Tag Archives: Family

Sleep

Now that I’m in my mid-40s, the biggest physical change I’ve noticed (besides my greying hair) is that it’s much harder to catch up on sleep. When I was younger I would generally stay up late reading or watching movies and I also relied heavily on all-nighters to finish school and work assignments. With two children and a dog, I’m no longer able to sleep in. Even if I’m travelling for work and have my own hotel room, I still wake up early without an alarm clock. This means that when I stay up late, I need to acknowledge the cost of this decision, which is likely a few days of feeling tired and sluggish.

My new goal is to get into bed before 11 each night, which can be tricky when I’m also trying to allocate time in the evening for running, reading and writing after my children go to bed. It’s almost 11 now, so this post will end in 3, 2, 1.

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Sandwiches

“Sandwiches are beautiful, sandwiches are fine
I like sandwiches, I eat them all the time.”—Fred Penner

This morning we took our children to a Fred Penner concert held at the outdoor stage at Toronto’s Harbourfront Centre. It wasn’t as crowded as I expected—probably because it was cold by the lake—but every parent seemed excited to be there, even more so than their children. Many of us grew up with Penner’s music and TV show, so there was a deep appreciation in the audience for his positive influence on our lives.

I was surprised by how much I enjoyed the concert. After four decades of performing, Penner is still a great musician and doesn’t seem to be slowing down. Earlier this year he even won a fourth Juno for his latest album Hear the Music, which we bought after the concert and got him to autograph.

It’s inspiring to observe someone who is so passionate about his profession. Not only is Penner’s music highly entertaining, his songs also help children and adults learn how to better love themselves, others and the world around them.

I have no desire to be a musician, but I do wish to work at something that I’m passionate about and that will enrich the lives of other people. But mostly, I want to have a hundred sandwiches and eat them all at once.

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Speak Easy

I just spent 20 minutes lying in bed with my son, K, as he tried to tell me everything he knows about birds. This is one of his recent obsessions, so he’s invested significant time into researching various types of birds and learning what differentiates them from each other. If I hadn’t wanted him to go to sleep, I could have stayed in his room and he would have kept talking for at least another hour.

Seven years ago, K could only say a few words. With his significant speech delay, we weren’t sure whether K would ever be able to communicate verbally with ease and complexity. After he was assessed by a speech pathologist, we started taking him to speech and language classes on a weekly basis. We also attended classes for parents to learn how to help him develop his expressive language skills. I’m not sure if it was because of these interventions or just the right amount of watching kids’ shows on Netflix, but K eventually started to connect more words together and gained the confidence he needed to speak clearly and appropriately.

These days, K has lots to say, especially if the subject matter is appealing to him. So if he wants to engage in an hour-long discussion about birds of prey, I will gladly participate, just as long as it doesn’t interfere too much with his bedtime. He’s a bit of a hawk when he doesn’t get enough sleep.

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Let Go

“He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in Eternity’s sunrise.”—William Blake

Yesterday I rolled down a hill and broke the scaphoid bone in my wrist. I’m now in a cast with limited use of my dominant hand, so today I had to accept the following:

  • Everything I sign at work looks like it was endorsed by someone in kindergarten
  • I need to learn how to use my mouse with my left hand
  • I can only type slowly with two fingers, which is not ideal for a communications director
  • It takes a very long time to get dressed in the morning
  • There’s a good chance I will cut an artery in my neck while shaving with my left hand
  • I will likely miss my next 3-4 races this year
  • I have no idea how I will cook our family meals (or how we will eat for the next number of weeks)
  • I’m in big trouble when R goes to Uganda in two weeks
  • We have to cancel our annual family trip to the cabin in Haliburton this weekend
  • I can’t write or draw with pens or pencils

The kids are quite disappointed about this weekend’s cancelled trip, and I’m feeling sad about missing my upcoming races, but there is nothing I can do at this point to change the fact that I have a broken wrist. Although I find great joy in family vacations, cooking and trail running, I can’t hold on to these things too tightly or I will end up depressed and/or bitter when they fly out of my hands. Joy comes in many forms, but I can’t keep it leashed or contained. I need to let go and surrender what I can’t control.

On a positive note, now I have a great excuse for not wearing a tie to work, and B was super excited to show my cast to his friends at school.

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Tears of Joy

Today I ran with R as she completed her first full marathon. It was rainy and cold at the beginning, but she kept to a steady pace and ran strong from beginning to end. There were a few rough patches in the middle, but she remained focused on meeting the challenge before her throughout the race. I did my best to keep her motivated and moving and it was a precious gift to share in this experience.

I was excited to see how happy she became in the final few kilometres of the race as she got closer to completing her goal. We crossed the finish line together holding hands and then separated briefly as we received our finishing medals from the volunteers. When I looked over at her again I saw that she was crying and then she hugged me tightly. When I asked her what was wrong, she said, “Nothing. I’m just so happy that I actually did it after training so hard for this race.”

