A Summer’s Day

I don’t have to tell you how hard it is to find the time to write or to work in the summer months – you already know. About cottages and the sun dancing across great lakes like sparkling diamonds; and children, rummaging for the hem of my shirt, lifting it up to press a smudgy face into my belly. I accidentally wrote “life it up” – I’m not convinced that wasn’t my unconscious intention.

You already know about the Sufi mystic Rumi and his love poems, and Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones, and reading about, intuiting, the link between meditation and running. Meditation is meditation, running is running and writing is writing. Remember that.

You already know about sandy toes and the outdoor hose used to rinse before traipsing through the beach house, and the dead spider floating in the rusty bowl meant to catch the overflow. You know about wet bathing suits and coming together as a family for a bear hug in the water and jumping over waves, one after the other, all together! And screaming, screaming like banshees, and pulling little faces back out of the waves and laughing, laughing until you’re screaming again.

You already know how it is on vacation, when your outside life keeps banging at the door, demanding to be let back in. “Go away!” you shout, and how vacation isn’t really a vacation until you can let your mind go free.

You already know about afternoon G&Ts, followed by steak and red wine dinners, pulling chopped pieces of wood from the burlap bag you bought for $5 from the guy who lives on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, dragging that bag down the beach with your bare hands and little footprints behind you. About towels caught in the wind, blown to the ground, half buried in sand. The incessant wind. A wind that dries, cools, mends, soothes and breaks. The string that snapped, the kite that drowned. The waves that appear out of nowhere. And how the water can just as suddenly quiet.

You already know about fussy toilets and setting up floor fans to disperse warm air in humid rooms. And the oppressive heat that settles overhead in the middle of the day and beats you right back into submission, sand that burns soles and whiny children needing to be carried back into the house, sleepy and sun stroked in your arms.

Fires at night, with the wood you bought from the guy on the side of the road; many false starts then flames bursting, licking the wood, ravenous; finding that perfect spot for handmade roasting sticks and the one marshmallow that inevitably gets burnt, beyond eating. S’mores and sticky fingers. Chocolate-smeared faces.

A burning, searing sensation on the top of your head, causing your hairline to itch, the nauseous nagging feeling of too much sun and the pull back inside, but the counter-weight of the wind and water, of the glittering shoreline, is greater still. The gasp, “Ahh” as the water line accosts your chest, your soft side, and the chill and thrill of diving under. That refreshing feeling, as the water heaves, breathes you in, of being part of it all. Floating, tethered like a buoy, weightlessness.

About food, again. Gummy bears and a giant chocolate almond bar and pretentious crackers: organic artisan crisps of raisin, rosemary and pumpkin seed made with bulgar, Himalayan pink salt and extra virgin olive oil slathered in cream cheese and red pepper jelly. About stops at the cheese shop for squeaky curds and the local farmer’s market for peas so fresh they make you want to weep. At the fleetingness of time and seasons. And tiny beets. And cleaning out Beans Bistro of all their freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies. About letting calories go.

About waking up before everyone else and cracking open a book, or watching the ducks float by, or the sun setting a sub-Saharan Africa red; or throwing on a bathing suit and cutting through the lake one efficient stroke after the other to train, or to throw on a pair of running shoes and run, run, run, feeling the pull of the wind.

About leaving showering behind, letting the children go feral with one eye open and sticking out your tongue at the passage of time with only the shadows of the sun and the rumbling of tummies to remind you that the day is moving on and you probably should too.

About thoughts from the outside world: the upcoming triathlon; planning a writer’s retreat; a trip around the world; writing that next book, and extended family – how goes our family back home? What is everyone up to? Grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. Of course, the world continues to go on.

And about monkey brain. Do you know about monkey brain? It’s when your mind hops from one thing to the next and lacks the focus to stay entirely on one subject. I am a monkey brain.

But you already know about all that. Our Canadian summer, wild and free. Fleeting. Snippets of life, at the cottage. Carry on.

Elyse’s First Summer Camp Experience

It’s the final ten minutes of “my work day” before pick up and I’m sitting here wondering about Elyse’s first day at gymnastics camp. Did she follow the rules and meet camp expectations? Did she fit in and make some new friends? How did toileting go? Craft time? Transitions? Lunch time? Gymnastics? That’s a lot to worry about in one short day.

But by far the most important question over-riding the others is: did my girl have fun?

Ariel is at camp this week, too. A different camp from her sister. Having her big sis around would have undoubtedly made things easier for Elyse, but they are two different people, individuals with distinct likes and tastes, and so for Ariel, that means art camp (her #1 choice), a choice that doesn’t suit Elyse’s preferences. Elyse chose gymnastics camp. We have built a good rapport with a local gym in town – they know Elyse, they’ve taught her before, and so my hopes heading into pick up are high. Is it selfish of me to want Elyse to be able to go to a local camp and have fun? Somewhat, perhaps. I do feel like I’m a better mother/person when I have respite time from my children, but what I want deep down for Elyse goes beyond my own needs.

One of the greatest gifts a parent can bestow upon any child is to foster their independence. It occurs to me that keeping them safe – a parents’ greatest responsibility – may run counter-intuitive to choices that foster independence. Balancing these two factors, safety and independence, is tough work.

I want to keep bombarding Elyse with the messages you can, you will and YOU ARE! Look at you! You’re doing it! You’re doing it by yourself right now. This is the voice I want her to hear in her head even when I’m not around (when I am, she’d likely roll her eyes and tell me to stop).

YOU’RE doing it! Because if I’m the one always around to help her, then she never will be the one to do it. As her mother, I’m so in tune with her needs and emotions that it’s hard not to intervene. In this way, love can be limiting. Strangers are expectation-less, which can be really good or really bad. Different people also do things in different ways, which forces children to learn flexibility and become adaptable. Essentially, attending summer camp is akin to learning basic survival skills.

I’m amazed at the skills Elyse gains when she’s away from me. In preschool, her friend Gracie showed her how to properly execute a high five. Elyse, with her limp wrist, wasn’t doing it hard enough. “No, no, Elyse! Like THIS!” said Gracie, who then smacked Elyse’s hand with a good whack. Elyse fired a harder high five back, and got a pat on the back from her friend and a nod of approval.

This summer, watching her big sister, she learned to ride the swing in our backyard by herself. She also came home from a trip to grandma’s house having learned her new signature move: the two thumbs up. I’m pretty sure my mom was also the one who sealed the deal with potty training, a few years back when Dan and I were away. And school. At school, Elyse learned a second language and she learned how to play with friends. I’ve now seen videos of her playing at recess with her friends (thanks to a thoughtful educational assistant) and it’s glorious.

The point is, you have to let them go a little if you ever want them to fly away on their own. You just need to get the timing right so they don’t fall head first and break their little necks. Maybe start them off with a parachute and a safety net – or don’t. See what happens.

The moment of truth. I pick Elyse up from camp, and somewhat anxiously await my turn to speak to the head counsellor. Hardly able to contain myself, I blurt out, “So how did it go?”

“Honestly,” she says, “not very good.” She rephrases. “Well, she was a different kid in the afternoon. If Afternoon Elyse could come back again tomorrow that would be great.”

“What happened with Morning Elyse?”

She walked me through the morning’s hardships: not listening to her coach, not staying with her group or following along in group activities, locking herself in the bathroom and screaming, and refusing to do crafts. She then explained, to my great relief, once they figured Elyse out, things went MUCH smoother. They determined Elyse wasn’t listening to her coach because her coach was trying to help her do things she can already do, and wants to be doing independently; that hiding in the bathroom was her way of coping; and that crafts aren’t her thing, as I had mentioned to them beforehand, and they used the strategy of giving her books to read instead. Then she was a completely different kid. She had a fantastic afternoon. She participated fully and listened to her new coach. She had fun playing the group games with the other kids. In other words, once Elyse felt her needs were being met, and that she was being seen, heard and understood, then she felt free to be herself, her best self.

