Sweet Madeleine

Hello Internets! We are home. 

We headed back from Victoria yesterday, and let me tell you it is so much nicer making the trip back now that we are driving home along a highway, rather than through the clogged arteries of a major city.

For about 24 hours, every single one of my sisters was in the same place at the same time. There was this overwhelming crush of talking and laughter and ten outstretched arms trying to steal little Olive. They played with her and danced with her, lay on the bed and sang lullabies to get her to sleep; They each have their own way of interacting with her and talking to her, honestly seeing her in their arms, and seeing how much they all adore her, it is the sweetest thing in the world.

Every time I drive away from one of these family gatherings, I wear their collective influence for weeks. I hear myself speak like them, move like them. I feel their mannerisms and their energy linger around me like subtle whiffs of perfume. It’s sort of reassuring, this delayed goodbye, but it also makes their absence hit home that much harder.

It’s so quiet. 

I think I am going to have to start playing the lottery. Me, a staunch anti-gambling lady, compromising her principles because winning mega millions of dollars is the only way I will ever be able to fulfill my dream of having every one of my family members living in the same city as us. I would offer each and every one of them a one-hundred-thousand dollar signing bonus if they would promise to live wherever I did.

I’d buy them houses and find them work  they loved, and we’d have a dining room table big enough to fit every single one of them.

And then I wouldn’t have to wear their words like cloaks around my shoulders.

And then I wouldn’t have to say goodbye. 

Cheese

I’m going to put on my hipster hat for a moment (soooo..like, a fedora or something?) and say that Adam and I liked photobooths waaayyy before they were these neat, kitschy things to hire to be at your wedding. 

We liked photobooths before they were cool, is what I’m saying. 

I know that this is a bold assertion, so I have proof. I was worried that I didn’t, because all of our stuff, including my giant memory box (shut up) has been packed and loaded into the back of Adam’s truck, BUT! due to the power of the Internets, I can show you this. 

Our Save the Date cards from when we got engaged in 2008:

BOOM!

I wish I could dig out all of our photobooth pictures from over the years - the ones where Adam was rocking a soul patch, the one where I have my hair pulled back so tight I look like a man, and the one right after we found out I was pregnant, there are some real gems in there. 

Two days ago we found ourselves in a really old, run-down mall. The kind where eerie elevator music plays to an empty food court, and you can hear your footsteps as you walk past the lonely storefronts. 

Kind of creepy.

But then, we saw a photobooth. I got all excited and said we had to take a picture, HAD TO! it would be our first strip with Olive in the frames, and I was beyond excited. Adam rummaged through his pockets and found a $5 bill, and I ran into the nearest store - a sort of newspaper shop- to get change. 

“Don’t let them make you buy anything!” he called after me. It’s one of Adam’s hugest pet peeves when stores make you buy something to make change. I nodded, and kept going.

I get into the shop and I shift Olive up onto my hip (I was totally using her to increase my chances of getting change - who can say no to a baby?)

Well, apparently this dude.“We can’t open the till without a sale” he told me with zero expression or inflection in his voice. No “sorry” even, and we’re in Canada!

Undeterred, I ran across the mall to a Starbucks. I waited in line for five minutes only to be told the Same. Thing.  

I returned to Adam, who was getting super pissy about the whole situation. “They won’t make change?” he snarled, “That’s ridiculous.” and he stormed off towards an abandoned looking Walmart. 

Aaaaand came back thirty seconds later looking even MORE pissy. 

He started ranting on and on about how it was so much bullshit and he’s worked in retail for xx amount of years and they HAVE to be able to open the cash registers and why won’t anyone just help people out in this crazy world of ours Madeleine, WHY?

And then he glared at the Starbucks and stormed off again in its direction. 

“Adam? Where are you going? Adam?! Don’t make a scene! Please don’t make a scene!” I was getting all flustered because dammit I wanted that photobooth picture but I wanted to retain my dignity even more, and if there’s one thing I hate, it’s confrontation. Tell me no a million times and I will never do anything more than meekly smile and thank you for your time. 

