As I am sure you are all aware, this past weekend was Easter. In addition to it being the foundation of the Christian faith, it is also the time where the majority of people revel in a three (Or four!) day weekend. All of those days to eat large dinners and hunt for chocolate eggs and cram as much extended family time in as you can. Unless you’re an accountant, of course. Then you get work the Friday and the Saturday and get more and more frustrated when people keep exclaiming about their preshus long weekend while you’re stuck inside dealing with taxes, taxes and more taxes.
This accountant, however, realized halfway through Saturday that she had (Once again had discovered exactly WHY she’d been sensitive/moody/tired/bloated/a treat to live with this week, and) absolutely no will to work a minute longer. I came home ate lunch with my family and then curled up for an hour-long nap with my baby girl.
If naps are rated by the size of the drool mark on your pillow, I’d have to give mine an eight. Maybe even a nine.
Before the sleep lines had faded away, we joined the dudes and the dog for a walk down to the creek, which runs along the Trans Canada Trail.
The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, the air was, um, keeping us alive?
On the way back Miss Emily told us that she was tired and that her legs hurt and that she couldn’t walk. I carried her for a bit, but she’s literally 1/3 of my weight. I’m not even joking. Daddy to the rescue!
Soon after returning home, my Dad and Gail arrived.
We haven’t seen them since the whole ALS scare/miracle and it was great to communicate in the flesh rather than simply over the phone. The kids were excited about Grandparent-time as well as the Purdy’s chocolate bunnies they brought that were THE SIZE OF MY HEAD.
I also forced my brother Lance and his girlfriend Nataly on the deck for a photo shoot.
Nataly was game; Lance needed some encouraging/coercing. I should really show you guys the outtakes.
Sunday consisted of me shoe-horning myself into a new dress and wobbling around on the only shoes that went with said dress (Three-inch heels, yo). It also involved the annual Dress Your Kids In Nice Clothes And Hope You Get At Least ONE Good Photo extravaganza.
It went much better than the shoot from two years ago.
(That’s one of my most favorite photos. Ever.)
I have to confess that I was secretly hoping for a new meltdown photo. There is nothing more tragic/humorous.
You may or may not be aware of a certain holiday that was stretched over the past month or so, culminating in a couple days that were packed to the brim. I’d like to confirm to my American readers that we do, in fact, celebrate Christmas in Canada.
(I had someone ask me in an email if we celebrated Christmas up here in Canada. People. We’re in Canada, not Outer Space.)
We had three days that ranked high in the radness factor and I would be remiss if I did not document them to some extent. I cannot capture every single moment but I can most definitely mention the highlights. This post will likely have its fair share of photos, but the rest of them can be found in this Flickr set.
Christmas Eve goes down the same way almost every year. We inherited a tradition from Matthew’s family where we make a bunch of sugar cookies, fill bowls with colored icing sugar, sets containers of sprinkles out, and let everybody go to town.
I don’t think we’ll be opening a family bakery any time soon.
Christmas Eve, we head to an evening service which is one of my favorite ones of the entire year. I thought I’d snap a bunch of photos of the kids in their nice duds and managed to get some that I actually like. This one’s my favorite.
I think. Though this one cracks me up.
So does this one.
Monkeys.
Another Christmas Eve tradition that we have is that Matthew and I open or gifts to each other on Christmas Eve. We put the kids to bed, turn on some nice music, pour a glass of wine and exchange gifts. Christmas morning is so hectic and the kids’ excitement so abundant that we let it be (mostly) about them. It’s also kind of nice to just have a quiet evening together before the chaos of Christmas Day. I had no idea what he had bought me, as I hadn’t given him a list of any sort. He got me some socks and such, a Caboodle case for my rapidly growing makeup collection and a toque.
I haven’t owned one of these since I was a kid and I kind of love it.
