Buzz. Kill.

When Sean and I first got together I used to throw around the word "hate" a little more freely.  "I hate losing socks." "I hate people who forget to signal their left turns." "I hate guitar wank-offs."  But Sean had a habit of pointing it out to me.  "Such a strong word." he would say, or "So much to hate, isn't there?"  After a while I came to feel, too, that "hate" really was a strong word, not to be used so lightly.  I believe in the power of words, after all. What I felt for my mismatched socks was not that serious.  I started amending my language to say something more accurate, like "It's cheesy when they do these guitar wank-offs."  Not so exciting as hate, I guess, but less angry.

Since having Boodge I've become more aware of my language.  I've cleaned up my potty mouth (sometimes), and even more important, I'm glad I've cleaned out the loose usage of "hate." I'm aware that he is copying me, I see it so clearly these days.  I'll say something like "That's outrageous," and half an hour later his drawing is outrageous, his poop is outrageous, his tummy hurts and that's outrageous.  What use does a healthy, cared for three-year old have for the word hate?  I'd rather hear shit or fuck come out of his mouth, than hate.  And until today, I had heard "holy shit" and a loud string of "fuck", but never "hate", pass through those little lips. 

It's because of the mosquitoes.  In case you didn't know, I live in BC's "Fraser Valley." You may have heard of this region, we've been in the news lately because of the surge in the mosquito population.  My mom even saw as story about us in Montreal, the other side of the country.  They're that bad.  The Fraser River, just down the hill from us, is at a 5-year high, and July was unusually wet.  Apparently, mosquito eggs can lie dormant for 30 years, waiting for some moisture to hatch them.  And they hatched, all at once seemingly, when we were on Vancouver Island for my cousin's 40th birthday party. 

When we returned, Boodge ran down to his sandbox straight from the van.  I followed him and told him 5 minutes only, because we just got home. In that 5 minutes I got about 8 bites.  They were there, where they had not been before. The area around his sandbox, shady and grassy and weedy, is a hot spot.  You can see them buzzing in the air all around it.   

Now they've been here for two weeks.  Just as July rolled in and the weather warmed up, just as all the sweet dreams of summer I dreamed during long lonely winter with a new baby and toddler were about to finally come true, the mosquitoes came.  Just as we began to be able to barbecue and eat dinners on a cool evening deck, just as the garden started coming into fullness, just as our lawn is all grown in and ready for play, lounging in the sun, splashing in the kiddie pool.  The mosquitoes came and our yard feels like a hostile place. 

My kids are covered in bites.  Peanut looks like she had chicken pox, and Boodge is ripping his legs up with his fingernails. 

Forehead, nose, under her eye, on her cheek. And a little strawberry juice. Yum.

Spotty arms, scabby legs.

Chubby baby legs should not look like this.

Little boy legs either.

And the other one.

 I want so much to take them out to yard, to enjoy the summer, but everytime I do it ends badly.  Sunday, we made an attempt, dressing both kids in long-sleeved, light-coloured pj's and shoes, even though it was a humid 26 degrees Celsius outside.  We assembled by the door and made sure we had everything we needed, then quickly opened it and shut it as if the outside world was some giant garbage can full of fruit flies.  But the fruit flies are mosquitoes, and we are in the garbage can now.  We tried feebly to do some yard work and play.  After about 45 minutes, Peanut was crying from being overheated, and Sean was done too.  My skin was crawling and my nerves were frayed from slapping bugs off myself, my baby, and my boy.  There's something horrific about the sight of a mosquito poised to suck blood from my baby's fat little cheek, her nose, under her mouth. 

I am not willing to coat my kids in bug sprays that contain deet.  It just seems way too toxic to put that on a little baby, even a toddler. I try not to even put it on myself.  People have recommended garlic, lemon juice, rubbing my arms with moss, eating more oranges.  I tried a patch that supposedly causes my skin to secrete Vitamin B1, making me not taste good to mosquitos.  It did seem to work, but it's not safe for Peanut either, and Boodge won't wear the "band-aid thing".  I haven't found something that feels OK to put on my kids and works.  So we hide from our backyard. 

Today we went out to harvest the garlic, because we had to.  They were on Peanut before I had set her down on her blanket, and by the time I had dug out the 16 bulbs she was crying from overheating in her long clothes again, and I had swatted at at least 30 bugs off of us. I gathered up the whole dirty mess of garlic and Peanut to take inside so I could tie them up for curing.  Those garlic were planted the weekend Peanut was born, and I had a special attachment to them. I wanted to take my time to do them right, not hastily and under stress.

Amazingly, they did not interfere.

They were worth it.

