I have never really understood Christmas. I remarked to my spiritual director last year that I just didn't "get" God as a little baby. Wise priest that he is, he smiled, laughed and said, "Knowing you, that doesn't surprise me." I knew why he laughed but at the same time I felt like screaming, "Why are you laughing? Why don't I get it?"
I finally decided to take this frustration, this lack of understanding to prayer. I began to pray, "Help me to fathom just a little bit of why in the world an omnipotent God became a baby. I just don't get it." Well, I suppose that I understood a bit of the Incarnation on an intellectual level but that knowledge had yet to penetrate my heart.
Another thing about Christmas is that it is perhaps the hardest time of the whole year for me. My birthday is on the 22nd and has always been a bit of a disappointment. My birthday blues are very dark. I imagine that this has something to do with the 22nd falling at an exceptionally busy time of year that usually brings sickness, lots of snow, lack of sunlight and failed birthday parties. It's awfully hard to remember someone's birthday, let alone a gift, when it comes only days before the biggest gift-giving extravaganza of the year.
The combination of the birthday and Christmas is exacerbated by the fact that we live a long way away from my sisters and parents and thus the holidays can also be very, very lonely. Thus, all of these factors come colliding together in a bit of a perfect storm. Perhaps I was set up for not 'getting' Christmas.
I do, however, 'get' faith and have never had a doubt that if the Lord wants someone to understand something then He will allow that understanding to come. The answer is there; I had just never asked the question before.
However, this Christmas Eve I did ask the question.
We found ourselves sitting two rows from the front of the church at the 5pm Christmas Eve mass. Smack dab in front of the almost life-sized nativity scene. I couldn't help but stare at that creche and beg, What does it mean?
A few thoughts immediately came to mind. The first was about Mary and Joseph arriving at the inn. Not until a few days before when I had read Enid Blyton's Christmas Story to the boys had I realised that the inn was actually really, really physically crowded. After all, if there was no room at the inn it was because it was filled with people. Therefore it was probably also filled with noise and smells and food and drink and a whole host of other sensory events. These are all things that I can handle, even relish, when well-rested, happy and not at some pivotal point in my life. Giving birth is not one of those times. If it were I arriving great with child at the door to the inn I would have been thankful to have been given the stable. (Dave would have hoped for a room but I would have been praying that something 'outback' was available.) Being a bit of a closet introvert (and insomniac), I would have gladly accepted straw and large domestic animals over people. I wondered if Our Lady had felt the same.
And then I began to think about the actual circumstances of Our Lord's birth: at what time was He born? When exactly did the shepherds show up? Who was there? Who wasn't there? Did Our Lady want her mother there?
Having given birth five times now I couldn't help but compare Our Lord's birth and Our Lady's labour and delivery with my own experiences. And I realised something. I am a control freak and one of the things that I like about the birth of a child is that it is completely out of my control. Thus, labour and delivery is one of the only times in my life when I actually feel like I can let go because I am acutely aware that I have no control. However, until that first contraction, I futilely try to orchestrate the whole shebang. And inevitably I fail.
I am never as rested as I want to be. In fact, I have usually lost a whole night's sleep. My mom is very rarely the one who sees us off to the hospital as she is 1000 miles away. Only two of my children have been born into the hands of my family doctor. The twins were delivered by an on-call obstetrician, Benjamin by the emergency room physician and Sarah was delivered by two nurses as the paramedics wheeled me into the room.
Nothing ever goes according to my plan. And, inevitably, this is a good thing. I arrive at the birth of each of my children thoroughly and utterly spent. I am weepy and sore and don't want to see anyone other than Dave (and maybe my mom) walk through the door of my hospital room. I even find it hard to answer the phone. (My poor in-laws learned this the hard way after Isaac's birth!)
And somehow in the first few minutes of our deacon's homily at Christmas Eve mass I thought of all of this. And it began to dawn on me that Our Lord was most likely born in the wee hours of the morning and Our Lady had no one but St. Joseph there to help. No mother, no father, no midwife, no familiarity. And I imagine that she was very tired and just wanted (oh, please) a good night's sleep. And then a bunch of dirty shepherds have the gall to show up - in the middle of the night. None of it seems fair, does it? And I just want life to be fair; I want my life to be fair! And it isn't. None of my life nor Our Lord's birth is the way that I would have planned it. Yet it is the way that God planned it: perfectly perfect.
