uh... I mean good friends willing to give a helping hand!
We are officially moving on Sunday, June 15. I realise this is father's day and it might not be possible for some, but I'm throwing the invitation out there, anyway.
If you'd like to help, we would love to have you with us. We'll spring for pizza and beer... but only for the folks who end up in Ottawa with us. If you help us load up the truck in Montreal, we'll have to figure out some other kind of compensation. We need:
In Montreal: people to help load up the truck, starting around 11 am. If it's a nice day, possibly earlier to bring everything downstairs before I get there with the truck.
On the Ottawa side, we need people to help unload the truck. If we get enough people, we can do what we did last time, which was to have a line of people up the stairs and just hand boxes up (this, of course, doesn't work for couches and the like!). Last time, we unloaded the truck in about 30 minutes. Pizza and beer to ensue.
If you're up for it, great! Just send an email to me or to Derek. And if you can't help out, that's okay, too. We can recruit you to help us clean, paint, renovate, crawl under our deck... there are endless jobs for our dear friends and family!
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Cabane a suc'
In this part of the world, it is impossible not to celebrate spring. The cold begins to lift, the snow melts into rivulets, and the sap in the maples starts to flow!
Our annual tradition is to take my mom out for her birthday to a Sugar Shack. This year, my mom's boyfriend/partner/beloved, Hedley, joined us for the festivities.
Here is our day in pictures:
Our annual tradition is to take my mom out for her birthday to a Sugar Shack. This year, my mom's boyfriend/partner/beloved, Hedley, joined us for the festivities.
Here is our day in pictures:
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Forgiveness 101
"I'm sorry that I did this." These are Maïa's words, and I hear them before I see what she's done.
What in the world is it now, I wonder. I look up, and I see my brand-new round styling brush—the one I've just told her not to touch—rolled up into and dangling from her waist-length hair. I tell her it's okay, I'll fix it.
She's asked for my forgiveness, and I've barely given it a second thought; of course I forgive her. Despite my assurances, she tells me she's sorry, again and again, as I carefully untangle the mess. Maïa has already learned that when we've made a mistake, we're pulled away from the one we've wronged. And the person she's wronged is the very person who can make it right again.
Asking for forgivenss is one of the hardest things for people to do. It means owning up to being mean, or just plain dumb. Saying, "I'm really sorry I hurt you," opens up a space for being rejected or for knowing that our mistakes have been revealed. Yet it is in this revelation, this kind of relational nakedness, that we can begin to heal. More likely than not, the hurt party will both admit they've been hurt and
acknowledge our contrition. Instead of grudges taking hold and growing disproportionately, we can make amends and begin walk together with the other on the road to healing.
Maïa could have chosen not to tell me what she'd done. She could have pulled at the brush, tangling it worse. Then she would have had to rip or cut her hair out of the situation. She might have then tied it into a lopsided pony tail, hoping that I wouldn't notice the brokenness. Instead, she came to me. Not to Grandma or to Daddy, who didn't know she had been warned, but to me.
Every day, I understand a little more the phrase from Isaiah, "and a child will lead them."
What in the world is it now, I wonder. I look up, and I see my brand-new round styling brush—the one I've just told her not to touch—rolled up into and dangling from her waist-length hair. I tell her it's okay, I'll fix it.
She's asked for my forgiveness, and I've barely given it a second thought; of course I forgive her. Despite my assurances, she tells me she's sorry, again and again, as I carefully untangle the mess. Maïa has already learned that when we've made a mistake, we're pulled away from the one we've wronged. And the person she's wronged is the very person who can make it right again.
Asking for forgivenss is one of the hardest things for people to do. It means owning up to being mean, or just plain dumb. Saying, "I'm really sorry I hurt you," opens up a space for being rejected or for knowing that our mistakes have been revealed. Yet it is in this revelation, this kind of relational nakedness, that we can begin to heal. More likely than not, the hurt party will both admit they've been hurt and
acknowledge our contrition. Instead of grudges taking hold and growing disproportionately, we can make amends and begin walk together with the other on the road to healing.
Maïa could have chosen not to tell me what she'd done. She could have pulled at the brush, tangling it worse. Then she would have had to rip or cut her hair out of the situation. She might have then tied it into a lopsided pony tail, hoping that I wouldn't notice the brokenness. Instead, she came to me. Not to Grandma or to Daddy, who didn't know she had been warned, but to me.
Every day, I understand a little more the phrase from Isaiah, "and a child will lead them."
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Great expectations
I have discovered, slowly, experientially, that expectations tend to rule our experience of joy.
As a child, I had never imagined or dreamed about a wedding day and the "necessities" attached to that day. My expectations were limited to wanting to have a big party to celebrate with my family and friends. I had the advantage of being the first of my friends to be married, so I had no model to which I should hold myself to—or against. The result: I loved our big day and have no regrets.
A family home, on the other hand, was something I have dreamed about for a very long time. Even as a kid, I loved looking at floor plans of new homes. The real estate section of the Saturday paper enrapted me with their pictures and plans like the comics held other children. I knew I liked Victorian houses. I knew I liked big rooms with lots of windows and light pouring in from all sides. I knew I liked trees and big back yards. Gardens and attics framed my homey expectations.
As I grew, a whole world—beyond suburbia—opened up to me, and I had the to opportunity to experience the urban side of life: both my high school and university were right downtown. My first apartment was in the Byward Market because by then I had already fallen in love with the busyness and attractions of urban areas. I loved walking to class in minutes, getting groceries at little shops along the way, frequenting countless restaurants that were within sight of my tiny apartment, visiting the local arthouse cinema weekly without having to worry about parking or bus schedules.
Derek and I decided, early on, that we're city people, at least for right now. We have built our lives around being close to where we work and play. So when we started shopping for a house in Ottawa, the options for us were clear. The main geographic criterion was outlined by our chosen school's boundaries. The main criterion in terms of options was, clearly, our budget.
