'Roid Rage

by Ajike Akande

Where I live the temperature has dropped significantly and there is no denying we are deep in the heart of autumn.  It’s either grey and rainy or brisk and sunny.  With the arrival of autumn is also the arrival of flu season.  Don’t worry this is not going to be a post about the flu shot and whether or not you should get it.  In my house some of us get it, and some don’t for a variety of reasons.  Regardless of the flu shot, however, our Mr. Lee will spend many weeks of the next six months hacking, taking his puffers and hanging out in the emergency room at our local children’s hospital.  It’s all good times for him throughout the many months of cold!

Mr. Lee has poorly controlled asthma with a side of 4 anaphylactic allergies.  He is also a buzzing, busy three year old who is otherwise healthy so I rarely shelter him from people who are sick, and therefore he catches every virus his snotty buddies have to offer.  Don’t get me wrong, I encourage frequent hand washing and request that he not lick people as a way to greet them, but he’s wee, and if licking makes him feel closer to his friends, then that’s a risk we’ll have to take!  Truth is, I would be happy if he got sick less and if every cough didn’t turn into a trip to the hospital for heavy doses of Ventolin (airway opener) and inhaled and liquid steroids.  The high doses of steroids are really, really bad for a small body (any body actually) but when it comes to breathing the benefits outweigh the risks.  It’s not just stress on his body that I am concerned about it’s also the monthly experience of spending time with a three year old fountain of energy loaded up with steroids!  I am not exaggerating when I say that my three year old has ‘Roid Rage! 

Do you know Animal from the Muppets?  This is regular Animal.  This is also essentially regular Mr. Lee. 

 

This is what I imagine Animal looks like full of steroids and Ventolin.  This is a fraction of Mr. Lee’s intensity when full of steroids and Ventolin. 

Last weekend I spent two days hanging out in the emergency unit with Animal aka Mr. Lee. 

I never forget that I’m a lucky mom.  I know that Mr. Lee’s trips to the hospital will last only a day or two.  He has never had to be admitted because we are now experienced and comfortable taking care of our sick, but pretty healthy, guy at home.  We know when to return to the hospital and they’re always open (thanks for that, by the way).  I’m surprisingly not worried about a sick Mr. Lee.  Unfortunately, my chill attitude about our little asthmatic was challenged when I took him in last weekend and his oxygen saturation was low enough that he needed an oxygen mask.  I was informed by the nurse, as she quickly got an oxygen mask on him, that my baby was apparently about to pass out.  I was surprised he usually doesn't get that bad, but he gladly took the oxygen mask and gladly tore it off when he didn’t need it anymore.  Being the weirdo that I am, as soon as I knew that Mr. Lee was okay and in good hands (i.e.: not mine), I stopped worrying about him and turned my attention to my favourite anxious thoughts reserved for when I am with my children’s health care providers: Do they think I’m a bad mother?  Do I seem neglectful or uncaring?  Do I seem totally neurotic?  And my favourite over the top thought: Do I have Munchausen by proxy?  Who thinks these things?  Anyway, Mr. Lee must have noticed that I had hopped on my crazy, anxiety train and it was up to him to get me off.  Fully loaded on liquid steroids and 34 (I kid you not) puffs within an hour of “rescue inhalers” to open up his airway, he got to work on redirecting my attention.  How you ask? 

You know who has an unnatural level of strength and anger?  A three year old on a drug that increases his heart rate.  I am not sure if Mr. Lee wanted to guarantee that I never have any more children (never going to happen) or that I never use the bathroom again without crying, but the swift kicks between my legs were a surefire way to guarantee that I remembered that he was the man of the hour.  And why stop at kicking?  He bit me, scratched me, slapped me and my favourite – he grabbed my face so hard with his razor sharp nails and held on while screaming at the top of his lungs.  I had been trying to quell the screaming (to no avail) but was grateful for it when he wouldn’t let go of my face.  A nurse – not our nurse, but a nurse taking care of a much calmer child, came into the room, wondering if I was removing hairs from my child’s head one at a time, causing him to scream out for help.  She took one look at me and leach-boy and jumped into action to release Mr. Lee’s painful grip around my cheeks.   After I told her that I loved her, as you do, she smiled and suggested that I walk the wild child around the emergency unit until the doctor could see him again.  The walk about was a good idea indeed and grabbing sterile bottles and gauze and pushing dirty linen hampers around is not at all disruptive to the families with truly sick children and the health care professionals trying to care for them!  Sorry hospital friends, I am hoping that the cost of hospital parking will cover the damages.  

