May 2008 – Rebecca Cuneo Keenan

I have never owned a car. My husband has never owned a car – he doesn’t even have his driver’s license. We live in the city of Toronto, right on two bus lines and a 15 minute walk from the nearest subway station. My husband uses the TTC to commute to work, and Colum and I can meet all our daily needs right in our neighbourhood. Even my parents are only a 15 minute walk away.

We don’t get out of town much, admittedly. But when we do, we hop on a Greyhound bus or Via Rail train. Unlike airports, which are always perched at the edge of whichever city they serve, bus and train stations are right downtown. Still, there are times when you need to go to the suburbs; to visit family, mostly, or to make a purchase at a big-box store. And a car is really nice to have then.

I must admit, though, that with a second baby on the way I keep thinking that a car might be really nice to have more and more often. We still wouldn’t need one on a daily basis, but the longer cross-city transit trips are exponentially more patience draining with kiddies in tow. And while it’s one thing for you and your girlfriend to bum a ride to the nearest subway station, it’s another entirely for you and your wife and two kids and car seats and gear to rely on other people’s vehicles. It stands to reason, then, that we should consider picking up a small used car to keep in the driveway and use sparingly. And that is precisely where I see my next big pay cheque (first big pay cheque, actually) going.

But the economic and environmental repercussions are not that simple. My in-laws are out of town for two weeks and have lent us their car. I can already see how just having a car in the driveway will instantly multiply the number of uses we will have for one. A trip to Sunnyside Beach, for example, is something we might make once a month during the spring and summer. It’s a pleasant hour’s walk down to Bloor Street and through High Park from our home. We would then either walk back or hop on a bus. Last night, though, I found myself suggesting we could pack up our dinner and drive down to the beach for an impromptu picnic. We can go further afield for all kinds of things and drive when we otherwise wouldn’t.

This is not so bad, in and of itself, but the sky-rocketing cost of oil and the snowball effect that is having on our oil-dependant society has me freaked. An article in this week’s Macleans lays out all the doomsday predictions for us to wallow in. Of course, it does vindicate our choice of not looking into buying a home in the suburbs and continuing to rent in the city. Still, there are going to be a lot of young families stranded in their remote cul-de-sac ghettos when they can’t afford to drive anywhere and the value of their homes take a nosedive. And even I will have to learn a little discipline if I ever get my own car. Taking a midnight freedom ride on the open road with classic rock blasting on the radio might be one of life’s greatest pleasures. (Sorry, nature lovers.) But it’s one that we cannot afford to indulge. At least not very often.

Young C is sleeping soundly for the first night in his new-to-him big-boy bed right now. He’s been sleeping really well (i.e. through the night) in his crib for almost a year now and still loves it and doesn’t try to climb out at all. Still, as of April 29^th he’s a bona fide two-year old and it feels like the time is right. I’m also four months pregnant, of course, and we want there to be ample time for Young C to forget about his crib before the new baby arrives on the scene. And it’s getting a little hard for me to hoist him in and out of the crib several times a day right about now. So new bed it is.

This is the way you’re supposed to make the crib to bed transition: You hype up the new big-kid bed and include your toddler in the purchasing of new bedding. You keep everything else about their bedtime routine and sleeping environment the same. You keep them safely in place with a guardrail. You make sure the timing doesn’t coincide with any other major changes in your kids routine. I really did intend to follow those guidelines, but … well, this is how we did it: We accepted an offer for a hand-me-down bed and didn’t get around to purchasing any special new bedding before the bed got here. We had family over for dinner the same night the bed arrived and didn’t have time to remove his old crib from his room before bedtime. In place of the guardrail we haven’t yet gotten is his old crib mattress on the floor beside his bed to cushion his inevitable tumble. And, just to seal the deal, he’s set to start daycare for the first time ever on Friday. (Yes, the Daycare Despair is finally over and he’ll be going to Novus Day Nursery three mornings a week so I can try to make a buck or two.)

Despite the lack of special new bedding and the presence of his old crib right in the same room, Young C really was eager to get into his new bed. He kept breaking free from the dinner table to run to his room and get into bed and happily read his bedtime stories all tucked in. It was only when we reached the tail end of his bedtime routine and the tell-tale words, “Here’s your snuggly blanket …,” triggered the realization that he was actually supposed to fall asleep in this new bed that all hell broke loose. He screamed “No!” and jumped out of bed and ran out of his room. We then repeated our goodnight to Dad and the end of his routine and I put him back into bed where he started screaming and crying. After one more escape attempt was quickly intercepted he just stuck to the crying. I waited by his door for him to calm down. I listed all the animals at the High Park zoo that were sleeping and I even tried singing. After more than 30 minutes of alternating crying and sitting up to name some more animals that might be sleeping (“And bugs, Mom. Is the bugs sleeping too?”) I lay down beside him. Happily, this worked like a charm and he calmed right down and snuggled in under his covers. He kept reaching over to make sure I was there, though, and eventually backed me right off the edge. So I sat on the crib mattress and reassured him that I was still there until he finally fell asleep.

I hope that after a few days he’ll feel secure enough in his new bed to fall asleep on his own and this won’t compound the difficulty he’ll have adjusting to daycare. Like his reaction to his new bed, Young C seems happy enough about daycare. He’s been there before and knows that there will be other kids and toys for everyone to share and that Moms and Dads are not allowed. Still, when I walk out the door and leave him in the company of total strangers there are bound to be tears. In the meantime, I’m preparing myself for some nighttime visits and early morning wakings. And I’ve really got to find a guardrail to fit this bed.

(Image courtesy of www.dn.anglican.org.nz/resources/liturgical/arts/clipart/)