I know her behaviour was challenging, potentially the most challenging of any kid at that camp on that day, maybe that week, maybe of the whole damn summer. But you know what? She’s worth it and so are the other kids. When we choose to include, everyone wins. Every kid deserves a chance, and all it really takes for many children with disabilities is for a few caring and attentive adults to observe, to truly listen, and to see the child in front of them to make the necessary accommodations and small changes that make a BIG difference because they mean everyone can be fully included. There needed to be allowances. Elyse needed appropriate choices, but she also needed boundaries. They matched Elyse with a coach more suited to her temperament. Wouldn’t it be great, and make good sense, if we all had bosses like that? People who brought out the best in us?

Elyse isn’t going to stand for being underestimated. She doesn’t always go about showing it in the right way – Elyse does things HER way to a fault – but her point is valid: guide me, but let me show you what I can do.

Now, to answer the most important question – did Elyse have fun? The rest of the week went like this: arrive at camp in the morning, Elyse shouts, “yeah, gymnastics camp!” She has a fun day; the coaches are happy. I pick her up at the end of the day and ask, “did you have a fun day?” to which, in reply, she never once wavers, “Yes!!!”

A huge thank you to Cartwheels Gymnastics and especially to the camp counsellors for seeing Elyse for her potential and helping her realize all that she can do. The world needs more small businesses like this one doing all that they can to make their space an inclusive one.

French River: Pools of Glass

I’m writing this in the car travelling home from French River, a cottage locale situated as far north as Manitoulin Island and almost as far north as Sudbury. On our way up North, Dan and I stopped in Orillia, the birth town of The Group of Seven artist Frank Carmichael. Closer to our final destination, The Lodge at Pine Cove, we stopped at the French River Trading Post, and I picked up a copy of David P. Silcox’s lovely illustrated text The Group of Seven and Tom Thomson. Through its pages, I learned artist Tom Thomson died tragically by drowning before The Group of Seven was officially formed, but the group insisted he was very much a part of the movement and so he’s remained. This famous Group of Canadian artists defined Canada to the rest of the world through their sketches and paintings portraying Canada “the North” with images of nature, both dense and desolate; landscapes now synonymous with this country. I have at least one thing in common with Frank Carmichael, the Orillia native I mentioned earlier, which I will get to shortly.

On our four and a half hour drive from Peterborough – where we dropped the girls – on our way to French River, we skirted around Georgian Bay, past the Muskokas and along paved highway that cut through pink granite, the rocky face of Ontario’s North, bedrock better known as the Canadian Shield.

“Under the Canadian Shield is where they bury nuclear waste,” Dan informed me at some point during our 4.5 hour long conversation. “They dig deep, way down. It’s one of the safest places to put it.” I hated to think of this beautiful landscape as a dumping ground, but props to Dan for keeping the interesting facts coming on our lengthy drive.

On our way home, we stopped in Parry Sound for a quick Subway bite. My first trip to the area was at twelve years old for a gymnastics competition. I was in awe of the rock lining our passageway and the notion of workers having to blast through it to build the roads. Later, at a friend’s cottage, I slid off rocky slopes into smooth dark waters, and fully appreciated the region’s beauty. There is nothing quite like Northern Ontario.

While the magnitude and scope of the rock is impressive, what I’ve truly fallen in love with are the waterways. The bodies of fresh water.

From the beach of our cottage resort we launched our kayaks and let the river current pull us down stream along the shore line. Not far into our paddle, we came across a tiny inlet, the water level so low we could barely gain access. Our oblong boats glided across a narrow channel of rocks laying just below the surface, when around the bend, the pond came into view.

The pond was a wide, full circle dotted with lily pads and white flowers and lined by an audience of pines like spectators in an arena. As an island of rock blocked off the pond, separating it from the main flowing river, we found ourselves in a quiet, perfectly still sphere, save for the one startled fish who made a jump for it upon our arrival. Dan and I intuitively set down our paddles and floated together in silence, taking in the beauty around us. The pond was smooth as glass, and though I could spot the bottom if I tried, it was the surface reflecting the blue sky and onlooker trees like a mirror that caught my eye. With the sky above and the sky below me, was I in heaven? Yes.

This is where my sights and those of Frank Carmicheal aligned, our imaginations similarly captivated. Before I had a chance to properly read through The Group of Seven and Tom Thomson book I picked up, I titled this post Pools of Glass after the lasting impression of the pond lingering in my mind’s eye. Only later, in leafing through the pages, did I come across Carmichael’s famous painting, Mirror Lake, 1929 that exactly explores the quality of the water I so admired. Mirror Lake is a real place in the Muskokas, but the title of the painting was about more than a place. Carmichael and I each took notice of the northern water as glass reflecting the landscape like a mirror.

Frank Carmichael Mirror Lake 1929

I don’t know if Carmichael felt the same way, but it wasn’t enough for me to look at the water, I needed to experience it.

In the mornings, I set out for my swims. I sliced through the deeper water off the dock, one, two, three, breathe right; one, two, three, breathe left. Swimming in fresh water is an act of meditation.

Dan kindly paced alongside me in his kayak, my protector from potential boats coming through. And snakes. I was weary of water snakes, though I shouldn’t have been.

Before we left on our trip, Dan’s sister lovingly sent us a picture of a three-foot long water snake her friend had just caught in French River. I asked the owner of the Lodge about water snakes upon our arrival, and he just shrugged with a laugh, “No, no. The snakes are my friends.” I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but I took it as a sign not to be worried. I saw one cute baby snake scurry out of my path while hiking in the woods, but beyond that, nothing but plump loons and the occasional jumping fish in the water, in addition to a few toads and a muskrat while kayaking.

“The dogs on the property help to keep the black bears away,” the owner also informed Dan. Black bears. Who said anything about black bears?

During our stay in French River, our girls’ piano teacher happened to be visiting family in French River as well. She posted on Facebook about a close encounter with a water snake. I’m not crazy about the idea of encountering a snake in the water, but I can tell you last summer when we spent a week in the Bruce Peninsula region of Tobermory, with its crystal clear, frigid turquoise waters, the first thing I did at our cottage was swim across a small cove of water over to a large rock. I climbed up onto that rock, triumphant, saw a large snake, and immediately got back in the water and crossed the cove back to shore. As it turns out, that rock was the snake’s home and we later saw him zig-zagging through the water. Ariel and a friend were the first ones to spot him in the cove, while I was coming back in from a swim out into the depths of Lake Huron. The snake and I crossed paths, but he went the other way. That snake wanted nothing to do with me (the feeling was and is mutual). My point being: I’ve already experienced my first water snake, you’d think I’d be over it.

The first time Dan and I got in the water together at French River, he swam up behind me and playfully grabbed my toes (not funny). I reminded him that snakes usually swim on top of the water, they glide their bellies across it half immersed. Or so I thought. I later found this on the Ontario Nature site, “The northern watersnake eats fish and amphibians, hunting for its prey along the water’s edge or underwater. It is an excellent swimmer and can be found up to three metres below the surface of the water and several kilometres from shore.” Huh.

The idea of snakes gliding across the water’s surface grossed Dan out, as he had imagined the snakes resting at the bottom of the dark murky river, far down below in the fathoms we can’t see, which I think is infinitely worse. In general, I recommend not worrying about snakes when you’re swimming down a river. They’re certainly not worrying about you.

I wish I could pack a northern lake into my back pocket and take it home with me, snakes and all, but alas, I’m but a mere mortal, stranded and surrounded by dry ground. If I could swim in a lake every day, I would. Maybe one day I will.

I hope I come back as a water snake. I can see myself now, gliding serenely through pools of glass.

