A Tribute to CHEO

I've been putting off writing this post for some time now.

A week, to be exact.

I'm not sure what's made it seem so difficult, but I just couldn't gather the energy to put together my thoughts and get them all out.

Some of you who follow me on Twitter will know that I spent much of last week at CHEO (the Children's Hospital of Eastern Ontario) with a very sick Thing 1. It was an experience that truly touched me, and left its mark on me. Often certain events and circumstances in our lives affect us in ways that we are not expecting - surprising us and taking us aback in an unprecedented manner - and we are left at the event's conclusion searching for answers to a plethora of questions.

On Easter weekend Thing 1 seemed a little "under the weather". He had no clear or strong symptoms, but he was extremely lethargic (so entirely unlike him, if you know him at all), run down, and not eating. Here and there he had a low grade fever, but in general I felt like the situation was not dire. His general malaise stuck with him for the next ten days, until finally we noticed a slight bit of redness near his left eye. Over the course of roughly 48 hours, the eye area became more red, swollen, and eventually painful to touch. He complained of light sensitivity. I marched him in to our family doctor immediately.

He was incredibly miserable by the time we arrived at our doctor's office. As a matter of fact, I carried him from the van up to her fifth floor office. When he failed to read his eye test perfectly in the infected eye, our doctor directed us straight to CHEO. She handed us a letter that would supposedly gain us quick entrance and short wait time.

Time is relative at a children's hospital.

Although we were immediately classified as "priority" at the Emergency Room, that didn't seem to solidify our one-way ticket to meet with one of the white-coated docs. After many hours, we did see a first year medical student, who suggested Thing 1 looked "fine" and felt that we would be okay to go home. His supervisor (thankfully an actual medical doctor) diagnosed him with orbital cellulitis. X-ray results showed that he did have sinusitis and an assortment of infected tissue around his eye. The poor kid's white blood cell counts were through the roof, and thus he was admitted immediately and given intravenous antibiotics and fluids (he was slightly dehydrated).

We were in the hospital for four days, and he was released a week ago today. He reacted well to the antibiotics, and the swelling started to improve within 24 hours. Extensive tests with ophthalmology showed no damage to his eye, the eye tissue, or any problems with his vision or optical mobility. We saw flocks of wonderful, dedicated, and talented young doctors who treated both my son and I with compassion, respect, and patience. And the nurses? Really deserve their own post. The nurses at CHEO are special, fantastic, and unique people. They took superb care of us - and I mean both Thing 1 and I.

I was unaware preceding this visit that parents are allowed to stay with their sick children 24/7. It was possible for me to never leave his side. A large chair beside each bed folds down into a cot for sleeping, meals are delivered to the rooms for parents at a fraction of the cost you would pay for decent food anywhere else, and there are showers and other amenities to make moms and dads alike comfortable. The nurses carefully explained every detail of what there were doing to both he and I - they were gentle, caring, patient, loving - and provided answers to every single one of our questions.

There are volunteers and staff on hand to entertain the children and provide activities for them. After chatting with Thing 1 for several minutes, a staff member returned with a box full of markers, stickers, glue, and paper, play-doh and cutting tools, books, and a Scooby-Doo movie and DVD player. These workers are clearly bringing their A game to work for every single shift. The thanks I'd like to extend to them is broad.

So Thing 1 got better. He was released. We came home. We are thankful. We are blessed. And so the story supposedly ends.

Except it doesn't.

One common theme from every conversation I have had with parents who have stayed at CHEO with a sick child is how difficult it is to recover from the "other" sick children.

The teeny tiny sick babies. Full of tubes, on intravenous, attached to machines to keep them alive. The children injured from car accidents or other horrifying events, in pain, disfigured, burned. The cancer patients. Children who have spent much of their short little lives inside the confining walls of this special little haven for small people. Some who will never leave.

I expected last weekend to be joyous. We celebrated Thing 1's return home from CHEO with a special dinner of his choosing. Things 2 and 3 were flabbergasted with excitement at seeing their older brother again. Yet for days I found it difficult to focus. I forced myself to smile on the outside and not show my healthy, vibrant children the darkness and pain I felt on the inside.

