The smallest room in the house

In order to understand how all four of us came to be spending a good part of our morning in the smallest room in the house, I first have to take you through the saga of “mum-mum”.

Mum-mum”, though a benign enough sounding word, has grown to have the same effect on me that nails across a chalk board have on most people. It is a sound that I dread, and one which occupies a good chunk of my time every day. You see, Ren is a grazer par extraordinaire and “mum-mum” is his word for food or drink. He rarely sits long enough to actually eat anything, and so is pretty much always either wanting or eating a snack.

Now sure, all your health mags will tell you that grazing is the healthiest way to eat, but I submit that is only the case when you are actually old enough to read said health mags. Otherwise, it is the equivalent to death by 1000 cuts for the person responsible for providing the mum-mums.

Typically a “mum-mum” exchange, which happens about 10 to 15 times a day, goes a little something like this:

Ren – mum-mum?

Me – No, not right now, we have to get dressed… (or ... you just had dinner… or ... we’re in the car moving at 100 kms an hour. You get the drift).

Ren – mum-mum!

Kiyomi - Mom, he wants a mum-mum

Me - Yes Kiyomi, I think you're right. But first he has to brush his teeth.

Ren - mum-mum?!

Kiyomi - Ren, do you want ...

Me - No, Kiyomi, don't say it...

Kiyomi - ... mum-mum?

Ren – mum-mum (with slightly more vigour and insistence)!!

Me – Ren, first we get dressed, then mum-mum. Ok?

Ren – huh.

Two minutes later…

Ren – mum-mum?

And so, it continues. Sometimes it ends peacefully with Ren either giving up or being successfully distracted. Other times, it ends in disaster, with a writhing, screaching little banshee who has completely forgotten why he’s upset or what it is he actually wants, so he alternates between hitting me and yelling to sit on my lap. It’s 50-50 which way it will go at any time.

How, you might ask did this result in all four of us being holed up in the bathroom trying to get ready for the day? Well, it was a “mum-mum” exchange that started to go awry, ending with Ren wanting to be glued to me, and my wanting desperately to have a shower. The two were incompatible. In the end, I grabbed a laptop and Ren’s breakfast, only to hear a little voice from the kitchen squeek “Mom, how come I have to be by myself” while these doe-like brown eyes blinked ever so slightly. And so, I balanced two breakfasts on the laptop, barged into the bathroom where Kohji was shaving, plunked the laptop and the bowls of cereal on the toilet, set a stool in front of the toilet, and let the kids watch Cars, while eating off the toilet bowl while I jumped in the shower.

This, my dear friends, is how all four of us came to be hunkered down in the smallest room in the house. It might not win me mom of the year, but darn it, I got my shower!

All that said, Ren's communications skills are improving every day. Words are coming fast and furious, and not just ones related to various vehicles. Some are still what I call "mommy-words" - words only mom and dad can really make out - but most are understandable to all and he's even using word combinations. Generally, as he's able to communicate more, there is a lot less frustration and fewer meltdowns. He's also more settled in his daily routine. In fact, he no longers asks to where his sweater and shoes to bed. I won't discount that the 30+ degree weather we've had didn't have something to do with it, but it seems that he no longer needs those for comfort and prefers to have his tractor blanket.

Kiyomi has been a social butterfly with a number of birthday parties and day-camp field trips. She is definitely making the most out of her summer and really enjoys the idea of being 5. Her latest interest is science, and she has decided she wants to be a fairy-ballerina-scientist. Not sure what university she needs to attend in order to get that particular combination, but perhaps Queen's will start offering fairy-studies in the near future.

Between bouts of "mum-mum", there has been a lot of summer activity. In addition to parks and pools, we've managed to take a couple of weekend trips. One to Toronto where the kids got to sail and generally just hang out with the cousins and grandparents. And another to Thunder Bay to celebrate my granmother's 90th birthday. Yup, 90 years young and 4 generations all in one place. It was a great trip and the highlight for me was watching my kids tear around my aunt and uncles' place just like I used to when I was a kid while the adults gabbed inside well into the fading light of day. Only difference is now, I'm on the inside.

The parting shot for tonight leaves you with a lovely wet-slobbery looking kiss. Good night, from Ottawa.

Time

Time, I believe, moves in heartbeats and moments. For the most part, it’s an innocuous marker – quietly but relentlessly moving forward. But, in point of fact, we rarely truly mark time by pages on a calendar. Rather, we mark it according to the events in our lives that set us on a new course - a birth, a graduation, a marriage, a death. We know where we are in time relative to how much time has passed since the last or the biggest event.

For Kohji and I, our lives are always and forever defined in relation to the day we became a family. That day, four years ago this month, where a helpless, frightened, determined, beautiful and brave infant was gently placed in our arms. Where a nanny whose name we would never know held out this skinny baby girl, in a pink jumper, and pointed to a card around the baby’s neck with her referral photo so we could confirm that she was indeed our child. That moment in a room echoing full of nannies, nervous parents and crying babies. Where in the time it takes to take in a breath, 16 families became mommies and daddies to Chinese daughters. That moment, where everything that came before would be defined relative the the point in time where I held that terrified little girl close to my chest and whispered “shhh, little bit, it will be alright”. That moment, where it would stop being about me, and would always and forever be about her and us as a family.

That frightened and brave little girl faced what, to many, would seem an insurmountable challenge. Before her first birthday, she endured tremendous and indescribable loss for the second time in her life. Yet, she risked everything to love two hopeless, though devoted, strangers. She allowed these people to hold her, whisper to her, make her laugh, comfort her and take her hand into a new life, on a new continent, far removed from everything she’d ever known. For that, we are, and will always be, grateful beyond words.

On the eve of her fifth birthday, that little baby has grown into a bright, vivacious, inquisitive, kind, warm, loving, generous and incredible girl. We, as her parents, are in awe of everything that she is (that’s our job after all). We’ve watched her grow wings over the last four years, the way all children do, and fly into the world she is slowly building for herself as she grows up. Looking back, it’s clear to me that we did not swoop in to be her family, she agreed to take us as her family. In the process, she has taught us about love, acceptance, bravery, patience and above all else, laughter. I will spend the rest of my life trying to be the person that she is, and striving with every breath to earn the trust she placed in me by allowing me to be her mother.

Thank you baby girl.

That parting shot for tonight speaks to the two life altering moments in our lives.