Let’s start this post out with a photo.

 

There's Only One In There!

 

BAM.

It would appear that my lack of updating on this baby has resulted in a seed of jealously growing inside my belly right next to that baby that I don’t want to call Hamster.  Especially when, let’s face it, it looks likes I’m housing a full grown wooly mammoth rather than a tiny furry rodent.  My efforts to mask this pregnancy worse than any sitcom with their big purses and standing-behind-the-sofa shots has spurred this baby on to turn it’s bachelor pad into a Beyonce and Jay-Z sized nursery.  That’s right, there’s currently 2200 sq ft of baby house going on under that sweater.

At least it feels like it.  And it certainly looks like it.

I mean, let’s roll the clock back 4 years to when I was 19+4 with Noah.

BoB on Board

 

That is exactly one week more pregnant than I am in the photo by the falls this time around. There is a slight difference. And by slight, I’m talking an entire litter different.

I do not have an 18 week photo handy of Amy/Cheese.  However, I do have this:

Big Cheese

That is a full 7 weeks later with Amy than I am now.  And the belly is approximately the same size.

What the what?

I’d like to say it is all down to 3rd baby = slack muscles.  Or even better .. the difference between H&M Mama maternity jeans and Motherhood Maternity jeans, but I can’t.  Well I kind of can.  H&M were so much better.  Comfier, better fit, snugger on the bump.  I mean really? Pantyhose like material as the secret bump cover?  Who even thought that was a good idea?!?!

All I know is that I’ve gone from being convinced that there is a bouncing baby boy growing in there, to hoping the ultrasound on Friday uncovers a hidden twin or triplet.

That and I really shouldn’t wear grey and no lipstick.  The washed out lips almost distract from the watermelon in my sweater.

Sundays were the best days when I was growing up.  Not that I enjoyed church.  Especially in the Caribbean with no breeze coming through the window and everyone trying to fan themselves, and instead creating a very special, one of kind aromatic experience.    And not because it was Eat At Grandmom’s House day, though it was and I always loved that kind of day.   I loved Sundays because it was a definite Beach Day!  Frigate Bay, Banana Bay, Half Moon Bay … wherever! Playing in the waves, swimming, splashing, attempting to body surf, jumping the waves, eating soggy Pringles and drinking warm Coke out of hot glass bottles.  LOVED it.

What I didn’t love so much, was the mandatory hose down in the front yard afterwards.  No one lived behind our house or on either side of us, so you’d think that those options would be more suitable.  But no, it was always in the front where my Dad swore no one could see (oh they could, and those than couldn’t heard about it in school the next day).

Now that I am not naked in public with 3 perfectly fine showers inside of the house mere feet away from the puddle of embarrassment and sand I was stood in, I look back on those Hose Offs and laugh.

Unfortunately we live no where near a beach.  And in fact, this summer has been far more Autumnal than sunshine and swimming pools.  This has not given me much opportunity to create memories that will shame and embarrass the midgets while providing me with laughter.   I am failing as a parent.  Or I was until this afternoon.  The sun came out – too late to fill the inflatable pool – so I whipped the play sinks out of the shed and filled them up with water which was then carried back and forth and thrown on each other.  When the sinks were empty and their bums were covered in grass, I offered to hose them off.  They are smart.  They turned me down without a moment’s deliberation.

But they are not too smart, because they didn’t mind the offer of a bath; with no water.

 

1 Aug 2011

 

ME: 1 – Midgets 0!!!

Remember last month (it was only yesterday, so I hope you remember it at least a little)?  The sun was shining … in Canada… and I was threatening everyone with all of these new entries now that I have nothing I cannot speak about.  Ahh yeah.  The memories are still so fresh.  And yet, I wrote nothing.  I’ve got photos sitting on Flickr waiting to be put into a blog entry and at least eight times a day I make myself laugh hysterically and think .oO(oh I’ve got to share this one!).  There are videos that haven’t been put on to Vimeo and so many photos that haven’t even been rotated to stop the blood rushing into the head of the midgets.

