cats in the barn will likely deliver her kittens any day now. Mac doesn't say the word cat but he recognizes it. "Meow, meow, meow," he chants and we are heading into the barn to invade the poor girl's privacy.
Is that blood on her tail? OMG she's having a kitten right now!
At first their size intimidates him but soon he's bossing us all around and making us pick handful after handful of grass to feed to the "big dogs."
As the sun moves down on the horizon the mosquitos come out to play with a vengeance and we decide to head indoors for dinner. Mac throws himself on the ground at the prospect of exchanging grass for wood floors. A full-on fit like only a toddler can throw. When it comes to mosquitos he's like a honey badger. And honey badger don't care.
Unless, of course, there's cake. He'll come in for cake. And there is.
But indoors at the farm proves to be nearly as fascinating as outdoors. There's another cat. The indoor cat that wears a collar. And a piano. And a whole room full of adults who are willing to clap while loud banjo music plays and he dances in the middle of the room, delighting his audience with his moves.
Everyone has to work in the morning and as the minutes tick by we know we need to start heading home. But there is one more farm adventure for Mac to experience. The tractor. He knows what tractors are. We see them in his books. But he has never seen one up close. His whole body barely the size of a wheel.
As we approach he stops and bends down. One hand rests on his knee and the other points to the big yellow digger tucked behind the trees. His little body vibrates with excitement as he moves quickly towards the big machine. He's thrilled just to be in its presence. To feel the cold rough metal under his fingers. Larry helps him to climb inside and his eyes grow large as he gets to pretend he's driving.
The day comes to an end and we put our dirty and exhausted toddler into the backseat and buckle him in. We've picked up a carful of mosquito hitch hikers. I hope we can get rid of them on the drive rather than bring a new colony of Quebec deep woods mosquitos back to the city.
As we drive down the dirt road I turn to my wife and sigh. "It's too bad we don't have any free holiday time this summer. It would be fun to come back here for a few days." Her forehead crinkles as she looks my way. No doubt thinking about my usual preference to stay in fancy hotels in the middle of the city for vacation.
"You've changed." She says. I look into the backseat at Mac who has resigned himself to the fact that we have left the magical place behind and is now focussing on trying to keep his heavy eyes open.
"I know." I say. And I wouldn't change it for the world.
I'm pretty excited to get to Tracy's Aunt and Uncle's farm. If you know me this might confuse you. I'm hardly the farm kinda gal. But I know my kid is going to love this adventure. He naps on the drive and before we know it we are driving down the dirt road. We pass a girl riding a horse. That's Tracy's cousin. Then a man on a 4 wheeler. That's Tracy's uncle.
After a rainy morning the air is moist and thick with mosquitos. But instead of dreading opening the doors of our air conditioned car I find myself pointing to things out the window and getting Mac to bounce with excitement in the backseat.
We have barely hugged our hellos when Tracy's uncle Larry tells us that one of the cats in the barn will likely deliver her kittens any day now. Mac doesn't say the word cat but he recognizes it. "Meow, meow, meow," he chants and we are heading into the barn to invade the poor girl's privacy.
Is that blood on her tail? OMG she's having a kitten right now!
Mac is fascinated by the "baby meow," and it's difficult to tear him away from the scene. There's a solidarity I feel with this birthing mom. I didn't want a lot of people around either.
We eventually convince him to come and feed the horses and after careful consideration he agrees. Hands behind his back, he marches toward the horses like a farmer surveying his grounds.
As the sun moves down on the horizon the mosquitos come out to play with a vengeance and we decide to head indoors for dinner. Mac throws himself on the ground at the prospect of exchanging grass for wood floors. A full-on fit like only a toddler can throw. When it comes to mosquitos he's like a honey badger. And honey badger don't care.
Unless, of course, there's cake. He'll come in for cake. And there is.