And so, as I contemplated our Lord's birth and His Mother's experience, I was able to understand just a little bit better that the Incarnation is about Our Maker coming into the messiness of our lives out of love. His arrival doesn't make things fair, or tidy up my life or balance my sacrifices with what I think should be my rewards. His birth certainly doesn't move me any closer to my parents or sisters. But His birth changes everything because He comes to be with us. He comes to us in the midst of our dirty straw, our smelly animals, our shepherd-visitors and He accepts our meagre offering of swaddling clothes, whatever those might be. He entrusts Himself to our care and to our love and He needs us.
Despite this moment of enlightenment, I turned away from the creche and tuned back into our deacon's homily. He was speaking about little babies and how little babies only know how to do one thing. I thought that the one thing would be some cheeky comment about pooping and spitting up; but it wasn't. Instead, he said that the one thing that little babies know how to do is give love and receive love, with complete abandon. I suddenly grasped more fully what it meant that Love was born on Christmas morn.
I love little babies. I can't fathom our home without them. I get teary-eyed just thinking about a 'last' baby. They exhaust me, they frustrate me, they make me cry, they wreak havoc on my hormones, I often swear, Never again!; but I can't help but love them desperately. I love to hold them, to look at them, to nurse them and to know them. And what do they do so perfectly? They love me and receive my love, without question, without judgement. They love me unconditionally.
And then I knew in a heart sort of way that God as a wee little baby is simply about loving Him and allowing Him to love me, unconditionally. I find it very difficult, and often uncomfortable, to receive love and to be cared for. But I don't find it hard to let little babies love me. I find it incredibly easy, natural and comfortable to receive the love of a child. In fact, I feel most myself, most truly me in the company of children. So, this year I will try to get to know the Baby Jesus; to hold Him in my heart as a newborn babe and allow Him to love me in that form. This will bring exhaustion and tears and the ruin of my plans; but it will all be for the good and I will know that I am loved.
And together we will grow up.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Sunday, December 23, 2012
A milestone: 35
Monday, December 17, 2012
And to think I thought I had nothing to write about
I logged onto the blog in order to access my blogroll and, horror of horrors, realised that my last post was 10 days ago. Where does time go? Actually, I didn't just flippantly ask that question; I really and truly thought, Where did the last 10 days go? And the answer was the following:
1. Of course, the ubiquitous chiropractic appointments which, by the way, are over until the new year. They have, thankfully, been extremely helpful. Not only is my back much better but so is my (drumroll, please) FOOT!!!!!!!!!! The untouchable foot really is connected to the leg bone which is connected to the hipbone which, in a miraculous chain of musculo-skeletal events, all work together so that when one is righted so is the other.
The overall effect? I have been able to run again without pain. I do need to listen a bit more to my body and take the necessary precautions to prevent injury especially since my knee is now hurting... Oh, ageing body, why do you fail me? The running is truly a balm to the soul and I spend much of it saying, "Thank you, God! Thank you, soooo much."
A funny side note is that one of these preventative-injury measures is walking backwards for 100 strides/day. Much to Dave's and some of the children's chagrin, I choose to walk backwards outside for the last 100 metres of my run. When I told Dave and Hannah this, they both said, "You do that outside?" Jacob, on the other hand, found me walking backward one day and ran to meet me yelling, "Cool, Mom! Can I guide you home?" Dave should be thankful that the majority of my runs are in the early hours of the morning and no one is out to see me except for the three streetlights that I magically turn on and off each time I run underneath them...
2. When I wasn't driving madly to and from Pembroke I was either at the kids' Christmas concert, Dave's Christmas party or entertaining guests at the house. Dave told me that I have officially run him off his feet. I was about to tell him the same.
3. The Christmas concert was its usual display of the absence of the arts in the public school system. The evening started with the teachers singing about waiting for Jesus while Dave managed to look all of 17 years old as he sang amidst his colleagues. Isaac was absolutely overwhelmed by his father's stage career and kept yelling from the back of the hall, "Daddy! Daddy!" He later did the same for each of his siblings. Sarah sat in her carseat looking quizzical and slightly circumspect: Where have they brought me now?
