When you've loved a dog

I watched the Dog Whisperer every day the September we moved into our first house. Sometimes I’d devour two or three episodes in a row without taking a bathroom or snack break for fear of missing something. The way Cesar could calm any dog, get it to walk beside him; I was transfixed. I loved everything about the show: how they presented the problem behaviour, the video demonstration of it and then Cesar teaching the owner how to help the dog be its best self.  It was inspiring.  And I knew I could put Cesar’s teachings to practice.

Only one problem: I didn’t own a dog. I was seven months pregnant and grieving.

I cried every day for the first few months after we put Judge down. But when there were no tears left, I watched Cesar Millan train the problem behaviours right out of all the dogs he met.  It was a welcome distraction, like the baby boy growing inside me. Like the new house with its unfamiliar streets.  

A relief because I could no longer bear those old streets.

They reminded me of the tugging of the leash, the feel of him heavy and sure, next to me as we walked. The old streets ached in me to feel his breath hard on my face when he wanted me to wake; made me weep that he’d never nudge my hand again to force my touch if I dared stop stroking his long back. He was our first baby and the one who gave us a taste of the family we could be.

We loved him desperately for 11 years.

He’s been gone ten years tomorrow. Cancer riddled his sweet gentle body and there was nothing to be done.

The kids feel sure they knew him. They know the stories; the ones Shaune and I tell shaking our heads, laughing and I sometimes hear them retell these to their friends as if they really did know him. And today, the pine box that holds what’s left of him sits on Deaglan’s dresser next to a picture of 22 year old Shaune kneeling beside a big yellow happy dog.

We’ve had other pets since then. Crash the cat, some fish who’s names I don’t remember and most recently two hamsters named Skibby and Stephen. We lost Deaglan’s beloved Stephen a few weeks ago and knew for certain that it was time to add to our family. 

We picked Myrtle, a one year old Jack Russel Schnauzer, up two weeks ago from the farm she was living on. She was making it very hard for the free range chickens to feel free. 

She stole our hearts that first day. My words can't do justice to the the kind of delight she has brought to the boys. They are simply smitten. There's so much goodness on this parenting journey but it's a special kind of joy to watch your kids love an animal. 

The spring harvest of my forty-fourth year

Last night the soccer season started for Deaglan again and as I watched him run for the ball, a blur of long lean limbs, dark hair and determination, I knew somewhere deep inside that there was nowhere else I’d rather be. It’s been one of the nicer aspects of meandering my way through my forties. I’m content to be where I am; my twenties and much of my thirties were not so peaceful. But now that I’m here, the harder times of those younger days are all a blur too. 

I watched the boys on the field and couldn’t believe they were all between 7 and 8. They appeared still small to me, their sweet baby faces breaking out in shy grins when they’d tame the ball and kick it to the intended destination, peering back over their shoulders to see their parents' delight.

It’s been a good spring so far, our first in this house. At least once a day Deaglan shakes his head and says: Mom can you believe there are pink and white trees out my window? Who ever heard of pink and white trees? I agree; it’s like harvest around here. We moved in during the high heat of last summer, when much of the lush green had withered, then tired and surrendered. But from this side, the early days of a highly anticipated spring, well it is such a treat, each of us exalting every flowery bloom and magically germinating branch.  

We’re taking it all in stride though; getting to each thing when we can. There’s a lot to do.

Open the pool.

Dust off the lawn furniture.

Plan a nearly five-year old’s birthday party.

Keep up with homework even though we’ve just about had it with reading logs and spelling tests.

Buy new flip-flops.

Track down the sunscreen.

Read a book in the quiet afternoon sun  - cold glass of Chardonnay nearby. 

I don't know for sure, but I may have a severe case of spring fever.

My friend Shannon gifted me this hibiscus plant over three years ago. Just when I think I've killed it with my awkward gardening ways, it rewards me with a bloom so beautiful I rethink everything.

This magnolia is one of my favourite things about our new front yard.

The pink and white trees out Deaglan's window.

Mother's Day paper flowers from my sweet guys.

I told my FB friends that we went fishing on Mother's Day (what else are you gonna do when you're surrounded by boys?). This was the result: each caught me a trout and Shaune barbecued them on a cedar plank and served with roasted peppers, onions and asparagus.

