Project

Who knew people crocheted skank clothes?

 

Last year I did a lot of crocheting… I made a wee baby blanket for my girlfriend, a wee one for myself (anticipating the arrival of the Little Man), a shawl to snuggle him in while I was breastfeeding. As winter approached, I decided that making a ‘big-boy’ was a wonderful idea too.

How nice for him to have something made by his Mummy to snug the face into at night and keep those toes warm during the harsh Floridian winters… I happily spent my lunch hours and evenings unraveling my many mistakes and raveling them back up…

Post-crochet explosion in our house (and post-pregnancy as well), that yarn that Little Man so helpfully chose for me (by putting it in his mouth) started to grow some bunnies. Dust bunnies, that is… I moved the project from its prominent position in the living-room and its travel bag for its work commute, to another bag in our bedroom. And then that bag was hung up in our closet. And then it started to get warm again and suddenly the whole purpose of the blanket was not so emergent anymore.

I had lots of time to work on it. And because I had lots of time to spend on it, I spent no time at all.

None.

That’s  the way it works, right?

And then we went to Canada.

And then we decided to buy a house.

And then we bought one.

And then we moved.

And now? We are settled. And to kick off this wonderful cool temperature that seems to be moving into the Central Florida area, I thought it would be nice for V to have a blanket to snug his face.

Apparently I only have so many ideas and they just rotate throughout the year… Sad.

Last night I couldn’t find my crochet bag. Slight panic. M managed to pull it out of somewhere. Hallelujah!

I pulled my little project out of its bag and was shocked.

SHOCKED!

It was teeny.

It might as well have been a place mat.

How was he ever that little?! Looking at it and then remembering him from this morning, imperiously shouting ‘Mumma!’ at me, while pointing at his bottle I had in my hands and then toddling off to watch Murray from Sesame Street talk about the ‘Word on the Street’.

Last night I spent the evening unraveling that loving creation, feeling a little weepy while I was doing it. It took about 45 minutes, but there was just no saving it. It was too small and no amount of frilly fringe would make it big enough to cover the man-child. And frilly fringe would just be a bad call. Really bad call…

So here we go again… Starting tomorrow, I mean. And yes, it will be chronicled. Expect updates.

It will be made this winter, damn it!!

Yesterday

Yesterday I had a ‘1994’ experience.

Gluten-free blueberry pancakes and MacGyver (oh how I love you and your clever ways) were how V and I started the morning. I made itty-bitty  sized ones (mix by Pamela’s, best Gluten-free mix I have tried so far). Babies and pancakes are a good thing. Babies and blueberries are not. Did you know if Blueberry pancakes hit the (beige) carpet at a Toddler-throw velocity, there will be  a stain? Perfect illustration as to why one should get hard-wood flooring. (This has nothing to do with 1994)

Post-pancake and MacGyver-fest (I felt like V was significantly impressed with MacGyver), we were off to Grandma’s house.They were planning on hitting up SeaWorld with the Little Man, leaving me and the Big Man at loose ends.

We need a new coffee table. Our weenie wicker one just was not doing the job in our HUGE new house. We had things picked out to check out at American Signature furniture. We happened to drive past World Market. Well, it just happens that its one of my favorite shops. So we thought we’d stop in and check out their furniture.(Again, 1994 this is not)

Suddenly, mission accomplished. Coffee table spotted and purchased. With a discount as we purchased the floor model. Anyways, it is huge. HUGE. We borrowed the stores tape measure and went off to measure the trunk of my hatchback. Pretty much we had no idea what we were actually measuring. We were pressured by the sales staff to make sure it would fit as they said they would hate for us to buy it and then find out it didn’t fit. Like they really care. And like we care as well!

We were determined to make it fit.

It didn’t.

We tried harder.

It still didn’t.

Regardless, it was coming home with us. Precariously balanced in the back of my hatchback, I climbed in the back of the car, braced my legs and held onto that table with all of my strength. As I was getting situated in the back, a woman walking by said “Oh, I have so been there so many times!” and smiled.

I smiled back.

So have I.

And then I had a flashback to sometime in 1994 when an ungodly amount of girls climbed into my friend R’s little red car. I think it was a Hyundai. Or a Rabbit. Regardless, it fit 8 that day, several of us were in the trunk and that car was a low rider.

Not sure where we were going, but damn we had fun getting there.

Oh 1994, how I loved your fishnet stocking, plaid flannel shirt/jacket wearing, hand-painted combat boots stomping, always angry, black lipstick (1 week only) clad, Pearl Jam thrashing ways.

