Despite the nice appearance and newness of the hotel, the Canalta has stiff beds that are really meant for only one person — any movement is felt by the other person on the bed. The pillows are massive and overstuffed (please, hotels, understand that not everyone wants these — please provide a few thin pillows), and the air-conditioning in our massive room simply made things awkward. It would appear that neither Mommy or I slept well.
Monkey, you slept like a log. We had trouble waking you up.
We were all slow to rise today, but we made quick work of breakfast. You said goodbye to your Great Uncle Ken and Great Aunt Marilyn before we headed to the car. Our first stop was to drop off Granny at the airport. She wasn’t driving back with us, which I take to be a very wise decision on her part.
Then we headed back down to Portage, which is one of the main roads in Winnipeg. After a stop at Timmy’s for a coffee recharge, we set our sights for Saskatchewan and our overnight stop at Moosomin.
The question was what were we going to do in between…
We were supposed to go out to a lake near the Ontario border today, but Mommy and I threw up the white flag and declared us all “done”. We need a break. Monkey, you’ve been very patient being trapped in the car seat for hours upon hours. We’ve heard “I want to go home” a few times, but we suspect it’s more about wanting to get out and run around than anything else. (It’s been proven pretty much every time we’ve let you out.)
As for you, Choo Choo … well, I’m not really sure what to make of your thoughts. Aside from the fact that you’re only 4.5 months old, there’s also the consideration that, unlike your sister, you don’t sleep a lot. So we’re never really sure if you’re generally unhappy with being in your seat, tired, or hungry. I suspect at some level you’re probably all three at the same time.
Still it was absolutely necessary that we take the day off and not really go anywhere. So we went to The Forks.
Wow, I wasn’t kidding, was I? It was a long day. A really, really, really long day. We were up and running and gone by just after 8:15 this morning, trucking our way up to an RV park just north of downtown along Main Street, right next to Shooter’s Golf (which I am convinced is named and designed after elements of Happy Gilmore). We met up with the rest of the family who were along for the ride, and then planning to meet at the ESSO station in Eriksdale, headed north.
Granny drove with Great Uncle Ken and Great Aunt Marilyn so she “would have all-new material”, and likely because after a while, you just can’t stand being around us Sowreys any longer.
At least we didn’t have to get up too early today, Choo Choo, and you let us sleep a bit longer. That helped rest away the many kilometres behind us. We hit breakfast, also at the Chicken Chef (there ain’t a lot of option in Whitewood), and then loaded up once more for our push to Winnipeg.
It took a lot longer than I thought to get here.
Choo Choo, I don’t think you yet have a real understanding of time. And certainly, you don’t understand the idea of letting Mommy or Daddy sleep in. Today, I’ll admit, that wasn’t something we would fault you for, since we all had to be up early. Grandpa wanted us on the road by 7:00. That meant getting up, dressed, fed, packed, and loaded.
And as Mommy and I have noticed, neither you nor your sister, Monkey, really understand the idea of “quickly”.
Well, kids, today was a slow start to our cross-prairie adventure. The morning was otherwise ordinary, rising and having breakfast and dressing. But then I climbed into the car and took Asia away to her hotel for the next week. I know this caused a little concern for you, Monkey, because you were worried about her.
Grandpa and Granny arrived after lunch. We loaded up the minivan (which had a fair amount more cargo space than Mommy and I thought there might have been), loaded up you kids, and hit the road for a town called Medicine Hat.
The beginning of our first great family road trip.
I sit here at my kitchen table, rubbing the weariness from my eyes. Not the things you’d normally hear from me, mind you — I haven’t been working too hard as of late (as you know, my big project is done). No, this is from something much better — spending time with my family, and notably you, Monkey.
The last four days have been a lot of fun. Maybe even too much fun. Both of us are pretty pooped. You went to bed and for the first time in a long while, there wasn’t hours of chatter from your room. I think you pretty much passed out. I won’t be too far behind you, I think, but I do wish to describe the fun that we’ve shared.
‘Cuz, frankly, I’m not sure how the heck I survived it all…
Earlier this afternoon, Sylvia Grace Jones (formerly Tisdale), passed away at the age of 97. She is survived by her children, Linda, David, and Brenda, her grandchildren Pam, Darren, Cathy, Jennifer, and yours truly, and a bunch of great-grandchildren. And that’s just on our side — through her second marriage to Eddie Jones, she has a flotilla of relatives that — in all truth — I’ve never met.
Nana was my last living grandparent. She was the special grandparent when I was young — she lived hours away by plane, so she was spoken of in near-legendary terms. She wasn’t just my Nana, she was Nana The Mysterious, Nana The Wise, Nana The Great Gift-Giver. She was the embodiment of never acting your age — truthfully, I didn’t even know how old she was until just a few years ago. She was a model of long-life, and happiness.
For those, and a million other reasons, I cannot say goodbye to you, Nana. I can only say: Thank you.
Well, Monkey, you gave us perhaps the greatest scare of Mommy’s and my parenthood today. Sure, we’ve seen you really sick with a couple of nasty colds, you’ve cut yourself in a couple of nasty falls, and definitely given us some worries during our return flight to Canada so many months ago now.
But today … today was a new echelon in fear. Today Mommy and I joined the ranks of millions of other parents who have had that moment where they doubt all the confidence and belief they have built up over years of careful watch and control over their child’s life. They see it crash down in a single moment, utterly ruined when they come to the horrific realisation that they don’t know where their child is.
Today, Monkey, you disappeared.