Dear Jacqui,
I have about 36 seconds to write this and then delete all evidence of my secret blog from my MIL's computer, so this will be brief.
Once we passed, I actually tried about 546 times to call you... mostly to make fun of you... possibly to make plans to meet in Banff...
But between Brad not honking and your not answering, I figured this was phase two of "the shun"... (phase one being moving across the country, phase three being removing me from FB) so I resolved myself to a life without the ALX family.
Once in Calgary, I mentioned to my Aunt that maybe, just maybe, I would secretly find out where the Kern's lived and try to meet you for breakfast. (By "secretly", I actually just mean "call you & ask") but then I talked myself out of it thinking that it was best to not to interfere with your schedule or confuse the kids too much.
NOW, I so very much wish that you I would have been more persistent in trying to reach you or the you would have called me on Saturday/Sunday... I could have helped! My aunt actually gave me four new tires for my van... (not that I know much about tires, but in my head I could have given you two) AND - I would have been delighted to take you & the kids up to Lethbridge and save you the torture of the Hound. (As a matter of fact, the drive back by myself - ('cause in my mind, I left my children in Calgary with my aunt) may have been the most glorious time of my life... a little radio... a little chocolate... I love it!)
Regrets, regrets.
Okay, so now that I realize we are just in phase one of the shunning, I will follow my instincts and stalk you to the end.
Love, Jen
P.S. It seems you have put a whole new meaning to the phrase "Truroton or Bust"...
P.P.S. More seriously, we'll keep praying for a safe trip & arrival.
Monday 29 August 2011
Our Less Than 25% There Adventure
Dear Jen,
As I sit here relegated to my grandparents' living room waiting for Ev to fall asleep (it's 9:00, and I'm thinking this may take a while yet), let me recount to you my oh so exciting adventure of the past couple days.
First let me say that I told Brad like six times to honk at you when you passed us on the highway in Banff, and for some unknown reason, Mr. Horn-happy over-user just stared dumbly back at me as though I wasn't saying anything at all. And then when you were finally out of sight and I questioned why he did not honk, considering how much he loves pressing down on that horn, he had the audacity to tell me that I didn't say it soon enough. No word of a lie, I first requested it as you were passing us, then again when you were merging in front, then again several times as you inched further away.
Honestly.
So the excitement actually started within probably an hour of your passing (no no, I'm going to leave the phrase just as it is). We were climbing yet another tall and long hill, inching slowly toward the top, and just as we reached the crest, where the large "WELCOME TO ALBERTA" sign proudly stood, we suddenly felt that the road had become very uneven and bumpy on one side of the car. Brad urgently instructed me to check the tires out my side view mirror, and lo I beheld a smoking, flopping, wobbly mass of black spinning pathetically where our trailer tire should have been.
So we stopped.
Yes indeed, the tire had blown and the metal frame was bent. Alright, cool. We have a spare. So Brad unloads the entire back seat area, pulls up the seats, and finds: no jack. Yup! Ok, so we need a jack. Well, while we're figuring that out, we may as well detach the spare. Brad grabs the ratchet, puts it on a bolt, and quickly discovers the next blow: our ratchet is too big for the bolts! YARG! So here we are, children crawling around in the dusty gravel, our belongings strewn across the side of the road, our mattress that had previously been strapped to the front of the trailer and resting on the spare was now loose and diagonally resting precariously close to the open road, and us with no jack or ratchet. It was a great 40-or-so minutes! A construction guy holding a sign came and talked to us, but since all he had was a sign, he was useless to us. A bus stopped just before the Welcome to Alberta sign but only for a moment, then sped off. A minivan even pulled off the road just ahead of us, and the passengers walked back toward our vehicle...then without even glancing at us, walked past and toward the Welcome to Alberta sign. Brad had to catch their attention to ask whether they had a jack, which they did not, so they took a few pictures of the sign and then left.
I don't want to kill you with suspense/worry for too long, so here is the riveting end to our tale: we managed to locate a permanent marker, and armed with this, Brad tugged Ev's mattress from inside the canoe, wrote the words "PLEASE HELP" (keepsake!) on one side, and wedged it under the ratchet straps on the back of the trailer. For several minutes it was altogether unsuccessful, so it occurred to us to have a family prayer. We did, and then within less than a minute, three bikers stopped to help, then an SUV, then a car, then a van. With everyone's supplies gathered together, we were able to get the spare put on our trailer and back on the road for the final leg within 20 minutes.
