I have Secondary Progressive MS and have lived with the disease for twenty seven years. I have been under the care of a physician and neurologist for the past thirteen years. To this day, the only treatment that I have received is medication to relieve pain. Every two weeks, $300 is spent at the Pharmacist. I take high levels of…
I’ve not heard that question for around 15 years. You tend to forget the experience.
This weekend it all came back to me. The first two times it was cute. Sweet memories of days gone by – the first two times.
We were traveling to the interior, a mere 3ish hours, with two grandchildren strapped in the back seat. It used to take us 3ish hours until this weekend.
We’ve driven 20 minutes when we heard the first “are we there yet?” Heidi and I chuckle. We glance at each other in an all-knowing smile. It seemed like just a few years back that we were answering that question. Cute that it started within the first 20 minutes.
Something changes after the count of 2.
“WHAT DID I JUST SAY!” in a not-so-loud voice but with just a touch of authority. That would spark an answer in their mind the next time their mouth opened to ask the same question.
“Let’s play punch-buggy” is Annalise’s suggestion. Apparently there has been a big slump in VW sales. Nothing. “Are we there yet?”
“Let’s sing songs” is Heidi’s idea and the two of us break out in the kid songs of yesteryear. Harmony even. They don’t sing those songs anymore. “Are we there yet?” as we climb the Summit Highway.
We stop to play in the snow. I can live with a 4ish hour trip. Everyone has peed (not in the snow) and we’re on back on our trek. “Are we there yet?”
It’s time for CD’s. Ahh, Veggie tale songs. My favourite. Not quite Creedence Clearwater musical genius but we laugh and sing where we think we can.
The 4ish hour pulls into arrivals. “Now we’re here!” We all pour out for the greet and hug.
The trip was perfect! There’s nothing like a road trip with young grandkids.
Grand parenting is a truly awesome experience. You actually get to reach back and touch life as it was. Life is not a difficult thing. It’s all about the basics: Feeling safe, knowing where you are, how you belong, being loved and cared for and even having an answer to all our questions. If you allow it, being a grand parent will bring this gift back to you in the cutest package.
Cherish every moment.
When I grew up this was a common term to identify the father or husband within the family. My dad was known as the head of the house. We all knew that. All that meant to us was that since God created Adam first, the Dad or eldest son was given this title, Biblically sanctioned. Dad got to make the final decisions; he was served first at each meal and was expected to lead family devotions.
“We know who wears the pants in your home” is a joke that we’ve all heard, implying that somehow the man of the house was weak and allowed his wife to make decisions without his co
nsent.
“Head of the house” is a term that I feel has been abused and misconstrued by today’s culture. The “macho man” stereotype man has been able to use this freedom to support a position in the family of which has been reduced to little more than the one who makes the decisions.
Yes, we’ve made the big move home after 24 years of our pastoral sojourn. Many things have changed and yet everything is the same.
I literally had nothing to do with the move other than stay out of the way. There are few perks to having MS and so I take every one of them that comes along. With all my heart and energies, I lived up to my part of the deal. Our new home is in the decor process. “What belongs in this room?” opposed to “where does this furniture fit?” is what I’ve become familiar with. My comfort comes from Heidi’s assurance that I fit.
Until the “fit” makes its appearance, most everything other than the most basic necessities are still in boxes. We edited all our belongings before we moved here and now we find ourselves editing as we take things out of the boxes. “Is this (item of your choice) important and useful to our lives?” is another question I’ve become acquainted with.
Now here’s something you will not hear every day. I performed a bunny wedding. Yes, I’m talking about the rabbit species, the ones that hop about.
Back in about 1990, while living in Ontario, we purchased a bunny for a pet. I do recall the rabbit hopping about the house and I, or possible Heidi, running behind picking up the “pellets” that the rabbit was discarding along the way. Our kids were elementary age at the time.
Apparently there was a lot of excitement around the neighborhood. “Hey everyone, Tanya and Chrissie have a rabbit.” And for a while it seemed to be the number one attraction, rating well above dogs, cats and even horses. I’m sure there must have been a lot of parents listening to the ever-gnawing whines, “AAHHH Dad, please can I have a bunny?” It has not been very often in our parenting days that neighbourhood kids really wanted what our kids had. There must have been a least a little pride in this ol’ dad.
I’m sure it only took a few days until a well intentioned father caved and purchased a bunny for their little girl. Excitement in our little neighbourhood rose to an entirely new level. Can you imagine two bunnies? Naturally there was the traditional “meet and greet” party for the rabbits. The ceremonial share the carrot, sniffing and all the other things a rabbit might do.
Things went well. I mean nothing out of the ordinary. Until one day, I think it was after a little anatomy lesson at school, that the neighborhood kids had a fresh, and for them revolutionary idea. Let’s put the rabbits together for a while and they will make more bunnies. Wow! Thanks teacher.
And here’s where I come in.
“Excuse me kids, I would prefer that if there is going to be any bunny reproduction happening in my garage, it will be have to be between bunnies that are married. No unwed bunnies will be having sex around here.”