Listen, I am not giving up on our goal to drastically decrease the number of times we visit the ER this school year, but considering that this is the second time since the beginning of September, the odds aren’t looking so good.  Of course the silver lining, because usually if you look hard enough, you can find it, is that nurse Anju and I can catch up every month and talk about our twins and I can watch another set of talented medical residents make it through another year. I am starting to feel a real closeness with the ER staff and let’s face it “sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name”!  

Cheers, (just kidding)

Stay healthy! 

XO Ajike

Breaking Up Is Not So Hard To Do

by: Ajike Akande

The Silverman-Akandes have broken up.  Sorta.  On the weekends.  I think we’re onto something.  Let me explain…

Remember back in August, I wrote about how Wife and I decided we were big family parents without considering whether or not we would actually have big family kids.  You can read that post here.  (By the way, I have learned that deciding what kind of parent you are before you are actually a parent, or a parent under specific circumstances, is a waste of time unless you like being totally wrong and caught off guard.  You’ve been warned.  You are welcome.)  At least one person every day tells me that they couldn’t possibly handle raising five kids, or twins, or two sets of twins.  Basically my whole life as a parent is something most people have no problem telling me, they couldn’t handle!  This does not help me on the really bad days because on bad days I don’t think I can’t handle it either but I do handle it because, well the small humans depend on me to handle my s#*t!  

Apparently, I’ve got a parenting situation some (many?) people don’t want.  What about the kids though?  They don’t even know that their family could be different.  They have two moms, a whack of brothers and sisters - one who passed away before they could meet her.  Z has a Tummy Mommy, a mommy and a mama and little sisters and a brother who are twins.   They are mixed race, and not.  They are Jewish with a mommy who is not.  Their family is their family.  They only know that having a family of five kids is a big deal because they hear what people say when they find out!  Wife and I talk about how hard and intense it is to have a larger family, but the kids don’t talk about it.  I think we all know, however, that just because they don’t talk about how hard it is, doesn’t mean that they don’t feel it. 

Assuming that, like us, our children feel a little overwhelmed when all seven of us are together for the less structured weekend, we decided to do something about it.  Without asking the children their opinion (Why would we ask their opinion?) we decided that every weekend the Silverman-Akandes would split up.  Many families use the divide and conquer strategy for an afternoon, or a whole day or occasional weekends.  We like to take extreme measures.  (This nugget of information should not surprise you.)  Friends, until further notice, we will break up every weekend, except holiday weekends when we will grit our teeth and lean in to the tantrums!  After the children finish their 9am dance class on Saturdays, two or three of them head up north with Wife to my family’s farm and the remaining kids, which always includes Z, the tiny and heavily programmed dancer, stay home with me.   

We are about five weeks into The Great Weekend Divide aaaaaand, it’s working.  It’s not perfect, but it’s working.  The kids are happier and calmer.  So are we.  I miss Wife and Saturday night take-out in front of Netflix.  Neither of us gets a break, because we are always with at least two children.  The kids miss each other and the mom that they are not with.  But, going up north with mama means a slow, quiet weekend with no chores to be done.  Staying in the city with me means a chance to hang out with friends (if I get my butt in gear to make that happen) and definitely some kind of sweet treat while being schlepped between dance studios with the tiny dancer.  Splitting up also means that we can switch it up so that the twin sets can bond with someone other than their regular partner in crime.  The opportunity for our children to develop stronger connections with each other is the sweetest bonus of the weekend break-up. 

As it turns out friends, the Silverman-Akandes are not better - good, but not better, together.  Together we are loud love, non-stop giggles, frequent fights, high highs and the lowest of the lows.  Together we are shoulders up around our ears and kitchen dance parties.  We are extreme – the same way we are all week.  These separate weekends, the 30 hours under different roofs, provides everyone with the same good times but just enough calm to stalk up on cuddles and attention to survive another busy school week. 

