Man Of Few Words

Hubs doesn't say much. And it's not just me being a word slut that makes me say that, he is a genuinely reserved individual. He doesn't speak unless he feels it's necessary and he chooses his words judiciously.

 

And he doesn't smile often either, and almost never for the camera.

 

What a shame because he sure is cute.

This is what happens...

When I leave Hubs alone with the boys on a Sunday morning. The entire baby entertainment deal gets moved outside, including the Pack and Play.

I had brunch plans with some girlfriends this past Sunday - yay - and when I emerged from my bedroom all gussied up and ready for a mimosa I found The Little Boy chillin' in the back yard while Hubs supervised The Boy's trike riding nearby.



Halloweeeeen

Yesterday was Halloween and it was kind of meh. The Boy picked out his costume himself this year, he went as a train engineer; practiced saying 'trick or treat,' though he said it as 'trick or treat, candy!'; and we had planned for him to do lots of trick or treating.

The trick or treating part was only partially successful. First, we were going to take him to the big shindig in our town on Saturday where the kiddos can trick or treat at all the businesses. Sadly, I was struck down with food poisoning so it was left to Hubs. All he did was walk The Boy through the crowds, take a picture on a street corner and call it a day. Hmph.

So yesterday we dressed him up again to go to school.

 

And sent him on his way. His awesome preschool was taking all the kids trick or treating nearby. We had to sign his first ever permission slip, I'm a dork so found this very exciting, and transfer his car seat to the car that would be taking him, because of that I stayed home with the baby. I sent Hubs off with instructions to take lots of pictures of The Boy playing with his little buddies, all of them dressed up and anxious to show off their costumes.

 

 

Instead I got one picture of The Boy standing by the gate.

 

 

 

 

Again, hmph.

 

'No worries,' I told myself, 'we've still got trick or treating to do tonight.' But then The Boy fought his nap until after 5pm and slept right through prime trick or treating time.

 

 

Sooooo... that was it. Not good, not bad, just meh. But we do have candy, lots and lots of candy, to get through. 



Farewell, Vancouver!

Almost 7 years ago, Hubs and I left our life in London behind when we hopped on a plane to Vancouver. We had no friends and no job prospects, only a few suitcases and a bit of optimism.

A month later Hubs was offered a job. He took it, and has kept it until now. He attempted to resign 3 years ago, when we moved back to my native California to have The Boy, but they convinced Hubs to stick with them and work from home. So, with the exception of occasional trips back up to Vancouver, Hubs has worked just a matter of feet from The Boy and I.

It's been awesome! At the first sight pearly buds in The Boy's gums I was able to yell up to Hubs, "I think I see teeth!" and Hubs could come down to see for himself, instead of trudging through a commute then being too tired to care when he got home. Same with The Boy's first tentative steps and words. We've been so incredibly lucky to have Hubs working from home.

But back to Vancouver. I ever totally took to it. I made friends, but not good ones. I worked but never found anything I could see myself making a career out of. I studied and wrote, but didn't manage to produce much or substantially further my education.

Still, it was a gorgeous place. I happily traded the pubs of London for the coffee shops of Vancouver. I loved the weather and looking north to see the mountains. I loved that it was so much smaller and more manageable than London and LA.

So here is a brief photo recap of our time in Vancouver.

We lived there with my beloved Cat before Cat. She came with me to college then lived with Hubs and I in San Francisco then, after spending our London years at my dad's house, she joined Hubs and I in Vancouver.

I took a Russian class at UBC and this was the view on my way home

And speaking of home, here was the view from our little apartment

I went to work in the snow - here's a self portrait of me waiting for the bus

When not working I spent most of my time at my local coffee shop

Vancouver was the place where Hubs proposed, The Boy was conceived and where we first acknowledged adulthood. Sort of. In our mid-30's.

Now we're in our late 30's and beginning a new chapter in our lives as Hubs works his last day for his Canadian company today. Who knew that when, almost exactly 3 years ago, we packed up our little Kitsilano apartment and drove through snowy Vancouver for the last time as we began the long drive down the 5(99 in Canada), that I would get so worked up about leaving? Again.

So I'm kind of teary and eternally grateful for what Vancouver has given our little family, but on to bigger and better things, and farewell, Vancouver!