But indoors at the farm proves to be nearly as fascinating as outdoors. There's another cat. The indoor cat that wears a collar. And a piano. And a whole room full of adults who are willing to clap while loud banjo music plays and he dances in the middle of the room, delighting his audience with his moves.
Everyone has to work in the morning and as the minutes tick by we know we need to start heading home. But there is one more farm adventure for Mac to experience. The tractor. He knows what tractors are. We see them in his books. But he has never seen one up close. His whole body barely the size of a wheel.
As we approach he stops and bends down. One hand rests on his knee and the other points to the big yellow digger tucked behind the trees. His little body vibrates with excitement as he moves quickly towards the big machine. He's thrilled just to be in its presence. To feel the cold rough metal under his fingers. Larry helps him to climb inside and his eyes grow large as he gets to pretend he's driving.
Larry and Tracy switch places and conspire to blow his tiny mind. After a few quick instructions from her uncle Tracy smiles at Mac and turns the big machine on and drives forward. The distance they travel is short, maybe 100 meters, but Mac is amazed. The bucket comes up and down and it's clear that this is more exciting than Disney World.
As we drive down the dirt road I turn to my wife and sigh. "It's too bad we don't have any free holiday time this summer. It would be fun to come back here for a few days." Her forehead crinkles as she looks my way. No doubt thinking about my usual preference to stay in fancy hotels in the middle of the city for vacation.
"You've changed." She says. I look into the backseat at Mac who has resigned himself to the fact that we have left the magical place behind and is now focussing on trying to keep his heavy eyes open.
"I know." I say. And I wouldn't change it for the world.
__________________________________________________
Monday, 6 May 2013
A Quick Update - Back from Cincinnati
We have just arrived home from a fantastic weekend (horrendous travel stories aside) with Andy's family in Cincinnati Ohio. A better post will come later in the week but I thought maybe you'd like a little preview of the cuteness.
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| Mac had so much fun puttering in the back yard with Andy's Dad Tom. Or, as Mac calls him, Bopa. |
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| Uh, Dad? This is not how the cool kids wear their jeans. You are totally embarrassing me. |
Monday, 8 April 2013
Like Tin Men we Walk Around Heart-less
"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body."
--Elizabeth Stone
There is a pretty famous quote about parenthood that says that when you have a child you make a choice to forever walk around with your heart outside of your body. Like Tin Men in the Wizard of Oz we walk around fearful of the things that can happen to our hearts when they move outside of our field of vision. A lonely little heart out there all on his own. Does he miss me? Is he safe? How can my heart be expected to survive without me? And then we find people who can hold our hearts for safe keeping. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends and trusted child care providers. We wonder if we have made the right choice. Will she protect my heart? Will my heart be safe with him? Some of us are devastated to learn that answer to those questions was no. And that is the haunting part of having your heart walk around outside of your body. The horror of the possibility of that reality is enough to keep the rest of us up at night with worry.
I've been lucky enough to answer only yes to those questions. My heart has travelled to different cities and gone on many adventures beyond my view. And he has remained safe and protected. And now that I understand what it means to hand over your heart to another person for safe keeping I take it as an honour to be allowed to protect someone else's heart.
Jordan, or DieDie as Mac for some reason only intelligible to toddlers calls him, is someone else's heart. Sometimes his parents hand him over to me for safe-keeping. Those are Mac's favorite days. Each morning he wakes up and asks DieDie? DieDie? and if I have to tell him that there is no DieDie today his little heart breaks. For a minute until a truck or a cookie gets his attention.
So I cuddle him, that heart that belongs to someone else, and I love him like I would my own heart.
This week DieDie's mom is gone on a much needed and much deserved vacation. And as much as I know she is looking forward to the drinks and the beach and the sun and drinks, I also know that it will be difficult to board a plane without her heart. So before she left I helped Jordan to write a letter to his mom.
