By the time I had my sixth kid, I figured I had this parenting thing wrapped up.

Well, this cheeky toddler has knocked me square off my parenting high horse. One of our babysitters describes him as an adorable weirdo. One of his weirdo things is that every night for the last six months, he has insisted upon falling asleep on the family room floor. I later transport him to a suitable floor upstairs when I head to bed. Maybe it’s not a big deal, but for this “establish good bedtime routines and habits” mama, this sleeping on the floor stuff is outrageous!

What’s strange about it is why it started happening. During the Christmas holidays, we stayed in an old farmhouse that belonged to Daddy-o’s deceased grandparents. The house sits empty unless family members wish to have a farm stay. Not all will stay there because of the stories and rumours that it is possibly haunted.

I didn’t let those rumours deter me – when a family of our size can stay somewhere for free, we don’t turn it down. On about the third night, my little guy woke up in his crib screaming in a way that made me run so fast my feet didn’t touch the ground. I rescued him from his crib, resettled him then went back to bed a little confused. Next night, the same thing happened, except this time there was no way he would go in the crib or the room. I took him into the family room, fell asleep on the couch and he fell asleep on his little blanket on the floor beside me. He has remained on a floor ever since.

I spent the next morning shaking my head in confusion. He was not unwell and his mood was otherwise fine. Daddy-o finally solved the mystery for me when he got a sheepish look and said: “I think he saw the ghost”. Suddenly, everything made sense and this non-believer started re-thinking my ideas on the subject. Thanks to that pesky ghost, all my perfect baby routines have gone down the crapper and I have a toddler who is a floor dweller.

Have you had an experience that has turned you into a believer? I’ve heard that children and animals may be more sensitive and aware of this kind of activity. Is it true?

One Lucky Mama!

A couple of weeks ago, my bad-breathing baby landed us in the Trauma Room in the Emergency at our local hospital. On about his fifth Ventolin treatment, a woman was brought into the bed beside us.

The woman was explaining her symptoms as they were going through triage a few feet away from us. Now, I’ve only seen ER twice and maybe half an episode of Grey’s, but it was pretty darn clear to Dr. Mama that this woman was about to have a massive heart attack. During the chit-chat, I learned that her two young daughters had brought her in and were waiting in the lobby. I also learned that she was 50 years old, the same age her mother was when she died of a heart attack. At that point, I started to feel panic – I just wanted the questions to stop and the treatment to start. I kept thinking “If that were my mother…”

No great surprise, just as the question period was finishing, she went into full-on cardiac arrest. After 40 minutes and 7 shocks to the chest, she was pronounced dead. I was selfishly thankful that I was there with my only kid who would remain completely clueless that someone just died beside us.

Then I thought about the daughters in the lobby. The doctors bickered about who was going to take them into the Family Room to deliver the news. They managed to get the girls to call in their aunt and uncle before telling them their mother was dead.

Within a couple of hours, I was heading home with my son. As I got into my car, I noticed two sisters standing by the hospital entrance, embracing and crying. So this Mother’s Day, I’m thinking about how they have no mother to celebrate with. And 10 years down the road, they may have babies of their own, who will never know Grandma.

In perfect honesty, I’m still frustrated that when that very sick woman entered the Trauma Room, there was too much chat and not enough action.

We only get one mother – there is no time to waste.

Last week I was flying to L.A. for a speaking engagement. As I boarded the plane, I reminded myself how peaceful the flight would be. Flying solo is like a forced holiday. Flying with my gang is a big job and one that I spend a fair amount of time dreading. However, after the experience I had on that particular flight, I realized that maybe travelling with my kids is not so bad after all.

Two rows ahead of me, in the bulk head seats, was a very elderly man who walked with a cane. He was travelling with his wife, a striking woman with big brown eyes and long, thick, dark hair tied neatly back.

Clearly Alzheimer’s had taken a nasty hold of her. She was aggressive. Quite regularly she would stand by the bulk head, face the passengers behind her and give us dirty and accusing looks. There was a very strange salute she would give if you happened to make eye contact with her. At one point she was murmuring racist remarks at the family sitting in the row between us. It was all pretty much torturous for her husband.

Whenever she got agitated, her elderly husband gently stroked her lovely face and encouraged her to sit down, which she usually did. A few minutes would pass and she’d be back up shooting the dirty looks and giving her strange salutes.

As I got off the airplane, I passed by the elderly man and told him his wife was beautiful and that he was doing a fantastic job with her. His eyes were a little teary as he gave me the most sincere “thank you” I’ve ever heard in my life.