Not surprisingly, every weekend, G-Dog whines to us that “we are a family and we’re supposed to be together.”  I love that she feels this way.  I also suspect that somewhere she knows that together is not always better. 

XO Ajike

P.S. I don’t want to beg (at least not in a totally obvious way) but if my peeps showed up at my house on a Saturday night with or without (preferably with) a bottle of wine, I would totally let you in! 

Me: Tree, You: Apple

by: Ajike Akande

We have all heard the expression “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”  Have you noticed that the expression is rarely used in a positive way?  It’s never like “Wow, your kid is so funny and brilliant.  The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!”  It’s more like “Your child talks a lot (read: too much) and is super stubborn.  The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!”  What is “wrong” with the tree is sometimes “wrong” with the apple.  Nature, nurture or combo of the two - doesn’t matter, sometimes the apple just falls right next to the tree.  We often reap what we sew.  Sometimes we could stand to cut a new pattern before getting our stitch on.    

Our marvelous and “extra” G-dog was recently diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) (why be specific about anxiety, always go for a catch-all) and Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD).  We could have a debate about the problems with diagnosing and labelling kids as well as the degree to which the people who do the diagnosing actually know our kiddos, but that’s a conversation, not a blog post.   Wife and I have chosen to let “the people” assess and diagnose our kiddos because the process and the information gathered may be helpful.  It may also be a waste of time, but hope springs eternal that it will help us, and most importantly, them. 

Assessment and diagnosis doesn’t change our kids or their behaviours except maybe
G-Dog’s. During a public tantrum (the best kind of tantrum), days after meeting with the psychiatrists at our local children’s hospital, when I asked her to speak kindly to me and not hit me, she yelled, with a familiar scrunched up, gritted teeth face, “Didn’t you hear the doctors?  I’m not like you!  I’m a different person!  I’m not like everyone else.  I hit and scream! I’m not like you!”  First of all, G-Dog you are sooooo like me!  Secondly, this scene serves as a reminder of what can happen when assessing, diagnosing and labelling kids – they start to believe their diagnosis is who they are not something that makes life, in many cases, harder and hopefully what provides them with some unique gifts.   

Fortunately, after we received the diagnosis or what I like to think of as the black and white documented reminder that G-Dog is not doing this - the tantrums, the hitting, the rigidity on purpose, she was offered a space in a therapy group for wee ones with anxiety & and difficult behaviour.  By the way, the reminder that she is not doing this on purpose is the most important part of the whole assessment and diagnosis process for me.  Anyway, for 10 weeks anxious kids get together and teach each other new things to be anxious about.  Could you imagine?  In reality the kiddos get together and learn how to manage their anxious thoughts and subsequent behaviour, while the parents learn how to support their kids who just feel things “extra”. 

At our parenting group last week, we were introduced to a temperament rating scale.  We looked at different areas such as sensitivity, adaptability, and approach to new things and had to plot ourselves, our partners and our kids on the scale.  Not surprisingly, we were asked to examine the scale after to see if we could notice any patterns.  You know where I’m going with this don’t you?  In front of me, was a temperament scale confirming that Grace’s behaviour was not her fault; it was mine!  Nurture is powerful but it seems to be that I, through nature, have passed on some of the special traits that make me totally “extra”!

Wife and Grace, are on opposite ends of the scale in every category.  They do not share genetics.  Based on the temperament scale, Grace and I share ALL the genetics!  Me: tree, Grace: apple.  She feels too deeply, I take 295mg of psychiatric drugs a day so I don’t feel too deeply!  She screams with such intensity and volume that it can be very scary.  I’ve worked hard (and succeeded) at not dealing with my anger in that way.  She is good at understanding how others feel and when she feels love, everybody hears about it.  Me too.  I “get” my baby G-Dog and maybe when she’s older she’ll get her mommy too.

Now that it has been brought to my attention that my little apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree, I want to write something that one day I will share with her. 

