Portrait of a Thursday

I call this one "Growth Spurt":

I have always been fascinated with photography and it's ability to capture a moment or tell a story without saying a word. In some ways it is the entire opposite from music, although both mediums, when done well, can have the same effect on me. When I had Xander my husband and I bought our first real camera, a Nikon D50. After paying that much money for something that didn't transport us or do our dishes we both had to sit down so the camera shop would stop spinning. A year and a half later I can easily say it is the best money we've ever spent. And considering how far away we all are from each other it is the best way to show each other the way our children smile, laugh, cry, dance, and grow without actually getting to see it in real life.

So here are some more shots I took this sleepy morning. Yes, it's Thursday, but David's first day off always feels more like a Saturday. In a little while I'll wake him up and make some whole-wheat buttermilk waffles which we'll eat while the kids watch a movie. It's simply the best kind of day.

Some of my favourite moments from this summer...

These are Felicity and Xander's friends, Tobias and Lucas. Both boys move so fast that every shot is an action shot. Needless to say, we miss them terribly.

Tobias

Lucas

Auntie Em days before becoming a mommy.

Fun at the cabin:

Thank you, Sarah, for showing me how to post pictures. I wonder, will the day ever come when we all stop needing you? I hope not.

A List of Grievances

So, no, I still haven't figured out how to post pictures on this blog. We'll just call that Grievance Numero Uno.

This morning started out like every other morning since we returned from our trip into the Real World - with a raging headache. The village people keep telling me that everyone gets them when they come back from "down South" because we're 3000 feet above sea level. That makes sense, because in our old house on the Sunshine Coast we were literally right at sea level. Ok, we were across the street from sea level, but you get the point. So I'm thinking the constant push on my sinuses that's causing my eyes to feel like I just got the smackdown from Evander Holyfield should start to subside, and soon I'll stop wandering around like the walking wounded. But since it's been about 10 days, and considering that my equilibrium is so off that I thought I was sitting up in bed this morning when I was still lying down, I decided to go to the doctor.

We have a lovely doctor here in town. His name is Phil, which would make him Dr. Phil, and he and his even lovelier (more lovely? lovelier? anyway) wife have a little boy who just turned one. I went and saw him and he agreed, yes, it's more than an adjustment to the barometric pressure that I'm having trouble with, so try this nasal spray and that should clear up the problem. So I walk to the pharmacy, but having not lived here very long I didn't realize that it was time for their coffee break and they were currently closed, at which point I decided to try again later. I then went home, had some lunch with David, made myself somewhat presentable, checked on the kids who were with my MIL, then thought I might try the pharmacy again, along with the other errands I had to run. Now, I had originally tried to do my running around earlier, but I had also forgotten that this town closes down from 12-1 every afternoon for lunch. It is during this sacred hour that I always feel as though I'm in some tiny town just south of the Mexican border, and everyone's leaning up against their casas with their sombreros over their faces, having a siesta, and only the cantina is open for business. Except in our town it's not the cantina, it's the gas bar.

Ok, I get to the clinic at 12:50 - not open. I go drop off my Arbonne deliveries, then head to the bank before I try the pharmacy again. The bank is not an actual bank, it is a single teller in her little wicket in the government building. When I arrived, there were two people ahead of me. 35 minutes later it was finally my turn. AND some little punk tried to cut in front of me, which made me want to kick in his kneecaps. There was also a massive line of drunk people - again, not making this up - who would not stop hollering "git 'er done!" as if it was the name of the beer they'd had for breakfast. By this time it was close to the kids' naptime, so I dropped off the last Arbonne order, picked up the kids, and headed home to put them down for their naps.

So here I am, whining to my computer, and subsequently all of you. My head is still raging, my equilibrium is still off - I might be typing with my head on the desk, I don't know - and still no nasal spray. However, tomorrow is another day...I'll keep you posted.

I warned you!

