Smuggling on vacation

WINNIPEG, Manitoba - I am a smuggler.  Two weeks ago, my family went to Disney World in Florida, and I brought back an illegal item.  Or at least an item you are not allowed to fly back to Canada although you can drive it across the border, according to the very informed salesperson at Disney.  I thought this explanation a bit ridiculous, so I bought the desired purchase and brought it home to Winnipeg.  I'm a bit of a worrier, so I had an elaborate excuse planned for the customs officials just in case I got caught.  It involved a lot of giggling and eye-batting.  But they never suspected.  Here is what I smuggled:

That's right, they are plumerias!  Or at least they hopefully will be when I decipher the rooting instructions and these dead sticks turn into leafing plants (year one) and beautiful flowers (year two). 

Plumeria  - commonly called Frangipani - is the flower of love.  It blooms from April through November (hopefully) and has large fragrant flowers.  The instructions say it can be grown all over the world because it has a small root system, but these are the flowers used to make leis in Hawaii.  And mine come all the way from Epcot! 

I bought two: a hybrid and a plain white flower.  Now I apparently have to stick them in some soil in a pot and watch the illicit magic happen.

Leis are worn by women to show their relationship status: over the right ear if looking for a relationship, over the left if taken.  How romantic.  Hopefully in a few years I can grow my own flowers, wear my homemade lei and finally stop fighting off all these potential suitors that never seem to leave me alone!

Learning to run - or at least make it back to my house

WINNIPEG, Manitoba - This morning I decided to put an end to my exercise moratorium.  I woke up fairly well rested, there were running shoes in my house and it was 7 degrees Celsius outside.  All excuses had been cleared.  So, to the laughing remarks of my husband, I put a sweater over my pajamas and headed outside. 

Earlier this week I had downloaded a "Learn to Run" program from the first response to my Google search.

Run For Life Learn to Run Regimen

It seemed pretty realistic so I began Week 1, which is: run one minute, walk one minute.  Repeat for 30 minutes.  Each week you increase the amount of time you run and decrease the amount of time you walk.  Seemed pretty easy.  After all, I did track in high school and had done yoga pretty regularly about 4 months ago. 

Four minutes into it, I had reached the mound of dirt that mostly blocks my house's view of the Brady Road Landfill.  What?  I have to do this 7 and a half more times?  My math is okay.  My cardiovascular fitness is not.

Those cleared excuses came rushing back.  Someone had switched my 29-year-old hips for rickety, 69-year-old ones.  My cold from last week was burning my throat.  And my knee, oh my knee - that's right, I scraped it in the shower two days ago. 

Thirty minutes is a long time when you track it minute by minute on your iPhone, which in my case, does not have any downloaded music to distract me. Another thing I have to get around to doing, along with researching the proper breathing method during running.  Was I supposed to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth or vice versa?  Or just breathe through my nose?  Not a huge concern, because 15 minutes into running/walking, it was all panting anyway.

When I say running I'm using the term lightly.  Bouncing at a pace just above a walk is more truthful.  But I did my 30 minutes and made it into my house, where I lay down on my doormat and announced my success to my family.  My husband was shaving and didn't hear me.  My two-year-old demanded more popcorn in his orange, plastic bowl.

Day one down.  8 weeks, 6 days to go.  Can I go back to bed now? 

New words and prayers

WINNIPEG, Manitoba - "Mommy, I'm disappointed."
My four-year-old told me this yesterday.  I brushed it off in my mind as an over-zealous use of an unknown word.  "Why are you disappointed?"
"Because Gramma is sick."
"Oh, so you mean you're sad," I replied smugly.
"No, she's sick so I couldn't visit her yesterday.  I miss her.  I'm disappointed." 
Like, duh, Mom, don't you get it?

--
At lunch I asked her to say grace.  She told me to go first so I quickly ran through my standard Christian-upbringing "Bless us, Oh, Lord..."
When I finished, she bowed her head, closed her eyes and put her palms together.  She breathed in deeply.  "Jesus.  Take care of us through the night.  Take care of us through the day.  Please help all the people who don't have the things they need or the things they want and the people who live on the street.  Help the poor people.  Amen."