To my G-Dog,

First we have to get something out of the way.  Do you know how much I love you?  You will probably never really know, it’s just so, so, SO much. 

I know you don’t always feel my love for you because you see my angry face, even when I’m not making one.   You don’t always feel my love because you hear my deep sigh, that is about how tired I am or overwhelmed I feel or annoyed I am with the driver in front of me, and think it’s about you.  You don’t feel my love because you listen carefully to every syllable of every word that comes out of my mouth seemingly listening for frustration or anger or flippancy directed towards you.  You do all of these things, so you may not always feel my love.  I used to do the same to my mommy, your nanny.  In fact I sometimes still listen and look for Nanny’s unspoken feelings about me but now I don’t mention it to her, I tell Mama instead!  Mama loves having to debrief my conversations with Nanny; it may be her most favourite thing about living with me! 

The point is, G-Dog, I understand the worry you feel about how much Mama and I love you.  My sweet, you are one of my five favourite imperfect people on this earth.  (The other four are your brothers and sisters.)  I know how much you hate to be wrong, but when it comes to you thinking that I don’t love you as much as I love all the Silverman-Akande small humans, you are wrong kiddo.  Really, really wrong.  I adore you girl.  That’s just the way it is.  Aaannnnd you are imperfect (so am I) so sometimes I gots to lay it down and let you know ‘cuz that’s my job as your mommy.  But I never stop loving you even when I’m angry.

And when you complain about having to leave the house to go anywhere new, especially a party, I know how you’re feeling. I have to fight my urge to just say, “Don’t worry baby, we can stay home and cuddle up on the couch and watch our favourite shows and eat the same things we always we eat, 'cuz we hate change.”  I never want to go to parties and meet new people and eat new food.  When Mama makes me go, or even better, when I make myself go, I often have a really good time. I’ve had to learn to push past the “I don’t want to leave the house” feelings.  I hope I do a good job at showing you that I understand your fear while encouraging you to do what’s hard because I want you to know that you can do hard things. 

Here’s the thing, you are a whole lot of “extra”.  You feel deep, deep, deep.  It’s so wonderful, it can also be hard and exhausting.  You come from a long line of deep feelers.  When feeling so much is hard, know that I am sorry to have given you this burden.  When feeling so much is wonderful, know that I am honoured to have given you this gift. 

We are so much alike, but we are not the same.  You will do with your “extra” self, what you wish to and what you need to.  I hope you do better than I have with all your big feelings because you are learning about them and how they work inside of you as a little one.  Mommy had to grow up and become a lesbian and subsequently go through years of therapy before I started understanding my big feelings. (Seriously G-Dog coming out as a lesbian and then enrolling in therapy was a “thing” in my day.)

G-Dog you are extra.  Extra sweet, extra intense, extra funny, extra stubborn, extra clever, extra curious, extra sensitive and extra, extra special.  As your little sister would say, “I love you twice.”  And as your little brother would say, “I love you this, big much!”

Carry on lil’ warrior.  You can do hard things. 

xo Mommy

* “Carry on warrior” the name of Glennon Melton’s book

Growing Out Of Babyhood

by Ajike Akande

A few months ago I took things up a notch and adopted a little “5 minute (makeup) face” routine.  I have come to truly love rosy cheeks and glossy lips, but I don’t spend the 5 minutes in front of the mirror applying makeup while trying to prevent my children, who are always crowded around me, from dumping multiple shades of blush on the floor, because I believe my beauty lives in a MAC bottle.  I quite like a natural look.  I spend the time because I don’t want the small children I see over the course of a day to be scared off by the dark circles and substantial puff around my eyes.  Quite frankly, it’s not pretty and there is nothing natural about it.  The puffy circles are the result of many years of having less sleep than required.  Sleep deprivation is not natural it’s real but it’s person-made.  Small, young person-made.  My point, because there is one, is that this morning, I should have taken a big pass on the five minutes.  I did some major weeping this morning a few hours after the makeup routine and I just ended up looking like a hot mess!   Here’s why…

This morning, being no different from other mornings I did the face thing and I was looking bright, cheery and totally on top of my sh*t, if I do say so myself.  Once all spiffied up, I packed up The Middles and The Littles to drive them (all of them) to school.  I was taking F-Jammie and Mr. Lee to their first day of Preschool.  For those of you who are just skimming this post, it bears repeating:  F-Jammie and Mr. Lee went to Preschool for the first time today.  Until now, The Littles have been left with one of three babysitters or family.  We have never set them free with other children without a grown person of their own watching over them. 