Around-The-World-Trip Part II

Our trip begins in Thailand, the sky ablaze with floating lights. Having experienced Asia in 2014 when I travelled to Delhi and Chennai in India for the World Down Syndrome Congress, I knew I wanted my family to experience that vibrant and chaotic side of the world, and I wanted to do so in an authentic way. I can think of nothing more authentic than attending a festival, and Loy Krathong is a big one. Yee Peng, the lighting and releasing of  lanterns into the sky, is a small festival within Loy Krathong. In this way, Thailand became our official starting destination; we would work backwards – or rather – around the world, from there. But where to next, and how best to get from Canada to Thailand and avoid dreadfully long flights?

While we hadn’t been having the best of luck with travel agents to date, I decided to give the travel agent game one last try. This was a good move. While there are challenges working with others: waiting for email replies, trying to convey your vision, explaining why 24-hour flights won’t work to a person without children…our travel agent has proved invaluable, especially when it came to booking our flights, and helping us to form an itinerary that makes sense.

Nancy came to us with an understanding of flight paths, how to best organize plane tickets, and industry connections and knowledge. She taught us there is a real thing known as an Around-the-World ticket, or as it’s short-formed, RTW ticket. Booking a RTW ticket through Star Alliance, which is what we are doing, is saving us more than half on ticket fares for each destination. This is worth spreading and repeating. If you’re planning a trip with multiple stops, RTW tickets save you money – loads of it!!! I’m talking 45 days of travel to five destinations for five people for under twenty grand. This is not an insignificant chunk of change by any means, but I can assure you that number would be well over twenty grand if we booked each ticket separately. If I had been left solely in charge, I shiver to think of the financial consequence.

Which brings us next to destinations. Dan and I have long discussed a trip to Hawaii to celebrate our ten year anniversary, which passed this summer – why not work Hawaii into our RTW trip we reasoned? We therefore decided to leave Canada and head around the world in that direction. We had to decide between Vancouver or California as a stopover point on our way to Hawaii to break up the long flights. We decided on San Francisco, California for two reason. One, none of us have ever been there, and two, because of the coastal redwoods and Muir National Park which houses the ancient sequoias, the largest trees in the world with some as old as 1,200 years. THAT seemed like a sight to see that the kids would enjoy. Also, who doesn’t delight in a large bridge and an island prison?

After a short four days in San Francisco, we fly to the Big Island of Hawaii. I was locked in to flying to Big Island (Kona airport) to see the volcanoes the island, and the region, are famous for. Hawaii is made up of hundreds of islands, but there are eight main islands, with Hawaii (Big Island) being the largest. Based on our next destination of Japan, which Dan and I decided would be “neat” to see, to say the least, according to our trusty travel agent we needed to fly out of Honolulu on O’ahu (different island). This meant splitting up our week-long trip to Hawaii into two sections. With the inter-island flight lasting only an hour, the situation wasn’t terrible. While not ideal, we’ll get to see what we want to see, explore more islands this way AND stay in not one, but TWO awesome beach houses. Win win. We are hoping to surf, view sea turtles and check out an active volcano in Hawaii’s Volcanoes National Park along Crater Rim Drive. Lava, I want to see lava!

From Honolulu, we are flying to Tokyo, Japan. Japan has been on my list of places to stop since the inception of our RTW plan. I just think it will be otherworldly. I was disappointed many cruise lines didn’t include it on their RTW itineraries, but geographically speaking, the island is a bit out of the way. Flying gave us the freedom to choose, and choose Japan we did. Hawaii to Japan made sense, in terms of the flight path, and it got us closer to Thailand.

I’m in the process of planning our accommodations for Japan right now, which can feel overwhelming. I love the ‘translate this page’ option, with translations off Japanese sites like, “Please enjoy original dishes mainly on Japanese food that is kind to your body and mind.” And “The dining room is a dining room where you can enjoy the relaxed atmosphere of adults using stone materials.” I can only imagine what barbaric translations our websites must spew into Japanese, with expressions like “all you can eat buffets”.

Our Japan leg of the trip is going to be exhausting. Not only is there an eleven hour time difference, but we have plans to arrive in Tokyo, travel to the Kawaguchiko Lake region to view Mount Fuji, travel back to Yokohama, Japan’s second largest city near Tokyo to catch the four hour bullet train ride to Hiroshima; then plan to travel by train to Kyoto and finally to Osaka, our final Japan destination. We have eleven days to do this. I’m working on it. I’m extremely excited about this leg of the trip. The only hitch is that the Rugby World Cup is being hosted in Japan at the same time we are there. This will make the whole country much busier than usual, but it also means we get to be caught up in a part of history, the first time the cup match is being held outside of Australia/ New Zealand, and experience some of the hype. Remember the authenticity I was now striving for? We’re going to dive right in in Japan.

From Osaka, Japan, we fly to Bangkok, Thailand. Through one of my guide books (I prefer Lonely Planet) I discovered there’s an amazing jungle about an hour outside of the city with some fantastic short hikes. We’re talking about the opportunity to experience the jungle and all its inhabitants on a one to two kilometer jaunt. As a family who loves to hike, this seemed like a must. Next, we’ll head to the North of Thailand to Chiang Mai, an excellent place to stay and take in the festival of Loy Krathong, and the best place to get to an elephant sanctuary for rehabilitated animals.

After all of this travel and stimulating commotion, it seemed only natural that we unwind for a week on one of Thailand’s stunning family-friendly islands. We plan to do just that on the island of Ko Samui. From Ko Samui, we fly back to Bangkok, before a monster twelve-hour flight, the longest on our trip, to Frankfurt, Germany. After a less than twenty-four hour stopover in Germany (so that it doesn’t actually count as one of our stops on our RTW ticket), we fly a few hours to the southern-most part of Europe, Lisbon, Portugal. We debated other European countries, but by this time, mid-to-late November, most of Europe will be cooled down, and we tried to stick with moderate to warm climates. Japan is the exception, in that it will be fall when we are there in late October to early November. Light jackets and sweatshirts are easier to pack than winter gear.

We plan to spend four days in Lisbon, taking in Europe’s cobblestone streets and cafes, giving the kids enough of a taste to whet their appetite. We know we will be back to Europe, so we can justify this short stop tease. From Lisbon, it’s an eight hour flight back to good ol’ Toronto, Canada, with enough family memories, I’m sure, to last a lifetime.

I can’t wait to see what we’ll learn, experience, feel, each of us on our own and as a family. This trip will be a stretch for us all, to be sure, but more than anything, I hope it is quality time living life together, and the first of many more amazing travel adventures to come. While our trip encompasses several countries and continents, North America, Asia, Europe… we haven’t forgotten about South America, Africa, the rest of Europe… the question, as always, is what will it take to get there? While travel is a luxury, and certainly not one everyone is able or willing to afford, for many of us, it is only beyond our reach if we aren’t willing to prioritize and make the necessary sacrifices to make it happen. And if you’re like me, and you want it all, maybe you can have that to. I wish that for you.

I plan to write about this trip like it’s everybody’s business, but I can’t promise when it will be posted because I want to be in the moment, not writing about it. What I do guarantee is that at some point I most certainly will be posting about it, maybe in the form of a book turned Master’s thesis.

Until then, we have the summer together before we leave this fall. WE LEAVE THIS FALL!!!!

I hope you will dream big, travel far and do life as a family the way you would do you. Do you. Be happy.
As I’m learning in Japanese, Oshiawase ni! May you be happy, and Yoi tabi o! Have a good trip.

What the World Needs More Of

I spent the last few days at a friend’s cottage with my two oldest girls. I can tell you there is nothing so endearing to me, nothing that makes my heart soar more, than witnessing others being good to my children. My friend and her husband showered my kids with love, and it was a beautiful sight to behold. What the world needs more of is people who aren’t afraid to turn to another with open arms and say, I see you, even the funny bits that are sticking out that you tried to tuck in; the parts you don’t want the world to see, but that I see anyway. I see it all, and you’re okay. I love you anyway. The world needs more people like my friend and her husband who welcomed both of my daughters – and their challenging behaviours – equally, unafraid and with joy in their hearts.

