Sock it to you Dad

Commuter Dad is taking a break. I’m on a parental leave sabbatical. I’ll start blogging here again in early August when I’m hopping the bus and sailing on the ferry twice a day bound for Halifax and then home to the kids and Mé in The Passage.

Until then, I’m writing about my parental leave comings and goings with three tots under 5 and a loving mama and wife at The Finest Gift.

Our first 50 days with Lila-Jeanne have been marvelous. Nellie and Noah’s excitement about their little sis is still running high. Life has livened up for Mé and I too.

Lila has just recently started smiling and is putting together her own vocabulary. We have our best conversations during diaper changes. It’s playtime – talk, listen and mimic.

Although Lila’s growing at an astounding pace we’re still in the new baby smell zone. It’s the most intoxicating aroma I’ve ever come across. It is the essence of beauty, wonder and promise that commingles to form a heady extract, an incomparable baby elixir. It’s a joy to relive beginnings all over again.

New kid on the block

Lila-Jeanne is here now on the sunshine side of the womb. She is beautiful beyond the singing of it. Just before dawn she surfaces from her heroic struggle. Breaking through, she lets loose with an impassioned caterwauling filling her lungs with air for the first time. Under her membranous wrapping she is our rosy pink gift – warm, spluttering movement, uncertain and authentically surprised.

Mélanie sweats, grinds, bears down, pushes, struggling through the pain. Bands of steely muscle contract and loosen. Her body marches inexorably to a final unwinding. She is courageous beyond the telling of it. A last determined push helps propel Lila out to our side. Her serpentine cord, that inimitable bond, unravels like a lazy spring. In an instant, nine long months of anticipation become a joyous eternity. Her presence overwhelms us. Lila is laid on Mélanie’s breast – mother and daughter heartbeat to racing heartbeat.

I am buoyant, awash in a warm sea inhaling life’s elemental scent. This is pure joy. I am a lucky man to experience this miraculous moment one more time. I cradle Lila in my arms, our first skin-to-skin touch, and look into her small, awakened face. She stops crying as I gently rock her while walking back and forth. I’m pleased the tears pause. Just maybe I’m emitting some subliminal positive vibes that are helping her in some small way.

Did I mention that maman shows her champion mettle throughout this crescendo of breathe, push, pain – breathe, cry, birth – baby, sigh, smile?

It wasn’t always a sure thing though. Mélanie was convinced we would be returning home to The Passage with her big belly intact. Three hours after checking in dilation was still only at 2 cm. We walked around and around and around the small maze garden to stir things up after the early labour nurse gave it a go too. It didn’t appear that the stirring was going to take.

It was a relatively calm evening so we got checked into a birthing room. Mé took a long warm bath and soon afterward the contractions picked up intensity and frequency. After several waves, Mé decided it was time to call on the purveyor of the epidural – the magic man. As well as diminishing the pain, the anesthetic provided an energy jolt.

Mé was in her groove initiating conversations with the nurses about family and children, reaching out to learn about their lives. One of the nurses works regularly in remote communities in northern Manitoba. Mélanie was able to share her Poplar River experiences from many years ago. It was one of the few communities the nurse had not yet visited.

Our main nurse was with us right through to the birth. She is the same age as my oldest daughter and has two young children of her own – one pre-schooler, one school age. She was a sweet heart helping Mé throughout the night. She is a member of the Salvation Army and one of her pastors was a close friend of mine during high school. The world can be so small and beautiful.

Our doctor had been alerted earlier in the evening and received a second call to haul her out of bed and get her to the hospital. On arrival she told us she had already delivered this baby once in a dream. There had been only one snag, she couldn’t find a clamp she needed, nor could any of the nurses. There were massive amounts of blood spurting from the baby getting on everyone and everything and then she woke up. Happily, there were no lost clamp issues in the real life delivery. However, I did have to pull the doctor’s ringing blackberry our of her back pocket, tell her daughter to get ready for hockey and let her know that her mom was busy and would call her back. Life goes on even as new life bursts on the scene.

The kids are waking up back in The Passage. Lila-Jeanne and Mé get a kiss as I float out the door, dazed and euphoric. Back home, Raymond and the children are waiting wide-eyed. Noah’s exuberant, impromptu dance while rapid fire chanting his new sister’s name is a welling up of primal joy, unbridled, uncut. Nellie is right there by his side spinning, weaving, smiling, laughing still a pixie babe herself. Raymond is beatific tout court.