When they arrived at school and walked into their classroom, they were greeted by their super enthusiastic preschool teachers (You know, the kind of teachers who can smile through anything including a kid peeing their pants while they are holding them on their hip.)  At first my guys were pretty happy.  I told them that I would be back and left the room.  Unfortunately, I made the rookie mistake and stayed in the building - out of sight but in earshot.  When I heard Mr. Lee scream “No! Put me down! No!  I want mommy!” I lost it.  Really, really lost it.  Can we say, ugly crying?  I went over to the two-way mirror, (God’s little gift to the neurotic parent) and took a front row seat to view the movie Mr. Lee Has a Tantrum When He Realizes Mommy is Not Close By.  (Can we just pause and think about who would play the part of me?  Please post any thoughts in the comments.)  I watched him carry on while being held by a smiling, calm teacher.  I watched his twin sister, F-Jammie, follow him and the teacher around the room until he calmed down, which made me cry even more.  She was making sure that her brother was okay.  I wasn’t surprised; she is loving like that.  I felt proud that she showed so much compassion for her brother but also guilty because she felt as though she had to make sure that her sad bro was being taken care of while mommy up and left.  

 Finally the inside voice kicked in – “Leave woman!  Go pee alone, drink coffee while it’s hot, make and finish a phone call!”  I don’t often get time to myself in the middle of the day.   I left the school, still sobbing and called a friend to cry to her.  She reminded me that Mr. Lee and I are both ready for some time apart and that F-Jammie was born with her bags packed for university and her attachment to me is really about the snacks!  After the pep talk, I went for coffee and thought about how the phase of parenting babies is coming to an end.

We have been in the “baby” phase for years.  We never “saw the light”.  We were fortunate to be able to plan and have our children very close together.  Please note that these plans were made assuming that we would have one baby at a time.  Please also note that I am aware that we went for another round even after we had evidence suggesting that the assumption of one baby at a time was weak.  Point is, after asking, “What the actual f%&k were we thinking?” about a million times, we settled into the all baby all the time, way of life.  Seven years later, nobody is breast-feeding (Breast fondling – always; breast-feeding – never.)  Daytime diapers and cribs are a thing of the past.  Scooters are increasingly the mode of transportation and the stroller more often gets left at home.  Things are changing.  Praise God, things are changing.  Also, I totally hate change. 

After just over an hour, drinking hot coffee and thinking about my changing life, I went back to the school to pick up The Middles and The Littles.  These are the happy, suddenly older, proud-of-themselves, sibling-loving faces that came through the door. 

I have felt drained, the way you do after a good cry, all day.  The makeup has been wiped away by the waterworks and I can’t seem to lose the home-sicky feeling in my gut.  I guess the home-sicky feeling makes sense.  When we are home, we are surrounded by the familiar, what we are used to.  I am used to being a mommy to babies.  I have never had babies grow out of babyhood without another baby, two actually, to take their place.  I am losing a little bit of what is familiar.  It really is time, but I still feel a little home-sicky.  I wonder if my babies, The Littles, feel the same.

XO Ajike

P.S.  I am looking for excuses not to go grocery shopping the two mornings a week that The Littles are at school.  Who wants to meet up for hot coffee? 

School Is In Session

by Ajike Akande

Where I live, this is the first week back at school.  As a mother of many, including, three school-agers, it will come as no surprise that this blog post is about sending The Big and The Middles as well as Wife back to school.  I could share all the details of everyone’s first week, but wow, that’d be a snore fest so instead I am sharing a letter that I have written to The Big’s grade two teacher.  She will receive a copy of this letter shortly after I post this, so if you think it’s totally weird and inappropriate please let me know ASAP ‘cuz eeek, don’t want to be weirdo mom. 