As I clung to that table, laughing and smiling while M drove down the expressway and that cool Autumn air blew in the back of my little red car, I was suddenly transported back to the Island. High School. My lady R. Oh friend, I miss those silly times.

Clutching that table, suddenly that simple little table shopping trip turned into so much more. A High School mini-flashback. A 10 year deduction from my birthday (leaving me in my 20’s). A big ol’ smile. Some slightly cold fingertips. A trunk filled with dried leaves. And one cheap blanket from Ross that only cost $5 was it was sold bundled up in packing tape that took me about 15 minutes to removed.

Trunk packing. Didn’t care.

Autumn and Fall,  you are the same but slightly different and I love you both…

Toast

Today I bought a sandwich for a homeless kid.

I wasn’t going to. To be honest, I usually avoid anything to do with people asking for money. It’s pretty much inherent. Part of living on the West Coast I think. I am immune to begging…

On the West Coast, homeless people have cats and dogs that they guilt you into feeling sorry for. Who, seriously, can resist giving money to help someone feed their dog. That is the hardest thing in the world for me. Poor animals.

West Coast homeless people also try to ‘jolly’ you out of spare change. Or insult you…. one or the other…

Case in point:

Once, my mother and I were ‘accosted’ by a young man who swore we were so beautiful that he had immediately, on the spot, made up a poem, just for us. He was so charming, that of course we said yes. And then he charged us a dollar. And my Mum, being the lovely person she was, gave it to him.

And then we watched him do the same thing to someone else.

It was funny though. $1 equals funny experience that I remember 10 years later. I guess it was worth the price…

There is a well known man who sits outside a church in downtown Victoria that chimes “Spaaaaaare a little chaaaaange…” He is elderly, white-bearded. Practically has become part of the landscape. I hardly notice him when I am back home.

One day, walking past the Eaton’s Center (that would be ‘The Bay Center’ to all of you young ones in Victoria), I was yelled at for ignoring a request for change. I am sorry. But, to be honest, I can only handle that request so many times… Once I hit 4 or 5, I have reached my limit. It is hard for me to avoid the pleading eyes, but after years of experience I have become a skilled professional.

Living in the South is a little bit different.

There is no real downtown core, so you are not slammed with the exposure that you would be in my hometown of Victoria, or even Vancouver.

M and I were checking out Orlando’s ‘downtown’ area one day, back when I had first moved here when we were approached by the skinniest, dirtiest black man you have ever seen.

He proclaimed “You are in LOVE. I can feel it”.

“I can feel you love, it’s so strong. I know you love this gorgeous woman. You love her. I can feel it…. let me dedicate a song to her beauty…”

And then he proceeded to sing, with a glorious smokey voice, an amazing, jazzy, 1920’s made-up song about my beauty and how it had M wrapped around my finger. For surely no man had ever resisted a woman such as I…

Oh god, how I was both embarrassed and flattered. We gave him $5 and he went on his way, down the deserted street that he had crossed to reach us.

This young man that I saw today was the skinniest boy you have ever seen. Clad in dirty jeans and a black tank top… those shoulders of his popped right out of his torso, they were so sharp and narrow. He asked me very politely “Ma’am, spare any change?” And unfortunately I had none….

So I bought him a turkey sandwich and a bottle of water instead. And apologized to him on my way out of the restaurant for not having any money to give him. I hoped he would like this sandwich instead. He thanked me, and gave me a shy happy smile.

Just look what motherhood has done to me….

Backyard

As I try to think and write this evening, my mind is filled with  a million wandering thoughts. Most of which revolve around things like ‘What colour will I paint my bedroom/living room/other bedroom and that other other bedroom” and ‘painting’ in general. And moving.

M and I are now homeowners!

Holy freaking holy! Awesome! Exclamation point!!

About 10 days ago, I fell in-love with a townhouse.  It is just perfect. I then preceded to mentally move myself and family into it. Just in my head, mind you…. And before I had even told M anything about it.

I redecorated the upstairs rooms. I ripped up the laminate floor in the kitchen. I purchased furniture for the diningroom. I decorated the back patio with twinkle lights, cosy tables and one sweet barbeque. I made it ‘home’ in my head.

AND. Then  I got mad at M when he confronted me about being a little ‘over-the-top’ in-like with this place/neighbourhood/lifestyle etc.

Could I be any higher maintenance than I am already?!?! Ha! Seriously I am not.

