What We’re Made Of

Free advice: if and when you plan a trip around the world, don’t leave the final details until the week before you leave. There are best laid plans and then there is reality. The reality is you might not have time to apply to that publisher you were hoping to apply to; you definitely won’t write that piece for the magazine and you will more than likely have to put all of your writerly activities on hold. You will bow down to the demands of the schedule. Finalizing the itinerary will become all you know, the intense focus on your existence; the first thing you think of in the morning and the last thought jettisoning through your mind before bed. Sleep will be fitful. Exercise will be cut short. Your children’s questions will go unanswered, and they will repeat them ad nauseum until they grow tired and weepy and wander away, mewing like kittens who’ve lost their mother. You won’t really be gone, but you’ll be transformed from a living, breathing person, to a research troll. Your obsession with controlling the trip – before the trip controls you – will be all-consuming in the final days before your flight; it has to. You want to bitch and moan about all the work you have left to do, but hell, who would listen? I wouldn’t listen to me. And who am I kidding? A bit of sweat and tears, the burning sensation in the back of my eyeballs from too much screen time, is a fair exchange for the trip of a lifetime.

What do you mean, trip of a lifetime? You might ask. Where are you going? There are the physical locations themselves, but a trip, a real voyage, is so much more than that. The girls’ music teacher said to me, “you’re going to shed some skins on this trip,” and I told her I liked that, I liked that a lot; that she nailed where we are going right on the head. Traveling is about unravelling other versions of yourself; peeling back, delayering the proverbial skins. Let’s see what we’re really made of.

I’ll give you an example. Surfing. Let’s take surfing as an example. Canadian Adelle, the person typing this post in her usual local café wouldn’t consider surfing as a family activity that her particular family could enjoy. Dan and I knew WE, the adults, wanted to go surfing while in Hawaii, and we included Ariel in that realm of possibility, being the capable, swimmable, eight-year-old that she is. We wrote the other two off…we’d have to do something with them. But travel Adelle, the woman looking ahead, reaches out to her future self and sees that all is possible. She scours websites for information and sees the surfing company, the one with the cool name, North Shore Surf Girls, and the possibility of surfing for children as young as two. As young as two. She writes to said surf establishment in Hawaii and she inquires…are you sure? I have a three-year-old and a six-year-old who can’t swim and my six-year-old has Down syndrome…are you sure? She wakes up to the chipper reply. Yes! But what sealed the deal was the closing line in the email response, “I think it will be super fun.” Super fun? Can I get a HELL, yes! She’s speaking your language.

Suddenly new horizons open up. The impossible becomes…likely. Normal. Travel can broaden that which we didn’t even know was narrowed; can unearth truths buried deep below. I want to hold my children back, but the world calls them forward with open arms, out into un-surfed territory. The pre-planning is about keeping them as safe, comfortable and well fed as possible, to make our trip as enjoyable as possible, but there is so much impossible that becomes possible in the course of a day in another country that maybe it’s best just to let go. Just let go.

Maybe that’s another great reason to travel. To just let everything go. Step outside the relative safety of the everyday, the worn path and to look around the corner, check out what’s over there. I’m one to explore new paths, hike my way through a new forest, perhaps not always in the safest of ways. I’ve read atrocious stories of women walking alone in the woods and the bad things that happen to them or almost happened to them. Little Red Riding Hood for starters, but memoirs, too. A distance runner hiking with her baby when a man with a mental health issue emerges and out of nowhere throws a boulder grazing her ear, narrowly missing her newborn baby’s head in the carrier. Stories of rape, homicide, murder and the occasional animal attack. I should probably carry bear spray when I walk alone, but not because of the bears.

I have read horror stories from travel on the road, too. Whole volumes of them. Travellers who’ve gotten hurt, lost, scared. Who’ve encountered murderers face-to-face and lived to write about it. I’ve read a memoir written by a woman whose fiancé died from a fatal box jellyfish sting in Thailand, as well as a woman who became paralyzed falling off the second story of a building in Thailand because of a loose railing. There are SO MANY factors out of our control to worry about. There are terrible things that happen in my neighbourhood, yours too, stories I try not to think about.

