Happy Mother's Day 2014

Mother's Day, though commercialized, is still meaningful.  Without mothers, none of us would exist.  For birth, for life, for support and love on my life's journey, I am thankful for my mother.  

I am thankful for my own mother and grandmothers, and thankful for those mothers, to whom I am able to be mother and a grandmother.

I'm sending a special Happy Mother's Day wish to Melanie and Melissa, to Julie, Jeannette and Pascale...each one a great mother to our grandchildren.

Happy Mother's Day to each of you with love.

I'm a Mother Therefore I Worry

 

 

I’m a Mother Therefore I Worry

Do you remember the first time your child wandered away from you in a store, or the library or in a parking lot?  The sudden sickness in your stomach.  The worry dense behind your eyes. 

Do you remember the rising panic when your child didn’t arrive home for hours and hours after a school event, or after they had just received their license, or after a date with someone your gut told you not to trust?  Can you recall the pain in your chest as you answered the phone and heard, “This is the police, we’re calling about…”?  Or the weakness in your legs when you answered, “Hello this is the hospital.  We’re looking for the parents of…”?

No matter how old or how competent my children and step-children are, if they don’t arrive when they are expected, I worry.  I know they will call…if they can.  For the first hour, I do well.  There are many reasons for delays.  After the second hour, I begin pacing a little and worry just a little more.  After three hours, my organized mind begins searching for scenarios and possibilities.  And when they are four or five hours overdue, I have to work hard at staying calm.

On Tuesday evening, I was nauseous, pacing, tight-lipped and teary.   My inner calculations told me they should have arrived at least four hours before they did.  And anything can happen to bikers…other drivers, breakdowns, loose gravel, deer or moose.  Anything can happen, can’t it?

I was so relieved to hear the rumble of their bikes driving up our street and into our driveway, so happy to hug their bug spattered bodies, to see their road-dirt faces.  So relieved and thankful.

My children had been to Bike Week at Laconia, New Hampshire and were due here at suppertime.  On the way back, his motorcycle broke down just outside of Ellsworth, Maine.  Her cell phone had lost its charge.  We had no way to check on them, so were unaware the bike had died at the side of the highway.

It took over four hours to reach a motorcycle repair shop, have the bike checked and to buy a new battery.

Even though they are adults, the thoughts of losing a child still make my throat close and my chest ache.

I worry. 

I’m a mother.

 

Words and photo are copyright ©2011-2013 Carol Steel.

Family Visit

We’ve had children and grandchildren around, off and on for the past two weeks.  More off than on and less on than we’d like, but that’s the way it is when family comes home to visit.  They have to spread themselves around, visit all the members of the family.

And our family is a combination, a blended family, so that means even more visiting for them.

They’re heading back to Alberta soon and though they won’t fly out until Saturday, I miss them already. 

We had fun during the two days and couple of evenings they were here with us.  Yes, there were ice cream slops and sticky finger prints when they left.  But that’s all part of having lively children filling the house with dinosaurs roaring and cars running, creating chalk figures in the driveway, cutting craft snowflakes, drawing pictures and giving warm hugs.  The laughter and giggles and hugs were the best parts. 

Yes, the hugs and the smiles and the laughter, I’ll miss those, miss them lots.

There are toys to return to their boxes and a spill or two to wipe up, but that doesn’t matter.  What matters is that they came all the way across Canada to visit. 

What matters is…we enjoyed them so.

Photo and words are copyright © Carol Steel.

Christmas Day 2011

This year, on Christmas Day, we were unable to spend the day with any of our own children.  My niece invited us to a pot luck dinner at her home with her sisters and mother, grandmother and extended family.  It was a bright and busy time with their three small children.

They opened their gifts and shared their delight at surprises from Santa!

The baby was keenly interested and wanted to eat the decorative paper, while his Dad unwrapped the gifts.

Mom enjoyed unpacking her stocking full of goodies, too.

And after dinner and after the gifts and after dessert and after the clean up, the adults helped the children put together toys and some lost at video games against the younger, more expert players.

Thank you for time with family, for a meal together and for sharing the delight and wonder of your children at Christmas time.

Hi there, do you mind if I spit in your sink?

I received this email from my nephew, Sionne.  He and Natasha and their two children, Ava and Owen, live in Toronto

 Ontario
.  He is sharing the story of his recent birthday and has given me permission to post it.

Email subject line: Hi there, do you mind if I spit in your sink?