A week later I am still recovering. The best I can come up with is to find some way to give back to CHEO. Maybe I will make a donation. Perhaps I will volunteer my own time. I'd like to make some crafts and send them in. In the meantime, I'm overflowing with love for my children, and am thankful for their health and well-being.

I refuse to take it for granted.

Holiday Weekend

We had an absolutely beautiful Easter weekend here in Ottawa. Temperatures reaching the upper 20s in the first few days of April. Sunscreen being deployed. Sunhats donned. Smiles and joy on the docket as the hustle and bustle of regular life took a back seat to just chilling out and enjoying each others company.

I find I have so little stress and anxiety on long holiday weekends, it makes me think that perhaps we should lobby to have a few more thrown in annually for good measure.

Since a couple of us were slightly under the weather this weekend, we decided to opt out of some of our bigger plans of heading downtown, fighting the line-ups at the Experimental Farm, or hitting one of the capital's national museums and just lay low around the 'hood.

It was the best decision we've made in a long time. Here's a quick glimpse.

If Thing 3 in her Easter dress can't plaster a smile on your face, I doubt anything will.

I plan on showing this photo of Things 1 and 2 together to anyone who gives me the stereotypical "what were you thinking having them 18 months apart?" third degree. And, yes, I get that a lot.

The three Things. United in their solidarity.

The beauty of a little sister who looks up to her oldest brother is unimaginable.

My three Things - filling my heart with a joy I never could have believed possible.

Thing 1 Turns Six Years Old

My oldest son, Thing 1, turned six years old yesterday.

I know how cliche this sounds, but where did the time go????

Thing 1, you have informed me that age six is officially the age one becomes a "big boy". Although you are slight in both frame and stature, I will definitely concede that you are my big boy. You are taller now and so many of your pants are quickly making their way up your shin bone. You are the big brother, willingly stepping in as a sibling role model for both Things 2 and 3.

And they both adore you. They look up to you. They emulate you. You are their whole world - and I know it won't always be like this for they will grow and get older and new people will enter their worlds - but for now they are completely content to "do what you do", and to spend as much time with you as possible. While you are sometimes less patient with your brother, it seems your sister has captured your heart for life. You always take her hand when walking down the street, pick up a discarded "baby" she has lost, and explain to her the ins and outs of any and all rules of our home. You tell the world emphatically, everywhere we go, "this is my little sister!".

It seems as you embark on boyhood you are leaving all remnants of being a little kid behind you. You are an expert bike rider now and you love to zoom up and down our street as fast you can - you have even started "off-road" biking and instilling fear in me every time you shout, "look mom, no hands!". After much wearing me down, I caved in and bought you a skateboard for your birthday. You are enthralled with skateboards, and snowboards for that matter. And no matter how mature you may be as you scoot down the street on your new skateboard, I personally think you look absolutely adorable in your new helmet, knee, and elbow pads.

You completed another year of skating lessons this year and were one of the best in your class. You played lots of hockey at the outdoor rink with Daddy this winter, and have informed us you are indeed ready for us to sign you up for hockey in the fall. You also completed your first round of swimming lessons in December, and are nearly swimming by yourself now. You love the water and could spend hours jumping in, splashing, and swimming around. We have enrolled you in T-ball for the spring, as it was your favourite sport last summer.

Like your mother, patience is not your strong suit. But I am in awe watching you mature this year and learn to spend more and more time on tasks like reading and writing. You're getting a fair amount of homework in Senior Kindergarten this year, and for the most part we are able to complete it with ease. You have blossomed into a real social butterfly, and have both a group of friends at school and in our neighbourhood. You are sensitive and passionate and creative, other traits of your also-Pisces-born mother. You are able to look at things and see what others do not. You are always the child to find a use for a toy that has never been attempted before. You create the games, and like to assign roles to others. While you enjoy television and video games at times, you are happiest running free and playing a game of your own creation. I have come to enjoy our afternoon board game championships, and will cherish these times for years to come.

