Just like that.

1 Comment March 19, 2019 drworobec

There are seasons of parenthood where you can see childhood stages coming to an end. Diapers lead into potty-training, cribs lead into beds, and nursing/bottles eventually wean. In my experience, these stages have had a build-up, a preparatory phase, a time of transition whereby I could mull things over in my analytical brain and get a handle on my emotional brain. As a parent, of course each new childhood stage brings excitement and the chance to watch my kids grow and prosper, but another part of me mourns the passing of the previous stage.

When I was younger, being a mother was never on my radar. I didn’t play with dolls and dream about having children like some little girls do; in fact, I used to wonder if I had any maternal instinct in me at all. But when my son was born in 2009, my new role turned into my life’s greatest joy. As I’ve been along for the ride of watching these little people grow, my joy has also grown.

But with each passing stage, there’s a tiny bit of me that wonders if I soaked it up enough while it was happening right in front of me. Did I cherish their curled-up newborn bodies? Their haphazard crawling styles? Their oh-so-sweet toddler-speak? Their unsteady gait? I can’t recall their baby coos or three-word sentences unless I see them on old videos, and the clear memories of their first steps and their first words are already waning. They say that the days are long but the years are short. They’re right.

So, when we ended a parenting stage abruptly this weekend, I didn’t even see it coming.

You see, my daughter, who just turned seven last week, has been crawling into our bed halfway through the night for nearly four years. Some of you may be shocked by that, but it’s never been a big deal to us. Our house has a main-floor Master with kid’s bedrooms upstairs, and when we moved in 2015, her three-year-old self found comfort by wandering down the stairs, usually between midnight and 2am, and sleeping snuggled in between my husband and I. At first, we attributed it to the move and all the changes in her life, and then it just became a habit we didn’t care to change. Yes, some nights we got kicked by little feet and elbows, but most of the time she was a welcomed addition who whispered to me a “mom, snuggle” request that became our pattern. I knew it wouldn’t last forever, and I wanted to soak it up for as long as I could.

This past Friday night, we returned from a March-break vacation in Arizona, with a three-hour time change to manage. As I tucked her in much later than usual, I mentioned that she needed to stay in her room that night, rather than coming downstairs with us. I had to be at work early on Saturday morning, and my 7:30am alarm would feel like 4:30am in Phoenix; she needed to sleep in and get her body rested instead of waking up with me. And she did stay in her bed all night, likely exhausted from travel and a busy trip. The next morning she proudly announced: “I don’t need to sleep in your bed anymore. I’m going to stay in my bed all night from now on.”

Just like that.

And she did. For three nights there were no pitter-patter of little feet on the stairs, no drinks from the sippy cup on my nightstand, no tip-toeing out of my bedroom in the morning to allow a sleeping child to slumber. Done. Onto the next stage, and I didn’t even see it coming. And then last night, I awoke to find her beside me once again.

So although this stage is ending, it’s not finished quite yet. Have I soaked it up enough? Without a doubt.

But I’ll still miss it.

My baby is not such a baby anymore.

Saving/Spending/Charity

2 Comments September 18, 2018 drworobec

I need to throw in a plug for the remarkable people that my children are becoming. Every once in a while, I turn up the sap on this blog and make some of you cry on the GO train. Today might be one of those days.

Let’s start with a little back-story…..

Since my children were very small, we’ve piggy-backed an idea from my sister-in-law in regards to their money and finances. We use a three-jar system; one jar for “savings,” one jar for “spending,” and one jar for “charity.” Any money that comes into my kid’s hands, everything from birthdays or shovelling neighbour’s snow or the quarters that Grandma and Grandpa hide around the house when they come for a visit, gets divided into three equal parts and put into their jars.

The “savings” jar gets taken into the bank a couple of times per year and they see their bank balance grow. The “spending” jar can be used for whatever their hearts desire, from Beyblades to Pokemon, video-games to candy. And although I encourage them to think long term and “save up” for a special purchase, they are young enough that the spending jar rarely gets above $15. The third jar, arguably the most important, is the “charity” jar. They know that this is the jar that we use to help others, and it’s another tool that we, as parents, are utilizing to try to grow our children into compassionate, caring adults. This weekend showed me that it’s working.

We were watching the news coverage of Hurricane Florence. I have a close friend who lives in North Carolina, so Florence has been at the top of my mind for awhile now. As we watched, I was texting with my friend, and was relieved to hear that she was safe and relatively unaffected. My kids sat there watching the devastation on TV, whispering to each other on the couch before heading upstairs conspiratorially. They came down with their charity jars in hand: “Mom, we want to give our charity money to the people affected by the Hurricane,” they said.