Poor Jacob and Hannah had to rap about Christmas wrap while holding tubes of Christmas paper and dancing. When not dancing with the tubes they had to hold them off to the side until the tube dancing started again. Unfortunately Jacob chose to store his tube between his legs pointing straight out. This caused me to pray frantically for the end of the song while Dave stared straight ahead and grimaced, "Just pretend not to notice!!" Dear socially-unaware Jacob.
Joseph made his stage debut in, you guessed it, a shirt and tie. He sang about the absence of his two front teeth which are, nevertheless, quite present. His spotty school attendance reared its head as he spent most of the song with his hands thrust casually into his pockets while he either scanned the crowd for family members or stared at his classmates in an attempt to mimic the actions to the song. He did look awfully cute, though.
Ben played St. Joseph with his best friend Cecelia as Mother Mary. He remarked that this was their first appearance together on stage. Perhaps they are planning a Vaudevillian career in the future. The two saints were thrown in toward the end of the concert as a token mark of Catholicism. I wasn't really sure what they had to do with the overarching theme of the concert but they served as a reminder that Jesus is the Reason for the Season. In an interesting turn of events one of the dads in the school (a recent convert to evangelical Protestantism) also noted the lack of any Gospel message and decided to deliver his own on the steps of the church as the concert goers exited. Complete with Gospel tracts. Things are always interesting in Barry's Bay. (Dear Kerr family, you missed a real good one this year. Enjoy your classical Catholic school.)
4. The Christmas party was enjoyable and provided me with a chance to dress up in something other than jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Unfortunately I wore a dress that worked at home but didn't work when holding Sarah and trying to carry on a conversation with Dave's colleagues. Most cocktail dresses are not designed to be worn while juggling a baby at a stand-up bar. The coverage problem was quickly solved by the addition of a white swaddling blanket worn as a shawl. The one downside was that the scarf was also adorned with bumblebees. (Thank you, Theresa R.) So much for my attempt at sophistication. I did wear heels - even if they were borrowed.
5. And the overarching theme of the past two weeks is that Isaac decided to toilet train. I have never had a child who asked to potty train. He really did just get up on the toilet and pee. With each of the others I have always had to place them on the pot and wait ages until they finally peed and discovered that such bodily functions could actually be willed and thus controlled. Isaac just got up and did it. He does, however, demand applause which must be duly given if one wants to control his high-pitched screams, "Clap!!! Clap!!!" And there goes the baby's nap...
The disadvantage of this toilet training is that I don't think that either Dave or I was ready for it. Thus, we often forget to take his diaper off in the morning or we forget until too late that he needs to be brought to the bathroom. This has resulted in a definite decrease in diaper use and a marked increase in laundry. Oh well, we'll all get there one day.
6. Oh wait, there is one more over-arching theme. In a fit of exhaustion last Monday afternoon I sat six month old Sarah down for a talk. I told her that I was sorry but I was going to have to let her cry it out that night as I had full confidence that she was able to sleep through the night without eating. She looked at me sweetly and, with noticeable intelligence, smiled. Apparently she is an extremely reasonable and highly intelligent child as she has slept through the night since last Monday without me having to lie awake listening to her cry even once. Much like Isaac and the toilet, she just did it. All I had to do was reason with her. Who knew? Let's hope my blog-mention of her sleeping doesn't throw the whole thing off. In the not too distant past she has been known to read with full comprehension.
7. And here we are in the last week before school. We are looking forward to the break and, in a characteristic we-don't-know-how-take-a-break move, have decided to redo the boys bedroom over the Christmas holidays. Right now they sleep in what amounts to a cold, but large, cell. Is it no wonder that they beg nightly to sleep on the living room couch? Thus, the addition of carpet and some nice paint might just be a corporal work of mercy.
The end. For now.
1. Of course, the ubiquitous chiropractic appointments which, by the way, are over until the new year. They have, thankfully, been extremely helpful. Not only is my back much better but so is my (drumroll, please) FOOT!!!!!!!!!! The untouchable foot really is connected to the leg bone which is connected to the hipbone which, in a miraculous chain of musculo-skeletal events, all work together so that when one is righted so is the other.
The overall effect? I have been able to run again without pain. I do need to listen a bit more to my body and take the necessary precautions to prevent injury especially since my knee is now hurting... Oh, ageing body, why do you fail me? The running is truly a balm to the soul and I spend much of it saying, "Thank you, God! Thank you, soooo much."
