Day 6: Change your mood

June 26, 2026

Sometime in the early morning, Wesley coughed himself awake.

When I lifted my head to check on him, he was already looking at me. He didn't say anything. He just lifted his little arms toward me.

I knew what he wanted.

So I got out of bed, picked him up and tucked him in between Lola and me. Given our sleeping arrangements on this trip, it was really the first time he'd slept in a bed with me. We were cuddling whether we wanted to or not. Anybody who knows me knows I absolutely wanted to.

It felt like the silver lining to what had already been a rough night.

The only problem was... nobody had planned where Dad was supposed to fit.

At one point I was sleeping on Wesley's arm. Somehow that seemed less uncomfortable than moving him myself. Eventually I migrated to the foot of the bed and slept perpendicular to everyone else. Before relocating south, I wedged a pillow beside Wesley. My thinking was that if he rolled toward the edge, he'd have to summit a small mountain before gravity could take over.

For the rest of the night I drifted in and out of sleep, checking on both kids but mostly Wesley. He wasn't used to sleeping in a bed, and his cough kept me on alert.

Around four in the morning I was finally out. Properly out. Somewhere well beyond dreaming.

Then...

Bang.

Followed immediately by crying.

It was exactly what I'd been trying to prevent.

I launched out of bed yelling the same panicked "Nooooo!" that Sophie has come to recognize over the years. It's a very specific tone. One that instantly tells her one of our children needs us.

Between my yell and Wesley's cries, we were both awake in an instant.

Thankfully he was okay.

Unfortunately... so was my brain.

It decided sleep was no longer on the itinerary.

The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd stayed up far too late the night before catching up with my cousin after the movie. Time well spent if you ask me. Some relationships deserve those extra conversations even when tomorrow is going to make you pay for them.

Then Wesley needed me.

I would've given him those hours too.

The problem with spending yourself on people you love is that sometimes you don't realize you've emptied the tank until someone else needs what's left.

The original plan for the morning was to hit the hotel pool, but the kids had questions.

"Where's the bouncy castle?"

"The arcade?"

Apparently our previous hotel had raised expectations to dangerous levels.

This one didn't have either.

It did, however, have a massive indoor courtyard with an enormous koi pond and somehow that beat swimming. Wesley was convinced the fish were worth risking life and limb for. Despite repeated reminders that the decorative rocks weren't designed for tiny mountain goats, he kept climbing to get a better look. Eventually we convinced him that the fish would still be there if viewed from ground level.

We packed up our mobile house, Grandmaster Ced successfully completed another round of Competitive Car Tetris and hit the road.

Rain had started.

Perfect driving weather.

Not exactly sightseeing weather.

Unfortunately, the weather outside wasn't the only gloomy thing that morning.

I was tired. The kind of tired that quietly changes the temperature inside a vehicle. I'd happily lose those hours again..... for my cousin..... for Wesley. Neither felt like a sacrifice.

But knowing why you're tired doesn't automatically make you pleasant to be around.

When five people are trapped in a tin can for six hours, moods become part of the luggage.

Mine was taking up more space than it should have.

At one point Sophie looked over and simply said,

"Change your mood please."

It wasn't said perfectly.

It also wasn't received perfectly.

My first instinct wasn't reflection.

It was defence.

Of course I'm in a bad mood.

I've barely slept.

I've spent the better part of the night trying to make sure our son didn't fall out of bed... which I failed at. That sits heavy.. and stings hard.

We're stuck driving for hours.

Can't I have this one?

It's amazing how quickly your brain can build a case for itself. Before I'd even stopped to think about what Sophie was actually asking... I'd already gathered all my evidence.

The problem was none of that evidence changed what everyone else was experiencing.

I was still bringing my mood into a van already carrying five people.

I'm trying very hard to build an interrupt between what happens to me and how I respond..... that little space where I can take a breath.... gather a few more inputs... and remember that I get to choose what happens next.

Because I don't want fifty years of habits deciding how I show up for my wife and kids. I don't want the people I love paying the price for reactions I've repeated so many times they feel automatic.

Looking back, that's what Sophie was really giving me.

Not criticism.

An interrupt.

A chance to notice where my thoughts were heading before they took the rest of the family with them.

I wish I could tell you I took a deep breath, smiled, thanked her for the feedback and instantly became a better husband.

Instead...

I'm fifty.

I still play Nintendo.

Poop jokes still make me laugh.

Apparently emotional growth takes a little longer.

The request registered.

The implementation was... delayed.

Thankfully, families are remarkably forgiving. Especially when everyone eventually comes to their senses and says they're sorry.

The drive unfolded the way road trips with young kids usually do. Lola coloured, played games and quietly entertained herself like the seasoned traveller she is. Wesley watched a movie for a while before returning to what he enjoys most... interacting with the world.

Little cars.

Plastic animals.

Silicone tongs my mom knowingly donated to the cause.

A dollar store crocodile puppet that spent most of the drive attacking anything within reach before dramatically spitting it back out.

Everything with Wesley is physical. He doesn't just play..... he collides with the world.

Meanwhile, Finley continued proving that, at two months old, he may be our easiest traveller yet. Feed him, burp him, help him with the occasional gas bubble and he's generally content. Lately he's started smiling whenever he sees us, especially Sophie, and we've discovered he inherited her dimples.

It's funny how every child arrives with their own way of moving through the world.

Somewhere after Moncton, somewhere between snacks, bathroom breaks and another round of "Are we there yet?", the mood in the van began to shift. Not because somebody won an argument. Not because somebody proved they were right.

Just because that's what families who love each other eventually do.

We come back.

By the time we crossed Confederation Bridge, the kids were glued to the windows. As always, we stopped on the other side for our family picture. This time Finley got to be part of the tradition too.

You could almost feel everyone's shoulders drop.

We'd made it.

Our friends greeted us with hugs, smiles and a house full of toys. Within minutes Wesley had discovered an entire fleet of cars and a figurine with a sword that fueled half an hour of enthusiastic "Hiya!" battle scenes. The cats, having survived Lola's affection during our last visit, seemed considerably better prepared this time around.

After unloading the van, we settled into what felt like luxury. Three bedrooms. One for Sophie and Finley. One for Lola. And one where Wesley would sleep... with an air mattress beside him for me.

He's in a strange place.

He's not spending the night alone.

Neither of us would sleep well that way.

As I lay there that night, I kept thinking about something. Almost everything worthwhile I'd done that day had cost me something.

Time with my cousin cost me sleep.

Comforting Wesley cost me more sleep.

The drive cost me patience.

Sophie asking me to change my mood cost me my pride.

None of those costs felt unreasonable.

The only mistake I made was almost sending the bill to the people I loved most.

I'm not sure what our kids will remember about trips like this when they're older. I doubt they'll remember the hotel without the bouncy castle... or the six-hour drive... or the koi pond.

I hope they remember something much smaller.

That in our family we weren't perfect.

We got tired.

We got cranky.

We occasionally got it wrong.

But we always came back.

Back to the conversation.

Back to the apology.

Back to each other.

Maybe that's what relationships really are.

Not never getting it wrong...

...but loving each other enough to keep coming back.

Life is beautiful.