Here it is…

Dear Ms. P,

You did it!  You survived the first days of the 2014/15 school year.  I stood back watching you on the first morning wearing your back-to-school best, doling out hugs - down low to the bigger, but still so little grade twos that you taught in grade one, and up high to the parents who were feeling excited to be sending their kids back to school in general but especially excited to be sending their kids back to you in particular.  You looked so happy and bursting with excitement about the fresh start that the new year offers.  I wanted to tell you that I recognize your bright expression and genuine joy to see your new and returning students.  I recognize it because that used to be me greeting bouncing kiddos and their parents.  Honestly, I felt a little jealous.  Don’t get me wrong; I know that day one is the beginning of a teacher-student honeymoon that if you’re lucky, lasts about three weeks.  Eventually the kids will stop being on their best behaviour.  So will you.  But the hugs, nervous energy and excitement are so real and truly set the tone for the year.  I am thrilled for all the members of the Room 22 crew.  I know that you will do all you can as crew leader to create a brilliant, safe, bad-ass (in the best way) community. 

Before you slip into the school routine, I want to tell you some things about my little dude who is in your class for the second time, this time as a big grade two kid.  Our Z absolutely ADORES you.  Some time around the end of July, he stopped accidentally calling me Ms. P!  He has been attending school since he was 18 months old and I have never seen him respond to a teacher the way he has responded to you.  His teachers have always enjoyed him and he has always been genuinely happy to learn with and from them, but with you, it’s different.  When you started teaching his class last January Z, almost immediately, saw himself in you.  You, a black (like him) woman with Caribbean roots, who loves music and dancing, hooked him right away.  You laughed at his antics and were charmed by his unbelievable ability to tell a good story.  You nagged him when he didn’t do his best (which was far too often) and sent home homework when he didn’t complete his work because let’s face it, he is more interested in being social than in completing math worksheets.  You consistently responded with genuine warmth whether you were disappointed in him or whether he “made your heart sing.”  You did this better than me and his mama.  He noticed and he appreciated you for it.      

I don’t think Z was aware that, once speaking to you and realizing that you somehow, even though you are not yet a mama, intrinsically understood how hard it can be to raise a black boy in North America at this time, I too felt comfortable with you.  I was relieved when I discovered that you would support my tough black mom approach as well as my insistence that my little guy has a chance to learn in a safe community with love, respect and fun (yes, fun) at its core.   

Our Z (your Z) is still squirrelly.  Seriously, seriously squirrelly.  He still doesn’t love the “learny” part of school.  He will talk your ear off and possibly drive you to drink!  The other kids will love him and think he’s hilarious.  This is extremely important to him so don’t be surprised if his perseverance and focus is most frequently exhibited when he is trying to entertain his classmates.  But if you bring your most dramatic self to the lessons you are teaching he will hang on your every word.  If you stay close by and be his anchor he’ll get his work done – eventually, because he doesn’t just want approval from his classmates, he wants yours too.  If you take dance breaks with the class and let him be your office runner he’ll still be squirrelly but he’ll get some of the movement that he craves. 

I know that teaching is one of the hardest jobs out there.  I know that your class is full of kids who need all sorts of things to make their days successful.  Z is one of many.  I also know that our boy will frustrate you.  You’ll want to raise your voice and send him out of the class.  You’ll want to complain to your colleagues about this very capable kid who doesn’t always apply himself and focus.  I know all of this.  I know because I know my Z and I have taught my share of Zs.  When your patience is low, tell him and then tell me.  I am always happy to discuss our little guy.  I’m happy to let you vent a little and then I am happy to make a plan to support him so that he can do better.  Your job is to support Mr. Z at school and it is our job to support him at home.  I believe that it is also my job to be one of the people who supports you in your efforts to support our boy.  I’m on your team.  You’re on mine.  We’re on his. 

This is going to be a long, maybe hard, hopefully awesome year.  In preparation I’ve purchased all the wine.  (Let me know if you need any!)  Alright, Ms. P here we go; let’s do this!

