Recharge

There is something so unnatural to me about the way humans live in the rich and developed nations. Me, for example. I arise at a ridiculous hour, rush to a sterile office, and sit on my ample behind all day, staring at a screen. And for what - so I can move a raw material from A to B, so that people in far-flung places can manufacture an unnecessary and ecologically damaging - if convenient - product? I think many of us have lost all meaning in our work. I know I need a career change.

Maybe that's why I love vacations so much - it is a time to leave the inanity of everyday tasks behind and just live. I don't mean the kind where you hop on a plane and rush off to another city to file through museums and . Nope, I'm talking about the kind where you slap on the sunscreen and slap at the mosquitoes while attempting not to spill your sangria on your four year old.

A few weeks ago, S and I loaded up kids, beach toys, and not nearly enough snacks and made our annual trip to a little cottage resort on a little lake in Ontario. (Okay, we've only gone twice. But that is half of the years that Pickle has been alive, so it counts.) I seriously LOVE this place. The cottages are (mostly) ant-free, the beach is sandy, and the water is warm and shallow. There are always about four thousand other kids around, and they run free all day like little wild animals.

 

Well, I guess there was some supervision.

beach fun!

On one slightly rainy day, we took the kids back to the Bonnechere Caves. Pickle has been talking all year about how he wanted to go back and see the whirlpool and the bats. There is no actual whirlpool, and there are no bats (at least, not at this time of year), but his imagination is so vivid that when we visited last year, he took in every word of the guide's recounting of how the caves were discovered. He's now pretty much convinced that he was present for the whole thing.

Bonnechere Caves - secret passageways and alien eggs

Fast friendships are made, and seven year old-sized crushes are developed. No phones, TVs, or computers intrude on family time, and even cell service is spotty. Everyone is so friendly, and relaxed, and in a sharing and giving kind of headspace. A week there always restores my faith in humans. This year we met an especially lovely family with children ages 2, 4, and 8, and had a blast sharing food, drink, childminding and memory-making. I didn't want to leave.

Then, on our way home, we stopped in a sweet little town and found this scary spiked-skull church.

Vacations are awesome.

...Catching up to myself

Oh wow.
I really didn’t mean to take such a long break from blogging, but life has been more insane than I expected. Like, newborn-baby-in-the-house insane, but without the baby part.  Still, there have been many late nights, an abundance of tears, and a whole tonne of poop to get through (luckily, the metaphorical kind.)

But  of course there were bright spots as well, one of them being our tenth wedding anniversary. We got away for the weekend, sans kids.
That bears repeating.  We, who in seven entire years have never  been away overnight and out of the house together and without kids,  went away for the weekend.  I love my kids, but I could have happily stayed away for a week.

We didn’t go anywhere too fancy; we just rented a hotel in Kingston, (Ontario, not Jamaica. Unfortunately.) Kingston is a picturesque town, which served as the first capital of Canada and was home to John A McDonald, the first Prime Minister of Canada.  It also has the distinction of having no less that NINE ‘correctional facilities’ in the area, seven of which are within the city limits. (Yep, that’s right, we went to Canada’s jail capital for our anniversary. ) There is also a large military base there, and I can’t help but think that maybe the two things are related – insurance in case of chaos, as it were.

View from hotel

Old church buildings

It was delightful. We had grown up talks that (mostly) did not revolve around bodily functions or who was in whose personal breathing space; we investigated the local pubs and walked for hours, sightseeing and shopping in little boutiques without breaking even one piece of merchandise. We may have indulged in few too many glasses of wine and beer and slept late in the morning, but I’ll never tell.



We checked out the pharmacy which doubles as a museum of things pharmacological, and wandered the flea market. I found this, which anyone in who has been in the former Soviet bloc will recognize.

A Trabant! And with shinier paint that the ones I remember, which were matte off white/grey/cream and looked like they were made of paper maché (it was actually a plastic). It had a 2 stroke engine. 

The perfect weekend- at least, right up until I suddenly developed a horrible cold that I later learned (once my son had contracted it from me) was actually viral pneumonia. But I sucked back the cough syrup, popped a few Advil, put down the wineglass and we STILL had fun. It was entirely rejuvenating, and I needed the break to fortify my temper and equilibrium against the next few weeks.

Hippity Hop Hop, here comes the Easter Bunny

I love holidays - all of them. We celebrate every holiday that we have any connection to in our home - Chinese ones, North American ones, Hungarian ones; and if I knew of any Icelandic holidays, we'd celebrate those too. Nothing makes more sense to me than celebrating life- and nothing makes less sense to me than lining the pockets of corporate interests to do so. We tend to try to keep things small at our house, and for Easter, that always means a whole lot of hard-boiled eggs.

Panda and Pickle, making remarkably little mess.