Tell Adam no, and he wants to know why not? And how come? And seriously? Try again.

So he stormed off towards Starbucks and I tried to pretend like I didn’t know him. 

And he waited there for like ten minutes, waiting for someone to pay with cash so he could get change. Just stood there, not being rude, but just staring at the baristas in some sort of bizarre standoff, where Adam was the hero and he was going to prove a point about all that was wrong with the world by beating the system! Ha! 

Meanwhile I was slowly digging a hole to crawl into a die from embarrassment. 

Then, THEN, the Starbucks manager came out from the back to do a routine cash out or something, and she unlocked the till (when Adam tells this story his voice rises to a surprisingly shrill upper register as he says “till”) and, hey, surprise! They were able to give him change after all!

He was all in a kerfuffle as he came back with the change, vowing, “I’m not even going to enjoy these pictures! I’m going to remember these pictures as the pictures that took thirty minutes to do because those dicks wouldn’t give us change even though they could!”

But that is not what he will remember about this particular photobooth session. Ohhhh no.

He will remember them as the pictures where his wife couldn’t remember what part of the glass to look into, and his beautiful baby daughter made THIS face when she saw the reflection of her parents kissing.

I present to you, my new favorite photobooth picture:

xo

Oh My

I just discovered Pregnant Husband….and I think I love him.

Example:

When my pregnant wife wants a snack and I suggest having fruit, she’s like:

Showered

What an incredible weekend. I’m still reeling, trying to find a some time to process the events of the last few days, its been such a happy whirlwind.

I knew that my dad was driving out to finish working on the baby cradle, but when he stopped by my work when he got into town, he brought a stowaway with him - my little sister Lizzie!

I was SO HAPPY to see her! She lives a province away and  I wasn’t expecting her to be able to make it - so much has happened since I last saw her and it was amazing to see her and hug her and simply have her here.

(Also amazing? Her cooking. The cooking gene skipped me but seemed to double up on Lizzie, and we’ve been reaping the benefits of her culinary talents all weekend. Adam tried to hire her as a personal chef but she’s waaaay out of our price range.)

That was one piece of the amazingness. The other was two MORE sister surprises! Adam snuck down to the city on Saturday night and picked up my two youngest sisters so they could spend the night with us rather than just coming up for a few hours during the day on Sunday.

This was a stroke of absolute genius, and although I always get a bit twitchy when the anarchy descends en masse, it is always so much fun to have them take over our house. (Although all of this visiting is making me realize that we really need a bigger place - preferably one that can house all of them at once so they never have to leave.)

This is what it looked like for most of Saturday night and much of Sunday - wall to wall clothing, a giant blow-up bed bed taking up my living room and 3 out of 4 sisters playing strip poker (whaaa?) with Adam into the wee hours.

(Fortunately my sisters wear lots of layers and jewelry. Also fortunately, Adam started winning again shortly after he lost a few hands and his shirt[s].)

And then Sunday, SUNDAY! Sunday a wonderful friend named Saren (Hi Saren!) threw me a baby shower. None of my close friends have babies yet so this was my first baby shower ever. I didn’t know quite what to expect, but I was absolutely blown away by how much time, effort and love got crammed into just four or five hours.

                          (Mawney, Claire, me, Lizzie, Hilary…all of the sisters!)

There’s no way to say this without being cheesy, so I’m just going to go for it on this one (I’m 9 months pregnant, if I can’t get emotional now, when can I?): Sitting in that room full of people who had taken time out of their weekends to come to this party - the majority of them traveling huge distances to get there (including my mom and my friend Celene who came over from the Island, plus Adam’s family who made an 8 hour round trip just for the baby shower!) - it was overwhelming.