 

Love,

Ajike

Things I’m Learning on our Family Vacation

by Ajike Akande

The Silverman-Akande family has fled the nest and has set up shop in Wife’s hometown of Ottawa.   It’s kind of a big deal that we are here; last summer was our first visit to Ottawa since I was pregnant with The Middles.  We were waiting for life to calm down before we ventured that far from the homestead.  As it turns out, things aren’t going to calm down for-flippin’-ever, so we decided to take our beautiful mess on the road.  Anyway, I’m a life-long learner, so here are some things that I have learned on our family vacay so far. 

1. Actually I learned this first one just before our family vacation.  Packing up the seven of us is getting easier. I hesitate to admit this as I always want to reserve the right to lose my s*$t the day before any family trip and blame Wife for everything but in particular making us take this upcoming trip with the family.  I am not sure this has anything to do with our current situation; I had pre-trip meltdowns BK (before kids) too.   

2. Wherever you go, there you are.  Our inability to manage our children’s behaviour, our frustration, our stress – they all travel well.  Home is wherever your real messy, wonderful self is.  We are always at home when we are all together. 

3. The realization of the former is both depressing and comforting.  We know what to expect.   We know not to expect rainbows and sunshine, but something more like cloudy with a chance of sun, which may last for quite a while, followed by sudden thunderstorms.  This kind of temperamental weather is fine if you have the right gear at hand.  See below. 

4. Free feeding, as in “here is your food for the day, feed yourself as needed”, is very best way to do a road trip.  Meals and snacks are actually the enemy and quite possibly the biggest barrier to parenting bliss.  Simply pack a day’s worth of snacks in each child’s backpack, strap ‘em in and drive.  You are welcome for that helpful nugget! 

1    

If your pre-trip snacks don't look like this, you may be doing things wrong. Just sayin'

5. Wife will insist that we play car games while the children watch DVDs during the five-hour drive.  I will groan about having to play a game instead of doze off.  I will not handle losing the car game well.  I will immaturely whine, “You see, this is why I hate these games!”  Wife will play by herself for the remainder of the trip.

6. Spending time with family that we see only once a year, gives us a chance to see our wild small humans though the eyes of others who are instantly taken by them and amazed by how much they’ve grown, learned and changed in a year (I’m talking about you guys, Uncle Mark, Aunt Sue and Cousin Greg).

7. I still totally hate getting wet.  Swimming?  Twice a day? Yuck!  When The Big Z said he doesn’t like participating in activities (with the family) that he doesn’t enjoy, he get a mouthful from this water-hating mommy who has been in the water twice a day because, dammit, I like to see my family happy!

8. Any TV or videos watched while driving to visit Bubbie and Zaidie’s in Ottawa as well as any TV or videos watched while staying at Bubbie and Zaidie’s totally don’t count towards the daily, weekly, monthly or yearly amount of appropriate screen time. 

9. When Wife and I don’t need to prepare any meals or go on field trips alone, our life is WAY more possible.   Staying at my in-laws is like being at an all-inclusive resort.  It must be noted that while they enjoy hosting and providing us with a family vacay, it takes them (and the residents of their quiet condo community) an entire year to recover from the Silverman-Akande visit. 

10. We will make use of the massive box of “just in case” medicine & other random cure-all ointments that we hauled from Toronto.  When I went out at 10 pm the night before we left for our trip to buy the contents of the “Just In Case” Box, Wife was all like, “We’re going to Ottawa, it’s not like we can’t just get whatever we need.”  And I was all like, “Pipe down woman, nobody wants to do a 6 am run to the drugstore.  Go pack the damn van!”

11. Wife and I did the most awesome, exhausting thing by giving our five wild children each other.  When we are not worried that they are all working together to break our delicate spirits, their connection is basically the most amazing (and loud) thing I’ve ever seen. 

7   

I’m bound to learn a few more things over the next few days of this family vacay.  Let’s hope it’s not that there is no way we’ll have a successful second family vacation week scheduled for two weeks from now.  If we survive this week, do we really want to push our luck and try another week of togetherness?

Hope you're all enjoying summer, whatever you’re getting up to.

XO Ajike

P.S. Um... This. You're welcome.