In some ways you are a predictable six-year-old. You love Pokemon, Lego, Indiana Jones, Star Wars, GI Joe, sports, and jokes about poop. In other ways you are wise beyond your years, sharing a keen understanding of the world and how it works, the intricacies of relationships, and the importance of love and kindness.

I simply couldn't be more proud.

Happy Sixth Birthday, Thing 1. Thank you for making every single day spectacular for me.

WW - "Winter"

Sick Kids and Mothers

It appears it is nearly impossible to get through a winter without getting sick in this household. I get it. I have two kids in kindergarten . . . a breeding ground for germs. A dirty, sticky, germ-infested little haven where small people all share pencils, snacks, glue, and every other sort of magnet for parasites, viruses, and bacteria of all description.

My oldest son, my dearest, first-born Thing 1, still has tendencies to put "stuff" in his mouth. He'll often bite his nail, lick his thumb, or just graze something that he sees is dirty. He is predominately our (what I like to term) "plague carrier". In simple terms, he brings the germs home from school, and subsequently we all get sick.

2010 is no different than last year. In early January he contracted a mild stomach virus which trickled through our house over the course of three weeks, causing both my boys to miss a total of six days of school. And we no sooner bid the tummy bug farewell when we were smacked with a miserable cold. The kids came down with horrible coughs, mild fevers, and runny noses. Thing 2 - who always manages to get colds worse than anyone in the house - missed an additional three days of school from the aforementioned illness. While missing school is not a big deal in kindergarten, the transition back to school for my shy and withdrawn little four-year-old is a much bigger issue.

This past Saturday Thing 1 was having trouble getting to sleep. He tossed and turned for several hours, often crying out in pain. After a good two hours of him yelling and crying, I decided to take him into the Emergency Room of the nearest hospital (which is very close - less than five minutes). Although I am not typically a run-to-the-hospital type of mom and am usually more relaxed about my kids' illnesses, he was complaining of ear pain and I could tell there was going to be no peace in our future. I suffered from pretty severe ear infections as a kid, and I can vividly recall the searing pain one feels inside the ear. If you've never had one before - it's downright horrible.

So I packed up my sickie and drove to the ER. On Saturday. At midnight.

Can you see where this is going? If you do have to take a child to the ER at some point, I urge you NOT to do it on a Saturday night. At midnight. EVER.

The triage nurse took his temperature, weighed him, and took a deep breath before she gave me a sympathetic glance.

"The wait time is at least three hours," she said.

"Okay, thanks," I gulped.

While my gut instinct was to get the hell out of this place and run and never turn back, my five-year-old still grimacing in pain reminded me that as a parent it was my job to make the best decision for him. Within five minutes, we were called forward to see a nurse who administered some pain medication to Thing 1. I had already given him some Tylenol at home, and it hadn't seemed to help, and I think they then gave him some Advil. We were then ushered back into the endless black hole known as the ER Waiting Room.

I sat down, Thing 1 draped on my lap, and inspected the crowd. There were other children - one small baby about seven months old with a horrendous sounding cough - a number of elderly people, a handful of loud drunks, and, what I can only kindly refer to as a couple "weirdos". We no sooner got comfortable in our new setting when a paramedic wheeled in a 20-ish looking guy. This man was alert but his white t-shirt was covered in red blood - and he had extensive white bandages all over his head, blood leaking from some of them. Upon closer inspection I could see he had bruises on his face.

Thing 1, wide-eyed in amazement at the scene before him, looked at me and stated,

"I think he had a bad day skiing, mommy."

As I bit my own tongue to stifle my emerging giggles, the man's parents entered the waiting room and rushed over to their wheelchair-ridden son.

"What happened?"

"Are you okay?"

"Who did this?"

"Did you get a good look at the guy?"

"Are you going to press charges?"

The mother, clearly frantic with worry and angst, finally composed herself and bent over to give her son a big huge hug.

"You really had me worried," she said.

"I'm sorry, mom," the man offered.