FIve Minute Friday

This post may not be in the true spirit of 5 Minute Fridays, but it's cute and took five minutes.

One of the things in my exceptionally blessed life that makes me saddest is my inability to take The Boy out for walks. They're difficult for me and unsafe for my run-aroundy Boy.

Sad. Very sad. The good news, however, is that along with going on his daily morning walks with Grandpa

The Boy also gets to go on lunchtime walks with Hubs. They run around, check the mail, say "hi" to the neighbors, play with any toys that may have been left out from the morning. Sometimes The Boy takes his trike out or scoot-along car(I'm not really sure what they're called). It's really good for the both of them - gets some of The Boy's energy spent and allows for Hubs to stop thinking about work for a while.

It's a beautiful thing and I love watching them enjoy their time together.

So here's what yesterday's lunchtime walk looked like:

Happy weekend!

Christmastime summarized

Since I've been so incompetent at keeping up with things here, I've decided to over a brief overview of our December rather than the kind detailed blow-by-blow that I might have managed had I kept up with things.

So, with that said, here's December:

Decorating-wise we stuck to the same ol' minimalist approach we've had for years - tiny black, sparkly table tree decorated with a few baubles and some pretty lights, a smattering of ornaments nearby and a few other strings of Christmas lights flung around randomly. The Boys grabby hands and propensity to climb anything and everything lead us to believe we'd be better off without an actual tree just yet. We'll save that for next year, maybe the year after.

Anyhoo, we did get out to a tree farm to get a tree with Grandpa, Dada and The Boy's uncle. Here's a picture of us in front of the tree we all picked out.

Between then and the big day there was shopping, parties, baking and all of the usual hubbub associated with the holidays.

Christmas eve was spent at home, just the three of us(four if you count the kitty). We ate lasagna and opened a present before bedtime.

Christmas morning I slipped downstairs before the boys to pull out the Duplo blocks Santa brought. The Boy came down and toddled over to me, oblivious to the fact that he had new toys and playing with me like we'd always had the blocks.

After breakfast and opening the presents we went to Grandmas house. Last Christmas was spent at my dad's, so Mom was pretty darn excited to have The Boy with her this year. We opened more presents, The Boy ran around in circles, we ate roast beef, green beans and stuffing whilst breaking open the English holiday classic crackers and wearing the crown. Well, I wore the crown, The Boy was suspicious.

From there we made a brief stop at home before heading to Grandpa's house for more presents. We didn't stay long as it had been a long day and we were all tired.

We came home, gave The Boy a bath and put his sweet self to sleep.

All in all an excellent Christmas.

Pins and needles in my arm

I have Multiple Sclerosis, a degenerative disease that strips my nerves of their myelin sheath and my life of the kind of fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants get-up-and-go that used to define me. I was diagnosed more than seven years ago now. I was living in the London at the time with the love of my life. Since then I moved to Canada, then back to my native Southern California, I married my aforementioned love and I gave birth to the coolest baby ever.
Not bad for a gimp.

Like I think I heard them say on some hideous reality show, I can(still) do what everyone else does, I just do it slightly differently.
Like this morning, for example. My baby, angry from the molars growing in his mouth, awoke at 7 30. I nursed him, ate my Mini-Wheats while giving him some Joe’s O’s(Cheerios for Trader Joe’s lovers), took a shower then had Hubs(who works from home) help us downstairs to the car.

Boy and I then met my dad for coffee. Dad moved Boy from the car seat to his stroller. I can do that, but even my 70 year old dad can get it done quicker than me.

We do all the same stuff in reverse, ending up planted in our living room where I’m left to look after Boy until Hubs finishing work – usually around 7 pm.
Depending on how pissed off my disease is on any particular day, I find keeping up with Boy fluctuates. I loved when he started crawling and I could trick him into coming to me instead of wobbly picking Boy up and killing my back in the process. There are days when I’m too tired to move the chairs that form our baby barricade to the table for lunch time, so I feed him free-range style. It’s messy, but nothing a ton of tea towels and some slipcovers can’t handle.

We have to deal with all the normal stuff of life a bit differently, but the final product remains pretty much the same.

Take the smash cake at Boy's 1st birthday party, the end result of which can be seen above. Good times.