Very quickly, my expectations were colliding. On the one hand, I didn't want to give up our almost car-free life, and on the other, I wanted to big house with the big yard. But without lottery funds, there was no way I could reconcile the two. We had to choose. And for Derek, I would wager, it was a no-brainer. But I must admit that for me, there were hesitations, vascillations. I would look up the downtown houses on mls and compare them to suburban houses of the same price, and I would bemoan the obvious difference in both house and land size.
My expectations, the assumptions I had made years ago, on what I should have, struggled to rule my heart. I realised, with frustration, that these expectations were built not on reality, but on suppositions, on a sense of entitlement. So I'm still working through the slight disappointment at not having a backyard (though we do have a huge deck). I have rationalisations at the ready, so I am well armed. But what it really comes down to is working through my expectations to get to the other side intact, and being more than happy with our new home.
As a child, I had never imagined or dreamed about a wedding day and the "necessities" attached to that day. My expectations were limited to wanting to have a big party to celebrate with my family and friends. I had the advantage of being the first of my friends to be married, so I had no model to which I should hold myself to—or against. The result: I loved our big day and have no regrets.
A family home, on the other hand, was something I have dreamed about for a very long time. Even as a kid, I loved looking at floor plans of new homes. The real estate section of the Saturday paper enrapted me with their pictures and plans like the comics held other children. I knew I liked Victorian houses. I knew I liked big rooms with lots of windows and light pouring in from all sides. I knew I liked trees and big back yards. Gardens and attics framed my homey expectations.
As I grew, a whole world—beyond suburbia—opened up to me, and I had the to opportunity to experience the urban side of life: both my high school and university were right downtown. My first apartment was in the Byward Market because by then I had already fallen in love with the busyness and attractions of urban areas. I loved walking to class in minutes, getting groceries at little shops along the way, frequenting countless restaurants that were within sight of my tiny apartment, visiting the local arthouse cinema weekly without having to worry about parking or bus schedules.
Derek and I decided, early on, that we're city people, at least for right now. We have built our lives around being close to where we work and play. So when we started shopping for a house in Ottawa, the options for us were clear. The main geographic criterion was outlined by our chosen school's boundaries. The main criterion in terms of options was, clearly, our budget.
Very quickly, my expectations were colliding. On the one hand, I didn't want to give up our almost car-free life, and on the other, I wanted to big house with the big yard. But without lottery funds, there was no way I could reconcile the two. We had to choose. And for Derek, I would wager, it was a no-brainer. But I must admit that for me, there were hesitations, vascillations. I would look up the downtown houses on mls and compare them to suburban houses of the same price, and I would bemoan the obvious difference in both house and land size.
My expectations, the assumptions I had made years ago, on what I should have, struggled to rule my heart. I realised, with frustration, that these expectations were built not on reality, but on suppositions, on a sense of entitlement. So I'm still working through the slight disappointment at not having a backyard (though we do have a huge deck). I have rationalisations at the ready, so I am well armed. But what it really comes down to is working through my expectations to get to the other side intact, and being more than happy with our new home.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
A very, very, very fine house
After weeks and weeks of closely watching the unbelievably sloooow yet red-hot housing market in Ottawa, we've bought a house! There were moments of self-doubt, of panic, of worry, but in the end, we've found something that not only meets our needs but that we like a lot.
The girls were staying over at their Nana & Grampa's for the week for an unrelated reason, but it turned out to be good timing. We saw the house on the Tuesday and put an offer on it that very evening. The next morning, we got a counter offer and took it. We were signing the papers at noon and on a date to celebrate it over my lunch hour. Thursday and Friday were eaten up with mortgage brokers and lawyers and house inspectors (oh my!). We signed the final papers on Wednesday, and the house is officially ours.
Mind you, we'll have to wait until June 2 to call it ours and to start making it ours. The whole process is long and rather surreal. Have we really promised to spend that much money? Over 25 years? Good lord, how do people do this?
But then I remember that we'll be close to a big park and to the river, and I understand how we do this. It's a tiny corner of the world that is just ours, for our kids to grow up in. To make memories in. To stay safe in. It's home.
And here's a little taste of what you'll see when you come to visit us. Any time after mid-June, you're all welcome to come see.
The girls were staying over at their Nana & Grampa's for the week for an unrelated reason, but it turned out to be good timing. We saw the house on the Tuesday and put an offer on it that very evening. The next morning, we got a counter offer and took it. We were signing the papers at noon and on a date to celebrate it over my lunch hour. Thursday and Friday were eaten up with mortgage brokers and lawyers and house inspectors (oh my!). We signed the final papers on Wednesday, and the house is officially ours.
Mind you, we'll have to wait until June 2 to call it ours and to start making it ours. The whole process is long and rather surreal. Have we really promised to spend that much money? Over 25 years? Good lord, how do people do this?
But then I remember that we'll be close to a big park and to the river, and I understand how we do this. It's a tiny corner of the world that is just ours, for our kids to grow up in. To make memories in. To stay safe in. It's home.
And here's a little taste of what you'll see when you come to visit us. Any time after mid-June, you're all welcome to come see.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
I love teenagers
Seriously.
On Thursday evening, I went to SPAF (spectable pour aider les finissant(e)s), a fundraiser talent show that showcases the artistic abilities of the students at my alma mater, De La Salle. DLS, we were always proud to note, is the only French-language arts school in all of Ontario. I hadn't been to SPAF since my last year of high school, but a dear friend of mine—from high school—is now teaching there, so we thought it would be fun to attend. Five of my six best girlfriends from highschool, along with our token male friend, met at our old high school for the big event.
The old clichés still hold true: the place felt familiar yet smaller. It felt foreign but oddly comforting.
Kids were running around, flushed and busy with the execution of the big night they'd been planning for months. Kids in funky hats. Kids with piercings. Kids with normal clothes. Kids that looked like the kids from 1996.