We were going to stop in Banff for some leg-stretching play, but the kids got enough fun climbing the monstrous dirt hill which bordered the road and throwing rocks into the forest below, so we (as Brad likes to say) "gunned" it to Calgary, where we arrived, all told, at 9:00 instead of our intended 6:00. Children were in bed, left-overs were in the fridge, we felt exceptionally disappointed, but this is life.
Plus they pulled everything out and cooked us fresh burgers right then and there. The Kerns are amazing.
The lasting consequences of this mishap are that we decided we must not take any more chances and get new, stronger, larger, higher PSI tires (and a jack!), which meant that Brad would stay in Calgary all Sunday instead of travelling to Lethbridge with the family. I'm not sure who was more disappointed between my gramma and myself, since this also meant I had to take the Greyhound alone with my children for 3.25 hours, but my gramma keeps insisting that she will never see Brad again (presumably because she will die before she ever gets the chance. Good thing she believes in an afterlife or she'd be inconsolable).
Surprisingly I survived (although this experience has strengthened my resolve to dope Gavin up with Gravol before the plane), and the visit thus far has been quite nice. I even got to see my uncle Dwayne and his new fiancée (which is a big and exciting deal in my family) who travelled down from Calgary for the evening. Ev played with my young cousins till dusk, and the living room was loud and alive with the boisterous conversation of the adults. Tomorrow I go to the park with my sister and her best friend who has a daughter one day younger than Gavin, and it should be altogether pleasant once again.
I still don't feel like I'm moving, since mostly we have been visiting with friends and relatives. It's been good, and I hope it continues to be so.
Also I hope our little SUV that could makes it across this entire country! Here's hoping, and good luck husband!
As I sit here relegated to my grandparents' living room waiting for Ev to fall asleep (it's 9:00, and I'm thinking this may take a while yet), let me recount to you my oh so exciting adventure of the past couple days.
First let me say that I told Brad like six times to honk at you when you passed us on the highway in Banff, and for some unknown reason, Mr. Horn-happy over-user just stared dumbly back at me as though I wasn't saying anything at all. And then when you were finally out of sight and I questioned why he did not honk, considering how much he loves pressing down on that horn, he had the audacity to tell me that I didn't say it soon enough. No word of a lie, I first requested it as you were passing us, then again when you were merging in front, then again several times as you inched further away.
Honestly.
So the excitement actually started within probably an hour of your passing (no no, I'm going to leave the phrase just as it is). We were climbing yet another tall and long hill, inching slowly toward the top, and just as we reached the crest, where the large "WELCOME TO ALBERTA" sign proudly stood, we suddenly felt that the road had become very uneven and bumpy on one side of the car. Brad urgently instructed me to check the tires out my side view mirror, and lo I beheld a smoking, flopping, wobbly mass of black spinning pathetically where our trailer tire should have been.
So we stopped.
Yes indeed, the tire had blown and the metal frame was bent. Alright, cool. We have a spare. So Brad unloads the entire back seat area, pulls up the seats, and finds: no jack. Yup! Ok, so we need a jack. Well, while we're figuring that out, we may as well detach the spare. Brad grabs the ratchet, puts it on a bolt, and quickly discovers the next blow: our ratchet is too big for the bolts! YARG! So here we are, children crawling around in the dusty gravel, our belongings strewn across the side of the road, our mattress that had previously been strapped to the front of the trailer and resting on the spare was now loose and diagonally resting precariously close to the open road, and us with no jack or ratchet. It was a great 40-or-so minutes! A construction guy holding a sign came and talked to us, but since all he had was a sign, he was useless to us. A bus stopped just before the Welcome to Alberta sign but only for a moment, then sped off. A minivan even pulled off the road just ahead of us, and the passengers walked back toward our vehicle...then without even glancing at us, walked past and toward the Welcome to Alberta sign. Brad had to catch their attention to ask whether they had a jack, which they did not, so they took a few pictures of the sign and then left.