But do you know why I’m not afraid to travel? Why we can’t be afraid to travel? Because as much as bad things can and do happen, more often beautiful, transcendent moments occur out on the road. Moments of hilarity. Moments of solidarity and humanity. I’ve read these stories, too; mostly these are the stories I choose to focus on. There is kindness to experience that goes beyond words. There is nature to encounter that draws the breath away. There are places to explore and people to meet who will open the heart up wide and in exchange there will be pieces of your heart left behind, I am sure of it.

Travel because who can stay still for long? And my biggest because, is because travelling together is a guaranteed way to spend time as a family. Sure, we don’t need to go to Japan to do that, but wouldn’t it be fun? There is a big part of me who knows I am going because I can. Because today is the day. Now is the time to go. Not tomorrow. Not later. This year, right now. Okay, in five days. FIVE DAYS!!!

As if I needed any more reasons to get away, I am reading the British author A.L. Kennedy and her meditation (or is it a witty rant?) called On Writing about the daily act. Her writing packs a punch, but it was this line that spoke to me last night at Ariel’s TKD practice, “Oh, but inside, Dear Reader – the writer is in minds, under skins, on roads untravelled, and anywhere and everywhere and more.”

The writer is under skins, and this trip will nurture my inner writer, fill the well so to speak, in a hundred different ways. The writer in me is giddy AF to soak in the world’s offerings. I’m all eyes and ears. This skill that writers must hone, this paying attention, children do it naturally, so I don’t even have to tell you what my kids will get out of our trip. But my hope for them, if I had to peg one down, is the collective experiences from our travel will shape the rest of their lives and provide the map and compass that will help them find their place in the world. And even if we get lost, we will be lost together, and they will know they are loved indeterminably because time is a great gift of love. Time is all we have, and love is all we need (if that isn’t already a song lyric, it should be).

Travel because, beneath the layers of skin, we are connected to this whole big wide Earth; to the land and the people in it.

Travel for no other reason than to go, to take a look. It’s time. Let’s see what we’re made of.

Schooled

The new school year’s begun and we’re off and running! We’re on our way to…hopefully somewhere good. Because that’s the question we have to ask ourselves as parents and as teachers: where do we want our students and our children to go? All of these days spent at school, all of this education, but for what? As we approach our daughter Elyse’s IEP meeting (Individual Education Plan) I’ve been giving these questions a lot of thought. What kind of learners do I want my children to become? When their days in school are said and done, what are they going to walk away with? And what will be their contributions in return?

My children’s future is theirs to discover and build. It’s not for me to say what they will become or how exactly they will get there; it is only for me as their parent to give them every opportunity and to infuse their lives with love. All that I can ask of their schools is that they give my children the same: opportunity and support. Confidence.

We’ve reached a comfortable stage in Elyse’s education. She’s in grade two and this is her fourth year in the same school. They know her and they know our family. In so many measures this is a relief. There was a soiree at the girls’ school tonight and I easily slipped in with a group of teachers standing in a circle. I poked fun at myself for doing so, for fitting in so casually among them, and one of them kindly reminded me that I am one of them, or at least I used to be. There’s muscle memory involved when it comes to teaching. Your bones don’t forget. I took a step outside of the circle, back to where I belonged, and made my way anonymously into the auditory to sit with a sea of other parents, mere mortals.

I have to remind myself not to get too comfortable or to become complacent or content with the status quo. Essentially, I need to stand guard as the mother warrior that I am. I need to stand guard for the sake of my daughter’s education – we all do. The start of a new year is the start of new opportunity and chances to grow. I need to remain in the loop, as well as be a part of the loop that envelops my daughter’s education. While I can stand in the circle, I need to remember my place in it; my duty to my daughters. Hence my participation at curriculum night.

The principal cautioned us this was not ‘interview-the-teacher night’ or a time to ask how is my child doing? The first thing I asked was how is my child doing? My school-aged girls are in the exact same class this year. A split class and a first. We’re carrying this out as a sort of experiment – siblings together! Let’s see what happens! The idea bubbled forth with enthusiasm from Ariel and Elyse at the end of last year, so I figured why not? We put in the request and were graciously accommodated. Ariel and Elyse each have their own groups of friends. I’m no longer as worried that Ariel will try to take responsibility for Elyse or vice versa. The only difference is now Ariel comes in with these short reports about Elyse and her situation in class. There are both positives and negatives to this.