A funny side note is that one of these preventative-injury measures is walking backwards for 100 strides/day. Much to Dave's and some of the children's chagrin, I choose to walk backwards outside for the last 100 metres of my run. When I told Dave and Hannah this, they both said, "You do that outside?" Jacob, on the other hand, found me walking backward one day and ran to meet me yelling, "Cool, Mom! Can I guide you home?" Dave should be thankful that the majority of my runs are in the early hours of the morning and no one is out to see me except for the three streetlights that I magically turn on and off each time I run underneath them...
2. When I wasn't driving madly to and from Pembroke I was either at the kids' Christmas concert, Dave's Christmas party or entertaining guests at the house. Dave told me that I have officially run him off his feet. I was about to tell him the same.
3. The Christmas concert was its usual display of the absence of the arts in the public school system. The evening started with the teachers singing about waiting for Jesus while Dave managed to look all of 17 years old as he sang amidst his colleagues. Isaac was absolutely overwhelmed by his father's stage career and kept yelling from the back of the hall, "Daddy! Daddy!" He later did the same for each of his siblings. Sarah sat in her carseat looking quizzical and slightly circumspect: Where have they brought me now?
Poor Jacob and Hannah had to rap about Christmas wrap while holding tubes of Christmas paper and dancing. When not dancing with the tubes they had to hold them off to the side until the tube dancing started again. Unfortunately Jacob chose to store his tube between his legs pointing straight out. This caused me to pray frantically for the end of the song while Dave stared straight ahead and grimaced, "Just pretend not to notice!!" Dear socially-unaware Jacob.
Joseph made his stage debut in, you guessed it, a shirt and tie. He sang about the absence of his two front teeth which are, nevertheless, quite present. His spotty school attendance reared its head as he spent most of the song with his hands thrust casually into his pockets while he either scanned the crowd for family members or stared at his classmates in an attempt to mimic the actions to the song. He did look awfully cute, though.
Ben played St. Joseph with his best friend Cecelia as Mother Mary. He remarked that this was their first appearance together on stage. Perhaps they are planning a Vaudevillian career in the future. The two saints were thrown in toward the end of the concert as a token mark of Catholicism. I wasn't really sure what they had to do with the overarching theme of the concert but they served as a reminder that Jesus is the Reason for the Season. In an interesting turn of events one of the dads in the school (a recent convert to evangelical Protestantism) also noted the lack of any Gospel message and decided to deliver his own on the steps of the church as the concert goers exited. Complete with Gospel tracts. Things are always interesting in Barry's Bay. (Dear Kerr family, you missed a real good one this year. Enjoy your classical Catholic school.)
4. The Christmas party was enjoyable and provided me with a chance to dress up in something other than jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Unfortunately I wore a dress that worked at home but didn't work when holding Sarah and trying to carry on a conversation with Dave's colleagues. Most cocktail dresses are not designed to be worn while juggling a baby at a stand-up bar. The coverage problem was quickly solved by the addition of a white swaddling blanket worn as a shawl. The one downside was that the scarf was also adorned with bumblebees. (Thank you, Theresa R.) So much for my attempt at sophistication. I did wear heels - even if they were borrowed.
5. And the overarching theme of the past two weeks is that Isaac decided to toilet train. I have never had a child who asked to potty train. He really did just get up on the toilet and pee. With each of the others I have always had to place them on the pot and wait ages until they finally peed and discovered that such bodily functions could actually be willed and thus controlled. Isaac just got up and did it. He does, however, demand applause which must be duly given if one wants to control his high-pitched screams, "Clap!!! Clap!!!" And there goes the baby's nap...
The disadvantage of this toilet training is that I don't think that either Dave or I was ready for it. Thus, we often forget to take his diaper off in the morning or we forget until too late that he needs to be brought to the bathroom. This has resulted in a definite decrease in diaper use and a marked increase in laundry. Oh well, we'll all get there one day.
