It has been a really long winter.

I thought that winters like the one we had in Toronto this past year were in my childhood memories. It was actually colder when I was a kid. I don’t have time to dig up the weather stats now, but just trust me on this one. The Spring has been cloudy, cold, blustery and crappy too.

Then this weekend came along, room temperature with bright sun, a few clouds, a nice breeze off the lake you could feel cleaning out the city. This was in combination with another thing that happens once every 3-4 month for us — a weekend creeps up on you that you have absolutely not plans for… well almost, there is always something, but this was pretty much a blank slate.

There was 4-5 loads of laundry that needed doing, the lawn (if you can call it that) needed a ton of TLC, the house was kind of dirty. But on a weekend like this, you just have to press pause on that to-do list.

It started out on Saturday. We had the crazy idea to walk of walking 10 kilometers to mid town to exchange something at a store. We walked down the ever changing and ever bustling Bloor Street for most of the walk. In tow, we had our 10 month old baby, a couple of bottles, a blanket, 2 bottles of water and a stroller.

We got there, did the exchange. Then, still feeling good, we walked back home.

En route back, we saw a boy of 10 or so bail from his scooter, smacking the curb with his thigh. His protective younger sister started panicking, we crossed the road to see if we could help. The first responder course I did a few months ago left me completely — but fortunately, it was clear the boy didn’t need a heap of support. He was crying, but it was going to end up being a small bruise and a scratched hand.

His sister asked to use our phone. I dialled her mother’s number, and gave her the phone. She gasped into the receiver “Mom, Dylan fell really badly, and he is bleeding all over the place. He is really hurt. You need to get here, we are just by the park.” Apparently, when my wife brought the sister to their house to get ther mother, the 7 year-old informed her mother that Dylan, was, in-fact bleeding out and on death’s doorstep. My wife assured the mother, who must have been freaking out a little, that Dylan would live through this one.

They drove over to find Dylan and I sitting there. I realized in my 10 minutes with him that I have no idea how to speak with children. “So do you like stuff?”. I introduced my baby daughter to him, ensured he was okay, and that I would stay there until help arrived.

Mom and daughter arrived in a car, with my wife shortly behind. The mother seemed cool and collected despite everything. I later noticed that, of course, she called the number back with immediacy (I missed the call), and texted that they were en route to pick up their son.

We got home after 5-hours later, had a G&T and home made pizza, and sat the eff down for the rest of the night.

The next day, we woke up, again, with perfect weather, and walked another 25 kilometers through the nicest parkland in the west end of Toronto. We paused for an amazing break on the waterfront to lye underneath a huge shade tree, play with our wee one, and watch the wee one threaten a lady bug — picture is proof above.

Now me and my wife are sun kissed with slightly sore legs, and I feel like winter is finally behind us. I feel like our life is a little better planned, some priorities have been set as a result of speaking with my wife for a dozen hours on the weekend over these marathon (literally) walks.