In addition to filling me with immense pride for R, today’s race has also left me wondering whether there is a goal in my life audacious enough that accomplishing it would elicit tears of joy. Perhaps I need some bigger dreams.

 

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Accompaniment 

I just arrived at a hotel where R and I are staying the night before her first marathon. Since I forgot my computer at home, I’m typing out today’s post on my phone (and starting to regret my decision to blog every day for a year). 

Anyway, I’m reflecting on how proud I will be tomorrow as I witness R running just over 42 kilometres. A marathon is no easy feat, so completing this race will be a significant accomplishment which required many months of preparation. 

It’s a privilege to journey with others as they take on challenges or face adversity. Whether supporting a spouse, child, family member, co-worker, neighbour, or someone needing assistance in the community, it’s a humbling and precious experience to accompany people in the midst of their victories and losses and on the paths they take to get there. 

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My Own Story

Each month my son, B, is required to complete a homework assignment as part of his martial arts program. This month’s assignment focused on personal responsibility and included this short poem:

“I’m the one who writes my own story
I decide the kind of person I will be
What goes in the story and what does not
Is pretty much up to me.”

While it certainly won’t win the Griffin Poetry Prize, the poem did challenge my son to be accountable for his own actions and behaviours. When asked to explain what the words meant to him, B said, “You get to decide who you are. I want to be me—a good guy; nice.”

This evening as I reflect on the poem, I’m challenged to continue writing my own story. While I can’t control what will happen to me in the future, I can determine what kind of person I want to be and how I will respond to the challenges and opportunities that come my way.

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A Child’s Prayer

Each night before going to sleep, K says a short prayer in his bed. The first part is a summary in which he says thank you to God for the people in his life and for what he experienced during the day.

Although the opening section constantly changes depending on K’s daily activities, the conclusion to his prayer is always the same. These are his words:

“Please be with all the children around the world and take good care of them, especially those who are feeling sick or lonely or who don’t have moms or dads.”

Regardless of people’s religious views, I wonder how different the world would be if everyone took a moment at the end of their day to think about the welfare of vulnerable children and other marginalized people in our communities.

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The Sculpture

I’ve never been good at drawing, painting or sculpting. My art class in Grade 8 was particularly stressful for me, as we needed to carve human faces onto the angled corners of a rectangle-shaped piece of clay. One of my classmates helped me create two intricate faces for my project, which included a detailed moustache. By helped, what I mean is that when he finished carving the faces for me, I took the sculpting knife and etched my name onto the bottom of the sculpture.

Later that school year, my parents brought the sculpture home from the school after a parent-teacher interview night. My mom loved this piece of art and displayed it proudly in our home. Every time I looked at it I would cringe and feel like a fraud. Despite telling my mom that someone else did the work, the sculpture remained, even 30 years later when my parents retired and moved into a smaller home.

Last year while visiting them, I helped the sculpture disappear. By helped, what I mean is that I threw it away in the garbage.

I should discard more things in my life that make me feel like a fraud as this was a liberating experience.

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Tawanda

Ten years ago, my wife, R, and I lived in Harare, Zimbabwe. During our two years there, the country faced considerable economic and political challenges. While we never suffered, we were not immune to the ongoing shortages of food, medical supplies, water and electricity. More significantly, we lived alongside Zimbabweans who faced these challenges without our privileged access to extra income or resources.

Tawanda was one of my favourite people in Zimbabwe. Although only four, he would often show up at our home to visit. He mostly spoke Shona, so spending time with him helped me to learn the language as we worked in the garden together or watched movies on my laptop. Tawanda means “we are many” in Shona, signifying that he was the fifth and youngest child in his family.

Soon after we arrived in Zimbabwe, Tawanda’s family invited us to their home for supper. While the offal (cow intestines) was a bit of a departure from our usual dinner fare, we appreciated the opportunity to spend time with the family. R kept scraping her offal onto my plate, which made her look like a doting wife instead of just a picky eater. Over the next two years, we developed a close relationship with this wonderful family.

When R was five months pregnant with K, our first child, we returned to Canada. It was not easy to leave our Zimbabwean friends, particularly as it was a difficult time in the country due to increasing political violence. During K’s birth, both he and his mother required emergency medical attention, so I’m grateful we were in Canada and had access to exceptional health care. K’s middle name is Tinashe, which means “God is with us” in Shona.

About a year after we’d moved back to Toronto, we received terrible news from Zimbabwe. Tawanda had woken up with stomach pains. Without easy and quick access to qualified medical professionals, Tawanda’s family could do little to help him. A few hours later, he passed away. Despite the shortness of his life, Tawanda had brought so much joy to his family and friends. For those of us who knew and loved him, we felt an immense emptiness in our hearts. A void not easily filled or understood.

While I cherish the many health benefits my family can access in Canada, I’m saddened that there are so many children in the world like Tawanda who die young, often for lack of access to basic medical attention or the resources to pay for it.

When B, our second child, was born six years ago, we gave him the middle name of Tawanda in honour of this gentle and joyful young Zimbabwean whom he will never meet but his parents will never forget.

Tawanda. We are many.

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