It seems to me that it started out as a joke. But, the neighborhood kids rose to the occasion. “Of course,” they said in near unison. “Let’s have a bunny wedding.” I’m sure that I was proud to be asked to do the ceremony.
Within the hour, there were neighborhood kids crowded in our garage. A bouquet was created for the bunnie while the bunnyister waited, dressed in his best. I recall a little processional. “Who gives this bunny to be wed to this bunny? The young owner of the young bunny gal said her “I do.” I confirmed the marriage, “with the power invested by me…” The two bunnies were forced to give a kiss, there was probably a little after wedding dessert and then the garage door was closed.
A few listening ears pressed against the garage door to see if they could hear if bunny making was happening. The bunny making commenced rather quickly, and of course, they did make bunnies.
I’ve always wondered what the neighborhood parents thought. “Mister Peters want to do what?”
But a bunny with integrity is worth it all.
I don’t know if there are many people out there that have the privilege as I do. I took 4 of my grandchildren to see the Bee Movie.
I know that there were some family concerns, not necessarily for the kids but more for me and my ability to survive and remember where I was. I’m sure there were allusions of me getting up in the middle of movie to go to the washroom and then forgetting why I was in the Movie Theater.
I suppose I also have to admit that some of the fears are real because, in fact, it seems that every time I go to the movies, out for coffee or lunch that I leave something behind. “Hello, my husband was in your restaurant for lunch. He left one shoe behind. By any chance someone turned it in?” I’m sure they visualized that I would come walking out of the theater at the end of the show and they would have to ask, “Dad, where are the kids?”
How do I know they had a concern?
I’m not only dropped off at the door with my excited little troop but I’m escorted to the ticket depot. I’m asked several times if I’m okay. Security was then alerted, I’m sure just for precaution and we are brought directly to our 5 seats in a row. “Now hold hands.”
We all sit spellbound and silent for 2 hours.
As the movie comes to a close, guess who’s there. My escort to take me and the children safely back to their home.
And it’s okay. Whatever it takes that allows me to spend time with my grandkids. I can’t put a price on that.
And the movie? I laughed, the kids sat silent.
An hour later. “Hey kids how did you like the movie?” I’m not disappointed with their response. It comes in the form of confused noise and screams which of course includes a few of the right words.
“What was the movie about?” Their response was one that you will never see on billboards or movie trailers. “The bees went buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!!”
My evaluation?
Security and escort to and from the movie, $50.00
Movie tickets and treats, $60.00
Spending a couple hours watching a movie with 4 grandchildren, priceless.
One of the many reasons we decided to have grandchildren was so that we could laugh. Now there’s a variety of reasons for the laughter and I’ll be the first to admit that some of the reasons come with a tad of cynicism. “It’s payback time”, phrases like that of which I never tire. But one of the reasons of joy is to listen to the funny things they say and believe.
During the summer I spent a week with Chrissie and Aaron and their darling and awesome children. They all give me great joy and I love them equally. I’m amazed at how Hudson beats me at Nintendo Wii games with ease; Abby has to be one of the most courageous grade 1’rs I know as she lives well with diabetes. Then there is Carter. He just makes me laugh.
During my stay, Carter was exhibiting some general bowel discomfort. Without becoming too graphic, let’s just say that there were several “blow-outs” in the pants region. Naturally, his Mom and Dad were encouraging him to tell them prior the nasty, but as you can well imagine, numerous interests around the house kept him from the obvious. As a result, the tardy tooter blew. Literally.
Now, even though Carter is two years old, I’m sure that there some emotions that come with the ordeal. He’s a bit ashamed and perhaps even humiliated just a little. I mean, when the designer Gap jeans on Carter turn foul, the entire household is alerted and the reaction is similar to a five alarm fire.
What’s a two year old to do to somehow keep his dignity? Carter gets an Emmy for his performance. As he is being rushed to the washroom, all you can hear is Carter screaming, “It wasn’t me!! It wasn’t me!!” And I have to tell you, he sounded so convincing. “Carter, of course it was you, who else could it be?” His Mother / Medic try to reason. Aha, thinks Carter, an open door to shift the blame. “It was Abby! It wasn’t me, Abby did this to me.”
What is the role of a grandparent at a moment such as this? Laughter.
Family summer holidays are over. To some this is a happy thought (they’re over) while others quietly reminisce the unforgettable moments and look at the pictures over and over again.
Our family is now numbering 11. It has almost become a tradition for all of us to get together at a carefully selected location and spend a 24/7 joyful week together. For our family, it is a week that drives our thinking to say, “Can we do this forever?” We’re just that kind of 
family. Perfectly brought together by the grace of God in such a way that each of our personalities, tastes, desires, political views and expectations are blended into one masterful union. It’s almost freaky at times. We sit by the fire every evening singing Kum-By-Ya, candles waving in perfect time.
Some of you are not as lucky. I’m sorry. This brings me to the point of today’s Blog thought.