I make the calls to immediate family with the good news and contact my office. Even though I didn’t do any of the hard work, it’s been a long night. Raymond lets me crash to get a little rest. I drift off with the new baby smell and thoughts of Lila-Jeanne in my mind.

Thank you Mélanie for being a loving maman and a fearless championne.

Yes, we have no baby

The due date is Thursday. It’s nearly Tuesday. Noah and Nellie were both early. Mélanie is waiting and wanting our Lila-Jeanne to join us on this side of the womb. Calls and emails are picking up from friends and family but it’s still round belly news on our end.

Mé is a champion. It’s been the toughest of three pregnancies – physically challenging through many months. We are both looking forward to this daughter defining her day and coming out for the celebration. It will be our last birth day. It will be a fine bonne fête as we hear the music of Lila’s first gasping cry and welcome her to the world snugged on maman’s breast.

Raymond is here giving us a hand with the kids. He arrived from Montreal last week. Nellie and Noah are ecstatic as grand-papa devotes plenty of time to play, laughter and fun activities. Nellie-Rose’s standard morning wake-up statement, ‘j’ai faim‘ (I’m hungry) has been tossed aside in favour of, ‘où est grand-papa?‘ (where is granpapa?).

The kids are ready for their new little sister. Visitors get the narrated tour of her corner real estate next to maman and papa’s bed where she’ll sleep in a playpen for a few months. More and more we are all talking about bébé Lila. We’re calling her to join us so we can cradle her in our arms, inhale that heavenly baby aroma and love her up.

Today I bought the cutest little pink hand knit bonnet for Lila. One of my work mates noticed it as she was passing by the store window where it was on display. She has a good eye. I got it back home for Mé to share in the cuteness. It’s a come on out gift. So please, come on out tonight. Wake us up as you swim to the light. Maman is ready for your heroic struggle to wash over her body in pounding waves of belly tightening pain. She will cry out as you force yourself through. We will cry and laugh as we see, smell and touch you. You will rock us sweet. You will smile our Noah and Nellie. You will dream our family and our whole family will dream you. Join the new moon, join us and take a deep breath of love life.

The Friend

There are about 15 houses on each side of the street on our block. Just one side of the street, the one facing us, has a sidewalk. That side is the high activity zone during Hallowe’en beginning just after dusk. Noah and Nellie are dressed up and off we go into our first trick-or-treating adventure together. There we are – a polka dot dog, a two-legged giraffe and an uncostumed, roly-poly dad mixing it up with monsters, witches, robots, vampires and other scary apparitions.

Both kids are doing very well with the up and down stairs, making their way through crowds, saying their ‘trick-or-treats’ and ‘thank yous’. Of course they are both thrilled to be collecting all the goodies too – lots of chips and the odd chocolate bar. As treats are dropped in their bag at one door it is as if a magnetic attraction immediately begins pulling them to the next house. Perhaps this is an instinctual response hearkening back to our hunting and gathering days. Rows of houses on a grid system sure do make for easy pickings.

We see an old crone in her cabin on a front lawn with lights, smoke and spooky sound effects. It’s not enough to deter the quest for full bags of spectral loot. Both Nellie and Noah advance timorously, with caution and are rewarded with a double helping of treats from a smiling witch. We wrap up the block with nary a fall, and barely a fright. I manage to keep Noah in check and only half a house length in front of Nellie and I.

We turn a couple of corners and make our way onto a crescent for our next go at door knocking. The costumed kid population density seems to have doubled. They must be shipping them in from surrounding neighbourhoods. My People of the Bus buddies later report that they had visits from more than 160 kids.

We approach our first house in this new stretch of street and in an instant Hallowe’en is stopped in its tracks. There is a more powerful force at play. Noah is talking excitedly but I can’t make out what he is saying. Then I hear, “mon ami” – my friend. There is Ian in the flesh. I have heard so much about him but this is the first time we’ve met. Noah and Ian are dancing around, laughing and giggling on a stranger’s lawn. They are ecstatic at bumping into each other. It’s off to Ian’s house for a quick visit and introductions to other members of the family.

Ian and his mom then join us as we head back to our house. There is time for a cup of tea for the adults and some playing for the kids. Ian and Noah are both beaming and Nellie is tagging along. Ian is the first friend that Noah has chosen. They are inseparable at pre-school gravitating to each other in the morning when they arrive. Since mid-September they have become best buddies.