Since we were sitting directly beside this group of people, I was soon able to learn that the man had been hit over the head with a beer bottle and, then, while he was still stunned from the impact, he was punched several times by a guy who had been at the same party as him. Over the course of the next few hours, I got the impression that the man was a very nice kid, who had innocently been at a party with his friends (his friends showed up at the emergency room shortly after his parents arrived) and gotten attacked.

If one of my good friends weren't an ER nurse, I might not believe stuff like this happened. But it does. All the time.

As I watched that mother take care of her injured son . . . wiping blood from his neck, wheeling him to and assisting him in the washroom, and fetching him water while never once allowing her hand to be disconnected from his, the realization struck me.

It never ends. A mother caring for her sick children, worrying, supporting them, loving them. Unconditionally.

After three hours and fifteen minutes of waiting in that spacious, yet packed room and never being seen by a doctor, I finally picked up my tired little boy and drove him home. I paid my $15 for parking and took him inside our house and slipped him into his cozy, warm bed. Alternating Tylenol and Advil over the next 12 hours seemed to help ease the pain, and we never did end up going back to the hospital.

When I woke up the next morning after a much-too-short sleep I thought not of the young man with the beer bottle gashes in his skull, but of his soft spoken mother and the connection I felt with her.

Inauguration

Thing 1 was inaugurated the other night.

Yes, our oldest little man was officially sworn in as a Beaver. It seems like just yesterday we were dealing with separation anxiety and preschool, and suddenly time has shifted at an alarming speed and it's like I blinked my eyes and suddenly, out of nowhere, my oldest son is a Beaver?? Wearing a handsome little uniform and being sworn by a Scouting official with his "brown tail".

Check out the torches and all the official paraphernalia . . . pretty cool. These guys are pretty tough, they even stuck it out on a cold, wet weeknight in Ottawa's west end.

And a little over three decades ago his daddy was participating in his very own swearing in ceremony. In the exact same Beaver colony, at the exact same location.

Back in the Saddle

While it's been what seems like an eternity since I last blogged, I figure there's really no better way to get back into it than to dive in head first.

And dive in we have.

We are all settling into a very new fall routine. Thing 1 is in Senior Kindergarten this year, while Thing 2 has started his first year of public school and is in Junior Kindergarten. The brothers take the bus together each morning and attend school for half a day, returning home on the bus before lunch time.

Let me clarify. This "half day" connotation is a bit strong in my opinion. My kids get on the bus at 8:00 a.m. (which truly feels like dawn for a family who has not needed to get up and be anywhere at 8:00 a.m. for the past five years) and then come home and make their way down the steps of the big yellow school bus at 11:00 a.m. That is THREE hours . . . not a significantly long time for a busy mom to accomplish any number of items off her to-do list. With an extremely active 20-month-old little girl at her side.

But in all seriousness, it is an unquestionably easier schedule for me to handle than what I had to deal with last year. The boys go to school in the morning, I have some alone time with Thing 3 every day, they return home in plenty of time for us to all eat lunch together (and not so rushed each day, like it was last year), and we all have some down time in the afternoon while Thing 3 takes her nap. As she is a bit older now, she is flexible enough to nap a bit later in the day, so it's even possible for me to take the kids out for a couple hours after school before she needs to rest.

The boys seem to be doing very well - I couldn't ask for a better beginning to the school year. I was nervous with Thing 2 starting school so young - he is only three years old and does not turn four until later in October - but he has exceeded all my expectations and is adjusting to his new routine like a true champion.

That's not to say that we aren't tired. The boys are EXHAUSTED by the end of the day and after nearly a month of school are still not entirely used to getting up so early. I am continually nudging bedtime back a bit more each night, and they are out cold like wet noodles the minute I turn the light off in their room.

And after spewing on about my beliefs on the importance of not over-scheduling young children in extra-curricular activities, it seems as if the boys are this fall enrolled in swimming lessons on Monday nights and Thing 1 has started Beavers on Wednesdays. Am I hypocrite? Yeah, maybe. But so far, so good, and I have to admit to liking having a couple evening activities that really help pass the time a little faster as the colder weather approaches and the evenings get shorter and darker.

So, I introduce to you after a long summer hiatus, Thing 1 and Thing 2, on the first day of school on their way to the bus stop.