I imagined what life was like for him – watching his wife slip away, apologizing and explaining her inappropriate behaviour, having to deal with judging looks. Dealing with all that as an 80-year-old seems like a pretty tall order. And he did it all with grace – he always remained kind, loving and patient.

That man is my new role model. The next time I’m flying with my crew and I start to lose my cool, I will remember his tired eyes and remind myself that if an exhausted old man can remain loving and patient, so can I.

50 years ago my Aunt Joan was born. Hers has not been an average life. She arrived prematurely, possibly having an unfortunate run-in with the umbilical cord on the way out. Regardless of the cause, she has had a special place in our family because she did not develop in a typical manner.

From all accounts, it was not easy in those early years. The doctors made grim predictions about Joan’s future based on what they thought her IQ was. Grandma once threw a social worker out of her house for suggesting that Joan should be removed from the family and raised elsewhere.

She was the seventh born in a big Irish family and everyone rallied around their baby Joan, sharing feeding responsibilities and surrounding her with love and support. Joan was a part of that family and although it was a family forever changed, from their enlightened perspective, they were better for it. To this very day she lives with my grandparents who are in their mid-nineties.

Joan is a remarkable person. Embraced by a supportive school and staff, she has spent the last 25 years working as a classroom helper in a centre for children with special needs and who are medically fragile. Joan has a special place at Mabel’s Labels as well. She helps out when brochures need to be stickered, she decorates posters and cards for special events and contributes her famous brownies for staff functions. Most of all, she is our biggest fan. If you’ve ever been on a city bus and had the woman next to you ask if you have Mabel’s Labels, chances are it was Aunt Joan. She hands out her Mabel’s Labels business card to anyone and everyone – a business card which appropriately lists her job title as “Superstar”.

To get the full picture of the positive impact Joan has on those around her, let me tell you how her 50th birthday was celebrated:

- The school board threw a surprise party for her. 50 staff members and retired staff were in attendance to celebrate;
- Our family had a surprise dance party/open house. More people than I could count were in attendance;
- Of those people at the dance party, a ridiculous number of us were wearing t-shirts featuring Joan’s picture and the words ‘Joan is a Superstar’;
- Even the babies in the family got involved. They all wore custom-made shirts that said “Great-Aunt Joan is a Superstar”.

I know when we all have babies we want them to be perfect in every way. However, Joan has taught me that sometimes it’s only when they are not “perfect” that they are able to become Superstars.

Several years ago, I reluctantly moved to the suburbs. I missed my life as an urban mama cruising all the mama haunts with my three babes loaded up in a triple stroller. Suddenly every outing involved a mini-van. Since the move, my kid crew has doubled in size and like it or not, suburbia is the very best place for us.

This was reinforced last week when we held the Mabel’s Labels Staff and Family Summer Sizzler in my backyard. I gotta say, life is pretty good if you are a kid hanging out in my backyard. We keep things pretty kid focused around here so there is no shortage of activities – we have a heated swimming pool, trampoline, sand pit, swing set, and bikes and riding toys galore. To top it off, our house backs on to a huge park that is easily accessed by a gate in our back fence. Last Thursday, the Mabel team (and kiddos) rocked up and had a taste of my life in the suburbs.

Many years ago upon arriving to Canada, my grandparents co-founded a local Irish Club. Every year there was an annual picnic that was jam-packed with activities like running races and relay games. We enjoyed the picnic so much that it became a highlight of the summer.

In the spirit of the old Irish Club picnics, I put together an agenda of cheesy games and races. On top of doing the usual three-legged race and egg-toss, I added a few new ones to the mix that were nothing short of hilarious!

1) The Mommy Call:
You sit all the kids in their sibling groups at the finish line. The mamas get blind-folded at the start line. The kids then all start screaming “MOM! MOM!” and the first mama to find her kiddos is declared the winner.

2) The Daddy Piggy Back:
This activity requires dad to carry all of his children on his back while racing to the finish line. If a child falls off, dad is not allowed to move until child is back on. Clearly, the daddy-o in our family was at a disadvantage, but that didn’t stop him from giving it a good go. I pulled some rank and only allowed him to carry four of them at once – the thought of them all falling and landing on the baby was really too much for one mama to handle.

So maybe life in the suburbs is not so bad. Just imagine trying to pull off some of this fun elsewhere – dads stumbling through the city streets, loaded down with kids and tripping over the latte-sipping city folk in sidewalk cafes. Yep, I think for now this is right where we belong.