--Elizabeth Stone
There is a pretty famous quote about parenthood that says that when you have a child you make a choice to forever walk around with your heart outside of your body. Like Tin Men in the Wizard of Oz we walk around fearful of the things that can happen to our hearts when they move outside of our field of vision. A lonely little heart out there all on his own. Does he miss me? Is he safe? How can my heart be expected to survive without me? And then we find people who can hold our hearts for safe keeping. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends and trusted child care providers. We wonder if we have made the right choice. Will she protect my heart? Will my heart be safe with him? Some of us are devastated to learn that answer to those questions was no. And that is the haunting part of having your heart walk around outside of your body. The horror of the possibility of that reality is enough to keep the rest of us up at night with worry.
I've been lucky enough to answer only yes to those questions. My heart has travelled to different cities and gone on many adventures beyond my view. And he has remained safe and protected. And now that I understand what it means to hand over your heart to another person for safe keeping I take it as an honour to be allowed to protect someone else's heart.
Jordan, or DieDie as Mac for some reason only intelligible to toddlers calls him, is someone else's heart. Sometimes his parents hand him over to me for safe-keeping. Those are Mac's favorite days. Each morning he wakes up and asks DieDie? DieDie? and if I have to tell him that there is no DieDie today his little heart breaks. For a minute until a truck or a cookie gets his attention.
So I cuddle him, that heart that belongs to someone else, and I love him like I would my own heart.
This week DieDie's mom is gone on a much needed and much deserved vacation. And as much as I know she is looking forward to the drinks and the beach and the sun and drinks, I also know that it will be difficult to board a plane without her heart. So before she left I helped Jordan to write a letter to his mom.
Enjoy the beach Amy! Your heart will be here safe and sound when you get back!
Monday, 1 April 2013
Momentos Left Behind
When someone you love passes there is a finite number of their possessions that remain behind. Clothing, letters, grocery lists, hand lotion - these everyday items begin to hold a strange kind of power by virtue of the fact that they were once held by someone who can no longer hold you.
After Tracy's mother passed we inherited her car. But more valuable than the vehicle itself was the collection of toothpicks and wet naps in the glove compartment. In the years that followed she occasionally reached for those items and felt her mother's presence. But, of course, the glove box was not of the magically replenishing variety and eventually those toothpicks and wet naps were gone.
Tracy is lucky in that she doesn't have to look far to see a hello from her mother. Smiley faces cross our path pretty regularly and we always say a hello to the woman whose presence we miss dearly.
After Tracy's mother passed we inherited her car. But more valuable than the vehicle itself was the collection of toothpicks and wet naps in the glove compartment. In the years that followed she occasionally reached for those items and felt her mother's presence. But, of course, the glove box was not of the magically replenishing variety and eventually those toothpicks and wet naps were gone.
Tracy is lucky in that she doesn't have to look far to see a hello from her mother. Smiley faces cross our path pretty regularly and we always say a hello to the woman whose presence we miss dearly.
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| Mac at Shirley's grave - Mother's Day 2012 |
But the things that were actually hers, the stuff that she touched, those are few and far between these days. As Easter approached we discussed what we would do - would we travel to visit family? Make Easter dinner here? Have an egg hunt for our toddler who wouldn't yet really grasp the concept? And then my parents offered to pick Mac and up and take him to Sudbury for the weekend. After weeks of illnesses and a backlog of photos that need to be edited we were grateful for the toddler-free weekend. But, as she does at holiday time, my wife was still missing her mom and the turkey she used to make.
Tracy's dad lives in between our home in Ottawa and my parents in Sudbury so we drove there for a visit before passing Mac off to his eager grandparents. He is at the touch-everything-don't-stop-moving stage and in an effort to keep him occupied for longer than thirty seconds Tracy's dad suggested that we go through the bins of toys her late mother had stored in the basement. An avid garage-saler and flee market seller she had bins and bins of treasures just waiting for her newest grandson to get his sticky fingers on.
And in a sea of Batman, Superman, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and Sesame Street characters we reminisced about the Nanny he will never meet but will always know.