The perfect "first day of school" shot was interrupted by the Things complaining that the sun was in their eyes.

As things have worked out, we tend to walk to the bus stop as a family of five because Daddy catches his bus downtown at the exact same time that the school bus comes.

I'm sure this will get pretty old, pretty fast when the snow hits in January, but for now we quite enjoy our little morning excursions.

WW - Why Can't All Days Be Like This?

Walking in Asia

Over the weekend, as we lamented the loss of Thing 3's "baby phase" and watched her scale her big brother's ladder and climb up to the top bunk of his bunk bed, we were all trying to remember at exactly what age Thing 1 and Thing 2 started walking.

I joked that they were both ridiculously premature walkers, and that both times I was not quite ready for their new found independence. I explained that I remembered that both boys walked at the same respective age . . . shortly after they turned ten months.

Thing 1 dared to contradict me, suggesting that he had indeed taken his first steps much earlier than the ripe old age of ten months.

"I walked as soon as I got out of China, mommy," he said, with a mischievous sparkle in his eye.

"CHINA?" I cried, trying to ascertain when my five year old thought he had ever been to Asia.

My face must have exhibited my dumb-foundedness because with a look of complete and utter seriousness, my son pointed to the zipper area of my capri pants.

"When I came out of your CHINA, I said!"

Right.

Got it.

Wordless Wednesday - Comfort

I was browsing through some old photos for something last night and I came across these pictures from January 2006. We had just recently moved Thing 1 to his big boy bed and before naps and bedtime he used to scan the house and run around and gather all his pacifiers and pile them into his bed. I remember taking this shot, although it seems a lifetime ago. He was only 21 months old in this photo.

The 3 Things Tiptoe Through the Tulips

With the 3 Things totally rejuvenated and feeling more like themselves these days, we all headed downtown last weekend to check out the Ottawa Tulip Festival.

After walking around the Market for a little while, Thing 2 - a true carb man if there ever were one - demanded we stop and have a bagel. To avoid a tantrum, we obliged. (No, we are not *those* parents who give into every whim and desire of our children, but we all love bagels . . . what can I say? Some battles are not worth fighting.)

Uh, somebody has her daddy's eyes!!

And later we stopped for the long-promised and much anticipated Piccolo Grande Italian gelato. Notice how all of our outings revolve around food? I'm not sure how we all stay slim.

Thing 1 had the ever boring but tried-and-true favourite . . . chocolate.

But do you think he liked it???

Thing 2 opted for strawberry . . . and desperately wanted his in a bowl.

Much tidier if I do say so myself.

And, yes, we did see some tulips.

Checked out the back view of Parliament Hill from Major's Hill Park on a cloudy afternoon.

Thing 3 likes to really travel in style, and really, who the heck wouldn't want this bundle of joy on her back???

Hitting the Open Road

Our Ottawa weather has been unseasonably beautiful and warm lately. To any boy of any age, that signals a busting out of one's bike to test it out on the open road. I assured Thing 1 that he was ready to embark on a bike ride sans training wheels. (He is a fabulous biker and didn't even need them last summer although I was reluctant to take them off too soon.)

We discarded the training wheels in a corner of our garage and headed for the street.

It was difficult to get decent pictures, because daddy was watching Things 2 and 3 at the same time he was snapping shots. But you can see Thing 1 biking on his own, with me running at break-neck speed to keep up with him.

Here I am running faster. Our neighbour John came out to catch a piece of the action. I mean, this was *big* news in Ottawa yesterday, folks.

I attribute Thing 1's success with biking to the fact that he learned how to bike on a Kinderbike. It is a bike with no pedals that teaches kids to learn how to balance the bike on their own, while pushing with their feet and forcing the bike to glide along. Here is Thing 2, now big enough to have graduated from his tricycle to the Kinderbike this season. Big thanks to my sister-in-law in Vancouver for getting the bike for Peter two summers ago . . . it has been well used!

Happy Fifth Birthday, Thing 1

Five years ago today, my precious Thing 1, you were born at 8:09 a.m. in the master bedroom of the home in which we still live.


