Forgive me if you've seen this one, but sometimes you need something a little bit ridiculous to end the week. In a fit of whimsy, I embed for your viewing pleasure, a trifecta of geeky awesome: Neil Gaiman, Adam Savage of Mythbusters, and Gollum. Plus a disco classic.
Giggle.
27 July 2012
25 July 2012
Things That Are True - Wednesday of few Words
Sick boy, home from daycare, who woke up long enough yesterday morning to wander out to the couch and fall asleep again. Thirty minutes after I took this picture, he threw up all over the couch cushions that cradle his head here.
So that's the kind of week I'm having. You?
07 June 2012
Things I'm Doing - BlogHer Food in Seattle
I got an email a couple of days ago from a concerned reader (okay, it was my aunt) about whether I might have fallen off the edge of the earth. No, not the edge of the earth.
I'm in Seattle!
Hey, no one's more surprised than me. It feels like it snuck up on me, even though this trip's been in the works for ages. My intrepid blogging pal, Karen, set us up to work with Chevrolet Canada again, and here we are, at BlogHer Food.
I talk more about food on twitter than I do here on my blog, although I've posted a few recipes now and then. I'm playing with the idea of creating a dairy-free recipe section here on Wave the Stick, or starting another blog just to keep track of all the non-dairy recipes I attempt, adapt, and concoct.
(Because I need another place to not post to regularly, clearly.)
Karen and I left Vancouver this morning, crossed the border without incident, and made our way to Seattle. We checked into our hotel room at the Fairmont Pacific, where I approvingly noted the presence of fluffy robes, and less happily glanced at the slightly judgmental scale in the bathroom.
At a food blogging conference? That's just cruel.
We parked our stuff and headed out for a walk around the neighbourhood. (It's what we do, Karen and I, when we end up in strange cities together.) I used to come to Seattle frequently, back in my childless husbandless feckless youth. (That would be the 90s, for anyone who's counting on their fingers at home.)
We made our way to Pike Place and the Market, because, duh. Wandered in to DeLaurenti for a sandwich, had a good look at all the things, and carried out a reconnaissance mission to Sur La Table. On our way back to the hotel, we stopped at the Chocolate Box, because, duh.
Then we wandered into Paper Hammer, where, by the power of Visa, I barely restrained myself from buying everything in the store all at once so lovely omg. I am a sucker for typography and am utterly powerless against the siren call of a blank hand-bound notebook with an exclamation mark on the cover.
Next up: a late dinner at Matt's in the Market. Will report back. After not stepping on the scale.
For play by play commentary on our misadventures, follow #cruze2seattle on twitter.
Full disclosure:
Chevrolet Canada loaned us a Cruze to drive to Seattle, and is reimbursing us for our BlogHer Food tickets, hotel, and fuel expenses. In exchange we've agreed to put their logo on our blogs, write blog posts, and tweet about our trip. I take full responsibility for any inanity/insanity that results from being away from my family for THREE WHOLE DAYS.
I'm in Seattle!
Hey, no one's more surprised than me. It feels like it snuck up on me, even though this trip's been in the works for ages. My intrepid blogging pal, Karen, set us up to work with Chevrolet Canada again, and here we are, at BlogHer Food.
I talk more about food on twitter than I do here on my blog, although I've posted a few recipes now and then. I'm playing with the idea of creating a dairy-free recipe section here on Wave the Stick, or starting another blog just to keep track of all the non-dairy recipes I attempt, adapt, and concoct.
(Because I need another place to not post to regularly, clearly.)
Karen and I left Vancouver this morning, crossed the border without incident, and made our way to Seattle. We checked into our hotel room at the Fairmont Pacific, where I approvingly noted the presence of fluffy robes, and less happily glanced at the slightly judgmental scale in the bathroom.
 |
| Fluffy robes = gooood. |
 |
| Stop judging me, scale-that-I'm-attributing-human-qualities-to. |
We parked our stuff and headed out for a walk around the neighbourhood. (It's what we do, Karen and I, when we end up in strange cities together.) I used to come to Seattle frequently, back in my childless husbandless feckless youth. (That would be the 90s, for anyone who's counting on their fingers at home.)
 |
| Ah, the 90s. Memories, I have them. My tattered Doc Martens, not so much. |
We made our way to Pike Place and the Market, because, duh. Wandered in to DeLaurenti for a sandwich, had a good look at all the things, and carried out a reconnaissance mission to Sur La Table. On our way back to the hotel, we stopped at the Chocolate Box, because, duh.
 |
| This seemed a little extreme. I settled for a non-violent salted almond in dark chocolate instead. |
Then we wandered into Paper Hammer, where, by the power of Visa, I barely restrained myself from buying everything in the store all at once so lovely omg. I am a sucker for typography and am utterly powerless against the siren call of a blank hand-bound notebook with an exclamation mark on the cover.
 |
| Exclamation mark! |
Next up: a late dinner at Matt's in the Market. Will report back. After not stepping on the scale.
For play by play commentary on our misadventures, follow #cruze2seattle on twitter.
Full disclosure:
Chevrolet Canada loaned us a Cruze to drive to Seattle, and is reimbursing us for our BlogHer Food tickets, hotel, and fuel expenses. In exchange we've agreed to put their logo on our blogs, write blog posts, and tweet about our trip. I take full responsibility for any inanity/insanity that results from being away from my family for THREE WHOLE DAYS.
06 June 2012
Wordless Wednesday - Star Spangled Handle Edition
And this is how you know you live with a newly-minted four year old who was given glow in the dark stick-on stars for his birthday. They are all over the house.
12 May 2012
Things That Are True - List the Fourth
Ten Things I'd Really Rather Not Say Again Ever But Which Will Probably Escape From My Lips Within Ten Minutes of Writing Them Here:
You may conclude from the above that breakfast was a little more challenging than usual this morning.
- Please use your fork, not your fingers.
- Stop picking your nose.
- Too loud!
- Please don't touch things that don't belong to you.
- Please don't hit [insert random noun here].
- What happens when you don't listen?
- Please don't wave things right in my face.
- No, you may not have my [insert random food noun here].
- No finger guns at the table.
- Chew your food and swallow it, then speak.
You may conclude from the above that breakfast was a little more challenging than usual this morning.
04 May 2012
Things That Are True - List the Third
Ten Photos I Took That I Love So Much I Call Them My Art and I Don't Care if Snooty Art Experts Don't Consider Them Good Enough So There*:
A photo of a photo - a shot of the Woodwards building reflected in Stan Douglas' vast window photograph of his recreation of the 1971 Gastown Riot. Article about his piece here.