Positive. “Mom, Elyse gets to pick helpers each day to help her come inside and put her stuff away and everyone in the class puts their hand up.” Hmm…Elyse should be putting her own things away, I think, but this is an excellent point of discussion to follow up on at our next meeting. Also, I’m happy to hear of the love Elyse’s classmates show her. I spoke to three different parents at the information night who told me how pleased their son and or daughter was to be in Elyse’s class. Every parent needs to hear this.

Negative. “Mom, Elyse sits at a desk by herself so that she isn’t distracted or distracting others.” Hmm…again, this one made me think. How would I feel if I were made to sit alone? Is this a choice? Are there other options? Are there adequate opportunities to work with her peers in this scenario? Because working with her peers is crucial. I don’t want recess to become the only time Elyse is truly included with her classmates – and, thankfully, I know she is fully included and plays with her friends at recess time – but the bulk of the day happens in class. Ariel’s little bits of news, which I am in no way soliciting, by the way, are giving me some points for discussion with the school. New teacher, new year. Everyone has to make sure they’re on the same page.

I think the mistake we sometimes make as parents is ASSUMING teachers will know how we would want our child to be treated, for example, as a learner. Never assume. Teachers operate busy classrooms and they’re only human. They want the best for every student, and as the parent, you can help set the tone for what that may look like. Request meetings and have conversations. Every year that goes by, I never want to look back and have regrets about what we could have done differently with the school and Elyse’s education if only I’d expressed my thoughts. Learn to listen too, advice I am constantly working on.

I want to see my girls progressing, to keep progressing, even if that means every year that I will become the broken record, playing for Elyse, singing the same song over and over, “keep those expectations high!” Oh! And I see here you’ve written the expectations out for me on a few lovely sheets of paper creating a legal document known as an IEP or PEI in French. Excellent! I’m going to spend the time to read this over carefully now, so I can not only support Elyse in her learning goals at home, but also hold the school accountable for helping her reach these goals in the classroom. I should clarify that accountability isn’t about blame, it’s about making sure supports are in place to put goals into action. Assuming that I agree with the goals in the first place, because if I don’t then NOW, at the beginning of the year, is the time to SAY SOMETHING. When we question others we do so in a light that shows a respect for the work that has been done, for ourselves and for our child.

Creating the IEP is the role of the Special Education Resource Teacher (SERT) in conjunction with the teacher in our board, and likely in your board too (although the terminology could be different). I may be a teacher, but I never discount myself as Elyse’s parent. As the parent, you know your child best. Get in the schools and work with them to advocate for your child. Are they getting the supports they need? If not, why? And what is being done about it? What can you do to help at home?

In years where I’ve been more involved at the school and maintained contact with the teacher, and I can see what is happening in my child’s classroom – not even through physically being there, but by communication with the teacher and the occasional meeting, I have felt much better about their education and the answers to the above questions regarding where this is all leading. The goals are visible, plain as day, on the pages of the IEP.

Parents often feel helpless to change what is happening at school, and admittedly, I’ve been there too. But one strategy that really helps and works is to build relationships within the school (with teachers, the principal, support staff and other parents) and to offer to help at home. Show that you are willing to practice the skills the school is working on at home. And then do it. What this means is that you are a team. With 24 to 30 students plus, teachers are going to do what they can in the classroom, but they can’t do it alone. Your child’s education is a team effort.

While each student is but a drop in the ocean, one day they will become the waves that shift the tides. While I stand by my proclamations that academics are at the foundational core of my daughters’ educations: literacy and math skills, science and art fundamentals; perhaps the greatest gift they will walk away from school with is a strong sense of self-worth and the capacity to be kind and empathetic toward others. I want academics to be the pathway that leads them there. In other words, I want my children to leave school as well-rounded, academically oriented, good citizens. It takes an inclusive community of learners and teachers and parents to do that.

While every year we’re taking small steps toward this goal, we’re also starting again from the beginning in some respects; I hold hope and watch with joy as my girls continue to learn. This is the year Elyse is going to learn to read. I can feel it. It’s coming for her, and I’m so excited. I will be sharing this goal with the school, because what good will it do to keep it to myself? And you know what? Her teacher and her school want Elyse to learn to read, too. We are going to work on this goal together.

When I ask myself where my girls are going, I envision a river moving into a glimmering sea. They’re being pulled along by the current, but we as their parents and the teachers in their lives are there beside them on life rafts, keeping their heads afloat, providing guidance and knowledge to steer them in the right direction. Where are they going exactly? The answer to the question never wavers. Toward a bright future ahead.