--  
And then there's my two-year-old son who throws in new words and phrases every few hours it seems.  I hear him bargaining upstairs for a movie at bedtime right now.  "I want to watch Rio,please."  Pretty good phrase structure for a toddler.  Add two giant brown eyes and out-of-control curls and he's a killer combination for even the strictest parent (which I definitely am not).

And now I'm hearing the sounds of birds singing and Samba music - meaning my husband gave in.  I'd better go intervene.  My husband doesn't call me "Fun Killer" for nothing.

Neglected

WINNIPEG, Manitoba - I have not posted for months and months.  Each time I go to put something up, I realize I don't have a picture on the computer and I'll have to go find that cord that goes from my camera or iPhone (how fancy!), and who the heck knows where that is?  So I've finally sucked it up and am going to post without photos of my garden (which is dormant and covered in a thin layer of pathetic snow) or my babies (who are also technically dormant since it's 9:29 p.m. and I don't expect them to emerge until about 2 a.m.).

If you are in Winnipeg like me, you're probably wondering what is going to make it through this winter in your garden.  There has been very little snow cover so I'm thinking some of my newly-planted perennials will not show themselves this year or give up the fight completely.  This lack of snow has also been detrimental on my kids.  They need to run and play and scrounge in the front yard and I am not very willing to drag them along the bare pavement in their plastic sled.

However, we have received a good dump of snow over the last week.  My husband drives a truck and he's so happy to plow through all the drifts at which the rest of us are openly swearing. And the kids were able to play in the backyard today.  At least around the edges of the yard against the fence - the sunshine exposed greenish grass in the middle of the yard.  I made lunch and watched them frolic.  And scream in pain when they decided taking off their mitts is the best way to dig their way out of the confines of the fence.  And fight over a red plastic shovel.  And scream at me when I made them come in for a delicious lunch of leftovers and vegetable smiley faces. 

Oh, winter.  Glad to see you leave.  I miss my plants.

Kids' Artwork at Home In Home

WINNIPEG, Manitoba - While we've been setting up our new house, I've found myself obsessed with design magazines and TV shows.  As I try to develop a taste of my own, I love flipping through pages of beautiful, glossy homes that seem completely void of food splotches on the floors or toys recklessly thrown about.  I've read that some of the top designers are using "mixing" and "layering" of styles and vintages - nobody wants one trend, style or effect.   Layering and mixing I get.  Some days there are layers upon layers of clothes on my floor.  Other days it's a mix of food, boxes and toys.  So in the spirit of having kids in the house while trying to re-create some of those shiny homes, I've started putting my kids' artwork around the home.  Hopefully you like the effect too.

My four-year-old daughter's pink and purple painting decorates our main floor bath.  I took one painting and cut it into three and put the pieces in gallery frames from Wal-Mart.

 

In our family room, 20-month-old Zeebos' canvas painting is displayed on the mantel beside a huge wedding picture my husband, Rich, gave me for Christmas.  I bought the canvas at Cre8tive Art Supplies.

 

Beside the kitchen table and kids' table, I hung three magnetic blackboards you can write on with white marker.  It's a great place to show off the latest paintings (like these scary Tangled pages) or for them to paint on directly.  Windex cleans them right up.

My little Michaelangelos working hard on the deck.

 

Difficulties

WINNIPEG, Manitoba - It seems many aspects of life became more difficult after adding little kids into the mix.  For example, the ever-desirable work-life balance.  My daughter was five months old when I went back to university to finish my degree.  I vividly remember the first morning of classes, bawling in the car the entire drive there because I couldn't imagine leaving my baby all day, not yet.  When I parked, I tried to quickly compose myself so the hungover 19-year-olds in my classes wouldn't be able to tell I had been crying.  I had nothing to worry  about.  They really didn't think it was a big deal, although they were quite frightened to hear I was lactating.

There are other things that became harder after mixing in babies.  Like the bar scene.  And finding clothes that fit.

But probably one of the biggest difficulties I now have is trying to leave the house.  It is infinitely more complicated and time-consuming just by adding a couple of miniature people into the leaving equation.  Like this morning when I thought I would go for a bike ride, get some much-needed exercise in and pick up some groceries along the way.  And since I have a kids' bike trailer (a great garage sale find), I knew I could just throw my 20-month-old in the back and go.  My daughter had slept over at Grandma's and my husband had already left for work.  One kid, a bike and me.  Easy-peasy.

