In which there is adventure, nudity, and friendship

I have a good friend, Heidi. I met her through the Twins n' More Club here and she and I instantly connected. She is a true kindred spirit and I've never waved her off without having laughed till I cried at least once in the hours spent together. Heidi is always up for an adventure and is the kind of person things just happen to and happen around so she always has the craziest stories to tell. If you ever come to visit and meet Heidi make sure you get her to tell you the story of the Newfie she met while living in New Brunswick who moments after introducing herself to Heidi began talking about her "veegoina".

As I said I met Heidi through the twins club so obviously she also has twins - a set of boys who are only six weeks younger than Tristan and Ava. She also has a six year old daughter, who along with Sebastian we consider the bookends to all our 3 year olds. She is the kind of mom I always thought I'd be and she consistently inspires me to be more creative and spontaneous in my parenting. Heidi is the mom who makes pirate swords with cardboard and tin foil and plans treasure hunts. She will set up a store in their basement and takes her turn as the cashier...and she actually loves it! She's the one who said to me on the phone one evening, "Oh, the neighbourhood kids all got their jammies on and are here for story time so I better get to the playhouse." She has a strict dance in the rain rule and everytime it rains she and her kids run outside for a moment of magic. A while ago we were driving down some back alley when I saw a cheetah-print footstool sitting beside a dumpster and Heidi loves animal prints. "Stop the van! I said to Hugh, "I need to get that stool for Heidi!" There are very few people I would consider giving something I got from a dumspter as a gift and even fewer people who would love getting it.

A few months ago while both our husbands were working during the annual city festival, Spectrum, we decided to take our gaggle on an adventure together. Because the festival was happening in the downtown core where parking is next to nil, the city was offering free bus rides all weekend and we thought it would be a fun adventure to take the bus and check out the festival. We met at Heidi's bright and early on the Saturday morning. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and the children were doing little happy dances of joy and so we walked (the kids skipped) a few blocks up the street to catch the bus at our neighbourhood MAC'S. All was sweetness and light and thrilling adventure until we had been waiting at the dodgy bus stop for 20 minutes and the kids began getting restless. I wonder if we should have checked the bus schedule," Heidi said.
"It's free bus rides all weekend for Spectrum, they must be running the buses pretty regularly," I said. "I'm sure it'll be along any minute."
30 minutes passes and the kids are complaining about being hot and thirsty so we pull out the large ziploc of goldfish crackers and bottles of water that we packed for just such an emergency though frankly we had not expected to need it so soon. We carefully ration the water because the last thing we need is to be stuck on the bus and have someone announce they need to pee. And you know they only tell you they need to go when they absolutely cannot hold it for one second longer. At this point no other passengers have shown up at the bus stop, which is the main stop in our area of town, and we are seriously wondering if these city buses even exist.
45 minutes and every child but Sebastian has been in some form of timeout or another and I'm feeling like if I have ask my kids one more time to stop putting stuff from the ground in their mouths I am going to LOSE IT!
55 minutes and suddenly people are coming from every direction to catch the bus and hope is revived in our listless little ones who all jump off the bench to see who can be the first one to spot the city bus which must be arriving momentarily...
10 or 15 more minutes pass and apparently it really is mostly the crazies who take the bus. We have now officially waited for the bus in the hot sun with 6 kids, most of whom are at an age not typically associated with patience and long attention spans, for over an hour. Finally, to a chorus of the shrillest excitement the bus arrives and as I manhandle my stroller onto the bus Heidi casually mentions the long wait time to the driver.
"Oh," he says, "that's because on Saturday mornings untill 11:00 it's dial-a-ride."
Dial-a-ride? Dial-a-ride! Please tell me if there is any another city you can call for a bus like it's a cheap taxi.

As it turned out the bus ride ended up being the highlight of the Festival and minus a brief hour where we walked through a street or two we spent the entire day riding the bus and the kids were so thoroughly entertained and so good that Heidi and I had the unheard of wonder of an almost entirely uninterrupted conversation. Who knew a bus ride could be such bliss?

When we did first get off the bus downtown we figured since the kids did drink all that water at the bus stop and we had been fortunate up to this point the first thing we needed to do was find a bathroom. And since it was incredibly busy because of the festival we ended up with all eight of us and my stroller crammed into one bathroom in Tim Horton's to take turns peeing. We quickly developed a system and because I was jammed between the sink and my stroller I was the hand-washer and Heidi was the pant puller-downer and back -upper and the toilet hopper-onner and -offer. You know you're good friends when....I thought as Heidi wiped Ava's bum and hopped her off the toilet. Then it was Tristan's turn. Why does one of them always have to have some sort of neurotic issue? A few weeks earlier Tristan had been sitting on an automatic flush toilet that flushed, very loudly, while he was still on it and he now refused to pee sitting down in any public toilet. No matter how much I assured him this one wouldn't flush by itself and wouldn't be loud Tristan stood in front of the toilet with his hands over his ears. That is not the best place to have your hands if you are a boy standing in front of a toilet with your pants down. Which I think he realized because he started shouting, "Mom! Hold my penis! Hold my penis!" But I was wedged between the sink and the stroller and the lineup of children. I looked at Tristan. Heidi looked at Tristan. We looked at each other. Then Heidi, my friend of the crazy stories shrugged her shoulders and reached out.