I don't want to kill you with suspense/worry for too long, so here is the riveting end to our tale: we managed to locate a permanent marker, and armed with this, Brad tugged Ev's mattress from inside the canoe, wrote the words "PLEASE HELP" (keepsake!) on one side, and wedged it under the ratchet straps on the back of the trailer. For several minutes it was altogether unsuccessful, so it occurred to us to have a family prayer. We did, and then within less than a minute, three bikers stopped to help, then an SUV, then a car, then a van. With everyone's supplies gathered together, we were able to get the spare put on our trailer and back on the road for the final leg within 20 minutes.
We were going to stop in Banff for some leg-stretching play, but the kids got enough fun climbing the monstrous dirt hill which bordered the road and throwing rocks into the forest below, so we (as Brad likes to say) "gunned" it to Calgary, where we arrived, all told, at 9:00 instead of our intended 6:00. Children were in bed, left-overs were in the fridge, we felt exceptionally disappointed, but this is life.
Plus they pulled everything out and cooked us fresh burgers right then and there. The Kerns are amazing.
The lasting consequences of this mishap are that we decided we must not take any more chances and get new, stronger, larger, higher PSI tires (and a jack!), which meant that Brad would stay in Calgary all Sunday instead of travelling to Lethbridge with the family. I'm not sure who was more disappointed between my gramma and myself, since this also meant I had to take the Greyhound alone with my children for 3.25 hours, but my gramma keeps insisting that she will never see Brad again (presumably because she will die before she ever gets the chance. Good thing she believes in an afterlife or she'd be inconsolable).
Surprisingly I survived (although this experience has strengthened my resolve to dope Gavin up with Gravol before the plane), and the visit thus far has been quite nice. I even got to see my uncle Dwayne and his new fiancée (which is a big and exciting deal in my family) who travelled down from Calgary for the evening. Ev played with my young cousins till dusk, and the living room was loud and alive with the boisterous conversation of the adults. Tomorrow I go to the park with my sister and her best friend who has a daughter one day younger than Gavin, and it should be altogether pleasant once again.
I still don't feel like I'm moving, since mostly we have been visiting with friends and relatives. It's been good, and I hope it continues to be so.
Also I hope our little SUV that could makes it across this entire country! Here's hoping, and good luck husband!
Friday 26 August 2011
Day One... Kinda
Dear Jacqui,
So I remember when I was anticipating our move out here from E-town, I had complete anxiety about how I would I would feel when we finally had to leave. I worried that I would make a fool of myself saying "good bye" to friends (or acquaintances... did you know I was so sensitive?) or that I would cry so hard that I wouldn't be able to see the road. I even wondered if when it was actually time to leave if I would be able to go through with it.
And then... nothin'.
No tears, no grief, no excitement, no rush of memories... no nothing.
At the time, I wondered what kind of heartless animal this made me that I could drive away from our entire extended family, all of our closest friends and everything familiar without so much as a glance back.
Now looking back, I realize that it was pure exhaustion from the act of moving that swept the emotion right out of me. (Possibly much how you're feeling today?...) The loss came much later as the excitement wore off and the loneliness and unfamiliarity set in.
I'll be honest that this morning as we saw you off, I did brave one last glance back. And as I looked back and saw you & your precariously loaded trailer in front of your yellow house, I was filled with sorrow for our loss. Loss of friendship for Zed & Ev... loss of friendship for McG & MC... loss of friendship for us. One tiny cry escaped from my throat.
"Are we sad, Momma?" asks Zed sounding more concerned than a little boy should.
"Yes Zed... we're a little bit sad."
"We're sad that we won't see Bwad or Jacqui or Ev or McG?"
"Yes... we are sad that they are moving away and we won't see them anymore." I blink hard and cough.
"Yeah..." He sounds deflated. A moment passes and then he speaks up with a bit more pep, "But Momma... Jesus isn't sad."
"Ohhh... Jesus isn't sad?"
"Nope... Jesus isn't sad because he gets to go with them. Jesus can go with you when you move from Chillville to Noba Scotia." He does his "Zed laugh" and smiles bravely.
Water to my soul.