I thought we were all done and then he handed me one more box. Inside was a scroll of paper, tied with a ribbon. I unraveled it, read what was inside and sat there blinking in shock. He had booked me a flight to see Kerri in Portland for the weekend of January 8th. I hadn’t expected this in any way whatsoever. I start work on January 5th and am already going on a solo long weekend trip and the end of January and asked why he had done this for me. It was so utterly unexpected and I’m already so, so spoiled. He said he thought I needed a treat for all the hard work I did in the fall and before I know it, I will be in the trenches of tax season. He had organized everything with my employer so that I could have a(nother) four-day weekend (I won’t really be busy until February). I’m still in shock, but ridiculously excited. He’s way too good to me, that husband of mine.
Christmas morning was the usual – homemade cinnamon buns for breakfast and presents. We start with stockings and then open the gifts from Santa. Santa bought the kids Lego Star Wars. We gave each of the boys a light saber to open and Emily was handed the disc. She had no idea what it was and was NOT IMPRESSED.
Then I explained what it was and she told the boys.
Ah, how quickly her mood changes. She comes by that honestly.
We took the money that the grandparents sent and bought the kids each a Canon Powershot camera. Nathan’s expression kind of sums up their excitement.
I haven’t downloaded any of the photos onto my laptop yet, but some of the ones they’ve taken have been pretty neat. Like, all artsy and stuff. Consider me proud.
We got the kids two presents each, in addition to their stocking stuffers. The boys got Lego, Hot Wheels, Bakugan. You know, boy stuff. Miss Emily has a Mom who knows her well and who might want her to have something she never had herself as a kid.
She’s been playing with it for hours a day. HOURS. We have a winner, folks.
I spent the rest of the day preparing Christmas dinner. My family arrived mid-afternoon and showered the kids with more gifts. My Step mom then had my brother bring in our gift. She had gotten us a wine cooler (The refrigerator, not the cheap 2L of Rockaberry, ala high school) to compliment our small fridge in our family room. She always has a knack for getting you presents that you didn’t even know you wanted, yet are perfect. But then. BUT THEN. She brought in another present for our family.
I had no idea how many Beatles songs I actually know. We spent a good five hours playing it that night alone. Next up, get the disc for the regular Rockband so that we can expand our repertoire. There is video evidence of me on vocals, Matthew on guitar and my sister Courtney on drums. I contemplated sharing it, but Matthew said no. After all he’s done for me, I should honor that request. It’s too bad, because it’s pretty dang awesome.
I’ll stop here because the rest of our time has been more of the same. Time spent with family, friends, and a whole lot of good food. I hope you all had as great of a week as we did.
I was planning on wishing you all a Merry Christmas (Happy Hanukkah, Happy Holidays, May The Force Be With You, etc.) by sharing the nativity scene, as interpreted by my children.
It’s a classic.
Then, on Tuesday night, my kids kicked it up a notch.
We were heading the house of our friends for one of those lovely evenings where the adults eat a nice dinner upstairs while the children play downstairs. Before we left, I served my kids a gourmet dinner of chicken nuggets and fries, popped in the mixed Christmas CD that Kerri Anne had sent me and…asked them to take it from the top so that I could record the show.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
I kind of hate Halloween. I always have.
Growing up we would always race home from school, have an early dinner and then head out in search of candy to fill the pillowcase we carried along with us to capture our loot. While the candy was nothing to complain about, costume ideas always stressed me out. For Grades five through nine I bought colored hairspray and went as a “punk-rocker.” So very, very original.
My all-time favorite costume was when I was in Kindergarten. KINDERGARTEN. I was Wonder Woman; costume, cape and mask included. From what I remember, I had nothing at all to do with the selection of said outfit, but I could be wrong (that was eons ago). It rocked, yes, but I do not when it comes to deciding upon a costume. I cannot remember the last Halloween party that I’ve attended and it’s probably a good thing. I really do fail epically when it comes to attire ideas.
Apart from the costume angst, Halloween in general just leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth.
Ultra-conservative Christians ban the holiday altogether. Some may blow them off as hysterical but I have read enough stories about the Dark Side of Halloween to see where the Ultra-Conservatives are coming from. The church we attend is conservative, yes, but the general consensus is that if kids are not wearing scary/gory costumes it’s not such a big deal. I totally agree.
And yet.
We live in a small community that we’re involved in. The dudes are in public school and Emily is in preschool. While her classmates kept it clean, she and the boys were all a little frightened by some of the costumes they saw at the boys’ elementary school. Emily actually hid behind her Daddy. As in, stepped behind him and buried her face in the back of his legs.