From that moment on, our lives were to be changed forever. And then, faster than we could say "Thing 1", you turned five years old and it was almost as if someone had momentarily taken the remote of life out of the tight clutches of my fist and pressed fast forward. I can hardly believe five years have passed, yet in other ways it seems as if you have been with us for an eternity.

It's undeniable that parents - mothers especially - have a deep, intense bond with their firstborn child. As luck would have it in my case, you are evolving into a miniature version of your mother, in ways too numerous to count, or to name. (Thankfully it appears as if you father's intellect, however.)

Where could I start? You have a certain zest for life, my young boy, and a passion that carries you through each day with pizazz. Like me, you are a deeply emotional and sensitive individual. You listen carefully to those around you, to what others say, and you listen intently to those who are your friends or your family. Hurtful words can sting you and leave a lasting impression, yet words of hope, encouragement and praise can lift you up higher than the clouds. You aim to please and seek praise and love as you carry out your daily tasks and as you tackle new experiences. Yet as a loving mother, I know in my heart that you already feel and take pride in everything you do, that you yourself are proud of the flowering little plant you are each day becoming.

Watching this growth is fascinating to me. I revel in the absolute joy that is your childhood. Small and inconsequential things amaze you, as do the bigger, more rich and significant things. Yet you give them equal weight, not preferring one over the other.

You are still happiest when you are playing. You beg for "ten more minutes" to play before school, before meals, before your bath, and before bed time. The world is an unexplored game to you, and you are able to create with your vivid and expressive imagination just about anything, anywhere, at any time. Perhaps it is because I am such a creative person that I find such satisfaction in contemplating and admiring your unleashed creativity. I have never, in all my years as a babysitter, teacher, coach, parent, or friend seen a child make something out of anything. When you didn't have the latest Transformer "Bumblebee", you hardly blinked before picking out a yellow matchbox car from your toy box and christening it Bumblebee. When you became an avid Indiana Jones lover , you immediately reached into your dresser drawer for the freshly-ironed, new brown dress pants I had bought you for church and put them on "because they are exactly like Indy's". You found a crisp, white shirt in your closet and put it on without an undershirt "because Indy had a bare chest too". You searched through the special, secret box under mommy's bed for the bag that was just the right size and colour to replicate the bag that Indy carries over his shoulder on all his adventures.
I've enjoyed your journey in school this year, and am pleased to be such an integral part of it. Our walks to and from the bus stop have become special times for us to bond and discuss the intricacies of your afternoons in kindergarten. You are an extremely bright boy - something we certainly didn't need your teacher to tell us - and it is so satisfying to me as a parent to see a child of mine excel at school. You are starting to become more comfortable in French and are blurting out more and more words in la langue francaise.

I think that something that stands out to me over the past year is how much I have witnessed your maturity level flourish. Five certainly seems to be the age in which you are becoming polite, thoughtful, empathetic, and even more kind hearted than you were before. Your thought processes are deeper and on such a different level than they were when you were three or four. Conversations with you are some of the best parts of my day. Your increasingly quick wit and humour brighten up even the most difficult of days.

Although I sometimes worry that I have not enrolled you in enough activities, I know that you are still young and I take pride in the fact that you play so well with your brother. At only 18 months apart, you and Thing 2 are inseparable for the most part. He worships his big brother, and you let him . . . graciously. You're a born leader and I can see in your eyes how eager you are to teach Thing 2 the ways of the world, as seen from the eyes of a slightly older brother. You don't have to be patient and understanding (most of the time) when Things 2 or 3 take your toys, but you choose to do that. It is important to you to include them in everything you do, and that inclusiveness is what makes the three of you so close.

As much as I value our family time together, I adore our special one-on-one time. You have reached that distinguished age where it is possible to take you out in public and truly enjoy your company. We can go to movies, go the library, go out to lunch, without the worries that are attached with carrying out these tasks with a toddler or preschooler.

Happy Birthday, Thing 1. Thank you for adding that little bit of spice to our lives, for enriching each of our days, and for reminding me on a routine basis that I am, indeed, the luckiest mom in the world.