So Jacqui... while I have been secretly plotting our (unrealistic) move to Truroton, Zed reminded me of something. While our friendship and the love between our kidlings is completely irreplaceable, the void your move leaves us with is filled by the Maker of the Heavens.
And as I try to rid myself of selfishness and take my eyes off myself for a moment, I pray that you will sense God's presence with you from here to "Noba Scotia" and let him be your "all" in these next few months of uncertainty. He loves you.
Youwill be are missed.
Love, Jen
P.S. What's a little "stalking" between friends? You call it "stalking", I call it "growing our friendship"...
P.P.S. You are right about the "JC" thing... I am that holy.
P.P.P.S. Note to self - criteria for new last name...
1) Easy to pronounce
2) Does not rhyme with the first name of any of our family members
3) Two syllables long
4) Starts with the letter 'C'
So I remember when I was anticipating our move out here from E-town, I had complete anxiety about how I would I would feel when we finally had to leave. I worried that I would make a fool of myself saying "good bye" to friends (or acquaintances... did you know I was so sensitive?) or that I would cry so hard that I wouldn't be able to see the road. I even wondered if when it was actually time to leave if I would be able to go through with it.
And then... nothin'.
No tears, no grief, no excitement, no rush of memories... no nothing.
At the time, I wondered what kind of heartless animal this made me that I could drive away from our entire extended family, all of our closest friends and everything familiar without so much as a glance back.
Now looking back, I realize that it was pure exhaustion from the act of moving that swept the emotion right out of me. (Possibly much how you're feeling today?...) The loss came much later as the excitement wore off and the loneliness and unfamiliarity set in.
I'll be honest that this morning as we saw you off, I did brave one last glance back. And as I looked back and saw you & your precariously loaded trailer in front of your yellow house, I was filled with sorrow for our loss. Loss of friendship for Zed & Ev... loss of friendship for McG & MC... loss of friendship for us. One tiny cry escaped from my throat.
"Are we sad, Momma?" asks Zed sounding more concerned than a little boy should.
"Yes Zed... we're a little bit sad."
"We're sad that we won't see Bwad or Jacqui or Ev or McG?"
"Yes... we are sad that they are moving away and we won't see them anymore." I blink hard and cough.
"Yeah..." He sounds deflated. A moment passes and then he speaks up with a bit more pep, "But Momma... Jesus isn't sad."
"Ohhh... Jesus isn't sad?"
"Nope... Jesus isn't sad because he gets to go with them. Jesus can go with you when you move from Chillville to Noba Scotia." He does his "Zed laugh" and smiles bravely.
Water to my soul.
So Jacqui... while I have been secretly plotting our (unrealistic) move to Truroton, Zed reminded me of something. While our friendship and the love between our kidlings is completely irreplaceable, the void your move leaves us with is filled by the Maker of the Heavens.
And as I try to rid myself of selfishness and take my eyes off myself for a moment, I pray that you will sense God's presence with you from here to "Noba Scotia" and let him be your "all" in these next few months of uncertainty. He loves you.
You
Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.
~ Matt 11:28 ~
You have made known to me the path of life;
you will fill me with joy in your presence...
~ Psalm 16:11 ~
Love, Jen
P.S. What's a little "stalking" between friends? You call it "stalking", I call it "growing our friendship"...
P.P.S. You are right about the "JC" thing... I am that holy.
P.P.P.S. Note to self - criteria for new last name...
1) Easy to pronounce
2) Does not rhyme with the first name of any of our family members
3) Two syllables long
4) Starts with the letter 'C'
Zed & Ev - A Tale of Two Friends
Once upon a time, there were two friends named Zed and Ev.
They both lived in Chillville…They were both three years old…
They both lived in Chillville…
And they both had...
Baby Brothers!
Zed and Ev were best friends
and did a lot of fun things together.
They ate snacks together...
They played dress up together...
They splashed in puddles together...
They visited the zoo together…
They climbed hills together…
They watched parades together…
They played in the park together…
They did EVERYTHING together!
One day, Ev’s family had to move far away to Nova Scotia.
Zed’s family had to stay and live in Chillville.
This made Zed and Ev very sad.
“I will miss Ev!” cried Zed.
“How will me and Zed still be friends?” asked Ev.
***
“Don’t worry” said Ev’s Mommy.