Sharing My Bed

We share our beds with our lovers, of course, but also with our loves.

We lay there, our bodies overlapping and draped over one another like puppies. Tucked in my bed this way, my girls by my side keeping me warm, I begrudgingly get up to start my day. I can’t shake the morning chill seeping through the windows during these late summer days. I’d prefer to crawl back in with my litter. Never mind, adventure awaits.

Fall is creeping in as our family draws nearer to our departure. Like the birds, we are setting off, migrating to warmer climates.

We leave in thirty-five days; we will be gone for forty-five days. That is one thousand and eighty hours to fly, sleep, eat, roam, swim, hike and explore new countries. The math is staggering – how quickly the trip has arrived, how soon we depart, the sheer amount of time we will be gone – just astounding to me. And yet, I have planned it all. Do big events in life sneak up this way? Like they’re just another day – because they are – but at the same time, they’re not. Not at all. You blink, and it’s the day of your wedding. You blink again, and if you forget to be in the moment, the moment has passed you by. I try to stay awake. The immediacy and inevitability of our trip is almost as perplexing as the children sleeping in my bed. There is something unbelievable in making things happen.

Who let these children in? Well I did, of course. When Dan’s away, and half of our bed is empty, there’s always a child willing to fill the space. Elyse comes in during the wee hours of the morning, around four a.m., crawls in beside me, folds herself up and falls back asleep. She literally sleeps folded in half; her head tucked peacefully onto her lap.

At some point in the morning, I notice Elyse folded in half in her signature position but facing the foot of the bed with her head tucked underneath the sheet. Next, she slides sideways, wedging her little body between me and her big sister, legs pressed into her sister’s side, head weighing into the softness of my abdomen below the sharpness of my ribs. Normally, I can’t stand being touched when I’m trying to sleep, let alone laid on, but today I don’t mind. Elyse knows how to nestle herself in well and sleep pulls at me from every angle.

Next to me lays Ariel. She’s been having a rough patch with getting to sleep after we read the first Harry Potter book and then jumped into the second. Chamber of Secrets proved to be much too scary for her, as I suspected all along it might be based on my own recollection of reading the tale for a university Children’s Literature course, but Ariel wouldn’t let on until it was too late; she pressed me to continue reading, pushing the boundaries of her own fright too far until she was past return. Predictably, the nightmares arrived.

My girls seem to hold the imagery of books in their minds the way I do: the pictures come to life and feel quite real. Once you see an image (be it in your mind or elsewhere), you can’t un-see it, and the picture in Ariel’s head of he-who-cannot-be-named is haunting her dreams. She now readily admits Harry Potter is too scary for her, but she is also convinced the night terrors are caused by sleeping on the top bunk. When asked to elaborate on her fears, she explained that the curtains in her bedroom take on a form of their own in the dark that is not unlike a man who-cannot-be-named. Logic will not prevail; emotions are strong in that one. We won’t be reading Harry Potter again any time soon, but the damage is done.

Ariel’s first solution to the nightmare problem was to switch rooms and sleep with her baby sister. Penelope’s toddler bed having recently been removed and replaced with a queen-sized mattress coincided perfectly with her plan. I was immediately dismissive of the idea – dead-set against it – but the girls cajoled and eventually I caved, and that little adventure lasted all of three days. Unsurprisingly, both children’s sleep was getting disrupted.

Back in her own bed, I was able to convince Ariel that it wasn’t the physical bed or sleep space that was giving her nightmares, i.e. her top bunk or the curtains in her room, but the ideas in her head that needed to change.

“Try thinking of the fun you had with your friends today and focus only on things that make you happy.”

She humoured me with this idea for one night, then it was back to bed rebellion.

“Please mom, let me come sleep with you.” My response was resolute – no.

I tucked three bodies into their separate beds, and eventually, after standing sentinel in the hallway for a while, two children fell fast asleep. I climbed into my own bed and laid there reading Patti Callahan’s Becoming Mrs. Lewis. I know enough not to read scary stories. I expected to hear footsteps down a ladder and shortly thereafter I did. A familiar face hiding behind cropped wavy brown hair popped up in my doorway.

“Can I just sleep here, with you, for a minute?”

“Fine,” I eventually acquiesced. “One minute.”

A minute later I sent an obedient child back to her bed; Ariel’s head hung low. She drew out each step and dragged her feet reluctantly through the carpet.