We sat and talked about it at dinner and the boys told me about some of the costumes they saw that scared them a bit. They involved eyeballs, blood and death. DEATH. In Elementary school. I cannot see how this is even remotely appropriate.
I don’t think I’m being a prude, here. It’s not as though we’ve sheltered our kids from death. We have had family members, friends and chickens (Yes, chickens) pass on and have explained death to our kids to the best of our ability.
Adults can do their thing and be Zombies and whatnot and it doesn’t bug me. To each their own. But for my kids to go to school and have a classmate hold something “bloody” in their hand or have “blood” trickling down their face in the name of “Halloween” is just not cool. How is this fun? Do we want to numb our children to violence at the age of FIVE?
One of my best friends grew up in a household that did not celebrate the dark side of Halloween. They didn’t even trick-or-treat. Instead, they invited everyone over for a bonfire where the kids got to dress up and indulge in caramel apples and chocolate bars. All of the good of Halloween, without any of the gore. These friends hosted their own bonfire this year, so after a little under an hour of trick-or-treating (we left when the kids said they were done) we headed to our friends’ house. All of the kids had a great time playing together while us adults sat around the fire and got caught up.
As my kids get older and past the age where their friends’ Halloween costumes are cute and start to lean toward the scary side, we may ust buy a big box of chocolate bars for all to share and head straight to the bonfire (or host one of our own). Either way, we’ll continue to focus on the fun and the candy and leave the scary for others to enjoy.
That’s enough Halloween talk for the year. It’s November now, so you know what that means. I’ve started playing Christmas music and will soon start on my Christmas baking. I’ve only got sixty days to milk as much joy out of the season before the “meh” of January descends upon us.
I am in the last week of a work contract. Come Saturday, my contract will be done and I will have the entire month of July off. This will be cause for celebration, assuming that I make it to Saturday intact.
Without making any incriminating comments that could cost me my paycheque (Paycheck, for my American friends), I am feeling a little pressured. In the next few days I am required to cram triple the work into a third of the time (or something like that). All of this while trying to run a household and KEEP MY KIDS ALIVE (And also, not killing each other)(They generally get along famously, but THERE ARE MOMENTS).
I had sent Matthew off to golf on Sunday afternoon (since I always seem to be the one who gets kid-free time) and that chunk of time seems to have put me further behind the eight-ball. On Monday afternoon after getting basically NOTHING done all day, I called my husband in tears. Within thirty minutes, he had left work and carted the kids down to the beach so that I could get caught up on work. Have I mentioned that he rocks?
While the “I WON’T EVER GET CAUGHT UP AND I MIGHT DIE” feeling has been abated, I am still in the, “HOLY CRAP I HAVE A LOT OF STUFF TO DO AND AM MISSING OUT ON THE SUNSHINE, WAAAAH” mode. Saturday cannot come fast enough. And yet, we all know it will be here before I know it. Maybe I should just stop whining already.
Speaking of this weekend…
A few weeks ago my StepMom (Lance’s Mom) called and said that she wanted to have the kids come to her house for a visit. I told her that we had full intentions of doing a trip to the Coast and visiting all of the grandparents (Don’t ask me to describe my family tree. It might be my own family, but even I get confused as to who is who sometimes).
She clarified her request. She wanted the kids to come to “Grandma’s house” all by themselves. WITHOUT US.
This may seem like a normal thing for some of you out there, but this something that I never experienced as a child. My grandparents were in Ontario (across the country), so any trips to see them included my parents. My kids get to go to Grandma’s house without Mommy and Daddy there to PUT A DAMPER ON THE FUN. Oh, you should hear the kids.
If I thought that the countdown to the Car Show was annoying exuberant, the trip to Grandma Shona’s house is full of EXCITEMENT OF EPIC PROPORTIONS. Not only have they been counting down how many “sleeps” until they leave, the have been creating crafts (and crafts, AND CRAFTS) for Grandma Shona. They have also been telling us that THEY AREN’T GOING TO MISS US AT ALL. Nope. And that they are GOING TO HAVE SO MUCH FUN, punctuated with a “NANA NANA POO POO.” (Yes, really.)