(The subject line in my email is a quote from my greeting to Linda years ago.  I showed up at her door frothing at the mouth, literally.  I was on my way home from Nanny’s house, where I had eaten a mouthful of Bits and Bites mix, in which, I afterward learned, there had been a lone Brazil nut lurking at the bottom. When you read my note below you’ll understand why I am referencing that long-ago incident, and how I am still super-sensitive to specific nuts, reacting strongly even though I haven’t actually eaten the allergy producing nut, itself.)

If someone had told me that I would spend the night of my birthday dry-heave vomiting in a parking lot after leaving a restaurant where my birthday dinner was held...and then drive home hunched over the steering wheel, before falling asleep curled up in a ball while still wearing my daytime clothes (I think that’s referred to as Irish Pyjamas in some hardcore drinking circles,  no offense)… then I would have responded, "Wow, the old dude still knows how to really tie one on, once in a while, doesn't he?"  But in this case it was not at all a fun and games scenario, it was due to the effects of a one-word culprit: NUTS.

The evening started out innocently enough.  I left work early-ish and drove up from Toronto to meet Natasha and our children, to celebrate “Big #42 for Sionne” at a restaurant in Newmarket.  It was slightly past their usual dinnertime; I rushed in ordering and took the server’s recommendation of an Asian chicken salad with peanuts.  I went through my usual confirmation routine to ensure that there were peanuts only; not any other kind of nuts in the salad.

This is a delicate conversation because I want to establish that I have a mild allergy but am not *EpiPen/potential death/expensive lawsuit* allergic, which has been the misunderstanding in past.  This then involves a frustrating 15-minute reassurance conversation with the establishment's manager, who immediately quotes me whatever boilerplate disclaimer their lawyers advise they spout, whenever any Super-Duper-Allergic-To-Nuts customers are involved.

OK, so all the meals arrived and I started digging into my salad. Fortunately for me, I did not eat very much because Owen decided he needed IMMEDIATE help, cutting up his food.  I stopped my munching and moved over to focus on daddy duty.  Shortly after switching to address Owen’s concerns, I noticed that old familiar scratchy feeling.  I quickly asked the waiter if he was 100% certain there were only peanuts in my meal. “Let me check” he said.  Upon consulting a co-worker, he came back and provided the very unwelcome news, “Well, it’s usually just peanuts but sometimes we change it up and throw in assorted mixed nuts instead.” (<<< sorry, WTF!? seriously!?!?!?!)  This fully confirmed my fears.

Within minutes I was experiencing the worst allergic reaction ever. Usually I am lucky enough to notice the offending nuts before consuming them, or it’s one of the milder varieties, like an almond that causes only mild discomfort, at worst.  Not this time!  I was thrown full-on into the heebie jeebies.  I’d say on a scale from wonderful to anaphylactic shock, I was a lot closer to the yucky end of things.  When all the mucous membranes in your body are incredibly itchy - from the backs of your eyes to other less-polite-to-mention areas - the fact you can still walk and process rational thoughts is a welcome bonus but somehow little consolation. I suppose those of you who witnessed my *ahem* episode circa 1971, when I was a toddler, at Nanny's house can connect the dots and substitute in your mind’s eye, a big, adult hairy-faced man-baby acting like the 2-year-old version of cute little Sionne in the high chair… when he was unlucky enough to eat that dirty old Brazil nut...for the rest of you, just use your imagination, okay?

I quickly bailed out of the restaurant and started home…leaving Natasha to pay the bill and gather the kiddies, so she could follow in her own car. My head start did me no good, as I spent several productive minutes purging beside my vehicle in the parking lot, and then grabbing a toothbrush, I just happened to have on hand …so I could feverishly clean my teeth and mouth.

These activities took awhile.  Luckily, I managed to flag down Natasha driving her car as she left.  Told her not to worry if I didn’t arrive ahead of her at the house in Bradford.  I had to make an emergency detour to the drug store.  My purchases?  A big bottle of liquid Benadryl, some Pepto-Bismol, plus a new toothbrush to replace the newly polluted version.

I chugged the entire bottle of Benadryl; followed it with some Pepto to calm my stomach. Any of you who have ever experienced an itchy stomach lining will agree that the discomfort pain-wise is matched only by the strange feeling of having several internal parts itching that cannot be scratched. Good times, indeed!

The Benadryl worked its magic quickly, after sitting behind the wheel in the pharmacy parking lot for 10 minutes, I made my way home. Overall body itching abated; I was left with the single complaint of a pain at top of my abdomen, best described as Worst Heartburn Ever…On Steroids Times a Factor of 10.   I could feel it from the front all the way through to my back, underneath my shoulder blades.  I actually think it was my diaphragm, as I could only take short breaths for the longest time.  It felt like a big muscle tensing. Sort of cool but mucho creepy at same time; I would gladly skip any repeat occurrences.