And this is the harvest of all those early years of parenting: watching one kid read to the other. Sigh.

 And speaking of spring blooms. This guy here will be five in a few short weeks. Five!!

Abundance

Sometimes you don’t realize how much you’ve been missing a thing until it comes into your life.

You might not have even thought it was possible. But on some level you were unaware of, it’s unmistakable that it is exactly what you’ve been craving. And when it sneaks into your daily existence, like a stroke of good luck or an unexpected stretch of good weather, you wonder how you ever lived without it.

You can’t help but soak it in, bask in its gloriousness, even if it feels like a guilty pleasure.

It’s been like this for me recently. 

Oh how my tiny boys love me. But that’s not the unexpected part, although it delights me endlessly. No, it’s this:  at least a few times each day the two argue with each other about whose mommy I am. It usually starts with Naveen elbowing Deaglan out of his way, on route to my lap.

“My Mama!” he will announce, brows furrowed, small fists at the ready.

These are always fighting words for Deaglan who hadn’t even intended to battle for such property rights that moment.

“She’s my Mommy too, right Mommy?” he looks over at me, old enough to know better yet unable to ignore the heat such a bold statement gives rise to. Often it ends in me pulling one off of the other.

“Yes, I’m both of your Mommies. Come sit on either side of me.”

Sometimes having such full arms can seem like a nuisance. It’s hard to sip coffee before it cools. It means never having my own space on the recliner or couch. And in the very early mornings, it means sharing my pillow with two growing tousled heads, elbows and knees in my ribs.

But more often it feels like I’ve arrived.

As one of seven children, I never had much expectation of such affection. I was quiet and in my head most of the time growing up. This all feels like an embarrassment of riches; a boon that will inevitably vanish back into the heavens from which it came.  

So I'm doing what any lottery winner would do; grinning from ear to ear like some lucky jerk at my fortune.

 We drove to a small town outside of our city to this park just for a change of pace. We rode on this train, which in truth is one step up from a child's model train. 

See what I mean?

Tangible

We were vacationing last week. 

First we went to Manitoulin Island for a few days – met up with Shaune’s folks, sister and her family - and then hung around home for the last few days. The kids had a blast. They got to spend good chunks of time with their grandparents, which in their books is the same as winning the lottery, and when we were home the remainder of the week, we slept in and went to the park two times each day.

It filled me up to spend whole days with those boys of mine.

It always takes me a while to unwind from work and when I finally did this time, I realized how much Naveen has grown. His sweet little personality is in full blossom. This boy who was tucked snug in my belly only two short years ago is now cracking jokes. Here’s his version of one:

Naveen (with a teasing glint in his eyes): Mama, me want a toe-toe.

Me (acting surprised): A toe-toe? Okay, here you go. (Handing him something imaginary which he then eats. He then waits for my reaction.)

Me: Ewwww, I can’t believe you ate a toe-toe!

Naveen: (Laughs hysterically)

I also noticed changes in Deaglan. 

In early January during a game of checkers he told me that sometimes at school he felt like a “piece of junk”. I remember exactly how it made me feel to hear my four year old say that – like someone had surprise punched me in the stomach.

“Why????” I cried.

“Because sometimes Adam doesn’t want to play with me.”

“When doesn’t he want to play with you honey?”

“When I’m being shy. When I’m being shy, he plays with Jabon.”

“Oh.” I said, understanding. 

I’d never realized that his shyness was bothering him. We’d begun to notice that in social situations with other kids, Deaglan was very shy. It took him all day to warm up to the kids at school, not because he didn't want to play, but because he didn't know how to enter into the situation. By the end of the day, he was usually fully engaged with his friends, playing normally. So we dismissed our concerns. After all, both Shaune and I had been very shy kids.

Shaune still is but the restaurant business beat it out of me, I swear. 

We talked a little more about it during the rest of our checkers game that night, came up with some solutions for the next time he might feel shy but didn’t want to lose out on playing with his friend.  And I Googled it later. I wanted to know how to help him. I found some awesome stuff. 

Without overwhelming him we began to slowly nudge him toward breaking out of his shyness when he could. We told him what to say if he was in a new situation where he wanted to join in on the fun. And we praised him when he made any efforts to make friends. 