Wormhole! Sitting in the front seat of one of the trains on the Canada Line, looking down the tunnel ahead of us. I love the ghostly reflection of the person sitting on the other side of the train.
Sunlight hits one of the statues of Yue Min Jun's A-Maze-Ing Laughter public art installation in my neighbourhood.
The light in Chicago was amazing that day.
The Imp fell fast asleep in a busy cafe. I couldn't resist.
In Paris, even the graffiti is romantic.
If I ever release an album, this will be the cover image.
A bit of whimsy in my own neighbourhood.
So what do you think? Should I open an etsy shop? Sell prints?
[Edited to add: I took all of these with my iPhone, using the Hipstamatic app.]
*File under: If I Created it and I Say It's Art, It's Art. Neener neener.
 |
Wormhole! Sitting in the front seat of one of the trains on the Canada Line, looking down the tunnel ahead of us. I love the ghostly reflection of the person sitting on the other side of the train.
Sunlight hits one of the statues of Yue Min Jun's A-Maze-Ing Laughter public art installation in my neighbourhood.
The light in Chicago was amazing that day.
The Imp fell fast asleep in a busy cafe. I couldn't resist.
In Paris, even the graffiti is romantic.
If I ever release an album, this will be the cover image.
A bit of whimsy in my own neighbourhood.
So what do you think? Should I open an etsy shop? Sell prints?
[Edited to add: I took all of these with my iPhone, using the Hipstamatic app.]
*File under: If I Created it and I Say It's Art, It's Art. Neener neener.
13 April 2012
Things That Are True - List the Second
Already Friday again, and here I sit, at my computer after 10pm, as usual. Thus, my second of 100 lists:
Ten Songs I Love and Know How to Play on the Guitar Even Though I'm Supposed to Be a Music Snob and Sneer at Some of Them
Wanna come over and jam?
Ten Songs I Love and Know How to Play on the Guitar Even Though I'm Supposed to Be a Music Snob and Sneer at Some of Them
- Closer to Fine - Indigo Girls
- Hotel California - The Eagles
- Never Set the Cat on Fire - Frank Hayes
- Icy Blue Heart - John Hiatt
- Famous Blue Raincoat - Leonard Cohen
- If I Needed You - Townes Van Zant
- King of the Road - Roger Miller
- 38 Years Old - Tragically Hip
- Romeo And Juliet - Dire Straits
- I Don't Like Mondays - Boomtown Rats
Wanna come over and jam?
06 April 2012
Things That Are True - List the First
I don't know the first thing about building a readership for this space.
Well, that's not entirely true. I do know a few things. I know I'm supposed to write keyword-rich post titles, I'm supposed to know what my niche is, I'm supposed to post new things here on a regular schedule, I'm supposed to reply to every comment, I'm supposed to strategically hit publish at the right time of day on the right day of the week, and pimp out my posts no more than three times a day on each of my social networks. I know what I'm supposed to do. And yet, I blunder along, not posting for weeks at a time, not writing post titles that are in any way google-friendly, and not having any idea what my "niche" is. I don't have one. Sometimes I write about food, sometimes about the absurdities of parenting, sometimes about social issues. Mostly I just write.
Actually, mostly I just avoid writing, but I'm working on that.
Hell, I'm still surprised and grateful that there are people who bear no familial relation to me that come to visit these pages from time to time.
I know that writing a new post and hitting publish at ten o'clock on a Friday night is completely useless.
Yet here I am. More often than not, here I am. Since I seem to love the quiet wasteland of the Friday night post, instead of berating myself about my ridiculous writing habits, I'm going to celebrate them. Celeberate! Hey everyone, it's a CELEBERATION! A hybrid of congratulatory self-loathing!
(Cue Kool and the Gang, y'all. There's a party going on, right here.)
For the last few weeks, I've been making lists on index cards (I know. Pens! Paper! How delightfully Neo-Victorian of me!) as a sort of personal project, an exploration of subject matters and aspirations and other things that make no sense to anyone but me. So from now on, I'm going to type out those lists on Friday nights, and publish them after ten pm. To embrace (and also mock, a little) my own eccentricities.
I love arbitrary rules that I set in place for myself - an idea I totally stole, by the way, from Schmutzie. (I mean, she talked about it publicly in a session at Blissdom Canada last year, so it was an idea ripe for annexing is my defense, your honour.)
The arbitrary rules I just made up are simple:
1) 100 lists
2) 10 items each list
3) 1 list published every Friday, after everyone's shut down their computer for the day and will never see it
And here's my first list:
I've Done a Lot of Stuff in My Life But Here Are Ten Things I Want to Do But Never Have*:
Feel free to join me, if arbitrary rules are your thing too.
*See? That title is not google-friendly. Not even a little bit.
Well, that's not entirely true. I do know a few things. I know I'm supposed to write keyword-rich post titles, I'm supposed to know what my niche is, I'm supposed to post new things here on a regular schedule, I'm supposed to reply to every comment, I'm supposed to strategically hit publish at the right time of day on the right day of the week, and pimp out my posts no more than three times a day on each of my social networks. I know what I'm supposed to do. And yet, I blunder along, not posting for weeks at a time, not writing post titles that are in any way google-friendly, and not having any idea what my "niche" is. I don't have one. Sometimes I write about food, sometimes about the absurdities of parenting, sometimes about social issues. Mostly I just write.
Actually, mostly I just avoid writing, but I'm working on that.
Hell, I'm still surprised and grateful that there are people who bear no familial relation to me that come to visit these pages from time to time.
I know that writing a new post and hitting publish at ten o'clock on a Friday night is completely useless.
Yet here I am. More often than not, here I am. Since I seem to love the quiet wasteland of the Friday night post, instead of berating myself about my ridiculous writing habits, I'm going to celebrate them. Celeberate! Hey everyone, it's a CELEBERATION! A hybrid of congratulatory self-loathing!
(Cue Kool and the Gang, y'all. There's a party going on, right here.)
For the last few weeks, I've been making lists on index cards (I know. Pens! Paper! How delightfully Neo-Victorian of me!) as a sort of personal project, an exploration of subject matters and aspirations and other things that make no sense to anyone but me. So from now on, I'm going to type out those lists on Friday nights, and publish them after ten pm. To embrace (and also mock, a little) my own eccentricities.