(Adam, me, our nephew, Adam’s dad, Scott,  & mom, Cathy, his older sister Christine, and our niece)

I just couldn’t believe that so many people put in so much time and effort to make such a special day for us- all of it to celebrate our little family. I kept reflecting on how incredibly lucky this baby is - it’s not even here yet, but it’s already so welcomed, and so loved. It was a lot to take in.

And then, just as quickly as they came, everyone left. I woke up early this morning to see off our last guests (Lizzie and my dad), and now my house feels huge and empty, if a bit disheveled.

I thought I had an IV this morning so I got all dressed and packed a bag with snacks and books and thank you notes to complete over the course of the 5 hour drip, only to discover that it’s not until tomorrow, so now I just sitting here in the middle of this too-quiet house, thinking, thinking.

(I seriously wish my brain had an off switch sometimes.)

How did we get so lucky?

Saren even made a beer cake for Adam! I think this was his favorite part. At least until this happened:

The First Born

As you read this, I am sunning myself on the deck of a floating cabin. Perhaps I have a cold drink in my hand, or WAIT, even better, a gigantic bowl of ice cold berries. Maybe I am reclined on a chaise, listening to a silence broken only by the lake gently lapping at the shore

Orrrrr maybe Adam and I are slowly tearing each other limb from limb as the reality of being alone, with only each other and a dwindling food supply for TEN DAYS is slowly sinking in. Whose idea was this? (Mine! Oh dear god it was mine!)

Anyway. Regardless of which situation is unfolding at the present moment, I have thoughtfully pre-written several posts to roll out in my absence. Because Internets, I’m a giver. Never forget that. I’ll be back on the 18th.

Enjoy!

                                       Photo by Brent Calis Photography

In one of my weekly update posts I moaned about how none of my bras fit anymore, and how I am too cheap and/or lazy to replace them with something that actually fits.

You know, like a normal person.

Anyway, a lovely reader responded (Oh I do so love it when you do that!) and she suggested I buy a particular brand of nursing bra that can be found at Target.

And then I silently wept into my hands for a good twenty minutes because I AM A CANADIAN, eh? We don’t have Target! (except that my sister-in-law tells me they just got one in Edmonton! But that just made me more sad because I DON’T LIVE IN EDMONTON) 

Anyway, after the weeping ceased I kind of forgot about the whole thing and just kept doin’ my thing, cramming myself into my old bras and wearing higher and higher-necked shirts in an attempt to avoid some sort of Janet Jackson-type situation happening.

And then an email from my older brother, the handsome fellow you see at the top of the post. The email read as follows:

So, weird email for the day. I am in Texas for the next 10 days if you need that Target maternity bra.

-Liam

And THIS, my friends, is how you can spot a guy who’s grown up with no less than five sisters. A man who is so nonplussed by tampons and floral fascinators and, yes, apparently even maternity undergarments, that he voluntarily offers to spend time in the lingerie section of a Target store in Texas to search for a special nursing bra for his younger sister.

Liam, you are the shit.

Big M

As I waddle my way towards my own experience with motherhood, I find myself thinking about and appreciating my own mother even more.

She raised six children (SIX! All from the same dad! And we’re not even Mormon or Irish Catholic!) and has always been an incredible example of grace under pressure.

The guidance, support and advice she has offered me over the past 28 years has never led me astray, and I am even more grateful for it as I stare nervously ahead at the changes our life will be undergoing in the next few months.

She has always loved me unconditionally, accepted Adam into our family with a level of affection that can almost be called disturbing, and has been a doting “Grandmummer” to Gus for the past four years, tolerating all manner of doggy sins from drool covered pant legs, to hair covering every inch of her 400 sq foot home.

Here’s to the woman who gave us all terrible bowl cuts, the woman who happily endures all manner of mocking from her progeny (including being nicknamed Big Mama and The Situation), the woman who leaped out of her chair and did a victory dance when she found out I was pregnant, the woman who posed me like this for a baby picture.

Happy Birthday Mom.