“Don’t worry” said Ev’s Mommy.
“You can still talk on the phone
or see each other on the computer.”
“That’s right” said Zed’s Mommy.
“And you can send each other
pictures and notes in the mail.”
Zed and Ev thought for a while and
decided they would like to do that.
***
They gave each other a hug and laughed.
***
They gave each other a hug and laughed.
“I love you Zed!” said Ev.
“I love you Ev!” said Zed.
And even though they lived far away
from each other, they were still best friends.
Forever.
Gone Today
Dear Jen,
I found a benefit to a baby that wakes up before the reasonable hour of 6:00 every morning: leisure time on moving day! I have to wait for this computer to charge anyway--it's only at 20% right now, so I've got a while. Technically I don't have to be anywhere near the computer for it to accomplish this, but who understands technical jargon these days?
Alright so now that I am mov-ING, I feel I can reflect over the past month and say a few things I have learned about moving with two small children, one under the age of one. First thing is that it is different than moving with just one child just over the age of one.
Very different.
Bet you're shocked.
Here are the main differences: the baby chases you around all day long getting into dirt and generally undoing everything you do; the toddler doesn't take naps; I am more tired--especially from waking up before the reasonable hour of 6:00. It's one of the disadvantages of that lifestyle.
So in conclusion, packing and cleaning is much more challenging with my current life. But I picked up a few notes to make next time smoother:
1. Don't clean mirrors before moving day! Silly silly silly.
2. Don't clean windows either!
3. Don't really waste your time cleaning anything children touch. Just plan for the time at the end.
4. Don't send your husband off to construct the set of a play for people he'll never see again starting four weeks before your big move.
5. Don't remove toys designated for the thrift store from the top of the closet in front of your toddler--unless your plan is to spend the rest of your packing days retrieving them from their scattered locations around the house and stuffing them to the middle of bags of junk to avoid this fiasco twice in a row while said toddler has turned her back for a quick second.
6. Don't leave toilet paper on the floor. Well, that's really just advice for general with-baby living. So maybe the advice should be: don't forget that babies don't get less mischievous just because you're too busy to put the toilet paper not on the floor.
7. Don't sell all your tables and shelves if it can be avoided. Seriously, I'm sick of trying to find places for my toilet paper. Alright I don't actually display my toilet paper in my dining room. But you know what I mean.
7. Don't plan a goodbye party the night before you leave. Just kidding! Actually DO that, because it means your husband is left to complete all the final loose ends while you sit on cushioned benches eating chicken wings talking to the laydays until the servers stop serving you anything--including that third iced tea. You know? I mean you paid $3 for it. You tell them all about it, Jen.
Alright so I had a thought on my insomnia night t'udder dye (practicing maritime speak): what do you think about kid nicknames? All the cool bloggers are doing it! I thought of some too! Ev; Zed; McG; MC. Ok fine you can pick your own. Let me know, friend.
Ok [maybe] see you in Kamloops [stalker] friend JC (is that coincidental or are you just THAT holy?)
I found a benefit to a baby that wakes up before the reasonable hour of 6:00 every morning: leisure time on moving day! I have to wait for this computer to charge anyway--it's only at 20% right now, so I've got a while. Technically I don't have to be anywhere near the computer for it to accomplish this, but who understands technical jargon these days?
Alright so now that I am mov-ING, I feel I can reflect over the past month and say a few things I have learned about moving with two small children, one under the age of one. First thing is that it is different than moving with just one child just over the age of one.
Very different.
Bet you're shocked.
Here are the main differences: the baby chases you around all day long getting into dirt and generally undoing everything you do; the toddler doesn't take naps; I am more tired--especially from waking up before the reasonable hour of 6:00. It's one of the disadvantages of that lifestyle.
So in conclusion, packing and cleaning is much more challenging with my current life. But I picked up a few notes to make next time smoother:
1. Don't clean mirrors before moving day! Silly silly silly.
2. Don't clean windows either!
3. Don't really waste your time cleaning anything children touch. Just plan for the time at the end.
4. Don't send your husband off to construct the set of a play for people he'll never see again starting four weeks before your big move.