I turned back to my book. Minutes passed. The clock showed half past nine. I could hear the crinkling of sheets, the tossing and turning, the not sleeping and other tell-tale signs of anxiety. I remembered crawling into bed with my own mom on nights my dad travelled for work. Oh, alright.

“Ariel. Ariel? You can come in here.” I called to her down the hall from my bedroom.

She was down the ladder and tucked in comfy under the sheets of my bed in two seconds flat, a broad grin stretched across her face. I continued to read, and eventually heard her breathing get slow and heavy, felt the weight of her body go slack beside me. She found her peace.

It wasn’t unusual when Elyse joined us early in the morning, but I was pleasantly surprised by how seamlessly she made a spot for herself. She pleated into the space between Ariel and I like a garment in a suitcase.

And that is how I found myself in the morning with two children in my bed and feeling a bit sorry for the third one left out of the pile. Not sorry enough to go wake her up, but sorry not to have every one of my loves tucked in tight beside me. Not to worry.

That is how I found myself ready for the day and dreaming of adventures to come, so soon, with all of my girls, our whole family by my side.

While waking up with two daughters in my bed is certainly not the norm, it was oddly comforting homey scene in juxtaposition to the foreign-ness of the sleeping arrangements to come. Unbelievably so, this trip is happening.

Parenting to the Bone

You know the expressions “weary to the bone” or “bone-tired”? At a particularly low moment, standing in my kitchen, listening to my kids fighting, I thought to myself, parenting can be like that. What I mean is: as the parent, you are stretched to your limit, past your limit; every personal boundary has been breached and you are sucked dry by your children and their incessant needs. I’m labelling these moments of utter exhaustion as bone parenting as that was the term that floating into my mind, standing in the kitchen, on the brink of experiencing such a moment.

Have you read the illustrated children’s book Have You Filled a Bucket Today? My kids loved that book for a long time, and it was read to them over and over. Filling a bucket boils down to acts of kindness and love. Bone parenting is the opposite of filling someone’s bucket. Bone parenting is the well gone dry. In our home, bone parenting occurs most frequently in the absence of one parent.

Maybe your home-life scenario looks like mine, and you have a spouse who travels frequently for work. Your moment of depletion arrives mid-week, when you’re alone, but not at 11 p.m. when the first child cries out in the night, or at 1:30 a.m. when the dog barks to be let out after the thunderstorm passes that kept everyone awake; those aren’t the moments that break you. That’s just regular life. Parenting at its purest. Expecting the unexpected. No, the bone parenting moment happens the next morning after the 4 a.m. something-happened-but-you-can’t-remember-what, and the 5:15 a.m. wake-up of the first and subsequently the second and third child, and nobody is going back to bed after the late bedtime, and now it’s quarter to six in the morning and you just want to soak in those last fifteen minutes before you really should get up. But those moments are ruined. Stolen. There’s a child creeping around and you’re worried someone’s going to pee on the floor. Now all the children are in your bed, your peaceful haven no more, and you’re wide awake. Your morning ritual is five solitary minutes to quickly check your phone. Weather. Email. Socials. Quick check. This habitual wake-up routine means so much to you. Such a simple thing. Taken. Two children are quarreling next to you. On top of you. This does not bode well for the start of a day.

You’re up! Because you have to be and because you’re the only one. The three children mope around, groggy and cantankerous. The big one’s been sleeping with the little one and that should never happen. Sleep schedules have been disturbed; the least of which being yours.

Then breakfast isn’t on the table quick enough, and not that shirt! And, No! I don’t want to brush my hair! I don’t have to go potty! And whine, whine, whine. A tussle in the family room over a blanket at 6:30 a.m. – good heavens! You’re waiting for one of them to drop a bucket back in the well, but they just keep emptying and emptying until you’re bone-dry.

But this day, it’s as if, at the moment I’ve been emptied out, my children have an internal radar for detecting my need for a reprieve; they understand intuitively that I cannot run on empty. That I will die of thirst. Mom’s getting low. Sure, sometimes they’ll push me further, to the point that I erupt (my issue, not theirs), but not today. Today, all three children are finally, somehow, magically dressed. Elyse is brushing out her hair and eating her bagel. Penelope is wearing her pull-up and sitting on the couch reading books. Ariel takes the dog out for a walk down the street like I asked her to. The well begins to refill and I can breathe again. I can have compassion for my tired little munchkins. I can finish making their breakfasts and lunches and packing their bags. I can make sure they have every little thing they need, including hugs, and then, somehow, we can manage to arrive at school ten minutes early.