I love arbitrary rules that I set in place for myself - an idea I totally stole, by the way, from Schmutzie. (I mean, she talked about it publicly in a session at Blissdom Canada last year, so it was an idea ripe for annexing is my defense, your honour.)
The arbitrary rules I just made up are simple:
1) 100 lists
2) 10 items each list
3) 1 list published every Friday, after everyone's shut down their computer for the day and will never see it
And here's my first list:
I've Done a Lot of Stuff in My Life But Here Are Ten Things I Want to Do But Never Have*:
- spontaneously join a street musician/busker and sing harmonies for no reason at all
- successfully knit somethinganything
- have read all the books I own
- take an introductory photography class
- take fencing lessons
- post every day for a year at Vancouver Daily Photo
- get past week 3 of The Artist's Way
- make ravioli from scratch
- live in Paris for a year (and yes, even I gag at the cliche of it, but there it is)
- climb the Grouse Grind in under an hour
Feel free to join me, if arbitrary rules are your thing too.
*See? That title is not google-friendly. Not even a little bit.
27 March 2012
Things That Are True - Just Write
The Imp comes to me, all fresh from the shower and little boy clean, looking for a hug. I gather him into my arms and lift him onto my lap. He's so gangly now, all legs and elbows and accidentally banging his head into my chin when he comes in for a hug.
I marvel at this child who just keeps growing, which is a ridiculous thing to say, because of course he keeps growing. That's what children do. I know that, intellectually, but I still struggle to understand on a cellular level that this being who once tucked in under one arm to breastfeed now spills out off my lap and onto the floor when he leans into me. Other developments, like language and socialization and his quirky sense of humour have nowhere near as much impact on me as the sheer undeniable size of this boy.
As he walks away from me, the hallway light shines on six inches of bare leg and ankle where once a bath towel dragged on the floor.
This post was written as part of Just Write from Heather of the Extraordinary Ordinary.
I marvel at this child who just keeps growing, which is a ridiculous thing to say, because of course he keeps growing. That's what children do. I know that, intellectually, but I still struggle to understand on a cellular level that this being who once tucked in under one arm to breastfeed now spills out off my lap and onto the floor when he leans into me. Other developments, like language and socialization and his quirky sense of humour have nowhere near as much impact on me as the sheer undeniable size of this boy.
As he walks away from me, the hallway light shines on six inches of bare leg and ankle where once a bath towel dragged on the floor.
This post was written as part of Just Write from Heather of the Extraordinary Ordinary.
26 March 2012
Things I'm Doing - VMNO
Every now and then, I just need to get out of the house. I just need to break up my routine and get out for an evening with some girlfriends, and that is exactly what I'll be doing on Thursday night. About three years ago, a bunch of social media women/moms/entrepreneurs decided, on twitter, to get together for drinks, with no purpose other than a night out. They called it Vancouver Mum's Night Out, and the hashtag #vmno was born. I didn't really know anyone, but had been stalking following people on twitter that I wanted to meet in real life, so I invited myself to the party.
It was a much needed child-free evening among my peers.
Since then every time I've gotten restless and needed a night out, I've gotten together with my friend Tracey and we've planned another VMNO.
Well, we've been restless, Tracey and I. And we found a great venue for a get together, so VMNO, March 2012 edition, is happening on Thursday evening, at 7:00pm at the Lunapads office.
It's a great evening - the anti-networking event. No scheduled speaker, no polite chitchat, no agenda. No swag, no one trying to sell anything, no need to bring business cards. Just a chance for people who don't get to see each other in person very often to mingle in real time. Yummy foodie bits, a little music, and some lovely wine provided by our exclusive wine sponsor, South of France Wines. (We'll also have non-alcoholic slushie drinks for the non-drinkers and designated drivers in the crowd.)
I've been looking forward to this all month.
If you're interested in joining us, more information can be found here.
Now, to decide what shoes to wear...
It was a much needed child-free evening among my peers.
Since then every time I've gotten restless and needed a night out, I've gotten together with my friend Tracey and we've planned another VMNO.
Well, we've been restless, Tracey and I. And we found a great venue for a get together, so VMNO, March 2012 edition, is happening on Thursday evening, at 7:00pm at the Lunapads office.
It's a great evening - the anti-networking event. No scheduled speaker, no polite chitchat, no agenda. No swag, no one trying to sell anything, no need to bring business cards. Just a chance for people who don't get to see each other in person very often to mingle in real time. Yummy foodie bits, a little music, and some lovely wine provided by our exclusive wine sponsor, South of France Wines. (We'll also have non-alcoholic slushie drinks for the non-drinkers and designated drivers in the crowd.)
I've been looking forward to this all month.
If you're interested in joining us, more information can be found here.
Now, to decide what shoes to wear...
24 March 2012
Things That Are True - Newton's Laws
 |
| "I'm hiding, Mommy. You don't see me." |
"A body in motion at a constant velocity will remain in motion in a straight line unless acted upon by an outside force."
"If a body experiences an acceleration ( or deceleration) or a change in direction of motion, it must have an outside force acting on it. Outside forces are sometimes called net forces or unbalanced forces."
"The Second Law of Motion states that if an unbalanced force acts on a body, that body will experience acceleration ( or deceleration)."
All that business about Newton's laws was scanged from this NASA page, because yay science!
23 March 2012
Things That Are True - Random Despatches from a Friday Afternoon in March
Sweeps up. Takes out the trash. Vacuums up the spiderwebs.
Oh hi. It was getting a little dusty in here, thought I'd do some tidying up. I didn't expect you, please, come on in.
Pulls the dust cover off a comfy chair.
Here, make yourself comfortable. Now, what have I got that I can offer you to drink?
-----
Yeah, it's been a while. I don't know what happened. One day I was writing, then for many days I wasn't. No reason. There I sat, not writing. And the blog sat too, waiting patiently. I interpreted its longing looks as accusations, and kept my distance.
I know it makes no sense.
-----
I went for a walk today. A longish walk; about 5 kilometres. I walked in the sun and the wind, over concrete and asphalt and water, noticing things I wouldn't have seen had I been cycling, or on the bus, thinking only of my destination and how fast I could get there. I looked up, and around, and I saw an eagle making lazy circles over the Granville St bridge. I saw indisputable signs of spring: buds on branches, cherry trees in bloom, unapologetic tiny daffodils spreading cheer in small sidewalk gardens, and the promise of tulips.
I stretched out my senses, so long turned inward away from Vancouver's soul-destroying never-ending winter rain, and I felt grateful for many things.