But sometimes love just happens….. and love is what happened with me and this place when I opened that front door. Watched Little Man crawl up and down those few steps in the living room… and scootch across the living room floor at a neck-breaking speed. Leaving him for a few seconds, I wandered out into the back patio and mentally turned it into a gorgeous floral grotto, draped with heavily scented greenery (jasmine), the sound of falling water tinkling away in the background (kiddie pool) and a cool beverage in my hand under the umbrella (lemonade….ish…).

I then wandered back in, headed for the front porch and imagined our street at Christmas-time… Then I mentally painted the whole inside.

I might, just might, have gone a little over-board. Mentally, that is. In a non-mental way.

Which, of course, all makes sense once you think of it properly…. just like I suggest you should. Whole-heartedly. With all of your heart. With everything. All imagination. All mind. All everything in that scented, green bower that is my future back courtyard, filled with jasmine creeping all over the place….. with the sounds of V splashing away in his pool adding gorgeous watery sounds, filling the yard with the most delicious of all noises.

Family.

Badassicalness

A new feature I am thinking about adding to my blog as either a weekly or bi-monthly event. By event, I really mean ‘post’.

I am looking to feature interesting people and/or interesting blogs/websites. If this works the way I hope it will, I eventually want to add a give-away element to it too.

But for now, it will just be a feature….

Tonight’s Sunday Night Featurette will be….

~Celine B.~

Queen of cakes and sarcasm.

And a family member, so you know this is going to be flattering….. (she’s so purdy)

Brief history:

Celine hails from the West Coast of Canada. Or Wet Coast. Or however you like to call it. She migrated South, as all people tend to do, a few years ago and settled on the West Coast of Florida for a few years. She joined Publix and immediately began her meteoric rise. Quickly moving her way from associate (clerk) to Assistant Bakery Manager, mostly by sheer skill. And charm. She quickly moved inland to the Orlando area, where she is currently residing and plotting her take-over of all things bakery…

That Canadian work ethic is no match at all for… well…. anything. For real.

Especially considering the pure lack of ethic that appears to be so common these days…..

Skills:

That girl can bake a mean cake/pie/muffin/cupcake

That woman can tease a mean rock-a-billy poof (pending pictures).

That sister from another mister can decorate like you wouldn’t believe. And even if you do believe, if you saw it you still wouldn’t believe it could be that amazing.

She is amazingly creative, something which she has always had a flare for…. She shows it so clearly in her creations, especially the way her fingers delicately tease that fondant into the most interesting shapes.

Illustrated here:

For her cake-skillz in the Orlando area… please email me @ atlanticmama@gmail.com

Banana (genius!)

I thought a lot about flying with V before our actual trip. A lot.

I MIGHT have over-thought everything, just a bit. I was really trying to think about things to do with him on the plane, but with a one year old that is a little tricky. Things that would work on older and younger children I didn’t think would work with him.

He doesn’t sit still ever.

And hates being held quietly and rocked like a younger child possibly would. Oh, and screams when falls asleep.

So a lot of thought went into what to take in that diaper bag of mine.

Snacks, toys, bottles and juice. That is pretty much what I had. Oh, and a banana.

The Banana, or  the herbaceous plants of the genus Musa, is cultivated primarily for its fruit.

Bananas are grown in at least 107 countries. In  popular culture and commerce, “banana” usually refers to soft, sweet “dessert” bananas. The bananas from a group of cultivars with firmer, starchier fruit are called plantains. Bananas may also be cut and dried and eaten as a type of chip. Dried bananas are also ground into banana flour.

Although the wild species have fruits with numerous large, hard seeds, virtually all culinary bananas have seedless. Bananas are classified either as dessert bananas (meaning they are yellow and fully ripe when eaten) or as green cooking bananas.

V loves them, which was why I brought one. And spur of the moment, I decided to give the whole thing to him, skin and all to eat.

Holy burst of motherhood genius!!

That banana kept him occupied for about 25 minutes. I peeled the the skin back and let him hold the whole fruit, the skin draping down over those plump little fingers.

He was enchanted.

That little mouth didn’t know exactly what to do with it though. He tried to bite it with those 8 little teeth, but didn’t have much of an effect on the banana. He tried again, and managed to get some of the fruit in his mouth. With each bite he grew braver and braver, finally managing to take a whole mouthful of the fruit in one bite.

Banana was everywhere. How nice that I decided to save this moment for his first airplane ride, eh? It was on the airplane phone, the window, me, the seat in front of us, me again, him, all over him and his seatbelt and also my hands. I actually had a collection of banana pieces in my hand, the ones he didn’t feel like keeping in his mouth and spat out. Now normally I would just drop them on the floor and shout “Chewie!!! What’s this!!!” and our dog would come running and eat it.

