Every year, around this time, I load up my children and drag them to a large city park where I force them to pretend to be happy to be seen in public with me as we picnic as a family and I pretend I totally don't know they would rather be anywhere else in the world at that moment as long as it is somewhere far from me and it involved video games.
It's a tradition.
This year was a raging success, if you define success by my five year old nephew stomping around with a pre-teen attitude all day, me fighting the urge to put my foot up his arse, Fric and Frac unsuccessful in their efforts to find an escape route and Jumbster managing to not fall out of his wheelchair.
It was a picture perfect day. Ahem.
Nothing says picnic like me not combing my hair and using a cowboy hat as a lid.
Fric and Frac faced off in the potato sack races. Big sister takes her picnic racing seriously. Little brother thinks his sister is a dork. She has tenacity in her favour. He has longer legs in his. I'll let you decide who won.
There was a petting zoo. Jumbster was not keen on this. Or the guinea pig which suddenly appeared in his lap.
We did, however, learn Jumbster had a hidden skill. He is the true jackass whisperer. His services are available for a negotiated fee.
They shouldn't call this the Tub of Fun. More like the tub of puke. Note to self: Do not call your sister's new boyfriend Noodle Man and make fun of his spaghetti arms just before going on a ride where he can spin you to sickness. Also, I should probably apologize for accidentally grabbing my sister's boyfriend's testicles when I was looking desperately for a handle to hold on to. My bad. Hope they still work, G-man.
There was the Original Balloon Man. He remembered Knox and I remembered how thankful I am to this man for shining a light on my love whether he knew it or not.
Best of all, there was this guy. Laughing at us all, and spreading the joy everywhere he went. Because that is just how he rolls.
You would never know it to see me now but I was once a serious athlete. Bookcases and walls were lined with my prizes, filled with the shiny trophies of a youth spent sweating my way towards a finish line or a gold medal.
I spent as much time as I could running from my demons and shooting towards my dreams, as the hours in a day would allow. Sports weren't just for fun; they were my passion.
And then, a blown knee, a bad back and a baby (or two) and suddenly my dreams of standing on a podium, accepting a medal on behalf of my country scattered like gold fish flakes in a fish bowl.
My days as a contender were over but my dreams never died. I'm still the girl that sits in front of the television, watching athletes chasing their dreams while envisioning my own.
Luckily for me, having children birthed a new dream. Being a soccer mom has its privileges other than just sitting on a wet field on a cold spring day as you watch other people's children pick their noses. I may not be able to win any more medals of my own, but darn if I can't cheer loudly on the sidelines as my children win some of their own.
When Fric and Frac first toddled about, getting their feet under them, I naturally wondered if they would be athletes, scholars, or both. Would they jump as high as their daddy? Run as fast as me?
As it turns out they can out run, out jump and out think both their father and I. Which makes for good times on family sports night but not so fun times when they are hiding my cookies.
Ahem.
Part of the beauty of raising children is knowing your children are a package of endless possibilities and dreams all neatly bundled in a wee body that occasionally flushes legos down your toilet and refuses to eat anything green.
When I gave birth to Shale, I worried those dreams wouldn't appear. It took me a while to learn how to parent a child with special needs and it took me even longer to learn how to dream for him.
I was firmly mired in the muck of the reality of having a child that was differently-abled than my older children. Shale didn't do anything I hoped his siblings would do but he ended up doing everything he wasn't supposed to.
He sat. He walked. He learned to toddle in a graceless waddle that for him was a sprint. He thrived.
The same way his younger brother Jumby is now doing.
With every milestone and accomplishment both my younger boys made and will make, it inspires me to re-learn how to dream big for them again.
He could have been a contender.
These boys of mine, both Shale and Jumby have taught me to think bigger and be better and to know that it is possible to dare to dream big dreams for them.
They have earned those big dreams and they deserve them, the same as their older siblings.