It felt counterintuitive to me.  Normally I wouldn’t have wanted to make an issue of it, give him reason to think there was anything wrong with being shy. But that evening playing checkers, hearing how much it was bothering him, well it just about undid me.

This last week I noticed how far he’s come. While he doesn’t run over and join in the games right away, he does make himself available with eye contact, sometimes holding up a toy he wants to share. He still acts awkward at times, makes odd faces because he's not sure how to be. At these times I want to squeeze him to me, give him a voice, say the things I know he wants to.

But he's trying all the time and this makes Shaune and me smile because we see that he understands he needs to help himself.

Here are some pictures from last week. We mostly forgot to bring the camera with us on our outings. 

 Deaglan helped drive Gramma and Grampa's boat.

 On the last day, on the last boat ride just as we were docking, Naveen mumbled to me that he'd like to drive the boat too. I told Grampa this and he promised that next year he could.

 Cousin Layton will be old enough by then to help drive too. 

Try to imagine me shouting from the sidelines "Deaglan, slow down, he's too little to go that fast!"

On becoming an advocate

On the weekend during a visit with my in-laws, Justin, Shawn and Dave, Shaune’s sisters’ husbands and boyfriends had Deaglan in stitches. In fact he was laughing so hard I thought he might cry. The guys had triggered his four year-old funny bone with the age-old humour of all men.

Toilet talk.

There was nothing sophisticated about their jokes.

No lengthy lead up.

No clever punch lines.

In fact they simply took turns making up scenarios: Hey Deaglan, I ate a poop sandwich the other day. Or I saw a guy pee in a cup and drink it. And when I thought he might spew orange juice through his nose: My name is Sir-Farts-Alot, nice to meet you.

These "jokes' had my son doubled over, holding his stomach with both hands, machine-gun giggling, rendering him almost breathless. I shook my head and wondered not for the first time, at the mystery of the male species. 

Growing up, I had four brothers but our house was crowded with girls too. I was able to ignore my brothers’ antics, focus on the books I was reading, pursue feminine interests or simply escape to friends’ houses that had substantially lower people to living-space ratios.

In my dating years, I rarely sought to understand whoever I was with at the time. Mostly I wondered why they didn’t get me. And even after all these years next to Shaune, I’ve never really wanted to dig deep into the male psyche, figure out how it works. Mostly, I’ve wanted him to identify with me, sometimes even resenting him for not caring enough to get to the bottom of who I was.

These little boys of mine though – well they’ve changed all of that.

I find myself remembering to be brief when lecturing Deaglan, not getting annoyed that he suddenly needs to use the bathroom the instant he’s landed himself in a time-out, knowing it’s likely only occurred to him then.  I try to remember their need for constant movement even when I want to pull my hair out because they’ve made yet another couch-cushion trampoline.

I’ve read books. I’ve spoken with other mothers of boys. I’ve watched quietly the males in this household interact in my quest to learn more about them.

I’ve gotten downright sanctimonious, itchy even, when I’ve heard someone say a child was “good” because he or she was calm and cooperative. I knew without asking in most cases they were likely referring to a girl.

Oh don’t get me wrong, I struggle in small ways all the time; this journey to embrace my testosterone-soaked family is not as anecdotally-sweet as I’m making it out to be.  

A few days ago, I entered the bathroom after Deaglan had used it. I asked him why there was pee on the wall and the floor. In a tone that suggested I’d asked him the colour of the sky, he answered simply this:

Mommy, I don’t have control over my penis, it controls me. (I swear to you that's an exact quote!)

Cold panic gripped me. I shook my head in an effort to dismiss the many disturbing images my mind conjured up of the future.  I wiped up the mess in the bathroom. And I took up, once again, the imaginary decorating of my future bathroom. The one for which only I held the key. 

It was Gramma's birthday.

Riding on Grampa's "tractor" is a highlight of summertime.

This year, Naveen got to drive too!

Joke telling Uncles. Shawn is missing.

Aunt Chrissy, Shaune's youngest sister.

On loving yourself

I don’t know why I said it that first time.

Well I do but it’s a long, drawn-out story that you might just not have the time for. See I think about things like that – things like if you’re going to land here, how long can you afford to hang around? I always underestimate on purpose. It makes me feel like I’m somehow under-promising and over-delivering.

To myself.