That doesn’t quite fly on an airplane (harhar). So I just collected those little soggy bits in the palm of my hand and waited patiently for M to finish his diet soda so I could deposit them.

So word to the mothers out there. Bananas are genius for domestic flights!

Don’t, however, try and take one through customs entering the USA without declaring it, or you will be subjected to the excitement that we were (bag searches, flagged for the ‘short’ customs lineup (aka longest line ever with super strict scanning people) and having your bag swabbed for bomb residue). If you do bring any fruit through from Canada to the USA, make sure that it has the sticker on it. Apparently Canada imports from some countries that the USA doesn’t, and this is a huge issue.

Apart from that whole kerfuffle, I am a wellspring of motherhood genius! Banana! Genius!

Pox

M is allergic to cats.

When he first told me this years ago, I thought he was lying. I really thought that he didn’t want to get a kitten/cat, anything of the feline persuasion as a pet. His family is more of a ‘dog’ family. And so years ago when he visited me in Canada and stayed at my parent’s house and started sneezing and rubbing his eyes repeatedly, I finally got the point. He was, in fact, not lying. Surprise!

My dear kitty that I had during University moved in with my parents when I moved to Japan. And when I moved back she continued to stay with them. They love her (as do I, she really is so sweet). On our recent trip to Canada, we slept in their bedroom with V, while my parents stayed in the guest house. There was much talk about making sure to keep the bedroom door closed as Molly-cat loves to sneak in there. Not only is M allergic, but my Step-dad is too so this was doubly important.

Despite all of these precautions (and leaving the bedroom window open all day and night), M still had bouts of sneezing and watery eyes…. it just couldn’t be helped.

One night we were all out on the patio. We had just finished a lovely visit with some family and friends, and were finishing off a quickly put-together smorgasbord of savory treats. There was a nice chill in the air, wine on the table and my sister and I got up to get hoodies and slippers so we could stay cozy while we all chatted on the deck.

I guess M and C must have looked a little cold, as my mum dashed back in and came out carrying 2 woolen blankets which she proceeded to toss on both of them. Satisfied that everyone was cosy and warm, we all continued laughing and joking for another hour or so before heading off to bed.

…….hours later…….. early morning…….

M woke up with his eyes practically stuck shut, sneezing like a mother-f’er, tears running down his face from how itchy his eyes are and totally congested.

“Don’t tell your mother, but I think that blanket has the pox,” he said, “It is my Kryptonite.” Apparently it was covered in cat hair.

I started laughing and thinking of course that I will have to write about this in my blog. M looked at me and I knew he was reading my mind. As soon as he started to say “Jame…..” I said “I will really try to not mention this….really. For real.” I am pretty sure he didn’t believe me. It might have been a little lie on my part…

Downstairs we trudged with V (M trying to hide his sneezes and red eyes). The pox blankets lay on an end table and V was reaching for them. “No honey,” I said, “Don’t touch the cat blankets.” (M evil eyed me in the background for uttering this outloud).

“Cat blanket?” someone piped up…

And then the story unfolded from my Stepdad.

“Ah, yes,” he said, “The cat used to sleep on it. I think we’ve had them for about 30 years and they’ve never been washed. Missy used to sleep on them too.” (Missy was a cat we had when I was in middle/high school)

This history of the pox blanket is revealed! I struggled to not look at M, for fear that the giggle in me would erupt and run totally out-of-control.

I just saved it all up for here instead….

Flirt

Traveling with anyone gives you a great sense of how you relate to them…

When M and I traveled together for the first time, I knew immediately we were destined for marriage…

(ha! Just kidding!! I think I was all annoyed at him for something. So nothing has really changed since then. However, we travel really well together)

When Mum and I went to Kyoto for a wee trip (and actually the whole time she stayed with me in Japan, it was the same deal. We had no problems that we couldn’t resolve) We travel well together too.

We had never traveled seriously with Little Man before and, as we were soon to discover, traveling with children is interesting.

Our flight to Vancouver was a 2-parter, Orlando to Chicago/Chicago to Vancouver.

Part One: Disaster

Involving screaming, screaming, screaming. Break. (Involving eating). Screaming, screaming, screaming. Deplane.

It. Was. AWFUL.

Part Two: Tsunami

Waves and waves of screaming/quiet, screaming/quiet. AWFUL. This went on for 3 hours.

In the Customs lineup, someone from our flight leaned over the railing in front of us and said “He didn’t really sleep that much, did he?”. Um, no. No he didn’t. Thanks for pointing that out. I hadn’t noticed at all.