The show itself was fun. The numbers were rather uneven, but it didn't seem to matter to them. The very talented stage band kept it all together: they played everything from hard rock to blues to funk to ballads. And then there were the various dance numbers, some strong, others less memorable. And the various bands and à capella singers. And visual artists showed their stuff in fun and innovative ways. There was even a young woman, whom I assumed is in the writing program, who recited a strange yet heartfelt ballad accompanied by a guitarist.
The evening had been about homecoming, but the feeling of coming home struck me in an entirely different way than I had expected.
As I watched these young people perform, I felt their energy and I remembered, more through my gut than in my mind, how it felt to be that age. Teenagers have this amazing exuberance, this verve that overflows from their lanky bodies and out into the audience of whoever is willing to sit down and listen for a few minutes. They are visibly trying to figure it all out, physically and emotionally, and so they create, create, create. Their world is small but it is expanding at an alarming rate, and so, too, are their minds.
I not only witnessed their aliveness, but I caught a bit of it myself. I was lucky to be a witness to what those kids had to share, even the painfully bad stuff. Their enthusiasm and even their angst seeped into me, and I brought just a little bit of that home to inspire me in my own art—of writing, of living, of being.
On Thursday evening, I went to SPAF (spectable pour aider les finissant(e)s), a fundraiser talent show that showcases the artistic abilities of the students at my alma mater, De La Salle. DLS, we were always proud to note, is the only French-language arts school in all of Ontario. I hadn't been to SPAF since my last year of high school, but a dear friend of mine—from high school—is now teaching there, so we thought it would be fun to attend. Five of my six best girlfriends from highschool, along with our token male friend, met at our old high school for the big event.
The old clichés still hold true: the place felt familiar yet smaller. It felt foreign but oddly comforting.
Kids were running around, flushed and busy with the execution of the big night they'd been planning for months. Kids in funky hats. Kids with piercings. Kids with normal clothes. Kids that looked like the kids from 1996.
The show itself was fun. The numbers were rather uneven, but it didn't seem to matter to them. The very talented stage band kept it all together: they played everything from hard rock to blues to funk to ballads. And then there were the various dance numbers, some strong, others less memorable. And the various bands and à capella singers. And visual artists showed their stuff in fun and innovative ways. There was even a young woman, whom I assumed is in the writing program, who recited a strange yet heartfelt ballad accompanied by a guitarist.
The evening had been about homecoming, but the feeling of coming home struck me in an entirely different way than I had expected.
As I watched these young people perform, I felt their energy and I remembered, more through my gut than in my mind, how it felt to be that age. Teenagers have this amazing exuberance, this verve that overflows from their lanky bodies and out into the audience of whoever is willing to sit down and listen for a few minutes. They are visibly trying to figure it all out, physically and emotionally, and so they create, create, create. Their world is small but it is expanding at an alarming rate, and so, too, are their minds.
I not only witnessed their aliveness, but I caught a bit of it myself. I was lucky to be a witness to what those kids had to share, even the painfully bad stuff. Their enthusiasm and even their angst seeped into me, and I brought just a little bit of that home to inspire me in my own art—of writing, of living, of being.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Necessity is the mother of invention
Twins are said to possess a language of their own. From a very early age, they communicate with body language and strange sounds and make themselves understood to one another. There are reported extreme cases of twins who make up an actual language, or shorthand, that no one can decipher—not even their poor parents!
Though my girls are not twins, they are close enough in age—and friendship-wise— to have mannerisms that are unique to the two of them.
Witness the verb tense they have made up. I call it Sayour Tense. In fact, I think it's its own mode. It's not conditional, it's not subjunctive. It's something else altogether.
I'm not sure of its origins and when exactly they started using it, but I am very familiar with its usage (I've even been known to use it with them). The Sayour Mode is constructed exactly like the past tense: you were, I was, I ate, I walked, I loved, etc. But it is used to describe events that are about to unfold, in the imaginary realm.
When Maïa and Solanne are coming up with an imaginary situation that they will act out, a pre-game game that is becoming more and more elaborate, they describe what they will play out. It goes something like this:
Maïa: Okay, Sol. Say you're the prince and I'm the princess. And we were going to the ball. And then a dragon came to get us and we ran away.
Solanne: But then I did not see it and the dragon getted you and then I had to catch it.
It's an interesting and elaborate scheme they've developed to describe this whole world that they've made up. And the tense is reserved only for this activity. They don't use the past tense to describe, say, what they are about to draw or colour.
I like watching their little minds work and innovate to fix a problem. After all, if we had a verbal mode to express the imagined, they wouldn't have had to invent it, would they?
Though my girls are not twins, they are close enough in age—and friendship-wise— to have mannerisms that are unique to the two of them.
Witness the verb tense they have made up. I call it Sayour Tense. In fact, I think it's its own mode. It's not conditional, it's not subjunctive. It's something else altogether.
I'm not sure of its origins and when exactly they started using it, but I am very familiar with its usage (I've even been known to use it with them). The Sayour Mode is constructed exactly like the past tense: you were, I was, I ate, I walked, I loved, etc. But it is used to describe events that are about to unfold, in the imaginary realm.
When Maïa and Solanne are coming up with an imaginary situation that they will act out, a pre-game game that is becoming more and more elaborate, they describe what they will play out. It goes something like this:
Maïa: Okay, Sol. Say you're the prince and I'm the princess. And we were going to the ball. And then a dragon came to get us and we ran away.
Solanne: But then I did not see it and the dragon getted you and then I had to catch it.
It's an interesting and elaborate scheme they've developed to describe this whole world that they've made up. And the tense is reserved only for this activity. They don't use the past tense to describe, say, what they are about to draw or colour.
I like watching their little minds work and innovate to fix a problem. After all, if we had a verbal mode to express the imagined, they wouldn't have had to invent it, would they?
Thursday, January 24, 2008
200
According to my Blogger account, this is my 200th blog post.
Coincidentally, 200 is also the number of kilometers (almost exactly) between here—my mom's house—and my family—my house.
