Today I went to a kid’s Remembrance Day service the day before the stat holiday tomorrow here in Alberta. Dh came, in uniform.  This is something he does the odd year he’s in town because it makes my kids unbelievably happy and he’s a good dad.  Even though he looks about as comfortable as a very polite bull in a very loud china shop. And they did all the things we do at Remembrance Services.  They read “In Flanders Fields.”  They sang a song.  We sang O Canada listened to the Last Post and we had a moment of silence. Then the kids laid wreaths. And during it all, it was loud.  The school goes from preschool age all the way to grade 8.  The young kids are just that; young.  They whispered until the whispers grew louder.  They fidgeted. They fussed.  And teachers, they tried diligently to teach them to stop.  To make them be quiet and respectful. It only sometimes worked. I remembered then those days when I had very small ones.  And I would stand, on my own usually, in the back of a crowded gym on Remembrance Day at 11am.  And I’d bounce and I’d feed and I’d beg and I’d do literally everything physically possible to keep my babies quiet.  I usually failed. One time I got up with a fussing baby, and I went to leave, not wanting his muted wailing to interrupt the ceremony.  Just outside the door an older Veteran grabbed my arm and he said ‘let him cry. We’re still glad you’re here.’ And then, with Dh a world away,I cried too. Today my youngest son and…