This has been a gradual awakening, I'm realizing now, over the last several days. Last weekend I picked up the guitar I haven't played in months. This week I dug my camera out of hiding and put it in my everyday bag. I straightened out the mess on my desk. And finally, today, I put fingers to keyboard for more than 140 characters at a time.
I don't know why. Maybe it was the delicious light streaming in through my window this morning.
-----
Eyes the pile of clutter in the corner.
There's still work to be done here, but this feels like a good start.
Oh hi. It was getting a little dusty in here, thought I'd do some tidying up. I didn't expect you, please, come on in.
Pulls the dust cover off a comfy chair.
Here, make yourself comfortable. Now, what have I got that I can offer you to drink?
-----
Yeah, it's been a while. I don't know what happened. One day I was writing, then for many days I wasn't. No reason. There I sat, not writing. And the blog sat too, waiting patiently. I interpreted its longing looks as accusations, and kept my distance.
I know it makes no sense.
-----
I went for a walk today. A longish walk; about 5 kilometres. I walked in the sun and the wind, over concrete and asphalt and water, noticing things I wouldn't have seen had I been cycling, or on the bus, thinking only of my destination and how fast I could get there. I looked up, and around, and I saw an eagle making lazy circles over the Granville St bridge. I saw indisputable signs of spring: buds on branches, cherry trees in bloom, unapologetic tiny daffodils spreading cheer in small sidewalk gardens, and the promise of tulips.
I stretched out my senses, so long turned inward away from Vancouver's soul-destroying never-ending winter rain, and I felt grateful for many things.
This has been a gradual awakening, I'm realizing now, over the last several days. Last weekend I picked up the guitar I haven't played in months. This week I dug my camera out of hiding and put it in my everyday bag. I straightened out the mess on my desk. And finally, today, I put fingers to keyboard for more than 140 characters at a time.
I don't know why. Maybe it was the delicious light streaming in through my window this morning.
-----
Eyes the pile of clutter in the corner.
There's still work to be done here, but this feels like a good start.
24 January 2012
Things That Are True - We Went All the Way to Paris and All I Have Are These Awesome Memories
Happy New Year, everyone!
I'm choosing to ignore the fact that the new year arrived three weeks ago. I was out of town, I wasn't blogging, I missed all the resolutions stuff. I am, instead, basing my greetings on the Chinese New Year, which was yesterday. So I'm totally timely with my wishes, and may the Year of the Dragon bring you adventures and peace in whatever combination your heart desires.
Paris.
Where to start? We had the best trip ever. The Imp walked around the streets of Paris, sing-songing "Bonjour!" and "Bonne année" to random strangers and charming literally everyone who crossed his path. Old ladies rubbed his head, young men smiled at him carrying his "futbol" around, waiters brought us extra treats just for him. The Imp took it all in stride.
It's hard to condense a three week holiday into a single post, and I am not even going to try. I took 880 photos in Paris alone. Yes, eight hundred and eighty.
We had a great time, and The Imp wasn't the only one who cried when it was time to leave.
(Hey, what do you know? I just condensed three weeks into a single sentence.)
Happy New Year, everyone.
I'm choosing to ignore the fact that the new year arrived three weeks ago. I was out of town, I wasn't blogging, I missed all the resolutions stuff. I am, instead, basing my greetings on the Chinese New Year, which was yesterday. So I'm totally timely with my wishes, and may the Year of the Dragon bring you adventures and peace in whatever combination your heart desires.
Paris.
Where to start? We had the best trip ever. The Imp walked around the streets of Paris, sing-songing "Bonjour!" and "Bonne année" to random strangers and charming literally everyone who crossed his path. Old ladies rubbed his head, young men smiled at him carrying his "futbol" around, waiters brought us extra treats just for him. The Imp took it all in stride.
It's hard to condense a three week holiday into a single post, and I am not even going to try. I took 880 photos in Paris alone. Yes, eight hundred and eighty.
We had a great time, and The Imp wasn't the only one who cried when it was time to leave.
(Hey, what do you know? I just condensed three weeks into a single sentence.)
Happy New Year, everyone.
25 December 2011
Things That Are Random - Over the Pole Edition
The North Pole, y'all. The North Pole on Christmas Day - it's like I'm Reverse Santa, taking all the presents back! I'm in a plane! Going to Europe! And apparently I'm very excited about it!
I'm in a plane with wi-fi. The science-fiction loving thirteen year old me is a bit agog at the moment. (I highly recommend this living-in-the-future stuff.)
After what felt like six months but was really about three weeks of laying about on the couch helpless against the assault of viral bronchitis (thank you dude coughing in the seat behind me on the flight home from Honolulu) I am again on a long flight, this time Paris bound. We booked it ages ago, and managed to get business class seats...
INTERRUPTING TO SAY: where apparently flight attendants assume you're a doctor. Sit in the front row of the plane, and your odds of being mistaken for a person of class and education increase. Who knew?
The head steward just asked me quite seriously if I was a doctor. The look on his face indicated that he fully expected me to say yes. (I shouldn't make light, they've just announced that there's a medical situation with one of the passengers and have asked for any doctors or paramedics to help out. Oh no. Hope it's not too serious.)*
As I was saying, we're in business class seats. I am pleased to report that the first row on the plane is all kinds of excellent. And because it's always cute when you put a little kid in grown-up surroundings:
Then Curious George's antics almost got us kicked out of our fancy seats:
I have to say, bedtime shenanigans on a plane are surely one of the nine circles of hell. As the parent, you are powerless. You're surrounded by people – people of class and education. There's no way to just close the door and let a tantrum take its course. What good is a time out when a kid is already stuck in a seat for nine hours? Children sense this, the little vultures. You are reduced to wheedling and vague and mostly empty threats. I am grateful for seat belts, and the "you must fasten your seat belt at all times" rule. (I may have a lap belt installed in his bed at home, now that I think about it.) It took an hour and a half to get The Imp settled down to sleep, during which I might be alleged to have had thoughts of minor violence.
As I got the stank-eye from the dude across the aisle from me (who, by the way, has been coughing non-stop for the last hour because I have the worst flight-seat-placement karma ever) I happened to glance across The Imp's seat (don't make eye contact, don't make eye contact) out to starboard, and there, perfectly framed in the oval window, was the heart-stopping beauty of Orion in an above-the-clouds perfect night sky.
Orion has always been something of a talisman for me.
I took a deep breath and fixed my gaze on that line of three bright stars until The Imp grew bored of being a hooligan and put himself to sleep.