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| This photo has nothing to do with this post. But isn't my kid cute? |
Happy Easter Weekend Everyone.
Monday, 29 October 2012
Put your Hands Up For Detroit
*** I started to write this post way back in August when it happened. But then PPD hit (read about that here if you'd like) and I couldn't get the energy together to write about what was a truly wonderful weekend while feeling so sad. So, now that things are getting back to normal, I thought I would finally tell you all about the weekend we spent in Michigan with Andy's family. Let's just pretend it's the end of August again OK?***
We are waiting at the Windsor airport when cousin Tony pulls up in his minivan. He works near the Detroit-Windsor border and he has come to collect us for the family reunion. The hellos are slightly awkward. Hi, yes, I'm the girl who used your cousin's sperm to get pregnant. This is my wife. And that is your cousin's son. Nice to meet you. But that didn't last long. He has three sons and parents can always find mutual ground for conversation. Mac starts to fuss and Tony pulls out a drop down DVD player and sings along with the show. He knows the words by heart.
Before long we arrive at the reunion. As we walk in I hear Andy giving his family direction. He takes a while to warm up. Your best chance is to play hard to get. He proves himself right as we enter and Mac clings to me, his hand clenching my shirt like a life raft. Andy does the introductions, cousins, aunts, uncles, children, and his boyfriend. I give one-handed hugs while Mac buries his face in my shoulder.
Suddenly there is a loud crash. Adults move towards the top of stairs and peer down. There's no crying. They shrug it off. You should go downstairs and see what you are in for. Andy laughs as he says this. We've been warned that there are a lot of boys in this family. Three brothers had seven sons. I venture into the basement, Mac still clinging on for dear life, and enter into a world of boys like I have never seen. If there is a piece of sporting equipment made it is probably in this basement. There is a giant chalkboard outlining the most recent tournament they are conducting. I am not entirely sure if it is based on an actual sport or a video game. They all talk about it like it is the Super Bowl.
One boy chases another. Two more join in. A football flies through the air. And then there is a large pile. All legs and arms and sweaty t-shirts. Mac is mesmerized. He watches eagerly. Two of the group look up and notice our intrusion on their game. They make their way over to meet Mac. Or Ma-ah-ck as they say in Michigan. Ma-ah-ck can hardly believe his luck when they settle in for a quick game of peek-a-boo. But a moment later the game is back on and Ma-ah-ck can't compete with the lure of a group tackle.
I've been discouraging Ma-ah-ck from walking in the hope that he will take his first steps in front of his dad. He does and I figure that if nothing else happens the weekend is a success.
It's a bit strange to be meeting this new side of our son's family (and by extension our family). It reminds me of going home to meet a new boyfriend or girlfriend's family. Except that we've already made a baby and my wife and I are there together. I imagine that it's strange for them too. These Michigan cousins with their far more traditional family structures. But if it is weird nobody lets on. They welcome us in like long lost relatives and soon we are privy to the inside jokes and legendary family stories. I do my best to memorize them so that I can retell them to Mac before his next visit. Let's go to Konka! He will yell as he walks in the door - already familiar with family tales.
Mac continues to cling to me as the weekend passes and I start to worry that he won't get enough quality time in with his Dad.
So when nap time nears Tracy and I strap Mac into the Onya Baby Carrier on his Dad's chest and quickly get out of his line of sight. Our plan works and Andy gets some quality cuddle time with his son.
By Sunday Mac is finally starting to warm up to everyone. Right in time for us to cross the border and head back to Canada. We say our good-byes with many hugs, knowing that we will be back soon.
On the plane ride home Tracy and I discuss how strange and wonderful our family has become with it's multi-sided design. In some ways it's a family structure that exists way outside the box. But, in other ways, it's exactly like every other family on the block.
Families are formed in a myriad of ways. Whether by shared lineage, choice, or love, groups of people come together defining their inclusion. Boundaries shift and bend but the line remains drawn. This is us in here. Our group. Our family. For better or worse.