An extended family vacation can be like Big Brother (TV’s Reality Show). You’re in one house for a solid week learning to live, eat, sleep, watch kids and play together. The sleeping arrangements are equally similar to the Show. Not everyone has a king size memory foam mattress in a sound-insulated private room with the postcard view. Everyone thinks they deserve that room but of course only one gets it. And then there is the “slow to think or speak couple” that sleeps on the living room pullout. Some kids like to start playing at 6am in the same area that another person enjoys waking to little birds singing at 10am. 
The Head of Household? Well you would expect it to be the Dad, right? Planning the day, being the final voice on decisions, the person in charge. Yet again, these rules have been unwritten while you were not in the room. Apparently, the Head of Household is the person which is the grumpiest and had the night’s worst sleep. And I refuse to mention the PMS.
When you think about it, you could carry on the Reality Game analogy to a significant distance.
Here’s where the analogy ends. You cannot vote anybody out of the house. You may want to, there may be a strong alliance to do so and it may even make the vacation so much more enjoyable by all. But sorry, everybody must stay till the end. It’s a family vacation. You endure till the end. And then when the week is all done you say, “let’s do it again next year”. Go figure.
Now, I swiftly take you back to our family vacation. Ours is the unforgettable Kum-By-Ya experience.
Hence, may I introduce to you to the “how to have a Kum-By-Ya family vacation” DVD series for only $49.99. It comes with moment by moment instructions, eating and sleeping plans and even fun games to play with a garden hose.
Operators are standing by.
We lived in Sparwood at the time. If you’ve ever been there, you will know that there is not a whole lot to do. Don’t get me wrong, we did enjoy our time there and would not have changed anything for being there. When people came to visit, we would take our guests to see whatever wildlife they chose. A Moose? We would be within 10 feet within the hour. A Bear? That would mean a trip to the garbage dump to view the grizzlies and other similar species. Other than wildlife and beautiful scenery, not much else was there to fill your adventurous appetite.
Now, I’m married to a wonderful Brazilian lady. She an adventure junkie. It’s routine to hear that she has taken up something new. To know her is to understand that you never give her a dare unless you plan to deal with the consequences.
Take a step into the story at hand. It’s Heidi’s 40th birthday (that’s 3 years ago). The one thing I know is that she is not interested in the regular birthday cake, girl friend party. She wants a surprise party, and something very memorable.
What’s a loving husband to do?
I had her kidnapped. That’s right. I got a couple of the biggest guys in High School to join in the fun. At that time, Heidi was in a sports league at the Rec Center. I informed her team, Rec Center Staff and the Police so that these two bruising lads would be able to carry out the kidnap without being shot.
They pulled off the attack without a single flaw. As Heidi was coming out of the Rec Center (8:00pm in January), these two masked men threw a gunny sack over her head, hoisted her over their shoulders and planted her in the back seat of their car. One of the guys held her tightly in the back seat while the other got into the car and drove recklessly about the town. They were not to say a single word to her, just to increase the mystery. When they had done that for about 5 minutes, they were to drop her off at the party. They did everything according to plan.How did Heidi
react? She loved it. She taunted the two fellows, told the one holding her down that he had bad breath and fought them off a bit just for the fun of it. Just like I knew she would.
Yes, it had been a total surprise to her and a 40th birthday that would not be forgotten.
Pretty good, huh?
Now, to be fair, it did give Heidi permission to do the same to me whenever she wanted. Get a couple High School girls to kidnap me.
I’m still waiting.
You read the title of this blog right. Max has a job. I figure that he’s old enough to start earning his own keep. He’ll be 2 years old in July. Calculate that into dog years and it’s the equivalent of being 21 (The formula is: 10.5 dog years per human year for the first 2 years, then 4 dog years per human year for each year after). In the morning I bathed him, took him for a walk and waited on him until I was confident that all bodily functions had been satisfied. With his lunch in tow he set out for his first day. What can I say, he was a hit and did very well for his first day. Luckily, Max is the perfect kid’s dog. Two children pulling his tail, another sitting on him while a fourth tries to find his tonsils. All along Max is thinking, “All these people like me!” For him, nothing could be more fun. Max simply would not know what aggression looked like. Just when the pre-schoolers are tiring, 3:00pm, the after-school program begins. Max is thinking “a double shift on my first day?” The routine of being chased, walked and tackled starts all over again. At 5:30pm Max is due home. I watch him get out of the car with a somewhat subdued posture. the spring in his step was left behind somewhere. His usual greeting had a hint of his regular joy but that’s where it ended. He walked to our family room, laid down in a somewhat collapsed formation and didn’t move until bed time. Totally out of character. Read my blog about “Catch Me If You Can” and you’ll get what I mean. Since that day, Max has continued to work but has asked for light duty roles. He’s open to intimate gatherings like birthday parties, Bar Mitzvah celebrations, or a walking companion to the park.
I thought his job would be quite easy. All he really needed to do was accompany Annalise to pre-school so the kids there could play with him. A dog’s dream job. They have a nice courtyard where they could chase one another for hours.
Jaydon Daniel Kieneker is home! All the paperwork was completed on Friday for him to cross the US border in to Canada. He’s a very content little boy and sleeps wonderfully. Hurray!
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