When the prospect of my having to commute back and forth between Montreal and Ottawa first came up, I actually thought that it might be a little difficult, but in the end, I wouldn't mind it so much. It was since last summer that I was feeling a little cramped, a little lonely being at home and not in a formal workplace. It was time, I had decided, to set out and go back to work.
So when I was offered a job in Ottawa, I happily, and excitedly, accepted. My supervisors were more than willing to be flexible with my work hours, which allow me to work my 37.5 hours in four days, leaving me the opportunity of having three-day weekends in Montreal.
I pictured me travelling along on the Voyageur bus, back and forth between Ottawa and Montreal—a trip I know well— reading a good novel, perhaps writing my musings on life and the meaning of it all. And weekends spent with Derek and the girls, living out our last months in Montreal, visiting our favourite places and discovering new ones before we leave. Dinners with friends. Leisurely packing up our belongings. And in Ottawa? I figured that since I didn't have the children to look after in the evenings, I would be free to do all kinds of activities. I might sign up for a pilates class. I would definitely see my friends... at least once a week. I would visit houses with our real estate agent. I would get some writing done. I would manage, through all these activities, to talk to my girls before bed every night.
The 200 or so kilometers separating me from them would be a kind of blessing, a time to settle into my new job, a time to find our new home and slowly begin to transplant our roots back here. It would be a time of reflection, of breathing life into an old Cristina that has been hanging quietly in a closet for some time.
But those 200 kilometers have my soul stretched taught over two provinces, over geographies I know so well that they have become a part of my self. I am pulled to a job I know is the best thing, at least financially and stability-wise, for my family. I am pulled to caring for my children in the most basic way, to holding them, to laughing with them, to waking with them before the earliest signs of morning. I am pulled to my home town, to the place that is green and lush, surrounded by water and bikepaths, to my family, both blood and acquired. I am pulled to my greatest love, to my Derek, who is unwavering in his support, who is fighting his own battles, who loves our girls as fiercely as I do.
I will travel those 200 kilometers tomorrow, relieving for a moment the tightness in my chest. I will hold my children and tell them I love them. I will kiss Derek, feel his beard against my cheek, and know I've arrived home.
Coincidentally, 200 is also the number of kilometers (almost exactly) between here—my mom's house—and my family—my house.
When the prospect of my having to commute back and forth between Montreal and Ottawa first came up, I actually thought that it might be a little difficult, but in the end, I wouldn't mind it so much. It was since last summer that I was feeling a little cramped, a little lonely being at home and not in a formal workplace. It was time, I had decided, to set out and go back to work.
So when I was offered a job in Ottawa, I happily, and excitedly, accepted. My supervisors were more than willing to be flexible with my work hours, which allow me to work my 37.5 hours in four days, leaving me the opportunity of having three-day weekends in Montreal.
I pictured me travelling along on the Voyageur bus, back and forth between Ottawa and Montreal—a trip I know well— reading a good novel, perhaps writing my musings on life and the meaning of it all. And weekends spent with Derek and the girls, living out our last months in Montreal, visiting our favourite places and discovering new ones before we leave. Dinners with friends. Leisurely packing up our belongings. And in Ottawa? I figured that since I didn't have the children to look after in the evenings, I would be free to do all kinds of activities. I might sign up for a pilates class. I would definitely see my friends... at least once a week. I would visit houses with our real estate agent. I would get some writing done. I would manage, through all these activities, to talk to my girls before bed every night.
The 200 or so kilometers separating me from them would be a kind of blessing, a time to settle into my new job, a time to find our new home and slowly begin to transplant our roots back here. It would be a time of reflection, of breathing life into an old Cristina that has been hanging quietly in a closet for some time.
But those 200 kilometers have my soul stretched taught over two provinces, over geographies I know so well that they have become a part of my self. I am pulled to a job I know is the best thing, at least financially and stability-wise, for my family. I am pulled to caring for my children in the most basic way, to holding them, to laughing with them, to waking with them before the earliest signs of morning. I am pulled to my home town, to the place that is green and lush, surrounded by water and bikepaths, to my family, both blood and acquired. I am pulled to my greatest love, to my Derek, who is unwavering in his support, who is fighting his own battles, who loves our girls as fiercely as I do.
I will travel those 200 kilometers tomorrow, relieving for a moment the tightness in my chest. I will hold my children and tell them I love them. I will kiss Derek, feel his beard against my cheek, and know I've arrived home.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Knock-knock jokes
Maïa is into knock-knock jokes, but I don't think she's quite understood them. We taught her this one:
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Banana.
me: Banana who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Banana.
me: Banana who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Banana.
me: Banana who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Orange.
me: Orange who?
Maïa: Orange you glad I didn't say banana?
Then she made up this one:
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Princess.
me: Princess who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Princess.
me: Princess who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Princess.
me: Princess who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Prince.
me: Prince who?
Maïa: Prince you glad I didn't say princess?
I guess making up jokes takes time to learn...
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Banana.
me: Banana who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Banana.
me: Banana who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Banana.
me: Banana who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Orange.
me: Orange who?
Maïa: Orange you glad I didn't say banana?
Then she made up this one:
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Princess.
me: Princess who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Princess.
me: Princess who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Princess.
me: Princess who?
Maïa: Knock, knock.
me: Who's there?
Maïa: Prince.
me: Prince who?
Maïa: Prince you glad I didn't say princess?
I guess making up jokes takes time to learn...
Saturday, January 05, 2008
New year
A new year has just begun, and this year, more than any other in my memory, I feel the changes coming; I feel them almost overwhelmingly. Usually, our lives revolve around the school year, and so changes occur in the late summer and early fall. Other times, changes come unexpectedly, at various points in the year. But 2008 will be different.
2008 will see me beginning not only a new job, but a new career path. I will be starting work in the federal public service, in the communications sector, in the coming weeks.
2008 will see us leave our beloved Montreal, leaving the friends and neighbours who have become so dear, leaving the city that has come to feel like home in so many ways.
2008 will see us return home to Ottawa, to the bosom of our parents, our oldest friends, and our home church at Ascension.
2008 will see us jump headlong into home-ownership, for the very first time.