5. Don't remove toys designated for the thrift store from the top of the closet in front of your toddler--unless your plan is to spend the rest of your packing days retrieving them from their scattered locations around the house and stuffing them to the middle of bags of junk to avoid this fiasco twice in a row while said toddler has turned her back for a quick second.
6. Don't leave toilet paper on the floor. Well, that's really just advice for general with-baby living. So maybe the advice should be: don't forget that babies don't get less mischievous just because you're too busy to put the toilet paper not on the floor.
7. Don't sell all your tables and shelves if it can be avoided. Seriously, I'm sick of trying to find places for my toilet paper. Alright I don't actually display my toilet paper in my dining room. But you know what I mean.
7. Don't plan a goodbye party the night before you leave. Just kidding! Actually DO that, because it means your husband is left to complete all the final loose ends while you sit on cushioned benches eating chicken wings talking to the laydays until the servers stop serving you anything--including that third iced tea. You know? I mean you paid $3 for it. You tell them all about it, Jen.
Alright so I had a thought on my insomnia night t'udder dye (practicing maritime speak): what do you think about kid nicknames? All the cool bloggers are doing it! I thought of some too! Ev; Zed; McG; MC. Ok fine you can pick your own. Let me know, friend.
Ok [maybe] see you in Kamloops [stalker] friend JC (is that coincidental or are you just THAT holy?)
Wednesday 24 August 2011
Almost Gone
Dear Jen,
I'm sorry that I'm leaving. It's messing everything up. How will our children be best friends now? Especially the babies. It all feels very inconsiderate of me. And anyway how come I have the right to choose to pull my children away from their loves and their lives, and everything that's familiar to them? It's cruel, and so very very selfish. Hopefully Ev will forgive me...
Should I bribe her with candy maybe?
But really I'm sorry that I'm leaving--making choices for other people's lives. Today I feel exhausted by moving. I've done it so many times before, and I know the drill: work. HARD work and isolation and confusion and unfamiliarity, and political correctness till your cheeks are sore from pretend smiling, and putting yourself out there and inviting countless strangers into your home and scoping every person you ever see for potential for friendship, and paying the government outrageous fees to change a little address on all your identification, and unfamiliarity and confusion and isolation and HARD work.
Two more days till I go. I don't even know how to deal with the two days. I still think maybe I can escape going. I sense that my illogical subconscious is working hard trying to figure out how to stay and go both at the same time. But in the meantime I try to put my head to the grindstone getting all those last things done, while at the same time struggling to enjoy the last moments of familiarity and fun. It's a challenging balance, and I don't feel like I am exactly succeeding.
I feel very sorry, entirely crazy, distressed, and guilty.
I vacillate a lot though, so tomorrow I expect to be excited and eager. Vacillation is wearing. Moves are wearing. Children are wearing. Clothes are wearing.
Or rather, I am wearing clothes.
I'm sorry that I'm leaving. It's messing everything up. How will our children be best friends now? Especially the babies. It all feels very inconsiderate of me. And anyway how come I have the right to choose to pull my children away from their loves and their lives, and everything that's familiar to them? It's cruel, and so very very selfish. Hopefully Ev will forgive me...
Should I bribe her with candy maybe?
But really I'm sorry that I'm leaving--making choices for other people's lives. Today I feel exhausted by moving. I've done it so many times before, and I know the drill: work. HARD work and isolation and confusion and unfamiliarity, and political correctness till your cheeks are sore from pretend smiling, and putting yourself out there and inviting countless strangers into your home and scoping every person you ever see for potential for friendship, and paying the government outrageous fees to change a little address on all your identification, and unfamiliarity and confusion and isolation and HARD work.
Two more days till I go. I don't even know how to deal with the two days. I still think maybe I can escape going. I sense that my illogical subconscious is working hard trying to figure out how to stay and go both at the same time. But in the meantime I try to put my head to the grindstone getting all those last things done, while at the same time struggling to enjoy the last moments of familiarity and fun. It's a challenging balance, and I don't feel like I am exactly succeeding.
I feel very sorry, entirely crazy, distressed, and guilty.
I vacillate a lot though, so tomorrow I expect to be excited and eager. Vacillation is wearing. Moves are wearing. Children are wearing. Clothes are wearing.
Or rather, I am wearing clothes.
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