Just before the Hallowe’en excursion Noah looked up at me out of the blue and said, “I love Ian.” And that says it all. Down the road I may forget the costumes my beauties wore on this particular Hallowe’en but I think I’ll always remember the joyous encounter. It will always be the Year of Ian and Noah, of budding friendship, heartfelt delight and small boys’ laughter filling the air on a starry night.

H1N1 – looking after maman and baby-to-be – a swinish afternoon

“I recommend women in the latter stages of their pregnancy not wait even a week for unadjuvanted vaccine.” This is the quote from Nova Scotia’s Chief Public Health Officer that greeted me in the Halifax edition of Metro on Tuesday morning. There was a similar statement in the online version of The Chronicle Herald. Trouble is seems there are no plans to have vaccine available in any quantity in Halifax before November 2.

Mé had been doing some research from home trying to decide if she should get the vaccine or not. The real concern came down to whether or not to take a vaccine with adjuvant. The Globe and Mail published a helpful Q & A on H1N1 which touched on this and a number of other issues.

Mé is due for that big push within two, three weeks maximum. Really though, Lila could come out for her welcome party at any time. Both Noah and Nellie were a week early. After some helpful advice from the professionals at the 811 call centre, we decided not to wait any longer. We grabbed that brass ring and set our minds on getting our skin popped with the adjuvanted vaccine made available yesterday for the first time in Nova Scotia. We’re not fully clear what the risks are though we feel and hope they are minimal. We don’t want Mé and Lila to run the chance of contracting the swine flu in the absence of all protection.

Yesterday we drove the 45 kilometres or so to the East Hants Resource Centre in Elmsdale. We arrived shortly after 13h00 and there were approximately 300 in line along the sidewalk and one of the perimeter lines of the parking area. People had started lining up before 9h00. A security guard approached Mé and signalled her to follow him. He took us to the rear of the line inside the centre. There were now about 20 people ahead of us and an additional 30 to 40 people in the actual waiting room. The security guard had just started turning people away when we were parking our car. We got through because Mé is pregnant.

The employees at the vaccination clinic were patient, caring and present. It was an incredible testament to their professionalism and compassion. The flow through of people did not stop all day long.

Our guys were tired to begin with as this was their usual nap time. It was a challenge to keep them entertained and amused for what turned out to be a two-hour wait. It was long for the adults in the room. It was an eternity for them.

The injections as a grand finale were not a show stopper for our little darlings who had no clue they were in for a needle until just moments before the dastardly act. The act itself was cause for piercing wails as we wrapped both kids tight in our arms and legs forcibly immobilizing them. Thankfully the high-pitched sounds of fear and terror were rapidly replaced by a sobbing diminuendo. Recovery was quick and smiley faces reappeared as both Nellie and Noah resumed with play in the recovery room.

It was early to bed last night for everyone. We all had some tenderness and soreness in our arms. We’re happy that the decision is behind us and that we’re now vaccinated. Next I have to speak with my two older daughters to see what their plans are.

For more information on H1N1 visit the World Health Organization, Center for Disease Control and the Public Health Agency of Canada.

Here in Nova Scotia you can check this provincial site for vaccination schedules throughout the province.

For a more global perspective on the pandemic consult this map by the World Health Organization.

Oops, nearly forgot – the young ones have to go back in one month for a second shot…..

PS – The swinish nature of the afternoon had everything to do with attempting to curb the enthusiasm of a just turned four-year-old and an about to be two-year-old in a confined space with no real play areas. The volunteers and staff were excellent.

Treats all round

Tout le monde en parle is rounding out the weekend – always a list of interesting guests and often a provocative perspective on what is happening in politics, the arts, pop culture and sports. Mé is beside me thoughts roundly fixed on her belly. “I would have liked to have had the baby this weekend,” she says. It was hope beyond hope that it would happen while her maman was here for a five day visit. Lila is all over the place now. You can literally see her stretching. ‘She is way too comfortable in my body. She should be a little more shy,” says Mé.