2008 will see me spend long periods of time away from my girls (and my dear husband) as I work in Ottawa and commute back to Montreal on the weekends.
2008 will see Derek finish his PhD as he moves on to new challenged in the hallowed halls of academia.
2008 already feels like a great tidal wave, rising on the horizon, waiting to sweep us into the torrent of life, of change.
So my readers will forgive me if I'm a little absent and write a little less; they will forgive me, too, if when I do post I seem especially melancholic—or ecstatic.
Grab your surfboards, my friends, it's gonna be a helluva ride.
2008 will see me beginning not only a new job, but a new career path. I will be starting work in the federal public service, in the communications sector, in the coming weeks.
2008 will see us leave our beloved Montreal, leaving the friends and neighbours who have become so dear, leaving the city that has come to feel like home in so many ways.
2008 will see us return home to Ottawa, to the bosom of our parents, our oldest friends, and our home church at Ascension.
2008 will see us jump headlong into home-ownership, for the very first time.
2008 will see me spend long periods of time away from my girls (and my dear husband) as I work in Ottawa and commute back to Montreal on the weekends.
2008 will see Derek finish his PhD as he moves on to new challenged in the hallowed halls of academia.
2008 already feels like a great tidal wave, rising on the horizon, waiting to sweep us into the torrent of life, of change.
So my readers will forgive me if I'm a little absent and write a little less; they will forgive me, too, if when I do post I seem especially melancholic—or ecstatic.
Grab your surfboards, my friends, it's gonna be a helluva ride.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Snow days
We've had two snow days in as many weeks, and boy do we have snow here in Montreal!
On our first snow day, December 3, the daycare called us early to inform us that they were not opening. The radio news declared that all schools on the island of Montreal were closed. And it snowed and snowed all day long. The kids stayed home, Derek took the day off from doing work, and we all prepared for a fun day ahead. One of Solanne's friends from the daycare came to stay with us along with her brother while their mom had to make her way in to McGill, where there were still classes going on (and final papers to hand in!). So for a while, we had four kids in our house.
Here is Maïa, Solanne, and Emme having a grand old time. Emme's brother, who is nearly six, kept himself occupied playing with trains, away from the girls.
Later, our friends Arlene and Noah came by for a short visit. Noah is seen here, with his dad, Glenn, after digging out of the second blizzard (thanks for the pics, Glenn!).
And here are our girls playing in our backyard, after the first snow fall.
If these pictures give you a sense of déjà-vu, don't be alarmed; they likely remind you of pics I posted in December 2005.
Now, if you're in warmer climes, where there is less snow, do not idealise living in this beautiful stuff too much. Our city was crippled by the storm last time around, and it took a while for the snow removal crews to get to the most important arteries (uh, why were some side streets completely cleared before a very busy section of Sherbrooke ever saw a snow-removal truck??). Things are not much better this time around (read more about it here). And, on a more personal note, our parking is behind our building and is accessed by a long, narrow driveway. Every winter, we and our neighbours, who depend on this driveway, hire a plow to move the snow aside. We haven't seen them since the last snow fall. So last night, Derek and four of our other neighbours dug out over 45 cm of snow in our backyard and driveway.
I'm gonna miss this disorganised, snowy city...
On our first snow day, December 3, the daycare called us early to inform us that they were not opening. The radio news declared that all schools on the island of Montreal were closed. And it snowed and snowed all day long. The kids stayed home, Derek took the day off from doing work, and we all prepared for a fun day ahead. One of Solanne's friends from the daycare came to stay with us along with her brother while their mom had to make her way in to McGill, where there were still classes going on (and final papers to hand in!). So for a while, we had four kids in our house.
Here is Maïa, Solanne, and Emme having a grand old time. Emme's brother, who is nearly six, kept himself occupied playing with trains, away from the girls.
Later, our friends Arlene and Noah came by for a short visit. Noah is seen here, with his dad, Glenn, after digging out of the second blizzard (thanks for the pics, Glenn!).
And here are our girls playing in our backyard, after the first snow fall.
If these pictures give you a sense of déjà-vu, don't be alarmed; they likely remind you of pics I posted in December 2005.
Now, if you're in warmer climes, where there is less snow, do not idealise living in this beautiful stuff too much. Our city was crippled by the storm last time around, and it took a while for the snow removal crews to get to the most important arteries (uh, why were some side streets completely cleared before a very busy section of Sherbrooke ever saw a snow-removal truck??). Things are not much better this time around (read more about it here). And, on a more personal note, our parking is behind our building and is accessed by a long, narrow driveway. Every winter, we and our neighbours, who depend on this driveway, hire a plow to move the snow aside. We haven't seen them since the last snow fall. So last night, Derek and four of our other neighbours dug out over 45 cm of snow in our backyard and driveway.
I'm gonna miss this disorganised, snowy city...
Visiting Rubby & Susan
Our dear friends from Ottawa (or just outside of Ottawa), Rubby & Susan, invited us for their annual Christmas crafting fun. Since they are very crafty people, and since I cannot pass up Rubby's cooking, we happily agreed to go.
You can see all the fun here.
And now, Rubby, Susan and their crew have "made it onto the blog"–and we've made it onto their website!
You can see all the fun here.
And now, Rubby, Susan and their crew have "made it onto the blog"–and we've made it onto their website!
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Seven random things: Derek
In response to massive public demand, here are seven exciting things about Derek:
1) Derek really likes languages. At various times he has studied (besides English and French) Italian, Spanish, Portugese, Arabic, Hebrew, German, Russian, Classical Chinese, Latin, Sanskrit, Koine Greek, Old English, and Baby Sign Language. He can also say hello to you in Amharic, Dutch, Farsi, Twi, Polish, Japanese, Somali, Mandarin, Turkish, and Inuktitut.
2) He can touch his nose with his tongue.
3) Derek is currently trying to learn how to sing in Gregorian chant.
4) He can make a paper crane, with wings that flap when the tail is pulled, out of a 1 centimetre square of paper.