To be blunt, what the world needs more of is people who aren’t afraid to mingle with kids with disabilities; who aren’t afraid or hesitant to invite a child with Down syndrome into their homes and family lives. But it doesn’t stop there either. You can’t just invite someone over and think you are bringing them in. True hospitality, like true inclusion, is about meeting every guest’s needs.

I can honestly tell you there have been many times when I’ve felt it was so much easier to just stay home with Elyse than to try and bring her over to someone else’s home or go out in public, where others may not understand or be compassionate about her outbursts. Elyse can take a long time to warm up to a new place. At this age and stage, she has some challenging behaviours that accompany her discomfort in new situations or scenarios when her needs aren’t being met. Namely, she screams. Often, she screams the word “NO,” but it can also just be a burst of sound. Sometimes she screams in my face, or the person who happens to be closest to her. She may even give a little shove. This is her way of shutting down and protesting a situation she isn’t comfortable in or happy with. I understand this about her, and I’m doing my best to accept it as her parent and to help her work through situations that are upsetting to her. But I refuse to keep her home. Life must go on, yelling or no yelling, and she has to learn to deal with new situations, because life is full of them.

There are certain people who bring Elyse comfort. Namely, Elyse relies heavily on her daddy in times of stress; he is truly her rock.

I knew, then, heading into the unknown territory of a few days at a friend’s cottage without daddy for backup was risky business, emotionally speaking for Elyse and myself. If Elyse felt lost, I alone would have to guide her back, a process with which even as her mother, I have varying degrees of success. When Elyse is feeling misunderstood, her frustration manifests itself in an angry wail. The force of her anguished voice cuts through you like a physical assertion, and I feel every bit of her pain. While I’m becoming more understanding of Elyse’s emotional outbursts, she’s doing the best she can, I don’t expect other people to understand, though I hope they will. I wanted our cottage visit to go as smoothly as possible. I wanted to be able to enjoy the experience with both Elyse and Ariel, my eldest. And I of course wanted to have a great time with my friends and their families, too.

On our way to the cottage, Elyse fell asleep hard during our late-in-the-day car ride to the boat launch where we were to meet my friend for a short boat ride over to her place before bed. I slid a sweater and lifejacket over Elyse’s lifeless body and cradled her in my arms then hoisted her up into the boat. She woke up in a daze mid-lake, but thankfully remained calm. She asked for dinner when we arrived, we fed her some cereal and then it was off to bed without much of a hitch.

With no running water in the cottage, there was the new experience of the outhouse, which Elyse took to well. Perhaps a bit too well. More on that later. When I checked on her and Ariel before I went to bed, Elyse had ditched her single bed and crawled in next to her sister. To do so, she got down from her bed, then climbed over a railing, in the dark, to squeeze herself in on her sister’s single bunk, where she fully entwined herself with her sister. Poor Ariel looked rather cramped, and though she later complained not to let Elyse sleep like that again – nevertheless, the following bedtime she offered, “come over here and you can sleep with me again, Lysie.” The world needs more big sisters like Ariel.

After breakfast on day two, the real challenge began. Elyse became fixated on the outhouse. I must have taken her a dozen times. It was as though she didn’t know what else to do with herself. I managed to get her interested in swimming and we headed down to the water. With a gentle sandy beach and a girl who loves to swim, I thought the set up could not have been more perfect. I was wrong of course, completely wrong. Elyse was beside herself. She’d suddenly lost all willingness to venture out on her own. She didn’t want me to leave her side for one minute, which was fine, except she was clinging to my neck and screaming in my face. She didn’t want to get out, she didn’t want to stay in. I wasn’t getting it quite right. After a few minutes of her yelling, I dropped her off in the shallow water where I hoped she would calm down a bit, but she only panicked after me, calling for me, “mommy, mommy, mommy!”

What is it about desperation that so forcefully pushes you in the other direction?

My friends reassured me, and sent me out on a planned swim. I couldn’t understand why Elyse was being so clingy, we had just been swimming at my parent’s house the day before. I was doing my best to be patient with her, but it was hard not to feel annoyed. This wasn’t how this day was going to go. Two of my good friends arrived with their kids during another bout of Elyse’s screaming, and finally I gave up on trying to get her to swim, and despite further protests about getting out of the water, I swaddled her in a towel away from the crowd, sat her on my lap, and tried to ascertain what the heck was wrong. When she’s worked up, this isn’t easy. “Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy” was all I got between sobs and wails. Mommy’s right here, I told her over and over before falling silent and simply gazing out at the view.

I find when Elyse gets worked up, sometimes the best thing for me to do is just shut up, and let her get it out. I try to lead by example by remaining quiet and calm – I don’t always succeed, but I know it’s important and that Elyse isn’t acting out because she wants to, she’s acting out because she’s trying to communicate something and she’s frustrated.

Being the creature of comfort that she is, I finally got the idea to pull out a few of her favourite books and bring them down to the dock. With my friends there, and Ariel swimming in the water with the other kids, I didn’t want Elyse to try and wander back up to the cottage…or the dreaded outhouse. The books worked like a charm. She was obviously overwhelmed by the new situation, and the number of people, and giving her a favourite pastime worked wonders. She calmed herself. Elyse knows very well what she needs. After that, we had a blast. I rarely had another issue or emotional outburst from her. Later that day she enjoyed a boat ride, a buggy ride, she played games with the other kids, we roasted marshmallows and had a fun story time before bed. She even worked up to swimming in the lake by herself without clinging on to my neck the next day. I stayed close by, but we enjoyed swimming together. There was no more frustration or panic. Elyse smiled her genuine smiles and laughed her infectious giggles.

While I worked through Elyse’s frustration, fears and outbursts, can you imagine what made the whole process easier? Let me fill you in on a little secret: it was the people around us. I didn’t feel judged by my friends as a terrible mom because my child was screaming. I didn’t feel judged when I took her to the outhouse for the umpteenth time because when she tells me she has to go, I take her. I didn’t feel judged when I missed my turn to do dishes, or didn’t quite prepare all of that dinner when it was my turn to do so because I was parenting a child who sometimes takes longer to do things. Instead what I felt was their love and support. They showed not one ounce of disapproval for any of my daughter’s behaviours, no matter how disruptive or socially unacceptable, they simply accepted her for who she is. They helped me by picking up the slack, by including both girls in every single activity where they showed the slightest bit of interest and offered to watch one or the other repeatedly. It felt like we were three parents looking after our combined four children, and I can tell you, when you’re the single parent in that triad, that feels pretty darn good.

So why tell you this? That my kid screamed in my face and that other parents, my friends, were cool about it? I have to tell you this because there are parents who would still turn away, look to another and roll their eyes at my daughter’s behaviour. There are parents who might hesitate to invite a family over who has a child with a disability because they’re afraid of the type of socially unacceptable behaviours I’ve described. There are parents who wouldn’t know how to help, though they’d want to, and so they’d rather just avoid the whole situation all together. There are parents who would be shocked, maybe even offended, by my daughter’s behaviour. And all I want to say is, invite us anyway, invite the kid with the disability to do things anyway, take a chance, anyway. My friends’ kids saw their parents display unconditional love, and I can think of no better life lesson to imitate than that.

My friend and her husband put my daughter’s needs as a child and person first without me having to say a word. Her need for dignity and respect, kindness and patience. They respected her timeline, and made it clear she was invited in with open arms. They played with her, not afraid to make dragon sounds back. They asked me about her preferences, trying to ease transitions. Basically, they acted like the incredibly decent human beings that they are, extending the same level of hospitality to Elyse that they do to every guest, but understanding that the same does not always mean equal. That at times, Elyse needed a bit more attention than the other children did; though they all took their turns, and everyone got what they needed.

I am incredibly grateful to my friend and her husband for the amazing weekend, and for allowing both of my daughters the chance to grow in a space free of judgement, where they could truly be themselves. What the world needs more of is people who aren’t afraid to see into the fear and pain of another and reassure them it’s okay to be who they are. And mean it.