Noah is in a nocturnal shenanigan vibe, bustin’ his own moves. He’s rearranging a gaggle of buddies on his bed. All the while it’s a constant stream of sound effects – talking, yawning, bouncing around, feet pattering on carpet. He’s playing fast and loose, any which way but sleep. Just before bed, he watches 15 minutes of So You Think You Can Dance. It’s the finals and after each spectacular move on the highlight reels he asks, “Does it hurt?”

Earlier in the evening, Noah is letting loose with some amazing moves of his own. He is a porter extraordinaire taking grand-maman’s suitcase all the way from the parking lot through the airport and to the check in counter. A combination pushing and pulling technique and hearty encouragement from Nicole, myself and passersby help him reach the final destination. All offers of help are met with a smiling yet firm, “I can do it.”

At one point in this epic journey Noah catches sight of a display of plush lobsters. He comes to an abrupt halt beside the display, drops the suitcase on the ground and picks up one of the lobsters for closer inspection. Almost instantaneously he drops it back in the bin, picks up the suitcase and looking at us both in turn says, “Not today, too busy, hard work.” We are just about ready to roll on the ground.

After hugs and kisses, grand-maman steps through the point of no return on her way to the departure level. Noah and I take the glass door elevator to the observation area on the third floor. In 15 minutes, we see seven take-offs and one landing. This doesn’t exactly respond to Noah’s almost constant, deep desire to take a plane to somewhere, anywhere but it does allow for some vicarious thrills.

It’s been a sans enfants weekend for us. This just adults time treat has only happened previously in Sorel when we’ve been able to nip away for a couple of days leaving the kids with Nicole and Raymond. Mé had the brilliant idea of having Nicole come down for a visit here so the two of us could foot loose and fancy free it in Halifax.

We bundle up a couple of bags and grab the 60 for Alderney Gate to catch a ferry across the harbour. It’s a few hours before we can check into our B&B on South Park. We make our way slowly from the waterfront and window shop our way up Spring Garden. By chance we spot a sign for Curry Village. They’ve moved. Mé’s had a craving for Indian and this is our restaurant of choice. We saunter up Dresden Row and seat ourselves in their new digs. It’s Saturday lunch and we have the place practically to ourselves. As always we revel in the butter chicken and naan bread.

Dessert is only five or six doors away at Susie’s Shortbreads. This is a jewel of a sweet treat shop with cakes, cookies and their claim to fame killer cupcakes. I choose the peppermint patty and have no regrets. Mé selects something with a cream cheese topping that she’s going to eat later. We agree to come back the following day to bring home some goodies for the kids. The business is using social media successfully to reach out customers. We’ll certainly be repeats.

Next stop – Clay Café. This is a paint-your-own pottery studio for all ages. On our way we meet a couple of sweet older women on the very crowded bus. One was married to a Scot from Glasgow. The other – an 88-year-old from Wales – was a war bride. It was nice to small talk with them on their way to the mall.

The café is bright and full of activity. We’re here to create a couple of pieces for Nellie and Noah. I choose a plate for Noah and am feeling very deficient in the artistic muse department. Mé is making a pretty cup for Nellie-Belle. Mé’s concept is for us to come here on a regular basis and do pieces for the kids which we’ll give to them when they grow up.

This is not the kind of thing that I would naturally gravitate toward. After a little while I’m feeling more comfortable though no more adept or proficient in applying the paint or coming up with design and decoration ideas. The experience grows on me and I see that Mé has a fine concept on the go here. It will be a great thing for us to do together. It’s a time to focus with no distractions and an opportunity to create a special gift over the years for our babies. When they are a little older, it will be a fun place to bring them too. Friday and Saturday nights there is live music. With our guys we could easily make that live music and dance.

We check in to the B&B, nap and head out on the town. Well we walk about three blocks in smittering, smattering rain. We’re a little chilled when we reach the sports bar. There’s an ultimate fighting spectacle being broadcast later in the evening but there are still a few seats left at tables. We make ourselves comfortable for three plus periods of Canadiens versus NY Rangers action. It’s a good game. We’re particularly happy with the final score 5 to 4 in favour of Montreal. Bravo to Cammalleri for his hat trick.

By the end of the game the place is packed. People are asking for our second table and looking unhappy when we don’t hand it over. The server is with us though and that’s what counts. The ultimate fighting is in the warm up bouts. It’s a nasty looking sport – plenty of blood and pummelling right before our eyes. Both Mé and I are ready to leave. Back at the B&B we’re asleep almost straight away.