Sometimes I really do thank my lucky stars.
*It occurred to me even as I wrote that sentence that "not too serious" is a crock of shit. What people mean when they say that is, "I hope I don't have to see a dead guy being wheeled off the plane." What does "not too serious" mean, anyway? If someone just had a minor stroke, it's not too serious to me, but it's serious as, well, as a heart attack to the poor bastard whose brain just clogged up.
I'm in a plane with wi-fi. The science-fiction loving thirteen year old me is a bit agog at the moment. (I highly recommend this living-in-the-future stuff.)
After what felt like six months but was really about three weeks of laying about on the couch helpless against the assault of viral bronchitis (thank you dude coughing in the seat behind me on the flight home from Honolulu) I am again on a long flight, this time Paris bound. We booked it ages ago, and managed to get business class seats...
INTERRUPTING TO SAY: where apparently flight attendants assume you're a doctor. Sit in the front row of the plane, and your odds of being mistaken for a person of class and education increase. Who knew?
The head steward just asked me quite seriously if I was a doctor. The look on his face indicated that he fully expected me to say yes. (I shouldn't make light, they've just announced that there's a medical situation with one of the passengers and have asked for any doctors or paramedics to help out. Oh no. Hope it's not too serious.)*
As I was saying, we're in business class seats. I am pleased to report that the first row on the plane is all kinds of excellent. And because it's always cute when you put a little kid in grown-up surroundings:
 |
| "Can I offer you a little pre-flight cocktail? Orange juice? Very good, sir, here you are. And what will the monkey be having?" |
Then Curious George's antics almost got us kicked out of our fancy seats:
 |
| Bad little monkey! |
I have to say, bedtime shenanigans on a plane are surely one of the nine circles of hell. As the parent, you are powerless. You're surrounded by people – people of class and education. There's no way to just close the door and let a tantrum take its course. What good is a time out when a kid is already stuck in a seat for nine hours? Children sense this, the little vultures. You are reduced to wheedling and vague and mostly empty threats. I am grateful for seat belts, and the "you must fasten your seat belt at all times" rule. (I may have a lap belt installed in his bed at home, now that I think about it.) It took an hour and a half to get The Imp settled down to sleep, during which I might be alleged to have had thoughts of minor violence.
As I got the stank-eye from the dude across the aisle from me (who, by the way, has been coughing non-stop for the last hour because I have the worst flight-seat-placement karma ever) I happened to glance across The Imp's seat (don't make eye contact, don't make eye contact) out to starboard, and there, perfectly framed in the oval window, was the heart-stopping beauty of Orion in an above-the-clouds perfect night sky.
Orion has always been something of a talisman for me.
I took a deep breath and fixed my gaze on that line of three bright stars until The Imp grew bored of being a hooligan and put himself to sleep.
Sometimes I really do thank my lucky stars.
*It occurred to me even as I wrote that sentence that "not too serious" is a crock of shit. What people mean when they say that is, "I hope I don't have to see a dead guy being wheeled off the plane." What does "not too serious" mean, anyway? If someone just had a minor stroke, it's not too serious to me, but it's serious as, well, as a heart attack to the poor bastard whose brain just clogged up.
30 November 2011
Things That Are True - I am Unique. Also Awesome.
"What makes you unique?" asks Nadine of todaysparent.com.
"I am AWESOME!" I want to roar back into the internet. "I am excellent; I know how to use a semi-colon! I know things. I have thoughts. I am articulate about them!"
Unfortunately, every time I sit down to write a post about my strong voice, my principles, and my dorky love of grammar, I come up empty. It's very much like a job interview I once had.
"What are your best qualities for this position?" asked the interviewer.
"I'm detail-oriented, deadline-driven, and have strong communication skills," I replied confidently. Then he asked me how my communication skills were strong, and I completely blew it. Couldn't think of a single example. I stammered, and blushed, and felt like I might wet my pants. It was awful.
I've always been great when I'm just thrown into a situation – figure it out on the fly and get it done. Ask me to trumpet my own qualifications? I turn into an idiot. Who almost wets her pants.
I don't know why this is. I'm not exactly modest:
I'm quick-witted, and funny, and well-read, and I've been all over the world. I can hold my own in any room. I can dance in heels until two in the morning. I speak English, French, and Spanish. Despite having grown up in a tiny town in the Yukon, I'm living in the heart of Vancouver, and I do okay. I know how to play guitar, and will play and sing badly but enthusiastically for anyone who will listen. I was once the chick singer in an R&B/Funk band, and I played the tambourine like nobody's business. I worked for twelve years in Vancouver's film and television industry, and was really good at it. I am an eighteen years sober recovering alcoholic. I've come out the happy side of an abusive relationship. Despite not really knowing how to use my camera, I take pretty good photographs. I am an expert in packing light.
I am a fiercely loyal friend. I eat my own body weight in chocolate on a daily basis, but if I had to choose between chocolate and cheese for the rest of my life, I would choose cheese. I'm not capable of not welling up if I see someone crying. I no longer own a car; I cycle everywhere. I'm a real brunette. I'm a damned fine cook. I turned forty without losing my mind. I hate it that I can always see the other guy's side of the argument. I own my own business designing little boys' clothes. I know all the words to the "Big Bang Theory" theme song. I have a crush on Peter Mansbridge. I will never tell you something looks good on you if it doesn't just because it's on sale. I live in a 900 square foot apartment in the heart of downtown Vancouver and never want to own a house or have a yard.
I suck at parenting sometimes, but I mostly get it right. I suck at being married sometimes, but mostly get that right, too. I write about the times that I get it wrong, and I write about the times that I get it right.
And here are three of the times I've written about things that matter to me:
My thoughts on Remembrance Day at Vancouver Mom
Stargazing
International Women's Day
This post was written as a job application, of sorts. I'm hoping to be considered for a blogging gig at todaysparent.com. I sure hope they don't ask me about my communication skills.
"I am AWESOME!" I want to roar back into the internet. "I am excellent; I know how to use a semi-colon! I know things. I have thoughts. I am articulate about them!"
Unfortunately, every time I sit down to write a post about my strong voice, my principles, and my dorky love of grammar, I come up empty. It's very much like a job interview I once had.
"What are your best qualities for this position?" asked the interviewer.
"I'm detail-oriented, deadline-driven, and have strong communication skills," I replied confidently. Then he asked me how my communication skills were strong, and I completely blew it. Couldn't think of a single example. I stammered, and blushed, and felt like I might wet my pants. It was awful.