I've learned having special needs children doesn't mean being ruled by limitations. It means learning how to dream bigger and finding ways to make those dreams come true. From dreams as small as learning how to swallow without choking to dreams as big as becoming an Olympic athlete.
One foot after another, he's chasing his dreams.
So when I was asked if I wanted to write about the Special Olympics, as part of a paid sponsorship for Procter & Gamble's Proud Sponsors of Moms program, it was a no brainer. I'm a mom, I love sports and I love any program that helps adults of all abilities make their dreams of winning a shiny medal come true.
As a longtime supporter of the Special Olympics (31 years and counting), Procter & Gamble is stepping up to the proverbial plate and helping the moms of Special Olympic athletes with a huge chunk of change (quarter! million! dollars!) that will support local programs and services. They're also a sponsor of Team USA at the Special Olympics, taking place in Athens June 25 till July 4.
For every person who fans the Thank You, Mom Facebook page or leaves a comment, P&G will donate $1 to support Special Olympics Team USA's journey to Athens—up to $250,000 above their other contribution. That's a lot of dough that will help a lot of athletes and their moms.
(I won't deny I hope this program is a smashing success so P&G will sponsor Team Canada for future Special Olympics. Because our beaver loving, maple-tastic team of athletes and their moms needs all the love and sponsorship it can get too. So go click over to Facebook. Do it for the athletes. Do it for the moms.)
This summer, as the Special Olympics rage on, you know where I'll be. Sitting beside my children, watching these athletes chase their dreams, just the way I once dreamed of chasing mine.
Only this time, as I'm watching I'll know I played a part in helping make the magic possible for some of these athletes and their families. I hope you will too.
Today is World Wish Day. Which means if you can rub your tummy with one hand, while patting your head with the other as you simultaneously recite the alphabet backwards, every wish you make today will come true.
Okay, maybe not. But it would be really cool if that were how it worked.
I should totally wish for the coordination to be able to do that. I can barely walk in a straight line without tripping over invisible cracks.
I'd wish for a million money trees to grow in my back yard. And fertile soil to keep them growing.
I'd wish for perkier boobs. And less chin hairs. And the complete eradication of boob whiskers for womankind everywhere.
I'd wish for a stuffed beaver. Not that kind of beaver, you perverts. I want a dead stuffed beaver to put in my living room. But I'd happily take a live beaver and make it into my pet. I'd buy it a spiked collar and call it Hoss.
I'd wish that every time I ate ice cream my teeth wouldn't hurt and my bowels wouldn't explode. It's the little things in life.
I'd probably wish for the ability to fly too, but only because I'm too cheap to pay for airfare and not because I actually have any place to go.
But mostly, I'd wish for one more moment to spend with my son and to never outlive any more of my children.
April 29 is the Make A Wish Foundation's World Wish Day. It's the day, for children all over the world, wishes really will come true. Without any tummy rubbing or head patting although I'm pretty sure some kids would think that was awesome.
But they aren't free. Which is why I write this. Because if I can guilt, er, persuade any of you to skip the latte today and donate a few dollars to the Make A Wish Foundation, I will.
Think of the children.
Oh look, I'm beating you over the head with pictures of my kids! I have no shame.
Jumby's wish was a small wish, not something significant or very meaningful to most, but to my child it made a world of difference to his quality of life and reminds all of us that wishes can come true, goodness does exist.
For children who live with illness or disability or both, the Make A Wish Foundation is there to give these children and their families something life has often yanked away from them.
Hope. With a side of joy.
One small wish gave my child the chance to dream like every child should be able to.
Dreams do come true. Today's the day for to make them happen.
Thank you Make A Wish Foundation. And thank you everyone who has ever helped make a wish come true. With or without the tummy rubbing.
*If I were handing out wishes, I'd love to grant yours. What would YOU wish for? Curiosity and all...*
Fric and Frac faced off in the potato sack races. Big sister takes her picnic racing seriously. Little brother thinks his sister is a dork. She has tenacity in her favour. He has longer legs in his. I'll let you decide who won.