It”s like tropical rain throughout the night, a deluge of a downpour. It’s lessened somewhat by daybreak but the sky is still bleak and indistinct wrapping us all in a muffle of grey. We wake to the sounds of new streams gurgling and a gentler wind than the previous evening buffeting the windows. This is a chance to laze about, a delicious dalliance for us these years past.

By noon we check out and track back to Dresden Row. It’s time to get the kids’ cupcakes and other sugary delights. After a late breakfast, we hop the ferry to connect with the bus ride home. Nellie and Noah are thrilled to see us. It’s great to feel them close and warm in our arms. The reunion is every bit as wonderful as I anticipated.

A quick trip to the playground in the summer like weather, some take-out and then grand-maman is off the airport. Bye-bye grand-maman and thanks so much. We miss you.

Musical chairs

Nellie-Rose is graduating. She’s in a transition mode right now, in the process of being liberated from her high chair. The potential messy quotient of the food along with her gigotage levels – wriggliness – are the key determinants as to whether or not it will be another meal strapped in behind a plastic tray.

Noah-David is attuned to this sea change. Nellie recently started asserting a desire to break out of the status quo by plomping herself down on one of the dining room table chairs. Noah was there immediately to assist and encourage her. Since then she’s upped the ante as she has taken to running away on occasion when papa or maman come to sit her in the high chair. She is also emphasizing her eagerness for a new relationship with dining room furniture by taking on some table setting. This is an activity she has learned through careful observation of big brother Noah’s expert and enthusiastic place setting technique.

Our ever helpful lad is taking matters in his own hands. “Papa, I have a job for you,” he exclaims as he prepares to give me instructions for my work detail. My mission is to take a children’s size table – custom built by Mélanie’s paternal grand-papa – from the playroom downstairs to the dining room. This, Noah explains, is to be the new eating spot for our queen bee. It’s also a great place for plush buddies to have a spot of tea.

She likes it well enough although she can be quite fidgety. The other day she used it as her place to try out a new gesture, body language that borders the cute and melodramatic zones. Seated in her chair, she leaned forward both elbows firmly planted on the table top, her face cradled in the “V” of her hands, fingers covering her cheeks and her eyes looking skyward. I’m not sure what she was trying to express with this pose but it gave a glimpse of age beyond her years. Moments later she took two small plastic pig figurines à la Walt Disney, one in each palm, and did a reprise of the pose. There was only one possible outcome for us – smiles and laughter.

And so unfolds another chapter in the continuing meal time adventure sagas of Prince Ketchup et Princess J’ai Faim.

Dance, dance wherever you may be

As far as I know, Noah’s viewing of Disney’s animated The Jungle Book more than a year ago was not a defining moment. I was barely able to get him to sit through part of the jazzed out temple bacchanalia. Now he’s doing what he calls the ‘monkey dance’ complete with simian sound effects as he careens around the front room. Had I not known better I would have thought he was Mowgli’s understudy. He has some boppin’ riffs that even King Louis would have loved to claim as his own choreography.

Our boy is a dancer. His first joyful steps were to the accompaniment of Diogal’s Sore performed in this video at the Satellit Café in Paris. Not long after he stabilized upright he locked the rhythm down simmering sweet. He’s got a groove and it’s good to the see the mostly unihibited moves as he shakes, extends, bends and spins on the ground. Diogal, thanks for the initial inspiration, his first gift of dance.

With so much dance in the air, it’s à propos that we read It’s a George Thing. George is a zebra who serendipitously discovers that dance is his thing. It gives him a newfound confidence and a means to express himself. Dance is a passion he can share. Great story by David Bedford and illustrations by Russell Julian. The book has a tongue in cheek dedication to John Travolta. Sure to bring bedtime smiles and giggles for the three to six-year-old crowd.

Music and dance are soul mates and Noah loves them both. He’s relaying his passion to Nellie-Rose. She’s a welcome recipient experimenting in her own right with sound and movement. In fact, we’ve taken to riding with a small drum in the back seat of the car. I saw it sitting there between the car seats on a recent solo drive and thought, “This is going to be trouble.” It’s surprising though how just the one, a small one it must be emphasized, can have a soothing effect and provide great accompaniment to la ferme à Maturin, Old MacDonald’s. So far, it’s a great car toy but I wouldn’t want to contend with this while driving…

After the jam session, Nellie and I go out for our own pas de deux where rolling waves meet the beach at Rainbow Haven. It starts calamitously. I lose sight of her walking to the car. As I swing open my door I hear a soft thud and a wail of disbelief. Nellie is on her back in the driveway sobbing, tears streaming down her face. Fortunately a neighbour is walking by with a small puppy. She comes over and the distraction gradually dispels the tears.