So what have I been doing instead?  Oh, you know.  Nothing.

Seriously.  Before bed every night I lie there and sort out a list in my head of everything that I need to do the next day to help get this house sorted for the move.  To make sure that we don’t pack the things we don’t need and not ship over things that are necessities.  Do you know what Noah would do if his Crocs went on the boat and not on the plane!? MAJOR DRAMA!

It is hard though. With people coming in to pack for you, there is only so much you can prepare.  Lee is almost completely done the dismantling of furniture that he needed to flat pack for the shippers.  Do you realise what this means?!  This means the contents of these dressers and china cabinets and toy shelves … are all over the freaking house.

Instead of two steps forward, I feel like I am living inside of a Garage Sale!

Speaking of which .. I have started to Ebay things.  Like Noah and Amy’s clothes from when they were 0-3 months old.  Because I was holding on to those, why?! We have learned that I am THE WORLD’S SLOWEST LISTER on Ebay.  It has taken me 5 days to list 40 items.  That is not good.  Not good at all.   Though I do make some great ads and we have managed to sell the oddest items!  Unfortunately we are at the point where quantity trumps quality and I am struggling, folks.  Struggling!

So in order to get on top of everything, I have reverted to what I normally do when stressed or depressed; I go out of my way to do absolutely nothing.  It’s like 98% of my working brain shuts off and the 2% that is allowed to continue is too short on disk space to perform operations as normal.

Instead of packing and tossing away, I’ve been baking cookies.  And eating cookies.  Making pizzas.  And eating pizzas.  I’ve been stocking up on microwave popcorn.  And eating microwave popcorn.  I’ve been cooking a lot.  And eating.   I think we can all see where this is leading, and it’s ugly.

Mama needs her mojo back because we’ve got a plane to catch and less than 2 weeks until we are officially homeless.

Forget the pork and beans, I need the cigarette lighter to light a fire under my ass.  My ever expanding ass.

 

I’ve had so much to blog about lately and through procrastination and fear of jinxing myself, I went silent instead.

Remember that post I wrote where I was complaining?  Oh, not specific enough?  The one where I moaned about the real estate process in England?  Yeah, that one!  Well it is finally coming to an end.  The house is properly sold with no means of backing out now and we have a closing date.

And we have plane tickets.

One thing I made sure not to mention was the fact that we are not just moving house, but moving country.   Not knowing who reads the blog (and by the comments, it would appear to be 4 of you), I didn’t want anyone who shouldn’t have known to find out before Lee was ready.

Do you know how hard it was for me to not say anything about this?! Not say a peep when the house has been for sale since LAST YEAR April?!  Not mention the short notice viewings, the crazy reasons that people had for not buying it, the fact that we ended up going through three real estate agents before one knew what they were doing?  To not talk about having to circle the block with two hungry toddlers in a stroller 7 or 8 times because the people wouldn’t leave the house? To not talk about yelling at real estate agents while I was in the middle of  a parking lot because they had us leave the house for a viewing, delayed it for over an hour and then never phoned to tell us that they were rescheduling it?!

I’ve had to internalise (read: take it out on Lee only) my fears and anxieties and totally logical flip outs about this huge move.   Our whole life is being packed up and sent on the slow boat to Canada.  No jobs waiting on the other side.  No house (though we will have a roof over our heads thanks to my lovely family) to call our own.  There is a shitload of unknowns for someone who now panics at the thought.

Yeah that’s right; the girl who met a boy on the Internet and left her life in Canada behind is now saying she is afraid of the unknown.  The one who took a Greyhound bus to Kalamazoo, Michigan with her friend and stayed in the middle of bumfuck nowhere with a drunken ex-cop with very little furniture, too many guns and no door on his bathroom is now saying she is scared of not knowing what lies ahead.  The same person who went camping in the mountains in West Virginia with a bunch of people she’d never met and no cell phone reception or much clue as to where she was .. yeah, that’s me.