The Best Parenting Decision I Made This Summer (maybe this year…)

I was going to write, “The Best Decision We Made…”, but truth be told, I’m the the one most often in charge of the children in our household; the one who received the advice and the one who frequently has to live with the consequences of our parenting decisions – be they good or bad, so I get to own this one. Let’s face it: I’m the stay-at-home mom, though I don’t like that stifling term. I prefer away-from-home mom because I’m always out doing things with the kids; or the work-at-home-with-kids-mom, as I transition back into the workforce on my own terms. But that doesn’t really have the same ring to it as stay-at-home mom, does it? Anyway, I am the one who pushed for this idea because I am a mom, and moms, in consultation with dads, know what’s best and get shit done. This one key decision would rise above the rest.

For many years, I’ve had moments of major guilt about relying on television and technology to help raise my children. This pattern began when Ariel was two and a half years old. I followed the screen recommendation times with her put out by the Canadian Pediatric Society – none until the age of two – then at two, I let loose. It’s no coincidence that Elyse came along at about the same time, and I needed a way to occupy Ariel while I was breastfeeding so that I knew she was safe. I really have no regrets about this. Are there better ways to have gotten through this time? Sure. But I needed to survive, and was getting little to no sleep. My husband travels for work, about a week out of every month, sometimes more, and often for several days to a week at a time. Since I’ve left teaching and become a full time parent, there have been meals to prepare, children to mind, a house to keep. These things don’t just happen magically, they require huge sacrifices of time and effort. Dan is one of the most supportive husbands I know, but there’s not much he can do to help when he’s away. I have no guilt about the use of a virtual babysitter during these years. I didn’t abuse it, in my opinion, and I used it to buy myself time to get dinner on the table. I don’t feel the shame of “not good enough” as a parent from these days, but I have felt it more in recent years.

You could argue adding the third child may be even more justification to turn on the TV and get a much needed break. But hold on a minute – how much TV or screen time in a day is too much, or just enough?

When Penelope, number three, was born, I did my best to protect her from screens as long as I could, but the problem was that her sisters were already addicted – and so was I. Our kids get up really early in the morning, often in the 5am hours. To grab some extra sleep, we commonly let them use their iPads until we were ready to parent. After school, especially in the Kindergarten years, I found the big kids were burned out and cranky at the end of the day, and in addition to their snack, what they wanted was time to relax after school. So I’d get the kids snack, and then let them use their iPads. When it was time for grade one, all of a sudden Ariel had homework, but Elyse was still beat, so Ariel would whine that Elyse got the iPad and she didn’t. I tried timing iPad sessions, but inevitably whenever I have to take the screens away, the kids are less than happy about it, even downright vicious.

I noticed my kids becoming different people when they sat behind a screen, but I felt powerless to change our routines. I NEEDED the time to get things done. I NEEDED TV to keep the kids calm so I could get dinner ready. I NEEDED IPads to keep them occupied and quiet – or did I?

Don’t get me wrong, iPads and technology, when used for good, can be extremely educational and worthwhile. Using iPads with your kids as a teaching tool can be excellent. Elyse learned every single letter of the English alphabet with the help of the Sesame Street App – thank you, Elmo! It’s just that we all know when you’re using the iPads to get a break, you aren’t sitting with your kids. They are sitting there, by themselves, watching TV. It was that part, the “by themselves” part about Netflix watching that was starting to get to me. That Penelope would choose a screen over playing with her toys when given the choice. That my kids would completely ignore me when watching their iPads. The problems were adding up. Worse still, with the arrival of warmer weather this year – FINALLY – if I let them, my kids were choosing their iPads, out of habit, after school, instead of going into our backyard to play in the beautiful sunshine. That did it. Enough was enough. It was time for me to take back my kids attention, fight inactivity and foster imagination and creative play. Screw you iPads, screw you (but also Thank You, for all those times I needed you, because there were truly times that I did and you helped me to survive.)

So the best decision I’ve made for my kids this year was to take away their iPads. No more iPads after school or first thing in the morning when they wake up. No more iPads for the big kids during Penelope’s afternoon naps on weekends. No more iPads period through the week all summer. I’m reclaiming my kids’ lives and making a case for letting them become bored, and building the necessary skills that arise when you have to figure out what to do with yourself.

I am in no way judging other parents, or trying to be self-righteous about this. I am only writing about this, because by golly, it worked! I thought my world would implode without iPads, but the results have been remarkable, though not without challenges.

After I declared the iPad ban was in effect, Ariel was stunned, flabbergasted, appalled. How could this be so? Then she started playing more with her sisters, and after a day or two, they all more or less forgot about iPads.

I’ve seen my kids make messes again with paints and scissors and glue, and I’m okay with that. All kinds of art projects are happening.

I’ve seen my kids taking turns, and being nice to each other, and playing games inside and out, and I’m more than okay with that, too.

I’ve seen my kids dealing with conflicts using some great strategies and some not-so-great strategies where I’ve had to intervene, but the point is, they are my kids, I want to teach them things, and I want them to be practising these social skills at home and with each other so that I can guide them. The iPads were taking away many, too many, social opportunities.

I’m seeing my kids work on new projects. I’m seeing Elyse and Penelope make up imaginative games, each of them showing more interest in books, drawing and writing.

I’m seeing better focus, and children who immediately come to the table at dinner or snack time, and wash their hands without issues when I ask them to because they are hearing me, and they’re more hungry from actually playing instead of sitting around.

I’m seeing the opposite of what I expected in terms of gaining more time for myself. I have children who are willing to help and who are observing me in the activities I’m performing. I need my kids to be observing me because otherwise how are they going to learn?

I’m seeing myself work through frustrating moments, and teaching my kids how to deal appropriately with their emotions in turn.

I’m seeing Ariel take on more responsibility. I’m seeing Elyse find her own things to do. I’m seeing Penelope play play play.

I’m seeing all of their innate sense of play in full force and we are engaging in more worthwhile conversations.

In essence, I’m seeing happier kids. I’m seeing kids as they should be. Kids in the wild. And I couldn’t be happier about it.

If after only four weeks, I have seen all of these changes, imagine what a whole summer will do, and then a next year, and the year after that? Imagine what projects my kids will choose to do with their free time and the lessons we’ll all learn from each other; the dance parties we’ll have and the extra time we will be spending together.

I don’t know about you, but my family needed the iPad break. Thanks to my friend who encouraged me to try it by sharing her own experience.

We are a complex culture. On the one hand, don’t give your kids TOO much screen time because TV will rot their brains. On the other hand, no screen time? How could you dare deprive your kids of the future?! There lies a balance somewhere, but I think for me, that balance holds greater weight on the “less technology is more” side at the moment. I myself gave up TV about two years ago, when I committed fully to reading. Something had to give. It’s not that I NEVER watch TV, it’s just that I save it for special occasions, like Raptors championship games or Game of Thrones or maybe the occasional movie. That is actually the list of all I have watched on TV in the past year to date. Giving up TV was a conscious decision, a choice I made, to make time for an activity I enjoy that informs and feeds my passion for writing. I have read something like sixty books so far half way into this year. It also comes down to this: I would much rather my kids got into book reading than TV watching.

While I have any influence at all, I need to use it for good and guide my girls back to the natural light. Something tells me my impact will be much greater, their memories from childhood more memorable and enduring, with the screens tucked safely away.

Around-The-World Trip Part I

We have had something brewing for a long time – over three years now. Something big. It’s easy for me to remember how long it’s been because the idea came to me when I was pregnant with Penelope who turns three this week. When I texted Dan at work to tell him I had one of my BIG ideas, I’m sure he was bracing himself. When I get a big idea in my head, it’s hard to change my mind. Later that evening, I approached the subject lightly, after all, I didn’t want to come on too strong and ruin my chances of Dan accepting my big idea. “What about,” I began, “if we downsized and lived in a cheaper house, and then used the money we made on the sale of our home to travel around the world?” I tried not to sound too hopeful. I tried to tame the bubbling excitement rising from my throat. “Yeah,” Dan said, seemingly unfazed, “that could work.”