In between the bouts of screaming and sleep were these rather interesting moments, where V was assessing the cabin. He likes to make eyecontact with everyone and when he does he breaks out into the hugest, most flirtatious smile you have ever seen. Those big brown eyes of his are so engaging…

So full of charm, in fact, that one Flight Attendant declared that we might be related as V apparently looked just like her brother, and she doted on him the entire flight. Her co-worker declared him to be “The Cutest Baby I have Ever Seen” (and, she also said, ‘I have seen a lot’). Of course M and I soaked this all up… (and might have preened a little as well).

And it went on and on… People…. well, women really, peering around corners and stating that he was gorgeous. That he was flirting with them. And just giggling inanely and waving like idiots….

And this is when I got the first inkling that I might have given birth to a future heart-throb…..

Right now it is adorable. Charming. Makes my heart burst… 15 years from now? It will probably make my heart break.

Canadian Training

V is currently sleeping with blankets. I am calling this ‘training for Canada’ as it is not as warm as it is down here in Florida. Let’s face it….. nothing is….

I even bought him long pajamas for those ‘harsh Canadian summers’ (as M terms it). But it IS cooler!

AND I even bought him shoes. Shoes that fit (although one pair looks ridiculously large on those little fat feet). There was no way that we were flying into another country with my child barefoot. And also no way that I would be paying $25 for a pair of baby-crocs. It’s bad enough that I spent $25 on a metal water bottle. I can use that forever. But $25 on a pair of shoes that, let’s face it, will only last him 10 days is hard to handle….

The reason I was looking at Crocs is that they apppeared to a sort of ‘multitasking shoe’ and I am all over the multitasking idea. Sort of a summer*slash*winter (in FL, that is)with socks shoe, that won’t suddenly not fit him overnight (because of the heel strap, I am thinking). But $25? I think not. I almost got sucked into the ‘Whole Foods’ web of entrapment on Saturday…. I managed to walk past the expensive water bottles (because lord knows I couldn’t excuse a second one) and walked right into the baby-Crocs aisle. But I resisted…. stayed strong….  I would have been laughed at forever if I returned from Whole Foods with another expensive purchase.

Blankets…. check!

Shoes….. check!

He is now conditioned for those rough Canadian summers. He wears shoes like a champ and can snuggle with blankets like a pro…

He is on a Maple syrup diet too, and smells deliciously sweet all the time. I really could lick his little cheeks everytime I smell the syrup on him. Such a delicious way for small children to smell. And taste.

Just wait until he tries it on Nanna’s wheat-free pancakes…. And she gets a whiff of that delicious smell on his cubby little face. She will lose herself in love with him just like I am…..

Sans bra

I think I might have seen a grey hair this past week. Maybe. Or it was my roots growing out….. Regardless, I am now in the process of making sure that it (or they) are never seen by anyone else. I’ll tell ya about it, but won’t let you see it.

Friday night and I am dying my hair. Good times. I am cheap and can’t be bothered to get it done in a salon, and so am doing it in my own salon (my bathroom). This way not only do I not have to wear a bra while I am doing it, but I can have a shower right after. And drink wine during…. perfect…

I am due for application 2 in 3 minutes.

*Pause*

And I am back. For 10 more minutes.

Tomorrow I am venturing to DisneyWorld with a girlfriend. It is a husband-free trip for both of us, 2 babies and one 5-year-old, 2 possible margaritas and, of course, one stop at the Canada pavilion. I have to go every time. I buy over-priced Caramilk bars and watch the 360 panoramic movie starring Martin Short and sing “Canada, My Canada”. Let’s consider it prep for re-visiting the country of my birth… which will take place next month, just after V’s 1st birthday.

It has been about 3 1/2 years since I have been home, my Canadian accent is completely gone, I slur my words, I have an American-sounding ‘a’, I say ‘y’all (and I did the other night and M didn’t even blink) and I haven’t had poutine in I don’t know how long. On the plus side, I have not developed a taste for sweet tea (thank god).

I miss my home sweet home and the thought of showing it to V is amazing. Can’t wait for him to meet his Grandparents and Great-Grandparents, see some proper Ocean and lawns with actual nice grass on them as opposed to the crap stuff we have here. See some trees that are not palm trees, gator-free lakes (bonus). West Coast Action for my boy. Hells ya.

Off to bed, need to get some sleep for that Disney action that I’ll be hittin’ tomorrow 😉

For the Canada pavillion click here

For the Canada, My Canada song, click here

To check out BC, click here