And then along came the midgets and I don’t want them to be able to start a blog and say “oh the times we had, living in our mini-van and eating pork’n’beans heated via the cigarette lighter,  where swinging from the Holy Shit Handles was our only source of entertainment”.  (note: Get mini-van with dvd player)  Though for a couple of nights at least that would be fun right?  Just like a ‘studio apartment’ version of driving cross country in a Winnebago and who doesn’t want to do that?!

So anyway, my muzzle is off. I can say what I feel like when I feel like it once again and it feels great!!

Plus, getting back to blogging provides endless opportunities to put the packing, cleaning, throwing, selling, and dealing with life on hold.  Just what I need.  Or not.  But just what I’ll do anyway.  Because let’s face it, I’d much rather sit here and ramble on to you guys about nothing than figure out why EBay keeps kicking me out when all I want to do is list a fricking Baby GAP sweater!!

 

 

Never has one photo captured their personalities quite like this one.

14.7.11

It appears that the all of the afternoons I spent with my grandparents’ glass Mary and Jesus (I think that’s what it was) statuette, pretending it was an American Music Award or Oscar as I practiced acceptance speeches into the mirror on the dining room wall is finally paying off.

For years I wondered when I was going to get a chance to be the best soap opera actress EVER or at what age someone other than my shower head would realise that I do actually have the X-Factor.  I was just about to give up hopes of strutting down that red carpet in a dress I think is nothing short of awesome, going to the after parties where I would nibble on fancy one bite foods whilst laughing like Julia Roberts … with Julia Roberts and Vanilla Ice.

Luckily, I’ve had children.  Children who have harnessed my raw talents and in turn are honing these natural born talents ready to take over Netflix and the iTunes charts.

Beware ladies, because Enrique has nothing on Noah:

 

13.7.11: Wind The Bobbin from Kirsty B on Vimeo.

 

And right after music award season is over, we’re going to rest up and prepare for the SAGs and the Oscars!

 

 

10.7.11: The New Jamie Lee Curtis from Kirsty B on Vimeo.

Canada Day 2011 UK

There was a time in my life that I was embarrassed to say that I was Canadian.  I don’t know where it came from, but I do know that it started young.  At around 9 years old, I can remember being in a pool in Niagara Falls and I was talking to a boy from the States.  He asked where I was from and my first answer was “America”.  He pushed for something more specific, so I thought a little and said “North America”.  This apparently wasn’t good enough and he asked what part of North America, so I responded with “The North part”.  Eventually he got it out of me that I was from Canada, and then we had this whole debate on how I couldn’t call myself American and I explained that Canada was part of North America and so I was North American and thus I could say I was American.

(over the years I have won many an argument by causing my opponent to throw their hands up in surrender at my cunning logic)

When I try and think where this, almost, shame of being Canadian came from I cannot pinpoint it exactly.  Though what I can remember is that my Daddy and his family and basically everyone we knew in St.Kitts had an enormous love for their country.  It wasn’t an In Your Face My Country Is The Best In The World And We Can Kick Your Ass kind of patriotism, it was a pure and honest love of the land where they were born or raised.

In stark contrast, I cannot think of anyone in my young memories of Canada who felt that same way, aside from my uncle Al, and even that was already post the Niagara Incident.

Sure, there were firework parties on the 1st of July, but they were really no different than the ones on Victoria Day.  People didn’t walk around with red and white Canada shirts like they do now.  Or if they did, I didn’t notice.

When I returned to Canada in 1988, I was excited because I missed Canada.  But missed it in a Stay A Couple Of Weeks And Have My Fill kind of way.  Not in a Give Up Sundays At The Beach After Church And Live Life Without Sunshine Every Day way.  So after the initial excitement waned, I became a bit bitter and resentful.  Why couldn’t Canada be more like little perfect St.Kitts if this was such a great country?  I mean, really, what was Canada giving me that St.Kitts couldn’t?!  Other than milk I didn’t want to throw up after drinking and McDonalds?

But slowly, I started to warm up.  I started to see the good and the great and realise all of the things that I and many others had taken for granted about Canada.  And soon my love of the country actually separated itself from just being related to exactly what was happening in Olympic hockey.