And so, what began as an idea over three years ago shifted into shape. The first step, we both agreed, was to sell our home, “our Castle on the Hill” as I sometimes refer to it. That house was on a lovely, extremely private cul-de-sac, surrounded by tall trees and lush greenery. We even owned a section of the common greenspace with our neighbours. Yet, we had rushed into it.  We had some fantastic neighbours and a coveted address in town, but…I felt somewhat trapped. After paying our mortgage, we didn’t have any extra money to do much of anything else. We were house poor. I eventually wanted a pool in our backyard, but our Castle on the Hill was set into a steep hill. There was zero chance of a pool ever happening. From a practical standpoint, a kitchen looking over the backyard is best with small children; you can let them out and watch them play while cooking and preparing the many meals and snacks small kids require. Our kitchen looked onto our neighbour’s yard, which offered a picturesque view but was useless otherwise. The best place to play outside was on our large side deck on the other side of the house, away from the kitchen. Unfortunately, there was a pond on that side deck, and so I could never leave my young children to pop in and grab something we inevitably needed. Going outside became a production, and if you know me, and my love for running, cycling, exploring and hiking the outdoors, this was not a good combination. I also questioned the value in owning a bigger home. I began to resent the cleaning and maintenance that often fell on my shoulders as the one who was home. The way I saw it: bigger house equals more to take care of. I wanted less. So you see, there was more than one reason for us to move, and travel made the whole idea of moving so much more glamorous and appealing. This is classic Adelle – I’m very “treat” motivated. I’ll do just about anything, including moving with a newborn, if you dangle the right carrot.

I make it sound like we made the decision to uproot our lives and travel the world in an instant – we did and we didn’t. We discussed the matter for months, spent time looking at other houses and considering our options, but Dan and I both tend to make up our minds quickly when something feels right, and I think we both knew right away that travelling, and spending an extended period of time together as a family, was something we both wanted to do.

I continued to dream big, imaging us boarding an around-the-world cruise as a family of five, voyaging the oceans of the world for over a hundred days, seeing as many countries as possible. That was our original plan, and we repeated the mantra many times over, let’s see as many countries as possible! We imagined we might be able to plan our trip for when our baby-to-be was eighteen months old, only two years away from the inception of our plan. We were over-ambitious, and a big dose of reality would help to sort things out.

Our house did sell – not for as much money as we wanted or hoped for, but the first phase of our plan was complete. We visited my friend’s mom, a cruise specialist and learned those hundred day cruises would cost in the $200k range for a family of five, and that, well, not many families of five did this kind of trip, but we’d potentially have a lot of loving grandparents to help out! I wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but that kind of disposable income was unfathomable and downright impossible – short of selling our house and not purchasing another. After deliberating over that idea, we ruled it out. If we wanted to cruise, we would have to shorten our trip, though I wasn’t ready to admit that either.

In the meantime, I gave birth to our beautiful baby girl in the house we would soon move out of. We knew we wanted to plan a big trip, but we didn’t know exactly when or where. We would wait for the cruise lines to come out with their itineraries for the next year and see where that took us, and what we could piece together.

It’s not that the trip really ever slipped our minds – more like life took over. We found our new home (thanks Alexis!), Dan and I packed up our house while caring for a five and three year old, plus a newborn, and then moved into our new home when Penelope was one month old. Why do big life changes often happen at the same time as new babes? What is it about new life, and its inverse – the loss of life, that propels us forward?

The girls started at the French school around the corner and we began to settle into this chosen life. There was only one thing Dan couldn’t stand about our new house, and that was the kitchen. Fun fact about downsizing: you need to get rid of some of your stuff! There was nowhere to put our pots and pans in our new kitchen, so we had a Costco fold-out table permanently on display by our back sliding door to store our kitchen wares. After some minor disagreements, we came to terms on spending the money the following summer to renovate our kitchen, which was our main living space – but that that would be it. The rest of the money we made from downsizing would go into our trip. We thought we could do our kitchen on the cheap, maybe IKEA, or some combination of quick fixes. I threw out a random budget of $7000 max, but was dismayed when we started researching actual costs for kitchens we liked. We spent over four times that in the end, though I have to say Dan was right and I love having a functional new kitchen. But I digress.

We hadn’t heard from our travel agent in a while, and time was slipping away. What about those cruises? Weren’t any coming up? After reaching out a few times, and not hearing back from her, I decided to reach out to another agent who got on it right away, pulling together a variety of cruises that might peak our interest. The problem was, we didn’t want a fourteen-day Japan cruise. We wanted to see the world! We continued to operate under the mantra, let’s see as many countries as possible! We worked with this new travel agent and found a wonderful cruise encompassing a beautiful cross-section of the world. The price was still an issue, but we’d figure it out. By this time, a year had passed since we’d moved and it looked like our baby would be two and a half by the time we would be going on our trip.

We thought we were all set. The travel agent said prices for the cruise weren’t posted yet, but as soon as they were, she’d let us know and we could book! I was euphoric, hopeful, and impatient. We leaked the news to a few friends and neighbours about our impending big trip. Then the unthinkable happened. As one of Dan’s work colleagues says to his children when they’re pouting, “There are Big Deals, and there are Little Deals. Is this a Big Deal or a Little Deal?” For us, the Little Deal was that the cruise we wanted ended up being fully booked over a year in advance – our agent hadn’t known the prices weren’t showing up because all options were already taken. We had been waiting an entire year, wasting time – for nothing. Then, the Big Deal. This kind, vivacious woman in her forties whom I had been talking to over the phone, explaining our dreams, called to tell me she would be on leave, and that a friend would be taking over her clients for the time being. A month later, I saw on Facebook that she had passed away. Brain cancer. She left behind a husband and a nine year old son.

Her passing was a terrible reminder that you just never know, to hug your loved ones close – all those clichés – but it also spurred me on to BOOK THAT TRIP TODAY realizing tomorrow may never come. For her, it didn’t. As life happened around us, and our money pile continued to dwindle, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I got this idea from the movie Tangled – the Disney version of Rapunzel – that it would be incredible to see lantern lights released into the sky. When I realized the scene that plays out in Tangled is a real-life festival in Thailand, I had to see it. I thought the kids would love it, and that that would be a great place to visit on our trip. I now had a concrete destination in mind. While cruising had seemed like the easiest option for travelling with three small children, the realities and expense of booking the perfect cruise were sinking in. I questioned our mantra of, let’s see as many countries as possible! What was this, a race? Wasn’t it more important to actually see and experience the countries that we visited? I had been doing some travelling on my own and with Dan in the meantime, and started to realize my priorities had shifted. More did not necessarily equal better. Quality over quantity. Maybe that’s become my new mantra. Let’s enjoy our life together. I asked, what can we do that is doable and enjoyable for us and our three small kids?

Thailand was the spark that lit the fire for our new plan. We would take to the skies.

My First Triathlon Experience at Guelph Lake I

Hand shielding my face from the sun, I stood looking out over the water at the point where gentle waves lapped the shore. Seven hundred and fifty metres looks like a long way out, let me tell you, especially when you’ve been practicing twenty-five meter swim lengths in the pool. I looked for a sympathetic gaze among the small crowd gathered at the beach. “The swim is daunting, isn’t it?” I threw the comment at a couple nearby. “Is it?” the man challenged me. No sympathy here. It’s race day, and everyone has their game face on.

I would be lying if I lead you to believe Guelph Lake was my first of first triathlons. Last year, I participated in Milton’s Try-A-Tri early on in the season, a respectable 250m swim, 10km bike ride, and 2.5km run. I rode a mountain bike and got in the water with little to no swim training, comforting and consoling myself with the notion beforehand that I was “an athlete” and therefore could complete the Try-A-Tri “no problem”. Also, haven’t we all been bike riding since childhood? And swimming! I love swimming! In pools and laying out to dry on the deck. These thoughts were delusional.