Out at water’s edge, the foaming sea snakes up the beach, slithering in, whispering out. Nellie has her puddle hoppers on, unsure at first if she should retreat from the advancing water. She looks up into my face for a cue. With a big smile and a couple of words I encourage the fun and frolic option. I let her know that she’s safe and that I will stay close. It’s not long before a hesitant toe dip is a full fledged assault and Nellie becomes an island in the midst of shifting eddies.

This is all great fun, a salt tinged breeze on a mild October day, fine rocks to collect on the almost abandoned beach, the calming sound of breaking surf and time to be with my baby passing in an unhurried ebb and flow tempo. Her next move jags me out of my pastoral. She’s horizontal again looking up at the sky and getting wet as the last traces of water on the piece of beach she’s occupying gets sucked back into the sea. Into my arms for a cuddle. She’s a bit damp but none the worse for wear. Wet enough though for us to start making tracks home but not quite so bad that there can’t be a detour for some contemplative freestyle puddle exploration. It’s not as tricky as the run and dash water at the beach.

Sunday we’re on the road for Windsor – home of the giant pumpkins and the world’s first pumpkin regatta. Linus lovers of the world unite. This is the pumpkin patch gone out of its gourd. It’s a great pumpkin happening like no other and an inventive solution to stretching the tourist season.

Thousands of people are taking in the Childen’s Wish Foundation parade. First we hang out under the sign of the Tim”s where we get a pretty good view of some of the floats. We venture into the crowds on Water Street and one of the bystanders quips, “Look a double decker. And one in the oven.” The parade is almost over but these curbside bon mots as we roll by on the street make us feel like we’re part of it all.

We stroll down to waterside in search of those fabled pumpkin bateaux. This is Lake Pezaquid where the real action takes place. All eyes are drawn to the expanse of chilly water. Every 30 seconds or so, Noah wants to know, “Did it start yet?”. The crowds are getting denser and there’s a real carnival atmosphere along the downtown shore. Noah, Nellie and another young girl are adding to the merriment with their game of run-dance-tag. Vendors from Amherst, Halifax and Hants County make sure there’s greasy food par excellence and fresh produce to go the rounds. The real find is the stand selling giant home-baked cookies decorated with liberal amounts of Hallowe’en icing motifs. They’re so big that eating an entire cookie brings me to the brink of nausea but I just can’t pull back.

Noah’s perched on my shoulders to watch the first heat. It’s the motorized class. One of the three contestants is stranded not even halfway across the lake, dead in the water. The other two chug along toward our shore. There’s not much of a wake behind either vessel. Speed is relative in this event. In second place is is an 11-year-old boy. He’ll have some great bragging rights at school.

We’ve been standing around for over two hours and the chill is starting to penetrate our clothes. We’re all feeling a little dog-eared and ready to roll for home. If the weather’s nice next year we’ll time it differently so we can take in the paddlers. They’re the biggest contingent in the event as they cross the lake like an undisciplined, bobbing armada.

As proud as it is of its pumpkins, Windsor has a lot more to offer. It’s the Birthplace of Hockey as the highway sign proudly proclaims. There are pretenders to the throne but the Town maintains that it has near irrefutable evidence to make good it claim.

Windsor is also home to Mermaid Theatre, an internationally renowned children’s touring troupe. The company purchased the old Imperial Theatre in 2003 and now presents a series of cultural events throughout the year. In 2010 stay tuned for the return of The Very Hungry Caterpillar an award winning theatrical adaptation of Eric Carle’s children’s book.

We finish up the holiday weekend on an overdose of turkey and chocolate pie topped with hand whipped cream brought over by daughter Alexa and boyfriend Jordan. It’s good to see them both and we tune in for some art school, university tales. It’s a wonderful unrushed afternoon and I’m glad they are able to make the time for an Eastern Passage trip.

Big steps

Noah-David is now a three mornings a week lad at pre-school. We’re into our fourth week and he still occasionally asks if he can stay at home. We haven’t succumbed to these requests as yet because we want to establish a pattern and expectation of leaving the house and participating in a learning/play environment with other kids. This is all in preparation for next fall’s transition of going to school.