5) He used to be ticklish, but after marrying Cristina he taught himself not to be ticklish. In a surprising twist of fate, Cristina used not to be ticklish, but after marrying Derek has become ticklish. Speculations abound as to the explanation behind this strange development.
6) In high school, Derek had long hair and wore goth makeup. His favourite shade of eye shadow was silver-blue.
7) Derek has a secret identity, but he can’t tell you what it is because then it wouldn’t be a secret.
1) Derek really likes languages. At various times he has studied (besides English and French) Italian, Spanish, Portugese, Arabic, Hebrew, German, Russian, Classical Chinese, Latin, Sanskrit, Koine Greek, Old English, and Baby Sign Language. He can also say hello to you in Amharic, Dutch, Farsi, Twi, Polish, Japanese, Somali, Mandarin, Turkish, and Inuktitut.
2) He can touch his nose with his tongue.
3) Derek is currently trying to learn how to sing in Gregorian chant.
4) He can make a paper crane, with wings that flap when the tail is pulled, out of a 1 centimetre square of paper.
5) He used to be ticklish, but after marrying Cristina he taught himself not to be ticklish. In a surprising twist of fate, Cristina used not to be ticklish, but after marrying Derek has become ticklish. Speculations abound as to the explanation behind this strange development.
6) In high school, Derek had long hair and wore goth makeup. His favourite shade of eye shadow was silver-blue.
7) Derek has a secret identity, but he can’t tell you what it is because then it wouldn’t be a secret.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Seven random things: Solanne
1) Solanne can wink. Not one of those fake preschooler winks. It's the real deal, and she can do it with her right eye and her left eye, independently.
2) She has frightening (for me and Derek) night terrors, yet she never remembers them in the morning. She'll wake up screaming, usually because of some nightmare she's having, often involving Maïa taking something from her. It can take up to an hour to calm her down. Luckily, it usually only takes five or ten minutes.
3) Solanne loves dolls. Most children have at least a passing interest in dolls and parenting roles, but Solanne is quasi-obsessed. If it were up to her, she would have a doll under her arm every moment of the day. She also likes to say I'm a good momma.
4) She likes to make up stories and lyrics to her own songs. And we are not allowed to interrupt. Not even to comment on how interesting the story is. Ever.
5) She loves to dance and hates it when she sees someone watching her.
6) "I love you soooo much" is her favourite sentence this week.
7) Solanne used to love food but now it's a fight to get her to eat: she's officially a preschooler.
2) She has frightening (for me and Derek) night terrors, yet she never remembers them in the morning. She'll wake up screaming, usually because of some nightmare she's having, often involving Maïa taking something from her. It can take up to an hour to calm her down. Luckily, it usually only takes five or ten minutes.
3) Solanne loves dolls. Most children have at least a passing interest in dolls and parenting roles, but Solanne is quasi-obsessed. If it were up to her, she would have a doll under her arm every moment of the day. She also likes to say I'm a good momma.
4) She likes to make up stories and lyrics to her own songs. And we are not allowed to interrupt. Not even to comment on how interesting the story is. Ever.
5) She loves to dance and hates it when she sees someone watching her.
6) "I love you soooo much" is her favourite sentence this week.
7) Solanne used to love food but now it's a fight to get her to eat: she's officially a preschooler.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Seven random things: Maïa
1) She is the youngest—but only the second smallest—kid in her class.
2) Her obsession with horses is at epic heights: she loves anything resembling, related to, or containing the name horse. Horses, unicorns, pegasus, zebras, sea horses, horse flies... I think she would love hippopotamuses if I told her that "hippo" means horse.
3) Maïa is way fancier than her mom has ever been. Dresses, necklaces, anything with embroidery or flowers or butterflies.
4) She could sing in tune at the age of 18 months.
5) She has been to Egypt, Cuba, and three different provinces in Canada.
6) She draws about 5 to 10 pictures per day.
7) Is currently obsessed with reading words: I caught her yesterday reading my body butter container.
2) Her obsession with horses is at epic heights: she loves anything resembling, related to, or containing the name horse. Horses, unicorns, pegasus, zebras, sea horses, horse flies... I think she would love hippopotamuses if I told her that "hippo" means horse.
3) Maïa is way fancier than her mom has ever been. Dresses, necklaces, anything with embroidery or flowers or butterflies.
4) She could sing in tune at the age of 18 months.
5) She has been to Egypt, Cuba, and three different provinces in Canada.
6) She draws about 5 to 10 pictures per day.
7) Is currently obsessed with reading words: I caught her yesterday reading my body butter container.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Seven random things: revised
So, there's this meme... and Melanie T tagged me. Here are the rules:
Link to your tagger and post these rules.
Share 7 facts about yourself: some random, some weird.
Tag 7 people at the end of your post and list their names (linking to them).
Let them know they've been tagged by leaving a comment at their blogs.
Here we go:
Seven Random and/or Little-Known Facts About Me
1- I was always the tallest kid in my class in elementary school. Except for one kid; he's 6'8" now. I, for the record, made it to 5'3" (I stopped growing in grade 6).
2- I watch General Hospital every once in a while. It's my guilty pleasure. It's like eating Kraft Dinner: you know it's not good for you, and you regret it afterwards, but geez does it feel like coming home sometimes.
3- I have never broken a bone or had stitches. I guess my childhood was pretty boring...
4- When I was about five years old, a motorcycle gang called The Outlaws bought the house next door and made it their clubhouse. At some point, a rival gang (it is assumed) fired a grenade into the window of their house; someone lobbed it back out and it went off in the street directly in front of my house. The two street-facing windows in my room shattered inward, and there were shards of glass all over my bed. I was asleep in my bed at the time; I didn't even wake up.
5- I love meat. But I don't eat it. I'm over it now, though. Mostly.
6- I can make a clover shape with my tongue. Don't know why. I'm trying to teach Maïa how to do it. She's still working on rolling her tongue.