Thank goodness she gets here tomorrow to stay for a few days before whisking them away. I don’t know how much longer we can all endure all of the build-up.
Matthew is running a basketball camp next week while they are gone, but it’s only for the mornings. Apart from that we are responsibility-free for five days. FIVE DAYS. No work, no kids, NOTHING.
I will miss those little rugrats, yes, but FIVE DAYS, PEOPLE. Five days as just Matthew and I. Weird. And a little bit awesome.
I plan on doing some organizing…and then a bunch of nothing. I am hoping to spend a lot of time basking in the summer sun and reading some good books. This will continue into the rest of July as once the kids are back we will be in the summer routine of days spent down at the lake, soaking up the sunshine.
This is where I need some help with my bookshelf. I was lent Eat, Pray Love and…was bored. Not to knock those who loved it but I cut my losses after Chapter Three. I was also lent The Poisonwood Bible and…not bored, but OVERWHELMED. I haven’t given up…yet. It’s just been put on hold.
The only book I have completed front to back (twice) lately is Rage (You’ve pre-ordered it, yes?)
We have a wicked local library system where I can request books online and they will be shipped within days from one of the other libraries. If a book is not available? There’s always Amazon.
I need some good summer reading. Suggestions?
On Saturday morning I dragged all three kids along with me while I ran errands and got groceries for Easter dinner. I told them that if they did not drive me crazy were good we would do something “cool” upon arriving home. It was touch and go at points but they came through for me. And also, for themselves.
The “cool” thing was dyeing Easter eggs. We had never done this before. I had bought a kit last year but never seemed to get around to actually doing it. I thought that we should do this craft, seeing as how I had the kit. I actually have NO IDEA why people dye Easter eggs. What exactly does it mean? Is it supposed to symbolize something? WHAT ON EARTH AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THE EGGS AFTER EASTER? If they were kept in the fridge I could make Egg Salad, but they are on display on the table. So…wait until they start to stench and then throw them out? This is new territory for me; we never did this growing up. WHAT DO I DO WITH THE EGGS?
Onwards!
I realized that we were running low on said eggs and as such boiled only seven of them. A mere seven. Two for each of the kids and one for me. But seeing as how they are going to be thrown away/at the neighbors, at least I am not being wasteful. I would have photos of the dyeing process bit I was too busy making sure that the kids/table were not covered in dye. Also. Two eggs per kid equals approximately five minutes of fun. Yes, really. When we were all done we put the eggs on a plate to dry.
When the eggs were done with the stainy-wetness stage I thought I should display them somewhere. All of my glass bowls were in use as I had prepared for Easter dinner in advance. What to do, what to do? I looked over at our hutch cabinet and saw the answer: A margarita glass.
Yes, our Easter eggs are displayed in the centre (NOT A TYPO, WORDPRESS) of our table in a margarita glass. Nothing says, “He is risen!” like coloured (CANADIAN SPELLING, WORDRESS) eggs in a margarita glass.
*Dodges lightning bolt*
Onwards!
For Easter, we buy the kids new duds. My Mom came to visit when Emily was wee and had asked me what I was having Emily wear for Easter. Since she was still a baby I thought that Easter dresses were no big deal. My mother would have none of that nonsense. She placed cold hard cash in my hand and told me that I better buy her granddaughter an Easter dress, LEST I DIE. I obliged, and bought a cute one (Good grief. She REALLY WAS BALD.)
Last year was consisted of another Easter dress and our first ever egg hunt (No idea where that tradition started either. But eggs seem to be the central theme. (Why the eggs? And why am I such a lemming?))
My favorite (I GIVE UP, WORDPRESS. YOU WIN) photo from last year:
Love it, love it, love it.
Matthew has to leave early as he runs the Sunday School program. I got the kids ready as quick as I could and dragged them outside for photos as the afternoon forecast was calling for rain. This was my first shot:
When I told them we were doing photos, they thought it would be great to hold hands. HOW ON EARTH DID I GET KIDS THAT ARE SO STINKIN’ SWEET?