And then I moved to England.  I had already had a crush on London, but moving here turned it into a full blown affair.  And wow, I could travel for next to nothing and see places I’d never be able to afford to go to for the weekend if I was still living in Canada and Oh My God! the groceries!

 

Canada Day 2011 Timmys

 

But then the newness wore off and prices of travel shot up and we moved away from London and reality hit.  It took SIX WEEKS for a pap smear result and they don’t have rootbeer and the hockey arena smells like socks and the wings are disgusting.  I started to appreciate everything I just took for granted.  And not just the ability to order any type of food I wanted to be delivered to my door instead of only having the choice of  Indian, Pizza or Chinese.   Do you know you can’t deposit money in a bank machine here if the bank is closed? Unless you have a business account?  And let’s not get into the real estate processes.

Not that I don’t love a lot about England.  I do.  But being away from Canada had given me a perspective I never had while I was there.  I still love St.Kitts so much it hurts my heart every time I read about what has been going on there and England is an amazing place to call home, but I am Canadian.  Not North American, Canadian.

And my children will grow up to be proud of everywhere they have roots.  They will be proud Britons – not just during the Olympics, and proud Canadians – not only on the 1st of July and they will come to love St.Kitts like I do – though they won’t get to experience it the way I did.

Canada Day 2011 Midgets

I read somewhere that the most patriotic people are the ones that no longer live in the country they are proud to be from.  This may be true, but I hope that it doesn’t change when we go back.

So Happy 144th Birthday Canada, and thank you for being awesome.

 

Canada Day 2011 MK

Remember in December when I packed off my not so little boy and sent him to pre-school a whopping 9 hours a week?  And for those 3 hours on each of those 3 afternoons I would cry when I got home because I thought I was breaking him.  I thought that my already anxiety ridden ball of WhoNeedsToLeaveTheHouseToHaveFun was going to turn into the toddler version of that guy who still lives in his Mom’s basement when he’s 45 and just does a Butthead type giggle whenever any female speaks within 20 feet of him.  And honestly, the outside world needs his cuteness in it, so I couldn’t be turning him into a hermit.

Everyone tried to be supportive and offered up their own anecdotes about when their little Alfie or Olivia first started and how they would cry a bit and didn’t want to go.  The only thing is that their children weren’t having full on panic attacks at the sight of the school shirt.

So I crossed my fingers and started to bribe Noah.  Each day he went through the whole three hours without crying he’d get a treat.  Some days he’d score a little car and on others he would get a special snack.  And just when my momma expressed concern that he’s start expecting the reward for doing something ‘normal’, he started to change.  He’d still get a bit nervous before going, and sometimes there would be sniffles when we got there, but one day he just up and walked away when we got inside and went about his day.

Hello?!  Where’s your detachment disorder?! Where is your need for one more hug.  Just one more!!  And why don’t you want to take your school shirt off?? It was like a practical joke.  I’d be dreaming of the moment to arrive but couldn’t believe it could actually be here.

 

21 june school

Then different key workers would say random things when I would drop him off or pick him up: “Noah’s so lovely” “It is great to have Noah back from holidays. I really missed him. ” “Noah had the all of the kids laughing” “Noah is the sweetest boy” .  Of course, I wanted to be able to just believe everything because it’s a wonderful feeling when someone else says things that reflect what you think about your own child.  But I am me.  I smiled and nodded and gave a “a ha haha” when I thought appropriate and figured that everyone got the same lines, because I am cynical to the core.

Plus, I’d never seen Noah at school beyond the drop off and pick up.  Parents are welcome to volunteer, but not if you have another child with you.  I had to rely on their word for how each day went.  Not that I don’t ask Noah as soon as we get in the car, but some days I get told he had an alligator sandwich for snack, so his word isn’t really worth that much.

