Magnetic Force Field

Leave a comment February 16, 2016 drworobec

I am convinced that I have a magnetic force field around me. This force field can only be felt by my children. Wherever I go, whatever I do, there they are, right beside me; observing, questioning, chatting, smiling. This has become especially obvious in our new home, as the Master bedroom is on the main floor, just off our primary kitchen/family room living space. It seems that I cannot get dressed by myself, pack my gym bag, fold some laundry, or even use the bathroom without one or two little faces following closely behind me.

My three-year-old daughter has also taken to wandering into our bed halfway through the night, and snuggling up to me so closely that I have to pull back the covers or be cooked from the heat her little body gives off. “Can we snuggle, Mommy?” she’ll whisper to me in her sleep-drunk state. “We are snuggling,” I’ll reply, as she’s pressed up against me head-to-toe. “No, put your arms around me,” she says. And so I cocoon all 35lbs of her, and back to sleep we drift.

I won’t lie to you: there are times that have children constantly underfoot can get a bit overwhelming. Times when I just want five minutes to not have to answer a “why” question or play eye-spy. Times when I would give anything to have a sleep-in or a quiet meal or a movie uninterrupted. But those times are far fewer than the times that I marvel at my children’s dependence on me.

I marvel at their trust, their complete faith, their staggering belief in me.

They are seven and almost-four now. My baby girl starts full-day Kindergarten in the Fall. This chapter of work-part-time-while-the-kids-are-little is nearly over. My daytime focus can soon shift from the kids to the clinic. When I took my foot off the gas of my career seven years ago, I saw this next phase in the far-off distance. And now it’s in my direct sights.

I will take the magnetic force field, while it’s still here. Its power is likely to fade in the very near future, and when it’s gone I know that I will miss it.

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The Gift of Experience

2 Comments January 19, 2016 drworobec

My son is turning seven this week. I wrote a post about him two years ago, on the eve of his 5th birthday. Now five seems like a distant memory, and I have a seven-year-old full-blown boy on my hands. If you’ve got a child in your life, you will understand the disbelief I’m feeling that another year has flown by. Time speeds up exponentially when you’ve measure it through the growth of children.

We hemmed and hawed about what to get him. With Christmas just past, hand-me-downs from older cousins, and the blessing of a comfortable life, there isn’t much that he actually needs. And while I do think that birthdays are a chance to venture beyond the “need” category and into the “wants,” I felt the unease of excess creeping in. My heart lies in minimalism and I didn’t feel good about buying more “stuff” just to checkmark a box on the birthday to-do list. So we did what we often do; we got him a gift of experience.

We surprised him with tickets to Monster Jam in Toronto and dinner at a restaurant afterwards. Our Sunday was spent with two very excited children, riding the GO train, enjoying the monster truck action, and having a special birthday dinner. The four of us were together the entire day, adding to our memory banks and learning more about what makes our children so very special, so very unique, so very much our most precious gifts. We will remember this birthday. And he will too.

Happy birthday to the kid that’s changed my everything.

This works for us.

Leave a comment November 10, 2015 drworobec

I find myself parenting differently the second time around. My expectations have shifted and my this-is-what-the-parenting-books-say has completely disappeared. I think I’m a better parent because of it.

A prime example of this are my three-year-old daughter’s sleep habits. We moved a couple of months ago, and she developed a new routine. Our new house has a main-floor Master bedroom, and nearly every night, she tip-toes downstairs in the middle of the night and crawls into our bed. Most nights I don’t even hear her, and I will often wake with her little body pressed up against mine. Not only do I not mind this even a little bit, I actually need it too. I’m still adjusting to my own “new normals” and there’s a big part of me that feels safe and secure when my children are at my side. Content and happy, calm and peaceful, just how life is meant to be. She snuggles into me and whispers, “Mama, can we snuggle?” with her sleep-drunk voice and her bedhead hair. So I wrap my arms around her and we fall back to sleep, both comforted by the fact that we’re together.

But I find it interesting that I’ve never questioned the “should I put her back in her own bed?” part. If my son, my first-born, had done the same, I likely would’ve done what many parenting books suggest: that children need to sleep in their own beds. I likely would’ve walked him back upstairs to his room, and put him back to bed. Because that’s what I “should” do. Or, more accurately, that’s what I perceived I should do. But now I realize that parenting is so much more enjoyable if you simply do what works for your own unique family in your own unique situation.

This works for us.