Our son has found his first non-family soul mate. He has a best friend. They are very happy in each other’s company. They hold hands going into class, play with each other throughout the morning and by all accounts are inseparable. When I start my parental leave the pre-school dropping off and picking up will be one of my more anticipated activities. I’ll be able to listen to spontaneous stories, see the two of them in action and observe the development of a youthful friendship.

The grand garçon – big boy – pre-school stuff is significant news for us but there’s a lot of other new activity happening on the home front too. Noah is dressing himself at the start of the day and gets into his PJs at night. He’s soaking his hair in the bath and shampooing. He turns lights on and off to conserve energy taking a little stool with him so he can reach the switches. He is an inveterate hand washer and loves to fill the washroom sink for a lengthy session of soaping and playing. On car excursions he opens the four doors and cosies himself into his car seat. At pre-school, he’s communicating entirely in English. And finally, he’s always there to help show his little sister how to do things.

With the bustle of our daily lives, it is sometimes difficult to keep track of the number of new accomplishments that are happening almost simultaneously. It’s like a behavioural growth spurt. The boundaries of knowledge and experience are undergoing significant expansion. It’s a real treat to be a part of all this newness, to be swept up in the enthusiasm and wonder of, “I can do that myself.” Noah is proud of the new things he is able to do and he knows that he is being a big help to maman and papa in these areas of newly developed independence.

Nellie is bursting out too – at her own speed. Despite having big brother around, her bursting nature is uniquely her own. She does have the daredevil twist that’s really in evidence when we’re at playgrounds. There is nothing she won’t try to get on, over, under, or through without any parental assistance, thank you very much.

She’s a social convener with strong maternal instincts. I’ve yet to see her in action but Mélanie tells me that she’s the belle of the ball down at pre-school. She’s greeting, tickling and running with all the other little brothers and sisters, coddling the babies and being the unofficial entertainment coordinator. I’m sure that I’m in for plenty of laughs and some heartfelt moments when I get to take on the chauffeur to pre-school role in a couple of months. It’s going to be fun.

Nellie-Rose has a few new tricks of her own on the go. She is now becoming an experienced face puller. She’s using the standard method of index fingers at either side of the mouth accompanied by a forceful stretch, wagging tongue and unintelligible vocalizations. There’s an appreciative audience for this kind of material down at pre-school. She has followed her brother into the secret society of ablutions. She is not as fastidious but roars in disapproval when pulled away from a full sink of water.

Out of the blue, Nellie started to sit at one of the chairs around the dining room table at meal time. The message was pretty clear but she’s not quite ready to totally abandon the high chair. We now have her eat less messy meals seated at the table. She’s very pleased with this new development that she pioneered. It won’t be too long before the high chair is a thing of the past. In fact, there isn’t a chair in the house that can resist Nellie’s assaults. To sit on our large wooden rocker, she launches her upper torso onto the seat with outstretched arms, grabs the spindles on the back and hauls the rest of her body onto the rocker. It’s a slick, if somewhat ungainly, no nonsense manoeuvre.

Our girl is also brushing her teeth on good nights when she’s not too tired. Maman and papa still need to come in behind. She is an on again, off again user of the potty. This will come to pass on a more frequent basis in time. Mélanie tells me she’s not quite ready. All told, Nellie is able. She’s getting things done.

Language is no exception. She has already learned ‘jamais‘ – never – which is generally accompanied by an escape dash down the hall and a less than foolproof go at hiding behind some bedroom curtains. Nellie is well developed in the realm of the spoken word and regularly uses full sentences. At present her signature phrase is ‘j’ai faim‘ – I’m hungry. They’re the first words we hear in the morning and they are repeated like a chorus throughout the day.

In just a few short weeks – yes I know it’s easy for a guy not approaching the end of the last trimester to say that – we’ll be starting all over with a brand new little Lila-Jeanne who will need constant care, feeding and attention. Her arrival will undoubtedly precipitate some behavioural changes in her older sister and brother. These are all incremental steps in individual development and in building family bonds and identity – the magic stuff of daily life.

Chance encounters

Occasionally I clock some beyond Nova Scotia travel with my job. Most recently, it was off to Ottawa for a professional development opportunity. A quick trip – two days on the road. Day one is a series of serendipitous encounters.