The first time I got to see him in a setting with other children and an authority figure he wasn’t related to, was at Mini-Strikers.  Oh the joy that came over him as soon as he walked into the village hall.  It was like a whole different child crossed the threshold when I opened the door.  Okay, his listening skills… need work.  But it wasn’t a disobedience thing as much as an overflowing with excitement.  He shares well (until someone snatches his ball/racquet/beanbag and then sulks a bit), interacts with the other children, adores Mr. Andy and wants to include Amy in every activity.  It was and continues to be an amazing thing to see.

 

22 june Mr. Andy

So I shouldn’t have been, but totally was, overcome with emotion when at a Teddy Bear’s Picnic that the pre-school was part of, I got to see Noah interact with the staff at the school.  My little Nervous Norman was so comfortable with them, so happy to share his excitement and achievements.  And the responses they gave to him completely warmed my cynical heart.  Their smiles were genuine, their affection honest and they were as happy for him as he was for himself.  The best part was that they didn’t even know I was watching since I was with Amy trying to keep her from jumping off of a balance beam.

My baby boy is growing up in so many ways.  I am so proud of him and so so happy for him.  We’ve got roughly 3948 more anxieties to work through, but this has been huge.  I have no idea what happens when he walks through the doors of his school, but whatever it is … works.   I am so sad now that he will be leaving at the end of the month.  Let’s hope I don’t break what they’ve fixed because Noah 2.0 ROCKS*!!!

 

22 June race

 

22 June balls

22 June run

*Noah 1.0 ROCKED too.  But this version is even better!

Amy

1 and 1 is 2

Dear Amy,

We made it!  Phew.  I would love to be able to say that I do not know how you’re already two.  Really, I would.  But lady, there is not one day that you do not make yourself known.  From the day you were born when the midwife said you’d be out by noon, and you were all “noon? You think I’m slow? HERE I COME!!” and all of a sudden it’s PUSH! PUSH! waaaaaaaahhh .. “it’s a …. GIRL?!”. All 9lbs 4oz of Look At Me, I Can Roll Over And I Am Not Even Half A Day Old Yet!.

 

Birth Day

In the first year of your life we got to know your personality and there is a lot of it.  We also go to know that if anyone had a birthday coming up, you would do whatever it could to land yourself right in the hospital.  First it was Noah’s, then came mine (hello!? do you not realise how much I love my birthday?!) and after pretending to be healthy for a while, along came Kadie’s birthday and you were all “Quick Quick! I need to come up with something!!”. Holy shit did you ever come up with something.  Only it took us over 3 months to find a doctor who actually had a clue what they were doing and who would take responsibility for diagnosing you.

Don’t worry, it’s not terminal, but it is not pleasant either.  We’ve been managing to keep you out of the hospital now since I am obsessed with catching any occurrences by looking into your eyes ALL of the time.  And not in the Oh My Baby Girl Has Such Big Pretty Eyes (which you actually do) way, but more in the ACK! Is That A Spot? Is That A Tear? WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!!!!! kind of way.  You have gone from UFC style grappling with me when it comes time for medication to actually going to the fridge and getting the bottle when you think it is time for more.  As much as I love the mature way you are starting to deal with it, it breaks my heart that you have to.

1 In the Sun

Don’t get me wrong, the journey from one to two was not all doom and gloom, even if you still don’t sleep through the night.  You hear me Moms of the Internet who complain about things like “Persephone didn’t go down until 7.30pm, it was just dreadful” or “Tarquin was up at 6.30am, if you can believe such a thing!”. My daughter is TWO and has slept through the night less than a handful of times.  Those dark circles under my eyes? No, they aren’t some new fashion statement and even the wonders of Smashbox can’t hide these suckers.  Let her cry it out, you say?  Oh she does. And then some.  And then some more.  Capping it off with a scream and a thump and WAIL.  All the while her poor brother is asleep in the next room separated only by a paper thin wall (okay, slightly thicker than paper, but seriously pushing it by actually considering it to be a proper wall).

Right, I said it wasn’t all doom and gloom. Umm, where was I going with that?  Oh yeah!