In years past, we’ve donated to whatever cause is closest to our hearts. My husband and I have a “charity jar” too, and a few times a year, depending on the circumstances of our world, we give it out accordingly, usually pooling the kid’s charity money in with ours. We’ve given to friends fallen on hard times, needy families at Christmas, natural disasters, the Canadian Cancer Society, the Food Bank, and most recently, to the Humboldt Broncos tragedy. We always talk about this giving with our kids, putting our money where our mouths are, and my son has taken to asking if we can bring our “charity” money whenever we go to BlueJays games so that he can pass it out to those in need along the PATH system. So when they came downstairs with their jars, my heart swelled with pride; $86 is headed down to the Hurricane Florence rescue efforts, but there’s been far more than $86 worth of lessons learned.

Good job, my babies.

Be kind. Always.

Go Wild, Go West!

2 Comments June 28, 2018 drworobec

This blog post comes at you two days late, and with more than 7000km of travel under my belt; 6000km of it by plane, and over 1000km by car. Such is the Alberta way: road trips.

Late last week, my kids and I took advantage of some soon-to-expire Westjet vouchers and hopped on a plane to Calgary for six days of soaking up family and friends and exploring Southern and Central Alberta. (Unfortunately my husband couldn’t join us, since he’s a teacher and the school-year has not yet wrapped up in Burlington.) I grew up in Sundre, Alberta, an hour’s drive Northwest of Calgary, but until I was ten years old, I lived in the tiny village of Hughenden, about 100km west of the Alberta-Saskatchewan border. I still have lots of relatives in and around Hughenden, so this trip was a chance to see many of them and to give my kids a taste of their heritage. My children are older now, and at nine and six, they’ve got improved stamina for car travel and a bigger interest and awareness of their surroundings. So while they’ve been to Alberta many times, it’s usually a Christmas visit, and it’s usually centred around Grandma and Grandpa’s house. This trip was the opposite of that, and we put in more than ten hours of car travel, slept in three different beds, and threw in lots of coffee and cookie visits with their Great Aunts and Uncles for good measure.

Our first adventure was the Sundre Pro Rodeo. Sundre hosts a three-day professional rodeo annually, on the third weekend in June, so if you want a true Western experience, this is it. And….. since I’m not one to do things halfway, I registered my daughter as a mutton bustin’ contestant. For those non-Albertans reading this post, mutton bustin’ is a children’s rodeo event, whereby five and six-year-olds who weigh less than 50 pounds can don a hockey helmet and ride a sheep across the rodeo arena. Hang on the longest, win a prize. I’d prepped her for months; YouTube videos, storied descriptions, and promises of fun and accomplishment. My city girl was about to get a country girl experience. After taking in the local pancake breakfast and the main street parade, we headed to the rodeo grounds, and in true Sundre Rodeo fashion, the infield was a mud pit from the rain the night before.

Undeterred, my brave girl stood above the chutes thirty minutes before her event, and we scoped out the sheep, who were corralled and waiting. The grandstand began to fill, the rain-jackets and hoodies came off, and after a lot of hurry-up-and-wait, it was time. Into the chute I climbed, onto the sheep she went; the whistle blew, the gate opened, the sheep ran. Fast. If you’re picturing this scene in your mind, you can now picture a sheep darting across the mud, then slipping and falling onto its side, with a little girl still attached; orange rubber boot in the air, she only let go when the sheep got up. rodeo discussion She came up crying, upset not about falling off, but about being covered in mud. As I’d hoped, dry clothes and a trophy quickly changed her tears to laughter. Oh, what a show-and-tell she will have at school today.

Our next adventure took us to Provost, Alberta, my birthplace, to visit my Aunt and Uncle’s farm. We spent two nights there, under the big prairie skies, and had more fun than I can describe within my word count here. Ironically, my kids missed their end-of-the-year field trip to a farm earlier this week, but got an up-close-and-personal look at a working farm instead. We checked on the cows, played with the cats, and rode the ATVs for miles across wide open spaces. We breathed in the fresh Alberta air and watched a storm roll in across the prairie, we shot slingshots and pop cans, rode in tractors and played cards and boardgames and shuffleboard. I saw my childhood flash back through them, saw life come full circle, saw the next generation see and feel and taste my memories, my nostalgia, my experiences.

I should also mention the several Aunts and Uncles and small towns that we stopped in throughout our 1000km of travel; we drove by the house I grew up in, we visited two cemeteries to see my grandparent’s headstones, and we climbed the big dinosaur lookout in Drumheller. I saw dozens of high school friends, ran on my favourite trails, and threw rocks along the riverbanks where I learned to skate. Our final night in Alberta was spent in Calgary with my brother and his family, who had also joined us in Sundre earlier in our trip. We filled up on pizza and ice cream, playgrounds and cousin hugs, neighbourhood walks and familiar streets.

All in all, this week was about roots. These people, these places, these experiences; these are the components of me. And while my life has changed dramatically over the years, their importance and value remains, so sharing these people and places with my children is something I’ll cherish forever. You know, roots and wings and all that…..