In the seats in front of me on the plane are a mom and three cute kids – steps and stairs from infant to just school age. They are travelling to a family wedding in Ontario. Our conversation and their antics make the time pass quickly. Family is the focal point of the adult discussion giving me the chance to share stories about my children and bask in the warm glow of the recounting and remembering.

The mother grew up in Halifax the first generation of her Asian family to be born in Canada. As an adult she worked in Japan for several years. This is where she met her husband, a European running a business in Osaka. She’s back in Halifax now to coincide with her oldest child starting school. The next step is to get her husband into Canada. Their current challenge is around recognition of professional qualifications. The kids are sweet and make me think of my little ones.

On my way to supper I drop into the Rideau Centre to see if I can pick up some small gifts for Mélanie and the kids. As I’m rounding a corner, there is Jacques Demers right beside me. I can’t remember his name initially so I blurt out, “Les Canadiens?” When he responds in the affirmative, I rattle off how I have a young guy at home who absolutely adores les canadiens. He says the season will be starting on Thursday night. By that time I have recovered his name from that infrequently used hockey compartment of my memory and say, “Mr. Demers, right?” He confirms I have the name but need a little work on the honorific, “yes, it’s Senator now.” What a career and you can still see him on RDS’ L’avant match.

I’m running a little early for supper so I pop into the former Double Decker in the market – new owners and name since it was an an old hangout for me. Up top on the second storey, where I usually went back in the day, I almost walk into a full blown political meeting. There is speechifying, collecting of money at the door and an atmosphere bordering on gravitas. This isn’t the kind of entertainment I was looking for so I retreat down the stairs.

It’s my good fortune to do so. At the bar I am seated next to a couple of retired schoolteachers from Manitoulin Island. They are down on a little holiday and are just waiting to get seated for supper. They both volunteer one morning per week at their local tourist bureau. They are lit up as they talk about these mornings. They love meeting the people and helping them get acquainted with their home. Retirement is not slowing either of them down. In addition to the volunteering, Maurice is also a councillor with the local government.

Twice I ask them the crazy question, “Do you know…..?”. I strike gold both times. I’m thirty years out from conversations with both individuals I ask about. Jose Garcia was my next door neighbour at Queen St. West and Bathurst. He was a rootsy potter from Dominican Republic I think. He had already made his connection with Manitoulin back in those days. Now he’s running a gallery and a B&B in South Baymouth referenced in this Globe and Mail article. Looks like Jose continues to roots along as he is the co-organizer of the annual Meeting of the Two Drums Festival.

Just before Maurice and his wife are called to their table, I ask if they know David Campbell. HIs wife looks at me first speaking his name and then singing a verse, “David Campbell, Pretty Brown you’re a song that I just can’t keep from singing.” There we are strangers sharing a song that years ago had brought us both great happiness. David is an Arawak singer/songwriter and artist now living in the Vancouver area. When I met him nearly 30 years ago he had five or six albums to his credit. Pretty Brown is the one I fell in love with.

David, Theo Ben-Gurirab and members of Quilapayun were amongst the first people I interviewed as a volunteer writer at The Toronto Clarion. I still remember David telling me that the problem with people on ‘the left’ is that they have no sense of humour. Since then I’ve always thought that a receding humour line was a dangerous thing.

Supper is with good friends I don’t get to see frequently enough and for Gary it’s his bday. Our celebrations are low key as we enjoy each other’s company over a couple of glasses of wine and some mid-scale Italian cuisine.

The next day is chock-full at a conference on social media. It’s a roomful of believers, passionate about creating new pathways, about firing up creativity, riding the tip of the wave. Lots to think about, to digest, put into practice.

One more friend stop on the way to the airport. I luck a London cab. The East European driver tells me there are only five in the city. He’s had his for a few months. At the $90K price tag, he’s got a few more fares before he can call it his own.

On the plane I sit next to a retired RCMP officer from Lethbridge. When he was five-years-old he lived in Eureka, Nova Scotia. He keeps in touch with his Nova Scotia relatives and is always glad for the chance to visit. This time he’ll be checking to make sure his grandfather’s headstone has had the work done to it that he contracted. It’s something his father had always wanted to do.

I’m happy to get home at 2:30 in the morning. Chance encounters – listening, learning, and a little laughing.