Bone parenting moments aren’t really about what your kids are doing – be it smashing each other over the head with hockey sticks or doing a potty squat in the corner on the carpet in their room (or worse, your room) – it’s how you as the parent are feeling on the inside and how you choose to react – or not – in these trying situations.

Here are my survival strategies for when the going gets tough and I’m an inch away from parenting to the bone. Here’s how to fill up when water levels drop:

Crank the Tunes. Generally, if I’m feeling a bit blah with the kids, it’s because our house is too quiet. A travelling spouse means a lack of adult conversation if you’re home most of the day like I am. I like to fill the empty banter space with music. Kids and adults alike love music. People love music. Dan and I have moulded our kids’ musical tastes which range from Hip Hoppy Flow Rider to Top 40 Beyoncé, to musical soundtracks like Phantom of the Opera, Les Mis, The Lion King and Momma Mia. I put on music I want to listen to and blast it, which often puts all of us in a better mood. Water levels rise.

Get Silly. Listening to music can lead to silliness, but so can good ol’ plain silliness. Tag. A protruding tongue. Being silly with my kids helps to keep the mood light, even when I’m feeling overwhelmed by tasks. For example, yesterday before dinner, I was running through my house showing my kids how to do a hurdle before a tumbling line. I was doing poorly-executed split jumps and lifting my kids high up in the air and dropping their little noggins down close to the floor. They loved it.

Get In Touch. Getting physical and being playful with young children is essential to their wellbeing. Rough housing. Hugs, kisses, snuggles. We all need to be held. Some of the worst freak-outs I’ve experienced have been diffused with a simple hug. Without having to say a word, just being there with open arms. Even a gentle pat on the leg, when timed correctly, can console or even put a child to sleep. Our inclination as adults is to solve problems by talking them out and sometimes that works and is necessary, but as a mom, I swear by hugging. Hugs lower adult stress, too.

Get out for a run. If you have the luxury of a gym membership with child care or a treadmill in your home – use it! If the kids are in daycare or school, even better. The single greatest thing I do for my own mental health is to get out for a run. Running fills my bucket every time. Don’t have those options? Exchange babysitting with a neighbour. Then get out there and find your peace, swim in it. Running is the equivalent of my mind plunging into a lake. Refreshing and invigorating. If this is all crazy talk to you, strut your stuff outdoors instead and take in some fresh air.

Embrace the suck. Losing a parenting partner temporarily is going to hurt, but even more so if you think it is. Whaaat? See what I did there? Our expectations greatly impact our behaviour (there’ve been studies). I’ve been working on loosening my expectations of myself and what I can reasonably accomplish while Dan’s away and striving to be gentler on myself, especially when I’m having a bone parenting moment where all I want to do is scream. Maybe flee. Maybe scream while fleeing. Yep, that sounds about right.

If all else fails, Freak Out! This is a weird one, because it’s very much a cathartic-in-the-moment release, and I really wouldn’t recommend it as a habit, but sometimes you just need to freak out a little bit and show your kids that yes, you too are human. I’m not talking about ripping off doors and going ape shit, I’m talking about letting out a little shout of frustration and then explaining to your kids how you’re feeling and why you’re freaking out. If your kids are pissing you off, they deserve to know! How else are they going to change their behaviour if you don’t explain how it makes you feel? Tone and delivery matter here. Caution: if you overuse this strategy, it will completely lose its effect.

If you get really desperate, you can always throw the kids in the car and go for a drive to your favourite café with a drive-thru, or make a quick phone call to your favourite take-out place and get it delivered. We’ll call it food therapy. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Treat yourself.

Whatever your coping mechanisms as a parent, remember that at some point your absent spouse is coming back…they are coming back, aren’t they? And that if you look for it, your kids will probably do something cute that might just put a little splash back in that bucket. Messages of gratitude from the absence spouse certainly help. One such text came in from Dan saying how much he appreciates the work I do for our family in looking after our children while he’s away, ending with a note of high praise, “You’re the best.”

“You’re the best, too!” I texted back. “Now come home and take care of me.”