Swimming and cycling for pleasure are not at all the same thing as the activity performed in the pursuit of sport. Akin to the way walking and running are not the same thing. And though I was training for a marathon, and considered myself in decent shape, that short baby triathlon distance killed me. The swim was a complete disaster. I tried every stroke imaginable and came out of the water gasping for breath. The bike ride was equally traumatizing, as every single person passed me by, throwing their dust in my wake. And the run – my area of expertise – felt like a flop. My legs were bowls of jello filled with lead, and by the time the “bricks” feeling passed, the race was over. I was determined that my next triathlon experience should be different. After a sprained wrist in a bike accident debacle, I took the rest of last season off, choosing instead to focus the rest of the summer on marathon training, which took place in the fall.

With my marathon complete, I hummed and hawed. To run another marathon, or get back to triathlon training? I didn’t feel like I could pull off both. Upon reflection, I felt like triathlons and I had some unfinished business. I couldn’t let one fall off my bike get the better of me, and so I leaned back in the direction of multi-disciplinary training. My initial plan was to kick off the season with a Try-A-Tri, and work up to a Sprint Triathlon, but the race dates and our family’s plans conspired to push me right off the bat: I would compete in Guelph Lake I Sprint Triathlon.

With close to five hundred competitors in the Sprint Triathlon, as well as a relay and duathlon that run concurrently, it’s a busy and popular race. In planning ahead, I decided I would arrive an hour and a half before my 9:00 am race time. This would give me ample time to park, use the bathroom, set up my space in the transition area and register, orient myself as to the course layout, check my bike and take it out for a jaunt, go for a short jog, get my wetsuit on and last, but not least, test out the water and swim a few strokes. An hour and a half ended up being the exact perfect amount of time for me to accomplish these steps.

But let’s back up a step! How did I get to race day? As a person who’s been an athlete and competitor in some form of sport since I was a kid in the single digits, here is what I find works well for me.

Weight training. One day a week, I attend Body Pump at Goodlife Fitness. It’s a one hour class and you cover every muscle group. When I let this class go because I found the training to be too much when marathon training, I regretted it. Strength training appears to be quite important to my fitness regime.

Yoga. I try to make it to Body Flow at Goodlife every week. I find the combination of stretching and strengthening makes a huge difference in how I feel, and helps soothe achy muscles.

Running. While running is taking a back seat in my triathlon training, I’m still running three days a week on average. One of those runs is a long run, which for the purposes of my training now, is about 10km give or take a few. I was also fitting in two other 5 – 6km runs at a regular or tempo pace (a bit faster than normal, but not race pace), but I will be exchanging one of these for an interval workout in the space between now and my next triathlon. I’d like to get out running some sprints on a track while it’s nicer out. Speed workouts and interval training are what make you faster. You run faster but actually running faster. Two years ago, I placed third in a 5km road race by applying this principal of running faster to be faster. All winter long, I ran intervals on our treadmill and progressively increased my speed and sustained interval periods to longer and faster, building to a speedier pace than I’d ever run before. Translating that speed to outside was difficult, but manageable with practice, time and sustained effort.

In addition to running, I’ve had to put a major focus on swimming in the past year and with the nicer weather, getting out to go cycling as well. As I’ve really only been biking with the warmer weather, though, in retrospect, I probably should have been doing spin classes all winter, and it isn’t surprising that the cycle portion ended up being my weakest leg of the triathlon. On the bike is where I need to focus before my next triathlon, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Swimming. I have been swimming all year, early Saturday mornings. In doing so, I’ve worked up to fifty laps. For my race, I needed to be able to swim the distance of thirty laps, but open water is a different beast.

Cycling. I try to get in a long bike ride with a friend on the weekend, and another shorter bike ride or swim through the week. As the cycle portion for this race was 19km, I was aiming for 25km rides as a shorter training distance and closer to 35km for longer. I am going to continue to extend these distances.

And last, but definitely not least, probably the most important aspect of my training is my rest day. There is no way I could sustain the amount of exercise I do without taking at least one day off. When marathon training, I scheduled two.

Sprint Triathlon distances are not all created equally. While Guelph Lake I is 750m swim, 19km bike, 5km run, the next race I’m planning to attend in Orillia has the Sprint distances at 750m swim, 33km bike and 7km run. That’s a 40 percent increase in the bike and run! I’m going to have to step up my bike training.

So here’s how the race played out.

My swim training paid off. I felt comfortable in the water, no matter how much of it I swallowed. Picture a mass of writhing salmon headed upstream, and that was what the experience felt like. Bodies flailing around me. On the plus side, you forget you’re in the middle of the lake. The swim is set up as a trapezoid. Out, across and then back. The swim across, parallel to the shore line, felt relatively short compared to the out and back. At some point on the way back, my arms were numb with fatigue. My hands and feet were numb from the cold. The water was a cool sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit. Landing ashore was a godsend. Then I was off, running up a hill to get back to the transition area, trying to strip off half my wet suit in the process, and breathing like a fish out of water.

Next the bike. DO NOT FORGET: helmet on and clipped before you even think about touching that bike! I later told Dan that I found the cycling section to be the easiest, though it is comparatively the longest section of the race. While the swim took me 19 minutes, the bike lasted for 44 minutes. Dan, ever my biggest supporter and toughest coach, gave it to me straight, “That’s because you weren’t pushing hard enough.” He’s probably right. Though I was working hard, there’s no doubt I have a thing or two to learn about how to cycle more efficiently. One step I can implement is to wear my bike shoes, which are clip in, instead of my running shoes. While wearing running shoes saves time in the transition zone because you don’t need to change shoes, bike shoes have their advantage. Instead of working to pull the pedal upwards, the bike shoes will do that for me, therefore using less of my energy and making my stride on the bike smoother (and silkier too, I imagine, especially if this was a hair commercial.)

Though I wasn’t super-fast, I felt strong on the bike, and it helped that I saw my cheering squad, my adorable little family, standing around the first bend. If that doesn’t give you a boost, I don’t know what will. Well, okay – besides training.

With the bike portion over with, only the run remained. As I used my Garmin watch in triathlon mode, it only showed my overall race time (and now was not the time to be fiddling with it), so I had no idea what my pace was, I just pushed myself to run as fast as I could at a jogging pace. The run portion is where endurance training pays off. But man, was it tough. Five kilometers is normally a comfortable distance for me. If you told me to get up and run 5km right now, I could (though I might ask you to leave), but as soon as you put some speed behind it, and a bike ride, and a swim, the Triathlon run feels almost like a new sport.

For starters, your legs will be unnaturally heavy from the bike, and I also had the unpleasant sensation of a stomach cramp. I felt irritable, like I needed a good stretch or – you know that feeling when you get restless legs? I had some of that going on, too. Eventually, my lungs and legs were burning. Truth be told, I was annoyed by the amount of effort this run was costing me. This is the curse of playing favourites: mistaking your preferred leg of the race for being the easiest. Not the same thing! It may be the lesser of three evils, but it’s evil all the same! Nevertheless, and despite my gripping, I was happy afterwards with my time of twenty-six minutes. And of course, I pulled out my signature move, and ran a hard sprint at the end and ended up passing at least five people. The crowd went wild, “STRONG FINISH!!!!” they screamed in excitement from somewhere beside me. When I sprint at the end, I know I gave it everything I have.

Completing the Sprint Triathlon was anything but easy. And though writing about it a few days later is making me feel exhausted all over again (partially because I still am), I had so much fun and am excited to complete another one!

In case you’re wondering, in terms of the burn, the Sprint came nowhere near the exertion it takes to complete a marathon, which makes total sense. Compare the hour and a half the Triathlon took me to the four and a half hours spent running my first marathon and it’s a no-brainer. I would rate racing a half marathon as being more demanding on my body than the triathlon felt as well, as a point of comparison, which also takes closer to two hours.

What it comes down to is this: how difficult you find your first triathlon will completely depend on your level of training and preparation going into it.