6. Oh wait, there is one more over-arching theme. In a fit of exhaustion last Monday afternoon I sat six month old Sarah down for a talk. I told her that I was sorry but I was going to have to let her cry it out that night as I had full confidence that she was able to sleep through the night without eating. She looked at me sweetly and, with noticeable intelligence, smiled. Apparently she is an extremely reasonable and highly intelligent child as she has slept through the night since last Monday without me having to lie awake listening to her cry even once. Much like Isaac and the toilet, she just did it. All I had to do was reason with her. Who knew? Let's hope my blog-mention of her sleeping doesn't throw the whole thing off. In the not too distant past she has been known to read with full comprehension.
7. And here we are in the last week before school. We are looking forward to the break and, in a characteristic we-don't-know-how-take-a-break move, have decided to redo the boys bedroom over the Christmas holidays. Right now they sleep in what amounts to a cold, but large, cell. Is it no wonder that they beg nightly to sleep on the living room couch? Thus, the addition of carpet and some nice paint might just be a corporal work of mercy.
The end. For now.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Feeling Better
Monday, December 3, 2012
One step from the edge
Who would have known that a post about chiropractic care would elicit so many comments? The adjustments are going well but I fear that the driving might counteract the whole thing. My nerves are pretty raw lately and sleep is suffering at both ends of the night. The arrival of Advent is coupled with the beginning of the cold and snowy season. Thus, the blogosphere tells me to get the house and my childrens' heart ready for the coming of Christ with creches and calendars and artfully produced treats themed according to the feast day. All I can think of is messy nativity sets and messy straw falling out of mangers and messy baking ingredients all mixed together with wet mitts and puddles of melting snow. Something's got to give and I think it's me.
Therefore, I told Dave 30 minutes ago that I was feeling on the edge of a panic attack at the thought of Advent. He responded with only a slight touch of sarcasm, "Why? You've gotta make the kids holy in the next four weeks?"
"Well, maybe that and I have to set down traditions that they will carry on and eventually write about on their own blogs..."
"Elena, all you have to do is survive. You don't even have to light the candles."
So, there. That's all I'm going to do this Advent: light the candles (because they happen to be ready); nothing else unless I happen to find the time and the will.
And, now, onto a story.
It was Joseph's fifth birthday on Wednesday, the 28th. I had mistakenly scheduled a chiropractic appointment for that day so I decided to combine the trip to Pembroke with supper out at East Side Mario's. Thus would Joseph have a special supper and I wouldn't have to make a cake since the servers at ESM's bring a small cake to the table if someone is having a birthday. I knew that Joseph would love a pile of waiters and waitresses arriving at the table with a blazing cake and a special birthday song sung at lightning speed.
The best laid plans of mice and men.
To really set up this story we need to backtrack to lunch on Joe's birthday. One of the advantages of Dave teaching at the kids' school is that he can visit their classrooms and, among other perks, easily take them out for lunch on their special day. Therefore, he and Joe decided that a trip to Subway would be a good idea for a birthday lunch. So, the excited birthday boy had his first meal out of the day: a sub, a really big orange juice and a bag of Doritos. These are all foods that he doesn't regularly eat.
He traipsed back to school brewing with excitement (and foreign-to-his-tummy foods) and, after the school day, arrived back home with his siblings for the hour trip to Pembroke. I had called the restaurant earlier that day to reserve a table and let them know that we were celebrating a birthday. They booked the small room at the entrance for our party of eight.
After the back-cracking we headed over to the restaurant to continue the birthday celebrations. Joe was determined to have pizza for supper rather than his standard chicken fingers and fries. He was also equally determined not to eat anything until his pizza arrived. He did, however, feel the need to drink glasses and glasses of water. The word copious comes to mind. In a multi-tasking sort of motherly way I noted out of the corner of my eye that he was imbibing large amounts of liquid (both water and chocolate milk) as he waited for his order. My brain wondered at this but my hands were busy with nursing the baby and helping to keep order.
The meals arrived and Joe dug into his personal pizza while Jacob looked on dismayed by the difference in size between his hamburger and his brother's pizza. The waitress came in several times to take plates, refresh drinks and check that all was well. At one point I asked her if she could bring a pitcher of water as Joe was eyeing up my glass. She brought the water to the table and removed the last of the empty plates. My mind registered that the restaurant staff would soon arrive with the cake and the song. Curiously a memory from a few years ago popped into my mind. When Isaac was 3 months old I went to Halifax with him leaving the rest of the kids at home with Dave. When I arrived back Dave and all the kids came to the airport to pick me up. It was the supper hour so we went to eat at East Side Mario's. Half way through the supper Joseph, then only three years old, suddenly threw up on the floor of the restaurant. It was an interesting welcome home. It was this memory that I was about to ask Dave if he recalled when I noticed that Joseph was looking a little strange.