That way I’m pleasantly surprised that you (a) came here at all and (b) stayed long enough to read the whole thing. Does that even make any sense at all or should I have kept that inside my head?

Anyway, back to that first time I told Deaglan it was important to love himself. You should have seen him; he cocked his head to the side, giggled and said,

“That sounds silly Mommy.”

We were having a rough morning; I was tired and he was not listening. By about the fifth time-out in two hours, my voice hoarse from yelling, guilt crept in and reminded me that he was four, to cut him some slack. I forced myself down to his level, grabbed his chin to direct his gaze and told him that even when we’re mad at each other, we need to remember that we love each other.

“Even when Mommy is acting upset with you because you’re not listening or doing something naughty, I want you to know that I love you and that you’re still a good boy. And more importantly I want you to remember to love yourself.”

“Love myself?” he laughed at the notion. “That sounds silly!”

“It’s not silly at all. You need to love yourself all the time.”

“Why?”

I tried to find four year-old words to explain it.

“Because you’ll always have yourself even when you’re a big man and don’t live with Mommy and Daddy anymore, you will always have yourself and it’s important to love yourself and know that you're a good person.”

“Okay Ma.” And off he went.

It was a rare and shining moment for me. My naive mother heart reasoned that maybe I could cushion his teens and twenties a little if I let him in on this life lesson now. Maybe he wouldn't spend as many years as I did, at odds with himself, led by the need for approval.

“Toni Morrison said, "The function of freedom is to free someone else," and if you are no longer wracked or in bondage to a person or a way of life, tell your story. Risk freeing someone else. Not everyone will be glad that you did. Members of your family and other critics may wish you had kept your secrets. Oh, well, what are you going to do?
― Anne Lamott

Something has shifted inside me this last year. Tiny bits floating on the horizon, easily mistaken for dust or nothing at all if it weren't for my searching. Whisperings really. Telling me that I am loved, all of me even when circumstances convince me that I'm unacceptable, failing. Mediocre.

It can't be that easy though, can it? Passing these hard won lessons to my boys?

The Good Dad

Last night after dinner, I watched Shaune repeatedly slam Naveen against the back of the couch. Each time he began by pretending to grab a handful of my 21 month old baby's hair (a wrestling move no doubt), then swing his entire body with seemingly full full force into the cushions. Even though I flinched every time his little body made contact, it was hard to ignore Naveen's ecstatic giggles.

Learning to keep my comments to myself during this kind of play has been a work in progress.

I've read plenty that even though Dads parent much differently than Moms, their styles are just as good if not sometimes better for the kids. I don't doubt it especially being the mother of two boys. I never admit it to Shaune but I'm often impressed with his ability to play with the kids. His mad skillz at machine noises, how easily he rolls up his sleeves and gets right into being a robot, how the phrase "You must be destroyed" (said as if he was Optimus Prime*) sends both boys running wild through the house hoping their Dad will catch them - well it's hard not to feel a little outdone. 

My friend Shannon and I were discussing this phenomenon of Dad preference in toddlerhood and how for us Moms who are  used to being the go-to parent, it's a little like someone ripping the band-aid off the hairy part of your arm when you're least expecting it. It stings at first.

These are shots of a belated birthday party for Shaune last weekend at his parents'.

But you get over it when one of them crashes willy-nilly into the corner of the couch and runs to you for a kiss and hug. You thank God your kids are blessed to have such a fun Dad. After all, how else are you gonna find time to keep up with your favourite blogs? 

*Optimus Prime is a transformer. That's all I know - you'll have to google him if you want more detail:)

Everything I don't know

Deaglan likes to jump. And climb. And wrestle his brother to the ground.

All the time.

He’s crazy about trains and motor vehicles and he often builds odd contraptions. He somehow manages to find lengths of ribbon, yarn or string with which he ties things (our kitchen chairs for example) together. Sometimes these are elaborate “orange squeezers” or spaceships. I don’t often get it but I’m trying real hard.

On the weekend, he drew me a picture of two mustachioed skeletons on violet construction paper with his new washable Crayola markers. He told me that it was my reward for “being a good citizen.”

Finally, someone notices, I thought.