7- I won the grade seven science fair. My project was on mummification; at the time, I wanted to become an archaeologist. My friend Stephanie and I mummified chicken legs in three different manners, then we left a fourth one to rot (as a control). We kept the legs at Stephanie's house. Stephanie's dad wondered aloud, a lot, why we weren't doing it at my house.
So here are the seven people I'm tagging:
1 - Naomi
2 - Sarah (perhaps now she will post something??)
3 & 4 - Louise and Andrzej
5 - Katie
6 & 7 - Rubby and Susan (even if theirs is a full-blown website and not a blog...)
Link to your tagger and post these rules.
Share 7 facts about yourself: some random, some weird.
Tag 7 people at the end of your post and list their names (linking to them).
Let them know they've been tagged by leaving a comment at their blogs.
Here we go:
Seven Random and/or Little-Known Facts About Me
1- I was always the tallest kid in my class in elementary school. Except for one kid; he's 6'8" now. I, for the record, made it to 5'3" (I stopped growing in grade 6).
2- I watch General Hospital every once in a while. It's my guilty pleasure. It's like eating Kraft Dinner: you know it's not good for you, and you regret it afterwards, but geez does it feel like coming home sometimes.
3- I have never broken a bone or had stitches. I guess my childhood was pretty boring...
4- When I was about five years old, a motorcycle gang called The Outlaws bought the house next door and made it their clubhouse. At some point, a rival gang (it is assumed) fired a grenade into the window of their house; someone lobbed it back out and it went off in the street directly in front of my house. The two street-facing windows in my room shattered inward, and there were shards of glass all over my bed. I was asleep in my bed at the time; I didn't even wake up.
5- I love meat. But I don't eat it. I'm over it now, though. Mostly.
6- I can make a clover shape with my tongue. Don't know why. I'm trying to teach Maïa how to do it. She's still working on rolling her tongue.
7- I won the grade seven science fair. My project was on mummification; at the time, I wanted to become an archaeologist. My friend Stephanie and I mummified chicken legs in three different manners, then we left a fourth one to rot (as a control). We kept the legs at Stephanie's house. Stephanie's dad wondered aloud, a lot, why we weren't doing it at my house.
So here are the seven people I'm tagging:
1 - Naomi
2 - Sarah (perhaps now she will post something??)
3 & 4 - Louise and Andrzej
5 - Katie
6 & 7 - Rubby and Susan (even if theirs is a full-blown website and not a blog...)
Monday, November 12, 2007
Where have all the babies gone?
Derek and I are enthusiastic anti-packrats. To be truthful, we're rather tyrannical and dogmatic about it. If something in our house does not have an immediate use, it had better look out because it's on its way out. There are a few exceptions to this rule, like my wedding dress (although, in my defence, I did try to sell it, to no avail), and Derek's shelf-ful of class notes dating back to his first year in English Lit.
So it is no surprise that as soon as our children grew out of clothes or toys, we have striven to find each item a new home, usually by passing them along to friends or acquaintances. Even some furniture gets kicked out: a few weeks ago, after I found a new dresser for our room, we graduated my dresser to Maïa and Maïa's to Solanne, and the change table that had been holding all of Solanne's clothes graduated to the curb (someone picked it up within an hour).
The net effect of all this purging is that we have nearly no baby things left in our home. It's all kids' stuff now. Gone are the teethers, the exersaucer, the highchair, the cloth diapers (hurray!), the tiny sleepers. So when I look around, I wonder where did our babies disappear to? It's the strangest thing; when I signed up to have babies, I knew that they would become children and then adolescents and then adults, but I never really considered that the babies would be gone, forever. In theory, I miss Maïa the Baby and Solanne the Baby, but in practice, I must admit, that I'm really enjoying this part. More than I had imagined I would. And I think that the part of me that misses the babies is mourning what might have been; because, in fact, I found those times quite trying, tiring, and troublesome.
So while I will miss Solanne's baby sounds (her "L"s are becoming a real L sound rather than a W sound), and those magical Baby Signs, I am embracing the wonderful little girls that they are and that they are becoming, every single day. I guess that's the beauty of raising children: it's the becoming that is the most exciting, even more so than any one moment.
So it is no surprise that as soon as our children grew out of clothes or toys, we have striven to find each item a new home, usually by passing them along to friends or acquaintances. Even some furniture gets kicked out: a few weeks ago, after I found a new dresser for our room, we graduated my dresser to Maïa and Maïa's to Solanne, and the change table that had been holding all of Solanne's clothes graduated to the curb (someone picked it up within an hour).
The net effect of all this purging is that we have nearly no baby things left in our home. It's all kids' stuff now. Gone are the teethers, the exersaucer, the highchair, the cloth diapers (hurray!), the tiny sleepers. So when I look around, I wonder where did our babies disappear to? It's the strangest thing; when I signed up to have babies, I knew that they would become children and then adolescents and then adults, but I never really considered that the babies would be gone, forever. In theory, I miss Maïa the Baby and Solanne the Baby, but in practice, I must admit, that I'm really enjoying this part. More than I had imagined I would. And I think that the part of me that misses the babies is mourning what might have been; because, in fact, I found those times quite trying, tiring, and troublesome.
So while I will miss Solanne's baby sounds (her "L"s are becoming a real L sound rather than a W sound), and those magical Baby Signs, I am embracing the wonderful little girls that they are and that they are becoming, every single day. I guess that's the beauty of raising children: it's the becoming that is the most exciting, even more so than any one moment.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Hallowe'en pics
Maïa decided this year that she wanted to be a cat princess. Not a cat; not a princess. A cat princess. This led to a lot of confusion. She was variously mistaken for a cow, a pig, and a hippopotamus. But she was patient and adament: "No. I'm a cat princess!"
Solanne "decided" that she would be a baby elephant. In fact, we gave her the idea since we already had the costume (does it look familiar?), and she happily agreed.
