Water, duck.

1 Comment April 16, 2019 drworobec

Perhaps we’ll start today off with a little zoology reminder. As you may know, a duck’s outer feathers are waterproof due to an oily coating that the duck secretes. This oil repels water and forces the droplets to roll off the duck’s back rather than making the feathers wet and heavy. This fact has become the basis of a little piece of advice we’ve been giving to our kids when they overreact.

“Water, duck.”

It’s a reminder to keep your cool, let it roll off your back, don’t sweat the small stuff. My kids are now ten and seven, and big brother likes to push little sister’s buttons from time to time; her overreaction can be swift and massive, leading to a cascade of sibling fighting. After one such outburst over Lego or TV volume or who got to use the front door key, we sat the kids down and had the water/duck talk.

It sunk in. They got it. And now when those episodes happen, we just have to say “water, duck” and it serves as a very effective reminder to think big picture and take a deep breath. It’s always been my ultimate goal to raise children who are happy, however that happiness is defined or manifests for them. Part of the water/duck talk was to explain to them how focusing on small problems only robs you of joy, steals your energy, and creates a feeling of unhappiness.

This is advice that I try to heed myself too, and something that’s come in very handy over the past two weeks. You see, today is day twelve without internet at home, as our service provider tries to fix an unknown issue- we’ve had four technician service calls, hours on hold on the phone, and stretches of days waiting for the next available 8-5 repair window. It’s still not fixed and we’re frustrated. But…….. water, duck. If this is the worst problem in my life then I’m doing pretty well. I’ve got wi-fi at work, Starbucks wi-fi down the road, and I can create a hotspot from my phone when I need to be online at home. Problem solved, onto bigger fish to fry.

I’ve seen far too many grown adults grumble about someone kicking their seat on an airplane, let a cold restaurant meal ruin their night, or complain about loud backyard neighbourhood gatherings. Water, duck friends, just let it roll off your back.

Focus your energy on the good stuff.

Choose happy.

This is the only picture I have on my phone that has a duck in it. Just go with it, okay?

Friends of a Lifetime

8 Comments January 8, 2019 drworobec

This is a story about three girls who still think they’re twenty years old. But in fact, these girls are all turning forty, and these girls are headed to Mexico late next week to celebrate the milestone.

These girls are me and my two oldest friends, Sarah and Shannon, both of whom I’ve written about many times, sans permission. This is another one of those ask-for-forgiveness-not-permission posts, so I’m going to take some creative liberties to share our history with you, and they’ll likely read this post on their Tuesday morning commutes and shake their heads at my antics. That’s our usual pattern. (I’ll load my words up with hyperlinks, so that you can read more about the backstories, if you’re so inclined.)

I’ve known Sarah the longest, since we were twelve years old and became attached at the hip in grade seven. We met Shannon in our first year at the University of Calgary, and we quickly became an inseparable trio. Using our first initials in a brash acronym, we established the ASS Tour, and made sure the three of us went on a short annual getaway. Back then, our getaways meant road trips and small towns and hostel rooms and Missy Elliot mix tapes. We would take a weekend in Red Deer here or an overnight in Edmonton there, and once drove West for a week in Kelowna and Vancouver, through forest fire smoke and rock slides on the Coquihalla highway.

In 2002, I moved to Toronto, and in early 2003, Sarah moved to Washington, DC. Shannon stayed in Calgary, and I’m not sure if we ever spoke about it in depth, but in the back of my mind I always thought we’d all move back. However, life happens, careers grow, marriages take place, babies are had, and somehow we all found ourselves living wonderful lives 3500km apart. We still make the effort to see each other regularly, usually every second Christmas in Alberta, and the odd time we’ll uncover bonus visits like work trips or concert weekends. We managed a few days in NYC in 2011, the week after my miscarriage, at a time when I desperately needed them to help me heal, and our last big trip was in 2014, when we went to Vegas to see Britney Spears and relive our Uni days.

My memories of those adventures, and my memories of the three of us in general, are overwhelmed with laughter. The kind of laughter that makes you gasp for breath and squeeze your sides and wipe your tears. The kind of laughter that annoys your husbands and wakes your children and makes everyone else roll their eyes. We’re gone for four days, and with some creative scheduling at Burlington Sports & Spine, that’s only meant one shift off for me during our busy Winter season. It’s a short trip due to the realities of busy lives, but those four days will give us time to reflect and reminisce, and most importantly, to laugh; and the Mexican sunshine, the sandy beach, the tacos and tequila, well, those won’t hurt either.

This year’s ASS Tour is going to mark our milestone birthdays (although, ahem, I’m the youngest and my birthday is still nine months away), but more importantly, it’s going to mark decades of friendship, support, love, and connection.

They are the friends of a lifetime.

Sundays, puppies, baseball, and books.

1 Comment October 16, 2018 drworobec

I had a moment on Sunday. Life is moments strung together, isn’t it? And this one was a moment for the top of the string.

Sunday was a beautiful Fall day, one of those crisp air days, with blue sky and sunshine and the crunch of Ontario maples beneath my feet. It was the second day of an atypical under-scheduled weekend, two full days in which my family of four spent no more than a couple of waking hours apart. Just how I like it. After an early Sunday dinner, we decided to wander over towards the library to return some books and play some baseball. We grabbed the bat and the ball, the books and the bag, the pup and the dog treats, and away we went.

It’s a short ten-minute walk from my house to Burlington’s Central library, located on a huge urban greenspace with ball diamonds, soccer fields, and a playground just outside the library doors. As we wandered along, the sky began to shift towards an early sunset, another reminder that Winter is on its way. We entered the park, and my daughter and I headed towards the book drop bin, while my husband, son, and puppy headed for the baseball diamond. We called the dog back and forth, a few hundred metres separating ourselves, practicing her recall command, marvelling at her temperament, and showering her with praise and treats. At the book drop bin, I passed pile after pile of Berenstain Bears books, as my daughter happily loaded them into the drawer, waiting for the thump of a book deposit success. Job done, we headed back across the expanse of grass, towards the baseball diamond and our family game.

And that’s when the moment happened.

“Mom,” she said, her six-year-old hand in mine. “I……. I……. I,” she stammered, searching for her words. I could hear the emotion in her voice and see the depth of her feelings splayed across her face. “I love you Mom,” she said as she turned towards me and reached her arms up, her unspoken signal to be picked up. At fifty pounds and four feet tall, she’s not a toddler anymore, but she’s still my baby, and I’ll happily take a wrap-around hug anytime she’s giving them out.

I picked her up, breathed her in, squeezed her tight. And as her little cheek pressed up against mine, I felt the moment overwhelm me too.