I've always been great when I'm just thrown into a situation – figure it out on the fly and get it done. Ask me to trumpet my own qualifications? I turn into an idiot. Who almost wets her pants.
I don't know why this is. I'm not exactly modest:
 |
| My own business cards decry my awesomeness |
I'm quick-witted, and funny, and well-read, and I've been all over the world. I can hold my own in any room. I can dance in heels until two in the morning. I speak English, French, and Spanish. Despite having grown up in a tiny town in the Yukon, I'm living in the heart of Vancouver, and I do okay. I know how to play guitar, and will play and sing badly but enthusiastically for anyone who will listen. I was once the chick singer in an R&B/Funk band, and I played the tambourine like nobody's business. I worked for twelve years in Vancouver's film and television industry, and was really good at it. I am an eighteen years sober recovering alcoholic. I've come out the happy side of an abusive relationship. Despite not really knowing how to use my camera, I take pretty good photographs. I am an expert in packing light.
I am a fiercely loyal friend. I eat my own body weight in chocolate on a daily basis, but if I had to choose between chocolate and cheese for the rest of my life, I would choose cheese. I'm not capable of not welling up if I see someone crying. I no longer own a car; I cycle everywhere. I'm a real brunette. I'm a damned fine cook. I turned forty without losing my mind. I hate it that I can always see the other guy's side of the argument. I own my own business designing little boys' clothes. I know all the words to the "Big Bang Theory" theme song. I have a crush on Peter Mansbridge. I will never tell you something looks good on you if it doesn't just because it's on sale. I live in a 900 square foot apartment in the heart of downtown Vancouver and never want to own a house or have a yard.
I suck at parenting sometimes, but I mostly get it right. I suck at being married sometimes, but mostly get that right, too. I write about the times that I get it wrong, and I write about the times that I get it right.
 |
| One of the times we all got it right |
And here are three of the times I've written about things that matter to me:
My thoughts on Remembrance Day at Vancouver Mom
Stargazing
International Women's Day
This post was written as a job application, of sorts. I'm hoping to be considered for a blogging gig at todaysparent.com. I sure hope they don't ask me about my communication skills.
29 November 2011
Things That Are True - 100 Things That I Am
Earlier today, the lovely Schmutzie said on twitter:
I replied, "Challenge accepted!"
She posted her 100 adjectives here, and mine are below.
I am, among other things:
1) gregarious
2) intelligent
3) compassionate
4) distracted
5) funny
6) organized
7) fair
8) inconsistent
9) open-minded
10) talented
11) perceptive
12) truthful
13) lazy
14) determined
15) fierce
16) grateful
17) scarred
18) discerning
19) curious
20) profane
21) insecure
22) respectful
23) musical
24) imaginative
25) privileged
26) active
27) strong
28) messy
29) analytical
30) trustworthy
31) persuasive
32) demanding
33) supportive
34) idealistic
35) bilingual
36) judgmental
37) frugal
38) crafty
39) realistic
40) fearful
41) tearful
42) faithful
43) generous
44) critical
45) stylish
46) buxom
47) principled
48) dissatisfied
49) sober
50) tardy
51) thoughtful
52) envious
53) discreet
54) considerate
55) hopeful
56) impatient
57) uneducated
58) spontaneous
59) healthy
60) conformist
61) irritable
62) literate
63) earnest
64) nitpicky
65) interested
66) charming
67) cynical
68) mulish
69) well-traveled
70) facetious
71) anxious
72) gloomy
73) enthusiastic
74) empathetic
75) loving
76) contrary
77) engaging
78) hesitant
79) capable
80) restless
81) brainy
82) dismissive
83) accepting
84) aloof
85) feminist
86) fidgety
87) witty
88) creative
89) derivative
90) unapologetic
91) mindful
92) stinky
93) sensitive
94) graceful
95) polite
96) confused
97) contrived
98) loyal
99) energetic
100) complex
A few things came to mind as I quickly wrote out this list:
1) I found it really hard to stick with adjectives. I kept wanting to use [adjective noun] like "great cook" or "good singer".
2) I tried to stay away from physical descriptions, like brunette, short, tall, etc. I wanted to delve into who I am, not what I look like right now. That was more difficult than I expected. (I couldn't resist "buxom" because a) it's true, and b) it seems like such a friendly word. You never hear about buxom but cranky heroines or barmaids.)
3) It was easier to come up with negative words than positive ones, and some of the words I chose could be negative or positive, depending on the context and the reader's connotative associations. I leave it to you to figure out which 33 are the negative words.
4) The positive adjectives are how I believe or want other people see me, and how I see myself on my best days. The negative adjectives, I think, are how I see myself most of the time.
5) Many of these words are directly opposed to each other; that doesn't make any of them untrue. I am at times idealistic and at other times cynical. I am at times aloof, at other times sensitive. I am both lazy and enthusiastic, I am both literate and, formally speaking, uneducated. I believe this is true for every human being I've ever met - we are complex and often contradictory creatures.
So that's my list. Anything you think I left out? What's on your list?
I replied, "Challenge accepted!"
She posted her 100 adjectives here, and mine are below.
I am, among other things:
1) gregarious
2) intelligent
3) compassionate
4) distracted
5) funny
6) organized
7) fair
8) inconsistent
9) open-minded
10) talented
11) perceptive
12) truthful
13) lazy
14) determined
15) fierce
16) grateful
17) scarred
18) discerning
19) curious
20) profane
21) insecure
22) respectful
23) musical
24) imaginative
25) privileged
26) active
27) strong
28) messy
29) analytical
30) trustworthy
31) persuasive
32) demanding
33) supportive
34) idealistic
35) bilingual
36) judgmental
37) frugal
38) crafty
39) realistic
40) fearful
41) tearful
42) faithful
43) generous
44) critical
45) stylish
46) buxom
47) principled
48) dissatisfied
49) sober
50) tardy
51) thoughtful
52) envious
53) discreet
54) considerate
55) hopeful
56) impatient
57) uneducated
58) spontaneous
59) healthy
60) conformist
61) irritable
62) literate
63) earnest
64) nitpicky
65) interested
66) charming
67) cynical
68) mulish
69) well-traveled
70) facetious
71) anxious
72) gloomy
73) enthusiastic
74) empathetic
75) loving
76) contrary
77) engaging
78) hesitant
79) capable
80) restless
81) brainy
82) dismissive
83) accepting
84) aloof
85) feminist
86) fidgety
87) witty
88) creative
89) derivative
90) unapologetic
91) mindful
92) stinky
93) sensitive
94) graceful
95) polite
96) confused
97) contrived
98) loyal
99) energetic
100) complex
A few things came to mind as I quickly wrote out this list:
1) I found it really hard to stick with adjectives. I kept wanting to use [adjective noun] like "great cook" or "good singer".