And today after his second day at Big School, when I asked him what his teacher was like, he told me quietly that he didn’t like her much because “Mommy she doesn’t talk like you.” I resisted the urge to ask “You mean she doesn’t scream like a banshee because you refuse to listen unless something’s been repeated 57 times?” I searched for a scrap of paper instead, to write it down, just the way he’d said it. Sometimes in my rare, better parenting moments, I let my instincts guide me. I do the thing that seems counterintuitive.

I listen.

When I asked him what he meant, he said that his teacher got mad (a lot) at the kids because they were being silly. I pictured this poor woman, frazzled, demanding some order; 25 four and five year olds in her charge, some who’d never before been in a structured setting, freshly released from their mothers’ arms.

“Were you being silly?” I asked.

“No Mommy, I was waiting in line to go outside. That’s what we were supposed to do!”

Geez, who is this magician of a teacher? I wanted to ask.

I don’t always know what's called for in a situation, how to handle each new thing that comes up. At those times, I mostly stay quiet till I figure it out.

These small boys

Last night at the park the big kids were monopolizing the playscape. As we came up the path, Naveen in the backpack, Deaglan on his trike, my older boy stopped pedalling and staring worriedly at the 20 or so 12 year old boys, said Mommy I don't want to go to the park. When I asked him why, he replied I don't want them to ride my bike. I assured him that the big boys wouldn't want to ride his trike and he continued riding but I found myself staring at the boys with worry and wonder. We live near a hockey rink with a park out back and these kids were blowing off some steam before their evening game. I looked at my two tiny boys and back at the near teenagers. They were running and yelling, some with deep voices, taking the stairs up to the slides in one or two long strides. A decade passed in the blink of an eye and I could see my precious two playing like this. Would they still need me? Would I know how to talk to them - would they want to talk to me? A shiver came over me.

On our way back a man looked up from raking his lawn. He shook his head and laughed one of those gentle knowing laughs. You're bringing back memories, he said. I used to have one in the back pack and one out front in the snugli. We have twin boys and I remember those days so well. It was the best time...they didn't talk back then! Enjoy these days, they go fast!

Providence? I'm not sure what you'd call it but while I was reading bedtime stories I found myself looking at them and wanting to freeze frame the moment.

The top picture is of Deaglan in the pile of 'snow' behind the arena. An added bonus of going to this park has been spotting the Zamboni that cleans the ice. Deaglan is consumed with the goings-on within the arena wanting to know exactly what the Zamboni is doing at any given time, why it dumps snow out back, why the man sits where he does when driving the Zamboni.

I had to take the laptop over to where Naveen was bouncing on the jumperoo. I wanted to show you one of his beautiful easy smiles but everytime the flash on the camera goes off, his smile changes to surprise. So I thought the camera on the laptop would be better - unfortunately the picture is really grainy.

Outnumbered

Even though I knew it was coming it still catches me off guard when it happens. Deaglan is 'becoming' his father. Like when we were on our way to the bookstore the other day he piped up from the backseat and asked Mommy can we listen to some tunes? And when I asked him what he wanted to listen to he requested The Crash crash dummies (The Crash Test Dummies is a favourite Canadian band of Shaune's from the early 90's)

I've read some on the father-son relationship and understand the specialness of that bond. I know that it's imperative for them to do the wrestling and rough and tumble play that comes so naturally between them even though sometimes I want peace and quiet.

Like a lot of people we have lots of pet names for each other in this family. I can't even remember all the silly little names I used to call Deaglan when he was an infant. The only one that's stuck is Puppy. Shaune almost never refers to him as Deaglan but calls him things like Sir and Word (what???), Doodley and Dude. And I can count on my hands the number of times I've ever called the baby Naveen. Mostly it's stinker, or stinkerbum, or bumsie (I honestly don't know why) or bumsen. Poor kid, if he knew what I was saying he'd surely have a complex.

And Shaune refers to the Cat not by his name Crash but other petnames like Sniggs, Sass and Mr. Cougie. Often when he walks by the cat he'll say something like Take it easy Snibs.

A few nights ago I had to shake my head and call Shaune at work. Deaglan asked me where Crash was. Then he said Mommy, where's Sniggs? Then with a smile creeping onto his lips Where's Sass? When he spotted the cat he said Take it easy Mr. Cougie.

Sheesh! I can't wait to see what quirks of Shaune's Naveen takes on.