Nope.

First mistake I made was going into the kitchen.  Someone (probably my in-laws) had left McDonalds breakfast in a recognizable bag on the table.  "Fancakes, fancakes!" said my 20-month-old, Zeebos.  So there went 15 minutes.  Then dressed and diaper changed.  Check.  No - less than 30 seconds after being changed, he filled his diaper.  So back to the smelly, unpleasant drawing board.  Okay, bum clean, shoes on.  Check.  Grocery bags.  Check.  Wallet.  Check.  Drive car out of garage first to access bike trailer, put helmet on baby, secure seatbelt, put load of stuff needed for shopping and baby in the back...Oh, yeah, get baby from the house.  Don't forget toys for distraction at the store.

Finally, we left the driveway and were on our way!  On the trek to the grocery store, we stopped at a playground.  After a brief romp, I picked up Zeebos to put him back in the trailer.  He wouldn't sit down.  Of course, another filled diaper in less than 20 minutes.  And with the load of stuff I had brought, no diapers or wipes to be found.  You have got to be kidding!

So we turned around, abandoned grocery shopping and headed back home to attempt one more task that is much more difficult and less safe with little ones: showering. 

Moving babies and gardens and avoiding shocking both

WINNIPEG, Manitoba - My husband says I would be happy living in a cardboard box.  I interpret this to mean I am not a princess when it comes to our type of house or area we live in - while he is. I grew up in a central city neighbourhood; he in the suburbs.  My family car required blankets in the winter and rolling down the window to reach outside to open the handle to exit.  His family drove a Lexus.  I played in the sprinkler; he had an inground pool.  I am not judging either of these lifestyles, just commenting on our different backgrounds and perspectives we bring to the table.  I adored my shared, non-air conditioned, 100-year-old apartment situated in a trendy urban area while I attended university.  He lived at home until the last possible minute. 

And so while we were happy in our almost-new, hardwood floor and granite-laden first family home, he was not completely satisfied.  This past winter we visited a show home in a new development, a past time we both enjoy for decorating ideas and future building plans.  The house had a huge garage and was even shinier than our current home.  Suddenly, the future became now and we were moving.

Then the work began.  Anyone who has moved with kids knows where I am going with this: the nightmare of showing a home with babies, packing with babies, doing anything with babies.  Added to this, our four-year-old daughter, Shanna, decided early on this was a terrible idea.  She did not want to leave her fabulous pink room and finished yard to move to a beige house with a mud pit. 

The old backyard.

The new backyard.

Right now we are mostly moved in to the shiny house, although the new owners have not taken the old one yet.  So we go back and forth, cutting the lawns at both places, digging out some more perennials, visiting old neighbours, going into the old house to tear up and remember all the wonderful memories (okay, I am the only who does this).  We really are dragging it out.   Shanna says we should hurry up and move back before the new people get here from China.

Shanna enjoying winter in the old back yard.

So what do you do with a kid that does not want to move and a hundred plants that like where they are now?  You uproot them and move them anyway, hoping you can give them enough care to make the transition as smooth as possible. 

I dug up anything that looked green as soon as it popped out in the spring, dumping bone meal in each container to help the roots take.  I took Shanna to the fabric store to pick out a theme for her new room and gave her lots of chocolate. 

I put the plants in the new garage out of the wind, let them have sunlight each day and watered them diligently until the garden and yard were ready.  I distracted Shanna with trips to a nearby playground and made sure she had lots of hugs and kisses. 

My dear plants waiting for a new home.

When some of the plants started drooping, I gave them special care, cutting them back so they would focus on roots and not green growth or blooms.  When Shanna started obviously acting up and becoming more defiant, I re-examined my tactics, stopped focussing on discipline and started going with the flow.

Now the yard has some grass and dirt and the plants are in the ground.  After growing quite well in their containers, they seem to have paused in the hot summer heat, although I only lost one or two in the transition.  Shanna is now happy running through the sprinkler on the grass, we have picked out a special spot for her to grow her own rose bush and she only talks about the old house now and then. 

And Daddy is very happy in his new castle.