2) I tried to stay away from physical descriptions, like brunette, short, tall, etc. I wanted to delve into who I am, not what I look like right now. That was more difficult than I expected. (I couldn't resist "buxom" because a) it's true, and b) it seems like such a friendly word. You never hear about buxom but cranky heroines or barmaids.)
3) It was easier to come up with negative words than positive ones, and some of the words I chose could be negative or positive, depending on the context and the reader's connotative associations. I leave it to you to figure out which 33 are the negative words.
4) The positive adjectives are how I believe or want other people see me, and how I see myself on my best days. The negative adjectives, I think, are how I see myself most of the time.
5) Many of these words are directly opposed to each other; that doesn't make any of them untrue. I am at times idealistic and at other times cynical. I am at times aloof, at other times sensitive. I am both lazy and enthusiastic, I am both literate and, formally speaking, uneducated. I believe this is true for every human being I've ever met - we are complex and often contradictory creatures.
So that's my list. Anything you think I left out? What's on your list?
28 November 2011
Things That Are Random - Monday in Hawaii Edition
So, one of the search terms that led someone to my blog today was "duvet toddler urine clean".*
Then, we came across this on a wander around the neighbourhood after dinner:
You guys, it's like they knew we were coming.
*For which I rank a surprising third when I do the search on google.
Then, we came across this on a wander around the neighbourhood after dinner:
You guys, it's like they knew we were coming.
*For which I rank a surprising third when I do the search on google.
27 November 2011
Things That Are True - Observations from a Small Island in the Pacific
A few observations from my last 48 hours or so:
You wouldn't think a two hour time change could wreak so much havoc on a family routine - but does it ever. We were woken our first morning in Hawaii by The Imp actually running tight circles in our hotel room, chanting, "I'm not sleepy. I'm not sleepy. I'm not sleepy." Over and over. It was 4:30.
----------
We immersed ourselves in Americana this morning and had a highly salted and oversweetened breakfast at Denny's. The thirteen year old girl at the table next to us was having a Red Bull and nothing else at 9:00. I hope that she had a healthier meal when she too woke at 4:30 am. I'm kind of surprised we didn't see her later, running in tight circles on the sidewalk, chanting, "I'm not sleepy. I'm not sleepy."
Aside: the Denny's on Kuhio is possibly the whitest place on Oahu - except, of course, for the staff. But you know you're about to get value for money when the majority of a business' customers are octogenarians with fanny packs. And I'm talking about the men.
----------
The Imp is much more opinionated about how he wants to spend his time this trip. The difference between not quite three and almost three and a half is remarkable. Not only does he remember every single thing that we saw and did six months ago, he has very distinct notions about how and when he wants to repeat them. It's been an interesting couple of days, managing his demanding behaviour and trying to discipline him in a way that doesn't involve me spending hours sitting with a sullen child in a hotel room. Follow-through sucks, y'all.
But when he is behaving, it's a joy to behold:
The Imp spent a bunch of time running up and down the beach across the street from our hotel. It's possible he was chanting, "I'm not sleepy. I'm not sleepy," under his breath. What stopped him in his tracks was a dude with a metal detector working his way along the unoccupied bits of sand. Metal Detector Man was, as if straight from central casting, an octogenarian man with a fanny pack. The Imp was riveted.
----------
It's been a long time since I wore, or even much cared, about what was trendy in the fashion world. But here's fair warning for you: mom jean cutoffs seem to be a thing. That's right, waistline-meets-armpit washed denim cut so short that pockets flap around underneath their ragged hems. Cut so short you get to see whatever the bum equivalent of side-boob is. (Side-bum?) Based on the alarming number of young Japanese women I saw today sporting this look (because really, any number higher than one is somewhat alarming, no?) I am officially old and not-stylish. And I'm totally okay with that.
----------
Vancouver and Honolulu are, except for the weather, remarkably similar: both adjacent to ocean and mountains, both ethnically diverse, both highly influenced by a variety of Asian cultures, and both magnets for global investors who drive the price of real estate higher than the jobs provided by the local economy can afford. Of all the American cities I've visited, Honolulu actually feels the most like Vancouver to me - with the glaring exception being, of course, Vancouver's lack of palm trees and trade winds. The Imp keeps asking if we're still in Hawaii.
The Imp: "It doesn't look like Hawaii, Mom. It looks like Vancouver."
Me: "What are you talking about? How can you say that - the weather's beautiful today!"
The Imp: "It looks like Vancouver with all the coffee places."
We were exiting Starbucks at the time, so yeah.
----------
There were a number of times today that I was struck by what a cliche I am. A slightly frumpy, fifteen pounds overweight, middle-aged woman wandering around Waikiki, stopping at beach-side tourist restaurants to sip slushy drinks with a tower of fruit and paper umbrellas poking out the top, going to the beach and training my camera on my much doted-upon child. At one point I even was given an orchid to weave into my hair.
I'll admit, I felt self-conscious for about five minutes. Then I decided it didn't matter. I'm here with my best friend and my child, and we are enjoying the sun, and the ocean, and the family time. I tucked my orchid behind my ear, island-style, looked out at my boy running through the waves, and embraced the cliche.
And now, the boys are both snoring, and I am sleepy, so until tomorrow, aloha.
You wouldn't think a two hour time change could wreak so much havoc on a family routine - but does it ever. We were woken our first morning in Hawaii by The Imp actually running tight circles in our hotel room, chanting, "I'm not sleepy. I'm not sleepy. I'm not sleepy." Over and over. It was 4:30.
----------
We immersed ourselves in Americana this morning and had a highly salted and oversweetened breakfast at Denny's. The thirteen year old girl at the table next to us was having a Red Bull and nothing else at 9:00. I hope that she had a healthier meal when she too woke at 4:30 am. I'm kind of surprised we didn't see her later, running in tight circles on the sidewalk, chanting, "I'm not sleepy. I'm not sleepy."
Aside: the Denny's on Kuhio is possibly the whitest place on Oahu - except, of course, for the staff. But you know you're about to get value for money when the majority of a business' customers are octogenarians with fanny packs. And I'm talking about the men.