I realise now that the memory was to this story what the thought that the phone is about to ring just before it does is to the phone ringing. (Did you get that? Because I didn't.) Not only was Joseph not his normal cheery, almost too-excited sort of guy, he was looking a little strange, a little volcanic. His face said, "Something odd is going on in my stomach and I don't like it." My motherly instincts quickly realised that vomit was imminent and I quickly told Dave, "Tell them to cancel the cake!" At this point Jacob, who was watching at the door of the room, yelled, "The cake is coming!"
And then Joe's face contorted and his spine did that snake-like movement that provides only seconds warning that stomach contents are on their way up. With lightning speed I scanned the table to see if there was anything into which he could throw up. Without a thought my right hand (my left was holding the nursing baby) grabbed the empty water jugged and whipped it under Joseph's chin. I wasn't fast enough to catch all of the vomit but I was able to catch the majority of the up-chucking. The rest landed on his pants completely soaking him.
And then the cake arrived and the upbeat song suddenly sounded frantic and Dave ordered, "Just smile and pretend it didn't happen!" Except that no one heard him. (Or no one obeyed.) Ben kept yelling, "Joe threw up! Joe threw up!" Joseph had a look of complete devastation on his face as the cake was placed before him and I started to laugh and try to mouth to the servers that the birthday boy had suddenly gotten sick. The servers didn't read lips and they asked questions like, "Is he OK? Is he scared by the song? Did he not like his meal?"
And they just kept singing and I started to laugh as I caught the words to the song:
The ESM crew eventually left and Joe sat looking pathetic with a personal chocolate cake and a burnt-out sparkler staring him in the face.
Dave went into clean-up mode and tried to mop things up with baby wipes which he deposited in the water jug (where else?) and then discreetly emptied in the bathroom. He also took Joe to the bathroom in attempt to complete the clean-up. Joe, being absolutely soaked, insisted on walking like a stiff mummy in order to avoid rubbing his legs against his jeans. Dave, being the type who likes to avoid all attention, kept telling him, "Just walk normally." Joe just looked up with no words but a question in his eyes: What is normal?
We did make it out of the restaurant with both the birthday boy and his cake. He recovered so quickly that he was begging to eat his cake only five miles out of town. I don't know if I have learned anything from this debacle. At least we can laugh.
p.s. The kids just piled in the door from school. Sarah had a bad night last night and thus I woke a little late this morning. By the time I emerged from the bedroom the kids were already dressed in their outdoor gear. Thus, it is only now at the end of the day, that I notice that Joseph wore a tie and shirt to school. With camouflage pants.
Therefore, I told Dave 30 minutes ago that I was feeling on the edge of a panic attack at the thought of Advent. He responded with only a slight touch of sarcasm, "Why? You've gotta make the kids holy in the next four weeks?"
"Well, maybe that and I have to set down traditions that they will carry on and eventually write about on their own blogs..."
"Elena, all you have to do is survive. You don't even have to light the candles."
So, there. That's all I'm going to do this Advent: light the candles (because they happen to be ready); nothing else unless I happen to find the time and the will.
And, now, onto a story.
It was Joseph's fifth birthday on Wednesday, the 28th. I had mistakenly scheduled a chiropractic appointment for that day so I decided to combine the trip to Pembroke with supper out at East Side Mario's. Thus would Joseph have a special supper and I wouldn't have to make a cake since the servers at ESM's bring a small cake to the table if someone is having a birthday. I knew that Joseph would love a pile of waiters and waitresses arriving at the table with a blazing cake and a special birthday song sung at lightning speed.
The best laid plans of mice and men.
To really set up this story we need to backtrack to lunch on Joe's birthday. One of the advantages of Dave teaching at the kids' school is that he can visit their classrooms and, among other perks, easily take them out for lunch on their special day. Therefore, he and Joe decided that a trip to Subway would be a good idea for a birthday lunch. So, the excited birthday boy had his first meal out of the day: a sub, a really big orange juice and a bag of Doritos. These are all foods that he doesn't regularly eat.