I wasn't going to be any good at this! I've actually been thinking about this blog a lot, thinking about what I would write about that would be interesting. Also, I have lots of pictures but I don't know yet how to post them on here, so once I get that figured out this should get a lot more interesting. A lot has happened since my last post, so I guess I'll just pick up from where I left off...

Ah, yes, move in day. A day not unlike Christmas, where every box presents a chance to either rediscover something precious or throw away something that has always irritated you. My husband is the King of Unpacking, so by the end of day one I knew where all the important things were, like dishes and towels and toys. By day two I had the kitchen unpacked and the bedrooms somewhat organized, and a week and a half later, when I left to drive back down to Chilliwack, if felt like our home.

The distance between Dease Lake and Chilliwack is approximately 1700 KMs, roughly the distance between Portland and Los Angeles. Now, I've driven both routes more than once. Portland to LA takes less than a day because you drive all night, stopping only for a quick nap and a burger at the first In-N-Out you come across. The drive to Dease Lake takes three days. Every time. Three days, unless you really want to kill yourself and do it in two. Same distance, totally different kind of road trip. Now, I realize that after reading this everyone will immediately jump in their cars and drive to LA, and I can't blame you. Send me a postcard, and after reading it we'll throw it in the fireplace and warm our hands with it.

The trip to Chilliwack, then down to Portland, was a total whirlwind in which we managed to stuff all sorts of activity into every single day. I think the highlight of Portland was seeing friends that had once been a huge part of my life, but that I have not seen for 10 years. This kind of event can only cause retrospection, which in turn causes embarrassment, which then morphs into gratitude that high school ended and real life began. The final step in this ugly cycle is the realization that none of it was really as big or as bad as you once deemed it to be. The biggest relief is that everyone turned out so lovely, and we were all capable of adult conversation without drama. The biggest surprise was that for the most part everyone now shared the same perspective on our high school experience. The pendulum had finally come to a rest smack-dab in the middle. Thanks, Amanda, for organizing us all and creating a calm, relaxed event where we could all finally have a conversation.

The other major event besides the reunion is that we bought a new car. Excuse me, a truck. I had the misfortune several years ago of meeting up with the typical used-car salesmen while I was buying my first car. Now, the idea of walking into a car dealership makes my mouth dry, my fingers numb, and I eventually wind up in the fetal position in one of the kids' closets. Can we say therapy? I mean for the kids. Okay, maybe we can make it a family thing. Anyway, we go in with our car as a trade-in, and come out with a lot more debt but a beautiful slightly used truck that will be ready the next day for us to come pick up. Oh, we're so excited!! I go get my hair done, David leaves to go to work on the coast, feeling like he's done his job as the provider and protector of his family. We all go to bed with warm fuzzies.

The next day I call to check and see when our car will be ready because that's what you do when you get a new truck. You want to drive it and smell it and spill Starbucks in it and let your kids climb around before the carseats are installed like it's a $33,000 jungle gym so they can ooh and aah because after all, it's their truck too. Except that when I called I was met with a "huh?". And you know the feeling that you're about to get royally screwed? Where your chest goes numb and you start seeing spots and feel kind weightless, like you're sitting on the opposite end from the sh*t that's about to hit the fan? Like that. There was actually very little drama once all was said and done, although I spent the weekend in Portland wondering if I was going to have to summon the spirit of Uma Thurman and get all Kill Bill on this car salesman. Instead I took my daddy in with me, and took him in again when the brake system warning lights went off.

I have to say, though, that it was all completely worth it. I felt like a mom, trying to figure out that if it all did indeed go crazy and I had no car how I was going to get myself and my kids home in one piece, even if it meant leaving all of our new stuff behind. I also really felt like a mom driving the last 600 kms, the only car on the road for long stretches at a time, completely exhausted and freaked out(!!) because at any moment a caribou/bear/reindeer could jump out of the bushes and into the side of our car. Excuse me, our truck. The best part was that in the last hour, as I once again watched the sun go down over the trees, knowing I was so close to Dave, I really felt like I was not just back in Dease Lake. I was home.