Obviously I survived since I am writing to you.  It was an ordeal, and even with my natural Drama Queen tendencies, I am not exaggerating.  It was a major pain in the butt for the 60 minutes from restaurant departure until arriving at the house, rendered almost paralyzed and nearly unconscious from all the drugs I drank. No heavy machinery operating for Sionne that night, trust me.  Ava called me into the kitchen, smiled politely while they all sang Happy Birthday, as candles melted wax onto a cake that was my at-home surprise for this special evening.

Natasha thoughtfully baked me a Nanny’s Money Cake.  She also thought it would be fun for the kiddies if she put all 42 candles on it. Let’s just say that when half the candles are melted onto the icing before you can get everything lit, that’s a good indicator that you are probably getting too old to have a 1 candle per year policy when celebrating birthdays. When I blew them all out, there was so much smoke we had to open the windows, to prevent the fire alarm from kicking in. Yikes.  

I try to keep a glass is half full attitude most days, however a good formula for a depressing post-40 birthday is  feeling near death, while blowing out what feels like a thousand candles on your cake…and then being too sick to even have a piece of said cake!

Fortunately, I am feeling no lingering effects…thank goodness. I did sleep nonstop for about 12 hours thanks to the Benadryl.  I also had a serious “too much medication” hangover headache but that’s long gone.  While my special day was kind of rotten overall I hope telling this story at least provides some entertainment, and/or serves as a cautionary tale.

Speaking of cautionary tales I have two to share:

1) when you bolt out of the restaurant due to *poisoned* food, then you also have the wonderful opportunity to call back the next day, to politely ask for a meal credit or rebate, since not only was my birthday dinner ruined but basically my entire night. I’d say it’s more effective to complain right away, but that’s not always possible when you are huffing and puffing and dancing the funky chicken, instead of standing there quietly and making a rational argument in favour of good customer service. I’ve not given up yet on some satisfaction, so stay tuned for an update on how that works out with The Pickle Barrel’s management.  

2) when you have a high concentration of sweets-loving family genes distilled into your offspring, it’s not recommended to order a Pina Colada slushy, with a sugared glass rim and jaunty little umbrella decoration, and then to leave it unattended. Natasha told me when she came back to the table; Ava was sipping away on the straw of my abandoned drink.   In her words “It just looked so good, mummy…I had to try it, and you know it tastes even better than it looks!” but to her credit the little girl was horrified when she learned, it was in fact a grown-up drink with *gasp* AL-CO-HOL in it. Yet interestingly enough, not so horrified as to stop licking the sugar off the glass, but at least she refrained from further accessing the drink contents.  Let me say this: with the almost-daily crying jags taking place in her school classroom, plus non-stop arguing/debating/getting in last word with her parents on seemingly every possible topic of conversation, her apparent inability to fall asleep before 10PM more than 3 night a week and finally her deep-seated sweet tooth tendencies, I never worry about whether Ava is my biological offspring, since all the signs are clearly there to prove without a doubt, she is.

Don't even get me started about Owen. He looks like a total sweetie and is one of the most considerate little boys you will ever meet.  Watch out if you try to make him do something he does not want to do because he possesses a superhuman level of stubbornness.  The only thing that works is to trick him into thinking it's actually his idea...at which point he'll agree to do it. Sound familiar?  Like the classic chip-off-the-old-block or a case of The Force Is Strong in This One.

Yes, it’s true and I am not ashamed to admit it - my life is really quite a bit of a Gong Show these days. It’s not in any way boring and at least I can get some good mileage out of all the crazy stories as a result, right?

Hope you are not getting too slammed with snow storms. Toronto living has its numerous drawbacks for us but I am thankful at times like this when I hear about weather back east. Our forecast daytime high temp will be 10 degrees, hitting as high as 15 over next few days with no rain or snow in sight. I miss the slower-paced lifestyle there, but the Maritime weather really is terrible and the pleasant summer season is WAY too short every year.

That’s it for me. Toodles!

Sionne (xo)

Story and photos belong to Sionne R.

He assures the family that he will be talking to his doctor about this episode and will perhaps be carrying an EpiPen with him for his next meal outing.  I will update, to let everyone know what

THE PICKLE BARREL in NEWMARKET, Ontario is doing about their faux pas, bad service and nearly killing my nephew.  One hopes that they respond responsibly and respectfully.

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