The In-Between

I’m walking to the library, laden with notebooks, my laptop, beverages in each hand (my morning Green Monster smoothie and a London Fog) when it hits me: a gust of cool wind blowing across my bare, short-clad, legs. A chill cuts through me. I’m wearing thong sandals and a neon orange halter top underneath a light-weight black long-sleeved tee that’s open at the back that I thankfully thought to throw overtop. I am dressed for summer, which today the weather has confirmed it is decidedly not – or rather, the summer I once knew is slipping away before my very eyes and bare knees.

Standing in our kitchen early this morning, three-year old Penelope, with her mop of curls, had a far-off look. “It’s time for school now, mommy?” She felt the unmistakable shift in the air, the characteristic and melancholic pull of the final two weeks of August closing off the season.

As if the cool breeze hitting my legs wasn’t enough of an invasion on summer, I crossed paths with a large yellow bus on my drive downtown. You know what that means. And yesterday, in our local café, I ran into two teachers prepping for back to school. I remember those days well; the equal sense of rising panic and elation, prepping for twenty-five new grade one students, still haunts me.

What hits home, personally, is that my summer training is complete. I participated in my second and final triathlon of the season last weekend and that’s it. Finito. No more lake swims to slot in, or forty kilometer bike rides (though I would like to get in more bike rides before we’re blanketed with snow), or back-to-back “brick” workouts of running and biking. I’m in the week after the race, forcing myself to be still, wind down, take a break and admittedly this is hard for me. What’s next? screams my insatiable ego. An ultra race? A half iron man? We’ll see.

Luckily, I’ve had something to fill the space, the gaping hole and sense of loss the end of summer brings, in the form of a round-the-world trip to look forward to. I’m losing my kids to school only to regain them for a second summer in October – and I can’t wait. Ariel and I look at websites together, clasping hands and jumping up and down giddily in anticipation. Of the three, she’s the most fully aware of the adventure that lies ahead. Interestingly, I think it will be the youngest two, who are developing their sense of time, who will be the most present.

A month ago, our travel agent sent us an itinerary for Japan through a reputable company that included hotel stays and some transportation (but not all) for an outrageous sum I refuse to even write here. I will say it was four times more than I was willing to pay. She wasn’t being cruel – Japan is expensive – but I knew I could plan our Japan segment much more wisely and cheaply by booking it myself. The trade-off was time.

Having put off the job for most of the summer, one day this week I finally got up at five in the morning and spent a solid five hours poring over Japanese accommodations. I continued my research for a few more hours the next day. This is my idea of rest after the race. From an affordable Airbnb in downtown Hiroshima and vending machine ramen to a lavish hotel with our own private onsen (hot air bath) overlooking Mount Fuji that includes our meals, we are going to get to experience it all. Our trip has been weighing on my mind and I can breathe now that I’ve got most of our Japan stays booked. Two more days – one in Kyoto, one in Osaka – left to arrange, then we’re off to Thailand and the unknown. I don’t ever want to become a travel agent, but planning your own trips and discovering new countries and cultures is hella-fun. And we haven’t even left home yet.

There are two weekends left in this Canadian summer, really only one to get back-to-school shopping done. I happen to be going to Montreal to visit a childhood friend and her new baby this weekend, so Dan is in charge of back-to-school shopping. He will be the one braving the crowds in the mall with the girls, picking out Velcro running shoes and pencil case supplies, water bottles and lunch containers, maybe a new outfit or two – and for that I am grateful. Both for myself – for not having to do it, and for my husband – for getting the chance to. Organizing the tiny details of our children’s lives is both a great privilege and a weight best evenly distributed. Truth be told, when it comes to shopping, Dan is probably better at that stuff than I am anyway. I usually do it because I’m the one who’s around, but he has a penchant for coordinating outfits I can only aspire to.

While letting summer go is hard, there is an excitement that accompanies back-to-school. The promise of reuniting with friends, new backpacks and shiny shoes, crisp duo-tangs; of kids emptying out of the house and regaining routines. The draining of leaves to reveal their true colours, raking said leaves, the shortening of days, apple picking and pumpkin carving, turkey eating. Fall isn’t half bad. Some, like my husband who continues to wear shorts late into November, might say it’s their favourite season. While the Purdham family is going to miss the tail end of fall – Ariel was surprised to learn we’d be in Japan for Halloween (where apparently they do celebrate) – for now we’re going to try and stay in the present moment, and appreciate this last bit of summer while it lasts.

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.

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.