He traipsed back to school brewing with excitement (and foreign-to-his-tummy foods) and, after the school day, arrived back home with his siblings for the hour trip to Pembroke. I had called the restaurant earlier that day to reserve a table and let them know that we were celebrating a birthday. They booked the small room at the entrance for our party of eight.
After the back-cracking we headed over to the restaurant to continue the birthday celebrations. Joe was determined to have pizza for supper rather than his standard chicken fingers and fries. He was also equally determined not to eat anything until his pizza arrived. He did, however, feel the need to drink glasses and glasses of water. The word copious comes to mind. In a multi-tasking sort of motherly way I noted out of the corner of my eye that he was imbibing large amounts of liquid (both water and chocolate milk) as he waited for his order. My brain wondered at this but my hands were busy with nursing the baby and helping to keep order.
The meals arrived and Joe dug into his personal pizza while Jacob looked on dismayed by the difference in size between his hamburger and his brother's pizza. The waitress came in several times to take plates, refresh drinks and check that all was well. At one point I asked her if she could bring a pitcher of water as Joe was eyeing up my glass. She brought the water to the table and removed the last of the empty plates. My mind registered that the restaurant staff would soon arrive with the cake and the song. Curiously a memory from a few years ago popped into my mind. When Isaac was 3 months old I went to Halifax with him leaving the rest of the kids at home with Dave. When I arrived back Dave and all the kids came to the airport to pick me up. It was the supper hour so we went to eat at East Side Mario's. Half way through the supper Joseph, then only three years old, suddenly threw up on the floor of the restaurant. It was an interesting welcome home. It was this memory that I was about to ask Dave if he recalled when I noticed that Joseph was looking a little strange.
I realise now that the memory was to this story what the thought that the phone is about to ring just before it does is to the phone ringing. (Did you get that? Because I didn't.) Not only was Joseph not his normal cheery, almost too-excited sort of guy, he was looking a little strange, a little volcanic. His face said, "Something odd is going on in my stomach and I don't like it." My motherly instincts quickly realised that vomit was imminent and I quickly told Dave, "Tell them to cancel the cake!" At this point Jacob, who was watching at the door of the room, yelled, "The cake is coming!"
And then Joe's face contorted and his spine did that snake-like movement that provides only seconds warning that stomach contents are on their way up. With lightning speed I scanned the table to see if there was anything into which he could throw up. Without a thought my right hand (my left was holding the nursing baby) grabbed the empty water jugged and whipped it under Joseph's chin. I wasn't fast enough to catch all of the vomit but I was able to catch the majority of the up-chucking. The rest landed on his pants completely soaking him.
And then the cake arrived and the upbeat song suddenly sounded frantic and Dave ordered, "Just smile and pretend it didn't happen!" Except that no one heard him. (Or no one obeyed.) Ben kept yelling, "Joe threw up! Joe threw up!" Joseph had a look of complete devastation on his face as the cake was placed before him and I started to laugh and try to mouth to the servers that the birthday boy had suddenly gotten sick. The servers didn't read lips and they asked questions like, "Is he OK? Is he scared by the song? Did he not like his meal?"
And they just kept singing and I started to laugh as I caught the words to the song:
"It's your birthday and we hope your feeling fine!"
Dave went into clean-up mode and tried to mop things up with baby wipes which he deposited in the water jug (where else?) and then discreetly emptied in the bathroom. He also took Joe to the bathroom in attempt to complete the clean-up. Joe, being absolutely soaked, insisted on walking like a stiff mummy in order to avoid rubbing his legs against his jeans. Dave, being the type who likes to avoid all attention, kept telling him, "Just walk normally." Joe just looked up with no words but a question in his eyes: What is normal?
We did make it out of the restaurant with both the birthday boy and his cake. He recovered so quickly that he was begging to eat his cake only five miles out of town. I don't know if I have learned anything from this debacle. At least we can laugh.
p.s. The kids just piled in the door from school. Sarah had a bad night last night and thus I woke a little late this morning. By the time I emerged from the bedroom the kids were already dressed in their outdoor gear. Thus, it is only now at the end of the day, that I notice that Joseph wore a tie and shirt to school. With camouflage pants.
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