Here is Graham telling me that he had already given me my “One Shot.”
I then told him that he better play along, lest I take his basket of chocolate and eat it all myself. He thought that cooperating might be in his best interests.
If only we could get Nathan to actually, you know, LOOK AT THE CAMERA.
I thought that the tree in the background might be distracting so I made the kids do a 180.
Emily? YOU NEED TO LOOK TOO.
(Though I kind of adore this photo.)
Let’s try again.
Not bad.
Let’s zoom in.
Pretty decent. One more?
Nathan. Dude. NATURAL SMILE PLEASE.
WAY better.
I tried to get a less cheesy smile. I had heard that “whiskey” was a good word to say, but the kids now make the same CHEESE face when saying “whiskey.” I told them to say, “Stinky.”
They modified it to be “Stinky Mommy” and the laughter sprung forth.
It’s funny because it’s true.
Emily wishes all of you a great week.
Or she would, if she even knew you existed.
(Kind of a funny thought, hey? My kids have no idea who you are. Weird.)
Here And There
Date: Wednesday February 4, 2009Posted in: Photography, california, holidays, vacating
Somehow, some way, Wednesdays have been declared “wordless” by some mystical Internet Fairies. (Who exactly are these Fairies? Are they real? Do they have powers? If so, can they give me a nice rack?) I usually embrace the wordlessness as even I get tired of hearing my own voice. I (usually) tend to take more photos than I ever know what to do with so I have embraced this unspoken “Rule” of the Internet (for the most part) and have stuck to only posting photos on Wednesdays.
Today, however, I HAVE WORDS.
As much as I loved my solo trip to California (and, of course, the Desperate Bloggers), once I was en route back to my Homeland all I wanted to do was get back to see my husband and children. My flights were on time and I thought that I was good to go.
I thought wrong.
Upon arriving at the Kelowna airport (final destination), I received two pieces of news that turned me into Grumpy McGrumpypants.
1. Thanks to the time of my arriving flight, I would have to book it to miss a scheduled road closure due to construction. Any delays and I would miss the half-hour opening.
2. While waiting for my luggage the airline announced that there would be a slight “delay” as they were unloading the luggage off of the aircraft BY HAND. Who needs machines? Us Canadians can do it ALL BY OURSELVES.
My suitcase arrived into the airport lobby A FULL HOUR AFTER I DID.
I was worried that I would miss the scheduled opening to get through the construction and not make it home in time to tuck my sweet kidlets into bed. Upon (finally) retrieving my suitcase I ran out of the airport…only to be confronted with snow and wind. This is where I mention that while I was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, that ensemble was completed with an Old Navy hoodie and some American Eagle canvas shoes, sans socks.
I dragged my suitcase across icy roads as I made my way to the long-term parking lot where I had parked the 4Runner. In the five days I was gone it had dumped TWO FEET OF SNOW.
So. There I was. Sockless, in a hoodie, wading through snow drifts in order to get to my truck. I managed to haul all of my crap gear into my vehicle. The snow was so thick and heavy that the wipers were rendered immobile and could not help me in my quest to, you know, SEE OUT OF MY WINDSHIELD. I then realized that I did not have a brush to assist me. I took off my hoodie, wrapped it around my hand, and brushed the snow off of the truck. Did I mention that I WAS NOT WEARING SOCKS? And that I WAS NOW NOT WEARING ANY KIND OF JACKET?
Cold is an understatement. Canada, you are on notice.
I drove down the highway as fast as I (legally) could, but of course I missed that half-hour window. I got to sit on the highway, a mere fifteen minutes from home, with nothing to do but Twitter my predicament. By the time I got home the kids were fast asleep and my only option was to tiptoe into their rooms to gaze upon their awesomeness.
Tuesday was a day where I hit the ground running. In addition to unpacking, doing laundry and, you know, loving on my offspring, there was work to be done and errands to be ran. While battling the Frozen Tundra. YOU HAVE NO IDEA. Instead of trying to capture the Day Of Catch-Up/Back To Reality/WHY DO WE LIVE HERE?, I will leave you with some more photos from my Second Home; California.
Happy Wednesday, folks.