Best of luck, and to all the triathletes out there: have a great season!

 

Rage

The day started off innocently enough. I got up early, answered a few emails. Dan and I were chit chatting in bed, neither of us ready to commit to fully waking up. I finally decided to get dressed, and started pulling through the clean laundry basket looking for a particular pair of shorts. When I couldn’t find them, I felt a tinge of annoyance, but – no big deal – I’d fold all the laundry and they’d be sure to turn up. Thirty minutes later, with the weekend laundry now folded and put away, there’s no sign of the black shorts I’m looking for. I’m questioning Dan, has he seen them? Could they be in one of his dresser drawers, what about the girls’ room?

I’m pulling out stacks of pants from my closet, emptying my drawers, acting frantic and growing frustrated.

Dan lovingly attempts to sympathize. “That really sucks. Remember when I lost my raincoat?” I do remember when he lost his raincoat, and the point he was trying to make was that it eventually turned up, but that was months later when the idea of checking his golf bag in the garage finally occurred to him. I clearly didn’t have months to waste! Why would he even bring that up? Why doesn’t he get out of bed and help with folding the laundry and cleaning up this messy house so I can find things. That would be helpful.

I traipse down the basement steps to the laundry room and search the girls’ dressers – nothing. I look through empty laundry baskets, and behind chests on the floor. I’m literally down on my hands and knees crawling around. For some reason, I can’t let this go. I’m losing it. Clearly the problem is we have too much stuff, piles of things everywhere and I need to prove I’m still in control by finding this one thing.

There’s a neatly organized pile of Ariel’s socks and underwear on the bed that I have sorted, and while I jet back and forth putting away the girl’s other clothes, I ask Ariel to please put away the small pile. She makes a half-hearted attempt to scoop it up with one arm, and the contents spill out onto the floor. We laugh, but then when I come back in the room and see her pile, the one she was supposed to have put away, placed back on the bed instead of in her drawer, I tell her to get it done – all the laughter drained from my voice.

If I could have paused here for a minute or two to consider I’ve been up since 6:00 am, it’s now past 8:00 am and I haven’t eaten (a major faux-pas and contributor to my mood) then maybe the scene that happens next could have played out differently or at least been less predictable.

On my way down to the basement, I pass a rogue elastic – Ariel’s hair elastic – so I call to her to please pick it up and put it away. We make eye contact, as though that seals the deal, but when I come back upstairs the elastic is still there. As I stare at the elastic on the step, out of place and glaring at me, I snap.

“ARIEL PURDHAM GET OVER HERE AND PICK UP THIS ELASTIC RIGHT NOW! AND CLEAN YOUR ROOM – IT BETTER BE SPARKLING!!!”

I’m raging. I rattle a toddler-sized plastic Ikea chair against the floor for effect, like a chimp making an aggressive display.

Ariel stares at me wide-eyed. She sits immovable at the kitchen table, looking at me.

“GO! NOW!”

I storm upstairs and out of view, planning to tear through every single one of my drawers until I find my black shorts. I yank open the first drawer within reach – my pyjama drawer – and there are the black shorts, sitting plain as day on top of the pile. I was the one to have put them there the night before, mistaking them for pyjama bottoms. I silently pulled the shorts on, still brooding, and went into the bathroom to splash water on my face. As I leaned over the sink and looked myself in the mirror, the idea hit me. Rage in all of its forms: choosing rage, being rage, feeling rage is “I don’t care.” Rage is I don’t care. Love, on the other hand, is I do care, let’s figure this out together; love is acceptance and patience. Love is “I care.”

As soon as the realization set in, my anger and frustration melted away, because I do care.

I went to Ariel and apologized. She hadn’t made things easier on me, but there were a million other ways I could have handled the jobs I needed her to do that didn’t involve yelling and raging.

Love is choosing the hard way. Love is putting in the work.

It’s obvious to me (especially now that my lost thing is found, and I’m no longer tired or hungry) that I was projecting my rage onto Ariel, but I couldn’t think about that in the moment. Rage is blinding and all-consuming, and rage doesn’t care.

I remember hosting a dinner party once with two other couples and the discussion somehow shifted to the wives’ dispositions. My friend’s husband spoke up, “Oh, she rages!” he said of his wife, then proceeded to tell us a story of his wife throwing something down a staircase. I didn’t know if she would want to kill him later for saying that or not. I did know I would be mortified if Dan relayed stories of my outbursts. I didn’t speak up and admit that I also experience rage, but I should have. There’s a perception of women who nag or get angry as being – insert derogatory name for female dog or comparable here – but the truth is, as human beings, we all experience anger. Anger is okay. It’s rage – blowing the roof off the house – that isn’t okay. Rage is destructive. But anger? Women are allowed to be upset, and sometimes we should be. Often, we should be. Men are allowed to be angry, too. But rage over losing a pair of shorts? Come on, not worth the emotional anguish. Time instead to take a deep breath, think about what’s really causing stress, and get on with the day.

Good Reasons to Get Hard Core (or hard cover) About Reading

There’s a well-known reading scenario, source unknown, that has been passed around from teacher to teacher, then parent to parent, about the impact of daily reading on students and our children called, Why Can’t I Skip My Twenty Minutes of Reading Tonight?

The mysterious author suggests, “Let’s figure it out – mathematically!”

Student A reads 20 minutes a night of every week;
Student B reads only 4 minutes a night…or not at all!

Step 1: Multiply minutes a night x 5 times each week.

Student A reads 20 min. x 5 times a week = 100 min./week
Student B reads 4 minutes x 5 times a week = 20 minutes

Step 2: Multiply minutes a week x 4 weeks each month.

Student A reads 400 minutes a month.
Student B reads 80 minutes a month.

Step 3: Multiply minutes a month x 9 months/school year.

I think you get the gist of where this is going, but essentially, by the end of grade 6, if Student A and Student B maintain the same reading habits, Student A will have read the equivalent of 60 whole school days and Student B will have read the equivalent of only 12 school days.

One would expect the gap of information retained will have widened considerably and so, undoubtedly, will school performance. How do you think Student B will feel about him/herself as a student?

Some (more) questions to ponder:

Which student would you expect to read better?
Which student would you expect to know more?
Which student would you expect to write better?
Which student would you expect to have a better vocabulary?
Which student would you expect to be more successful in school…and in life?

Again, I want to emphasize I did not come up with this formula, but I find it impactful and worthy of spreading. When I shared this piece with Ariel, her eyes grew wide and she started saying, “la la la” to drown out the noise of my insistence. She was making it clear she will read on her terms, and that’s fine. Maybe you feel the same way.

If that wasn’t enough to sway you to make time for book reading in your life – let’s say you think you’re off the hook because you’re an adult who already knows how to read – let me share the results of some pretty compelling new research that I came across in Emma Charlton’s piece, 5 Reasons Why Reading Books is Good for You. And she’s talking about books in the flesh, not just magazines, newspapers, ebooks, audiobooks, podcasts or other online reading (though don’t abandon these worthy pursuits!)

According to a recent Yale University study, people who read books live two years longer, on average, than those who don’t, even when controlling for gender, wealth, education and health. The researchers explained that deep reading promotes emotional intelligence and empathy – cognitive processes that can lead to a greater chance of survival.

Want to sound smarter?

In addition to improving your emotional intelligence and empathy, according to an Oxford University Press Report, not surprisingly reading books also broadens your vocabulary.

If you want to live longer and stave off brain damage, exercising your mind is a key component of mental health. According to the Alzheimer’s Society, “Keeping your mind active is likely to reduce your risk of dementia. Regularly challenging yourself mentally seems to build up the brain’s ability to cope with disease.” Regularly engaging in active reading of challenging books is listed as an excellent activity to stimulate your brain.

A clear mind, a varied tongue and a longer life – what’s not to love? We haven’t even factored in the learning and entertainment factor! Book reading is good for you and the life of a reader is a life well lived. End of story.