 It's tradition. We did it with my mom, and  and for all I know she did it with hers. In fact, I did it even before I had kids - before I was even married, with room-mates and whoever else I could coerce into it. (Luckily for me, when almost everyone you know attended art college, it isn't too hard to find people willing to draw on stuff.) So, every year on the night before Easter Sunday, we gather our supplies: Wax crayons (washable ones won't work), egg dye (food colouring, vinegar and boiling water), drop cloth, smocks (in theory -we couldn't find any) and hard boiled eggs. Stickers and temporary tattoos are good too.

Finished product

 Once everyone is in bed, the Easter Bunny comes and hides all the eggs around the house. He brings a basket (well, bucket) for each child as well. Bright and early on Sunday morning, happy little bodies tumble out of bed and rush around screaming in delight and trying one-up each other on how many eggs they have found. When all are accounted for* and several have been breakfasted upon, at last it's time to tuck into the Easter basket; chocolate, jelly beans, and a new spring outfit.

the baskets

And that's it, Easter in an eggshell! Now, does anyone have a recipe that calls for sixteen hardboiled eggs?

*Do not forget to count the eggs before the Easter Bunny hides them. A late night and a glass of Cabernet have a way of turning an overlooked egg into a nasty - and stinky - surprise a few weeks down the road. That's also I lesson I learned from my mother.

It's 2015! We made it!

We made it! We made it to 2015!

Which is a great relief to me, because the last quarter of 2014 was hard. Not crushing-my-spirit hard, but grinding. "I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread," as Bilbo Baggins put it, sometime around his one hundred and eleventieth birthday. Now, I'm nowhere near that old, but you'd never know it by the way mornings feel these days.

So, Twenty Fourteen, let's tally up a little. You were well behaved for the first nine months (and I thank you, don't think I don't appreciate it) but then you threw this at me:

• 1 smushed front bumper and 1 misaligned frame on the car 
• 8 weeks of weekend-only husband, meaning 8 weeks of solo-parenting Sunday afternoon through Friday night - and he didn't get the permanent position
• 1 injured thumb, 5 stitches and 3 weeks healing time
• 1 thousand pantry moths
• 1 broken clothes dryer
• 1 more smushed bumper (same side) and 1 expensive garage door repair (thanks, winter ice. We'll reciprocate your love with a tonne of salt, next time!)
• 1 operation to repair nerve and tendon in thumb, resulting in x amount of stitches, 12 weeks healing time, 14 Occupational Therapy appointments, and 1 thumb and 1 wrist that have lost most of the mobility
• 1 insurance company that refused to pay for OT appointments
• 2 cats with fleas (How? They've never been outside!)
• 4 constantly runny noses (okay, now I'm nitpicking. But still....)

I'll forgive you though, because you balanced it out with a long visit with my dad, a lovely week at a cottage, S and our two amazing kids, and the love and support of a fantastic group of friends. So we'll call it even, okay?

And hello, Twenty Fifteen, you fresh-faced innocent! Come on in and let's have a look at you. We welcomed you with lots of good companionship and laughter and joy, but I have a feeling you might put me through the wringer a bit, too. So my promise to you, Twenty Fifteen, is to take better care of myself, both mentally and physically. That is going to mean less bad food and more good exercise. It's going to mean refusing to let the petty little tearer-downers into my headspace, especially at work. It's going to mean making some hard decisions about our future, and sticking to them. I don't expect a perfect year, or a prosperous one, but I hope it is a fulfilling one. I hope I can find my feet and lose my fear, love and be loved, support and be supported.

And I wish the same for all of you out there as well - May your year be fulfilling, replete with love and with clarity.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Image courtesy of Liz Noffsinger at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Christmas Wrap-up

It's the most wonderful time of the year....and it's over. The gifts are unwrapped, the food is devoured, the ribbons and trappings and Christmas wrappings have all been tidied away. We've settled into a kind of sleepy reluctance to do much of anything. Here is a few of the highlights.

Christmas carnage

Calamitous consumerism, Batman! Look at all that STUFF! Wow, yeah... so...stuff. We limited each child to five gifts, but failed to take into account the swag sent by relatives and O'l Saint Nick. (Yes, I know that makes it my fault. Evidently I have no problem with the kids thinking we're cheap, but heaven forfend that they feel slighted by an imaginary rotund gentleman who defies physics. Such is the magic of childhood.) I can't sulk though, because S and I bought ourselves a shiny new television - the first we've owned that did not come from a thrift store. I blame Netflix. S instructs me to tell everyone that we bought a TV so big we had to modify the furniture. It's only 40", but technically this is true since it's about a millimetre or so too large to fit in the armoire. It's a good thing my man is handy with a router.

He's also handy with a squeeze bottle! Look at these delectable creations. This is the kids new favourite way to eat pancakes and the only way that doesn't involve Nutella.

Yesterday we visited Chinatown to get supplies for our New Year's Eve Hot Pot Sleepover Extravaganza 2014 ™.  If you've never had Chinese hot pot, go make it now. I can't think of a better way to eat for hours straight and not overload your sugar meter or clog your arteries. Plus it's fun! Both kids brought their purses and while Panda settled for just a lollipop, Pickle just had to have these the moment he laid eyes on them. He is so pleased with them and I love to see him so excited about something he chose and paid for himself.