You have become so much warmer and cuddlier and no longer take 3 days to warm up to someone you just saw yesterday.  In fact, you hadn’t seen Kadie and Zed for months when you welcomed them to Vegas with open arms!  That’s right, you got to go to Vegas before you were two.  I know so many adults that would and are envious of that fact!  You’ve been to Caesar’s Palace, the Bellagio, Planet Hollywood, The Rio, Treasure Island, the Venetian … you’ve seen ’em all!   Even better than that, you got to taste In-N-Out!  Could you top that?   Only if you were sat in front of a buffet of raw fish.

Seriously, you are the only 2 year old I have ever known who would choose sushi above almost anything else for dinner.  I love you for that.  I love that you will try things.  Sure, sometimes you spit it back out into my hand, but at least you try.  And you LOVE fish.  Your big brother; not as adventurous.  He used to be, so I fear that you will lose this sense of foodie adventure too, but I am going to keep trying to give you more things to try before you totally bail and return to a child’s life of sandwiches, hamburgers and spaghetti.

You have become obsessed with Princess Everything.  Wait, I take that back.  You are more obsessed with you being a princess than actually watching a princess movie.  You’d rather watch Peppa Pig.  But you do actually think you are a princess and will often carry a wand around or wear a tiara to drop/pick up Noah from school.  You’ve got tutus which you definitely think is part of the princess uniform, possibly even more than the actual princess play clothes that you have.  The only problem with dressing up, is that you’d rather be naked.

 

grassy 2

It is so hard to get you dressed these days.  Not because you’re too independent and would rather do it yourself (though you so would), but because you don’t want to wear clothes.  When I say we have to hurry up and get dressed to go somewhere, you whip your shoes on and then throw a wobbly when I mention that your outfit is lacking the clothing portion.

This you inherit from my side of the family.  I don’t know if it was solely something to do with living in the Caribbean, but your grandfather used to wear as little as possible when he was in the comfort of his own home too.  Something which I carried on and have passed on to you.   A lot of other parents actually feed their children breakfast and then get them dressed for the day.  Have you ever heard of something so insane?!  Getting dressed when you don’t have to.  It makes me laugh every time I think about it.

Aside from becoming a semi-naked, tantrum throwing, cuddle giving, knows what she wants and won’t give in until she gets it kind of girl, you have also started to talk.  Not just a word here or there, but actually using two and three words sentences.  I know a lot of other mommas that would be all .oO(what?! She’s two and she’s only come that far?  Wonder if she excels in anything) and they can eat it.  Because you are doing amazingly and we have no worries.  Well we have some.  We worry that your use of ‘Mine’, ‘NO!’ and ‘Mami’s!’ will continue to be the theme of our conversations for the next 30 years.  Other than that, you’re all good with us.  And we’re sure that one day you’ll figure out how to maneuver your Mich Jagger sized tongue so you can touch your top lip.

And please, keep the hugs and kisses coming.  When you are not busy trying to prevent Noah from receiving any positive attention from us, you will stop what you are doing and ask for hugs or grab our faces in your chubby fingers and pucker up waiting for a kiss.   Your affection for your brother needs work as it seems you only like to give him cuddles and kisses when he is asleep.  That is equal parts sweet and equal parts mean since when he is awake you treat him like he’s covered in super contagious Boy Cooties.

Overall, I have to say that you are currently a perfect blend of grown up little girl with just a bit of baby and a whole lot of crazy toddler.  A little less of the attitude and more of the sleeping would be a dream come true, but you are you and even though you’ve give me more grey hairs in the past two years than it took to accumulate in the first 33 years of my life.  You are smart and creative, athletic and funny, and equal parts drama and comedy.  Your smile is as wide as an ocean and your dimple as deep as wishing well.  You are a princess to you and so much more to us.

two

You keep us living on the edge of our seats, even when we want to relax.  You bring so much energy, excitement, drama and love to our lives. Thank you for being every everything a little girl should be and more!

Happy 2nd Birthday, Baby Girl!

 

3rd Birthday

 

Momma loves you.

xx