Andy's family has become our family via all three of those criteria. They share a lineage with Mac by virtue of Andy's DNA. We came together by choice when we chose Andy to be our son's father. And love - well there's a whole lot of that to go around.
We are waiting at the Windsor airport when cousin Tony pulls up in his minivan. He works near the Detroit-Windsor border and he has come to collect us for the family reunion. The hellos are slightly awkward. Hi, yes, I'm the girl who used your cousin's sperm to get pregnant. This is my wife. And that is your cousin's son. Nice to meet you. But that didn't last long. He has three sons and parents can always find mutual ground for conversation. Mac starts to fuss and Tony pulls out a drop down DVD player and sings along with the show. He knows the words by heart.
Before long we arrive at the reunion. As we walk in I hear Andy giving his family direction. He takes a while to warm up. Your best chance is to play hard to get. He proves himself right as we enter and Mac clings to me, his hand clenching my shirt like a life raft. Andy does the introductions, cousins, aunts, uncles, children, and his boyfriend. I give one-handed hugs while Mac buries his face in my shoulder.
Suddenly there is a loud crash. Adults move towards the top of stairs and peer down. There's no crying. They shrug it off. You should go downstairs and see what you are in for. Andy laughs as he says this. We've been warned that there are a lot of boys in this family. Three brothers had seven sons. I venture into the basement, Mac still clinging on for dear life, and enter into a world of boys like I have never seen. If there is a piece of sporting equipment made it is probably in this basement. There is a giant chalkboard outlining the most recent tournament they are conducting. I am not entirely sure if it is based on an actual sport or a video game. They all talk about it like it is the Super Bowl.
One boy chases another. Two more join in. A football flies through the air. And then there is a large pile. All legs and arms and sweaty t-shirts. Mac is mesmerized. He watches eagerly. Two of the group look up and notice our intrusion on their game. They make their way over to meet Mac. Or Ma-ah-ck as they say in Michigan. Ma-ah-ck can hardly believe his luck when they settle in for a quick game of peek-a-boo. But a moment later the game is back on and Ma-ah-ck can't compete with the lure of a group tackle.
I've been discouraging Ma-ah-ck from walking in the hope that he will take his first steps in front of his dad. He does and I figure that if nothing else happens the weekend is a success.
It's a bit strange to be meeting this new side of our son's family (and by extension our family). It reminds me of going home to meet a new boyfriend or girlfriend's family. Except that we've already made a baby and my wife and I are there together. I imagine that it's strange for them too. These Michigan cousins with their far more traditional family structures. But if it is weird nobody lets on. They welcome us in like long lost relatives and soon we are privy to the inside jokes and legendary family stories. I do my best to memorize them so that I can retell them to Mac before his next visit. Let's go to Konka! He will yell as he walks in the door - already familiar with family tales.
Mac continues to cling to me as the weekend passes and I start to worry that he won't get enough quality time in with his Dad.
So when nap time nears Tracy and I strap Mac into the Onya Baby Carrier on his Dad's chest and quickly get out of his line of sight. Our plan works and Andy gets some quality cuddle time with his son.
By Sunday Mac is finally starting to warm up to everyone. Right in time for us to cross the border and head back to Canada. We say our good-byes with many hugs, knowing that we will be back soon.
On the plane ride home Tracy and I discuss how strange and wonderful our family has become with it's multi-sided design. In some ways it's a family structure that exists way outside the box. But, in other ways, it's exactly like every other family on the block.
Families are formed in a myriad of ways. Whether by shared lineage, choice, or love, groups of people come together defining their inclusion. Boundaries shift and bend but the line remains drawn. This is us in here. Our group. Our family. For better or worse.
Andy's family has become our family via all three of those criteria. They share a lineage with Mac by virtue of Andy's DNA. We came together by choice when we chose Andy to be our son's father. And love - well there's a whole lot of that to go around.
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