The kids have already started to ask when is next Christmas coming, because childhood. Or maybe they are just thinking ahead, and perhaps they have the right idea - if I start now, I might actually get Christmas cards out on time next year.

'Tis the Season to be Jolly....

Falalala, lalalala

Did I miss a 'la' in there anywhere? It sure seems like I am missing something everywhere these days. Now, I love Christmas, but as I've mentioned before, it usually gets the better of me.

Buying gifts, wrapping gifts, making food, cleaning the house, working full time... I am ready to sleep for a week. I have managed to lose a few small gifts somewhere in our bedroom closet  (I'm becoming convinced there is a trans-dimensional monster in there that eats sweaters in lieu of children. Or maybe I just watched too much Buffy the Vampire Slayer back in the day.) Christmas cards entirely slipped my mind this year, and I although I thought I was being diligent in my planning, I ended up with a few extra gifts, and no bows or tags. I think I've fallen victim to the Dunning-Kruger effect.

And because there is just so much idle time to fill during the holiday season (ha!), this year we were inspired by Erin's  (No Bohn's About It) fabulous idea to make our own wrapping paper (although I'll save the bow-making for next year). We bought a few rolls of brown kraft paper, carved some potato stamps, and went wild with the acrylic paints. Some of us went a bit wilder than others, which is why Pickle is not wearing a shirt here. Panda managed more sedately. (Please ignore the hideous wallpaper if you can, we are too lazy to reno a rental place. Maybe we should paint it white and potato stamp it too!)

Pickle painting purple stars. There aren't any on him yet.

Panda carefully placing festive pine trees.

And here are some of our finished efforts!

Have a safe and merry holiday, everyone!

Thursday Thoughts

Christmas is nearly upon us, and I'm busier than a elf on a shelf. (A wagon which I will never ever throw myself under the wheels of, because a) those little critters weird me out with their shifty-eyed smirks and  b) I'm just too lazy for their shenanigans. Also, it's one more lie to the kids that I have to eventually own up to. The others I can justify - Santa embodies the spirit of love, gifts being but a symbol of our regard for one another and having nothing at all to do with the history of Coca-Cola Marketing campaigns; the Tooth Fairy eases the transition from little to big and lessens the trauma of having your body parts fall out by making it an event to look forward to, assuaging the fear with the promise of cash, blah blah blah and so on and so forth. The Easter Bunny needs no justification because he brings chocolate. But what can we say about the elf? It prepares them for an NSA police state? We're Canadian. CSIS can't be bothered to spy on us, and anyway it wouldn't be polite. I can just give them Orwell's 1984 if I want to turn them into paranoid conspiracy theorists.)

Where was I? Oh, yes, busy. Busy and scattered. What to get for my gamer sister who loves cats, yet does not need yet another WoW or cat-related object? Ditto for brother-in-law - same description? Or my father, who is the very definition of curmudgeon with a heart of gold - since he claims to have ten of everything and be halfway to the grave in any case, is it okay to just pay his Costco membership, or is that just too lame a gift? Here's an open secret- I suck at gift giving. I always have too many ideas, or none at all, and nothing ever gets to the recipient on time. This year, as always, I catch myself browsing through stores, thinking "mom would love that" before I remember that she has been gone nearly four years now, and I still feel curiously unmoored by it.
Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas, I'm just not very good at it. I still can't wait for it to come. 

Panda still believes in Santa, even though kids in her class have told her he's not real. I think she has made a conscious choice to keep the magic. I love that about her. 

I'll have this brace on my hand for almost three more weeks, that's 5 weeks post tendon-nerve repair surgery. By that time, I'll have been effectively one-handed for two months. That whole opposable thumb thing? Totally the reason that humans colonized every habitat and pushed aside all other species. Without it, we would never have sharpened a stick to bring down the mighty mammoth. I can't even open a damn jar. Hopefully I get the all clear to move it at the next occupational therapy appointment, because to the surprise of no person ever with health insurance, mine declined to cover them. So this next OT appointment will also be my last OT appointment. (Also, I should have gone into that field. Seventy bucks a pop for a half hour at best, and my therapist looks like he might be ready to start shaving soon. At his age I slurping back Mr. Noodles and fishing out couch change for the electricity bill.)

S and I are considering moving. Packing up and getting out of Dodge. Deserting our post. We can't decide where though, or if this is grass-is-greener kind of knee-jerk reaction to a recent disappointment (more on that tomorrow.) We can't decide where though; should we hightail it back to his hometown (a large city with a good economy) and just settle in for the inevitable family drama? Should we stay closer, and go smaller, trading the Best City Ever for The Biggest Yard Ever and hopefully a decent balance in the chequing account? What would your top concerns be, if you were moving? Or your non-negotiable needs?