----------
The Imp is much more opinionated about how he wants to spend his time this trip. The difference between not quite three and almost three and a half is remarkable. Not only does he remember every single thing that we saw and did six months ago, he has very distinct notions about how and when he wants to repeat them. It's been an interesting couple of days, managing his demanding behaviour and trying to discipline him in a way that doesn't involve me spending hours sitting with a sullen child in a hotel room. Follow-through sucks, y'all.
But when he is behaving, it's a joy to behold:
 |
| Unless you have a heart of stone. |
The Imp spent a bunch of time running up and down the beach across the street from our hotel. It's possible he was chanting, "I'm not sleepy. I'm not sleepy," under his breath. What stopped him in his tracks was a dude with a metal detector working his way along the unoccupied bits of sand. Metal Detector Man was, as if straight from central casting, an octogenarian man with a fanny pack. The Imp was riveted.
----------
It's been a long time since I wore, or even much cared, about what was trendy in the fashion world. But here's fair warning for you: mom jean cutoffs seem to be a thing. That's right, waistline-meets-armpit washed denim cut so short that pockets flap around underneath their ragged hems. Cut so short you get to see whatever the bum equivalent of side-boob is. (Side-bum?) Based on the alarming number of young Japanese women I saw today sporting this look (because really, any number higher than one is somewhat alarming, no?) I am officially old and not-stylish. And I'm totally okay with that.
----------
Vancouver and Honolulu are, except for the weather, remarkably similar: both adjacent to ocean and mountains, both ethnically diverse, both highly influenced by a variety of Asian cultures, and both magnets for global investors who drive the price of real estate higher than the jobs provided by the local economy can afford. Of all the American cities I've visited, Honolulu actually feels the most like Vancouver to me - with the glaring exception being, of course, Vancouver's lack of palm trees and trade winds. The Imp keeps asking if we're still in Hawaii.
The Imp: "It doesn't look like Hawaii, Mom. It looks like Vancouver."
Me: "What are you talking about? How can you say that - the weather's beautiful today!"
The Imp: "It looks like Vancouver with all the coffee places."
We were exiting Starbucks at the time, so yeah.
----------
There were a number of times today that I was struck by what a cliche I am. A slightly frumpy, fifteen pounds overweight, middle-aged woman wandering around Waikiki, stopping at beach-side tourist restaurants to sip slushy drinks with a tower of fruit and paper umbrellas poking out the top, going to the beach and training my camera on my much doted-upon child. At one point I even was given an orchid to weave into my hair.
I'll admit, I felt self-conscious for about five minutes. Then I decided it didn't matter. I'm here with my best friend and my child, and we are enjoying the sun, and the ocean, and the family time. I tucked my orchid behind my ear, island-style, looked out at my boy running through the waves, and embraced the cliche.
 |
| If this is cliche, I'll take it. |
And now, the boys are both snoring, and I am sleepy, so until tomorrow, aloha.
26 November 2011
Things That Are True - No Place Like Home
Today we woke up in Hawaii. This is a good way to start the day.
The morning was cloudy on and off, but warm. Short sleeves and flip-flops warm. We sorted out some hotel stuff (our usual hotel was all booked up for our first night on Oahu so we stayed somewhere else last night) and walked around Waikiki. It was a little surreal - since we were here just six months ago, it kind of felt like we hadn't left; like maybe that time in the rain and cold of Vancouver was just a bad dream from which we'd finally woken.
Then we hopped on public transit, (called, appropriately enough, The Bus) and made our way to my aunt's house, where we wished her a happy birthday and bestowed upon her the ceremonial offering of Hawkins Cheezies, the one piece of home she can't get on this island paradise.
After a quick visit, we made our way back to The Bus stop under cloudy and ominous skies. On the ride from Kaneohe back to Waikiki, The Imp fell asleep in my lap. Also, it started to rain; big fat tropical raindrops coming down in sheets. By the time we reached our destination, it was really pouring down. As we exited the bus, The Imp woke and, confused, asked "Are we still at Hawaii?" as he rubbed his eyes.
"Yes honey, we're still at Hawaii," I laughed in response. It was a fair question. On the plane he'd fallen asleep somewhere over the Pacific and woken up in Honolulu. It made sense, then, that he would fall asleep on the bus and wake in a new place too.
"It's supposed to look like Hawaii, but it just looks like Vancouver!" he shouted in disgust.
Right you are, kiddo. Right you are.
Hoping for sunscreen weather tomorrow. I know. My life is really rough.
 |
| Self portraits over morning coffee |
The morning was cloudy on and off, but warm. Short sleeves and flip-flops warm. We sorted out some hotel stuff (our usual hotel was all booked up for our first night on Oahu so we stayed somewhere else last night) and walked around Waikiki. It was a little surreal - since we were here just six months ago, it kind of felt like we hadn't left; like maybe that time in the rain and cold of Vancouver was just a bad dream from which we'd finally woken.
Then we hopped on public transit, (called, appropriately enough, The Bus) and made our way to my aunt's house, where we wished her a happy birthday and bestowed upon her the ceremonial offering of Hawkins Cheezies, the one piece of home she can't get on this island paradise.
After a quick visit, we made our way back to The Bus stop under cloudy and ominous skies. On the ride from Kaneohe back to Waikiki, The Imp fell asleep in my lap. Also, it started to rain; big fat tropical raindrops coming down in sheets. By the time we reached our destination, it was really pouring down. As we exited the bus, The Imp woke and, confused, asked "Are we still at Hawaii?" as he rubbed his eyes.
"Yes honey, we're still at Hawaii," I laughed in response. It was a fair question. On the plane he'd fallen asleep somewhere over the Pacific and woken up in Honolulu. It made sense, then, that he would fall asleep on the bus and wake in a new place too.
"It's supposed to look like Hawaii, but it just looks like Vancouver!" he shouted in disgust.
Right you are, kiddo. Right you are.
Hoping for sunscreen weather tomorrow. I know. My life is really rough.
25 November 2011
Things I'm Doing - In Transit
In transit today, Vancouver to Honolulu via Bellingham. The Imp has made friends with some other kids who have an iPad and Angry Birds, so I am stealing two minutes to type out this quick update on my iPhone.
The TSA agents at Bellingham Airport are some of the friendliest I've ever seen.
I introduced HWSNBN to Trader Joe's this afternoon, he's already talking about stopping there to stock up on our way home.
We start boarding shortly. I've never blogged from my phone before, so I'm going to hit publish while I still can here and hope for the best.
Aloha!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)