The Saturday after Hallowe'en, we were all invited to a Hallowe'en party at a friend's house. A post-Hallowe'en Hallowe'en party is always a good idea since it's nice to have at least two occasions to which to wear the costume we've so carefully picked out. The hostess told me that the adults were encouraged to dress up, too. I wasn't going to, but then I remembered this dress that I made, about ten years ago. I had never had the opportunity to wear it, so this was my big chance to make its début. Derek picked through the kids' dress-up box for this hat that Nick left the kids when he moved to BC. It was lots of fun to dress up, even if none of the other parents (save the hosts) was wearing a costume.
Solanne "decided" that she would be a baby elephant. In fact, we gave her the idea since we already had the costume (does it look familiar?), and she happily agreed.
The Saturday after Hallowe'en, we were all invited to a Hallowe'en party at a friend's house. A post-Hallowe'en Hallowe'en party is always a good idea since it's nice to have at least two occasions to which to wear the costume we've so carefully picked out. The hostess told me that the adults were encouraged to dress up, too. I wasn't going to, but then I remembered this dress that I made, about ten years ago. I had never had the opportunity to wear it, so this was my big chance to make its début. Derek picked through the kids' dress-up box for this hat that Nick left the kids when he moved to BC. It was lots of fun to dress up, even if none of the other parents (save the hosts) was wearing a costume.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Childhood illnesses
It's a wonder any of us make it out of childhood. Between the dumb and dangerous things kids do and the rash of illnesses they suffer from (including rashes), it's incredible that they survive. We are lucky enough to have vaccines for the biggies, but even the little ones can leave them miserable and their parents begging for mercy.
And I've been lucky. (Having said this, I am now betting that my next entry will be entitled "Chicken Pox, Bronchitis & Impetigo All at Once!?") We generally get a cluster of flu's and colds from October to April, with a couple of ear infections thrown in just for fun. So far this season, which, for the record, started in early September, we've had the croup, vomitting, fevers, colds, and now pink eye. It's boatloads of fun in our house, I tell ya. Non stop.
But I'm not complaining. Well, only a little. Okay, I'm whining. But I do recognise that we live in a great time and place, and that getting sick only means getting sick and not dying.
I just thought I'd let you all know what's going on in our household these days. So when you ask, how's your health, you know that overall, we're doing okay. It's just that the devil is in the details.
And I've been lucky. (Having said this, I am now betting that my next entry will be entitled "Chicken Pox, Bronchitis & Impetigo All at Once!?") We generally get a cluster of flu's and colds from October to April, with a couple of ear infections thrown in just for fun. So far this season, which, for the record, started in early September, we've had the croup, vomitting, fevers, colds, and now pink eye. It's boatloads of fun in our house, I tell ya. Non stop.
But I'm not complaining. Well, only a little. Okay, I'm whining. But I do recognise that we live in a great time and place, and that getting sick only means getting sick and not dying.
I just thought I'd let you all know what's going on in our household these days. So when you ask, how's your health, you know that overall, we're doing okay. It's just that the devil is in the details.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Social experiment: The outcome
I'm reporting back, with a little hindsight, on what happened when I asked folks not to bring gifts to my girls' birthday parties. I needed a little hindsight to get over A) the shock of back-to-back parties; B) over 30 guests, spread over the two events; C) the frustration at people; D) the joy of finding kindred spirits.
It was actually easier with Solanne's guests. I had the advantage of not knowing any of the parents personally. I knew a few from passing them in the morning and saying hello, but otherwise, I didn't even know their names. So when they called and the Gift Issue came up, it was easy to explain the situation to them. I got everything from the enthusiasm of "what a great idea!" to the do-you-kick-puppies tone of "why no gifts?" to the helpful "what can I bring to the party?" So we ended up with a bouquet of flowers, two quiches, juice, soft drinks, pretzels, a plush flower, and two kids' books. Not bad.
With Maïa's friends' parents, it was a little trickier. These are people we've known for about two years, ever since Maïa started at daycare. We've had play-dates with these people, shared Christmas concerts and other birthday parties, commiserated when a teacher left, celebrated "graduation" together. So when we asked that they not bring gifts, one parent actually refused. She said there was no way she could go to a party without bringing something. We offered to let her bring some food. Nothing doing. But it wasn't a toy: Maïa got some really funky clothes. And her other friends each brought a little something, too. In my mind, these would be perfectly acceptable normal birthday gifts, but these were the tokens in lieu of gifts. I can't imagine what would have happened if we'd opened the floodgates to actual gifts.
A few die-hard balloons still float in our livingroom and there's still some left over cake, but the streamers are gone and the fallout of the parties has been cleaned up. All in all, the experiment went well. And we'll have to do it all over again next year, with a whole new set of guests!
It was actually easier with Solanne's guests. I had the advantage of not knowing any of the parents personally. I knew a few from passing them in the morning and saying hello, but otherwise, I didn't even know their names. So when they called and the Gift Issue came up, it was easy to explain the situation to them. I got everything from the enthusiasm of "what a great idea!" to the do-you-kick-puppies tone of "why no gifts?" to the helpful "what can I bring to the party?" So we ended up with a bouquet of flowers, two quiches, juice, soft drinks, pretzels, a plush flower, and two kids' books. Not bad.
With Maïa's friends' parents, it was a little trickier. These are people we've known for about two years, ever since Maïa started at daycare. We've had play-dates with these people, shared Christmas concerts and other birthday parties, commiserated when a teacher left, celebrated "graduation" together. So when we asked that they not bring gifts, one parent actually refused. She said there was no way she could go to a party without bringing something. We offered to let her bring some food. Nothing doing. But it wasn't a toy: Maïa got some really funky clothes. And her other friends each brought a little something, too. In my mind, these would be perfectly acceptable normal birthday gifts, but these were the tokens in lieu of gifts. I can't imagine what would have happened if we'd opened the floodgates to actual gifts.
A few die-hard balloons still float in our livingroom and there's still some left over cake, but the streamers are gone and the fallout of the parties has been cleaned up. All in all, the experiment went well. And we'll have to do it all over again next year, with a whole new set of guests!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