 Later, while Sean mowed the lawn in full clothing and a heavy coat of "Deep Woods Off", I took the kids out again to pick some lettuce, snap peas, and carrots for our salad.  Boodge wanted to stop at the strawberry patch too, to pick the ripe ones.  The strawberries are near the compost bin and a mini-field of assorted weeds in our yard, which have grown high in our neglect this summer.  Mosquitoes love it there. I squatted on the steps with Peanut on my lap, trying to reach into the patch to pick the red berries, but some tall weeds were in my way and from them mosquitoes were launching an attack on me and Peanut.  I slapped at them and slapped at them and then angrily I pulled out all the tall weeds and threw them on the ground behind me and that's when I said it, "Agh, I hate them! I hate mosquitoes!"

I saw Boodge looking at me and I had a clear understanding that he had taken in what I said.  But I said it again.  "I hate them.  They're making me crazy."  Strawberries picked, I tried to recover some good cheer and suggested we pick the raspberries too but once that was done I was barely hanging on.  "Let's go, Boodge. Now. In." As we walked up the stairs to the house he said, "Mama, I hate that...I hate....I hate that windy wind."  It wasn't even windy.  He just wanted to try it out. Hate. 

Thanks a lot, mosquitoes. I just know he's gonna use that word on me one day.  And when he does, I will blame you. 

Our Moving Anniversary

Today marks our one year anniversary of taking possession of our first house and moving to our new community of Mission, BC.  Our choice to move to this town was motivated largely by the relative cost of real-estate and easy access to Vancouver.  But we also wanted to be in a place that was a little more "country", where we could grow some of our own food and give our kids space to run.  Here in Mission, the air is clearer, the food we eat is grown and raised all around us, and we can watch eagles soar over the Fraser River from our kitchen windows.

Looking out at dawn....

and dusk....this beats our old view of our neighbour's yard.

 I still feel like a newcomer one year in, and am hungry to learn more about what my new community has to offer, and find a place to be more active within it.  Still as I begin to get to know my new town, I am feeling like we came to the right place.

The last time I lived in a small town, I was a preteen and an outsider, soaked in puberty hormones, bullied at school.  I longed for the anonymity of a city, where less people would know my business and I'd have more friends to choose from.  Since then, I've lived in city after city; Ottawa, Montreal, San Diego, Vancouver.  But coming back to a small town as a mother of small children, I really like the fact that I can run into a mom I know at the grocery store, the water park, the playground, or the local Strongstart program.  Being a new mom can feel isolating, but being in a small town helps me feel like when I go out, at least, I am not also alone with my kids.  We recognize people, we say hello, we stop to chat, and that goes a long way to feeling like I interacted as an adult in the course of a day.   

This is a family town, with a large community of stay-at-home mothers.  There's even a "Mom's in Mission" facebook page for sharing all kinds of information, from strange men following kids home from school to where to find a good plumber. There is not the image-consciousness you sometimes find in a city, or the double-income power parenting plus nanny scenario that was so often found in my last neighbourhood.  There are just everyday families, putting it together the best they can.  Mom's I've met have been kind in giving me tips on where to go with the kids, extending invitations for playdates or gatherings, sharing clothes and toys their kids have outgrown, almost as soon as I get to know them.  Not everyone is like that of course, but enough people to make me feel like I am in a kind-hearted, helpful place.

One of my favorite things about the town is the Fraser River Heritage Park.  This park, when the weather is good, is a real community hub. There is a huge sandbox there filled with toys, blackberry bushes for picking, and acres and acres of lawn to run on. It hosts an Easter egg hunt, a car show for Father's day, Canada Day festivities, a lantern festival in the fall--all family oriented events.  It is also the site of the Mission Folk Music festival, which feels like a smaller version of the Vancouver Folk Festival, which I have attended almost every year since I lived here. I love those festivals for their family atmosphere, where kids and adults join together in dancing barefoot in the sunshine, or chilling out and napping to some mellow tunes (you know I like family party scenes).  But Mission doesn't stop there.  All summer long they have the Envision Twilight Concert Series on Wednesday and Friday evenings; a free concert in the park by a local band. It's perfect for packing a picnic and heading out in the early evening with the kids, and coming home in time for bed for everyone.  We only tuned into this series in August last year, and we had a great time going there with Boodge.

The Envision Twilight Series is just that exciting.

Twilight in Fraser River Heritage Park

Just down the street from the park, the town also hosts an annual "Soap Box Derby" down the hill on Stave Lake Road.

At the Soap Box Derby

Sean can't wait until Boodge or Peanut are old enough to race in it.  There is also a real race track here for drag racing, which is a bit of a turn off for me, but really excites my husband and my son.  I prefer the access to nature all around us, little lakes with good wading beaches like Rolley, Whonnock, or Stave Lake.  

Rocking the ball at Rolley Lake

I feel like we've only scratched the surface of what this area has to offer for day trips, and I'm looking forward to exploring this summer (hoping Peanut likes the great outdoors as much as Boodge and I).

All in all, I'm really glad we chose to move somewhere that made it possible to feel part of a community.  It feels like we came to the right place for now, when we need an affordable area that has space and open arms for children.  If we need a taste of herding our little midgets around the city, stuck in traffic and unable to find a bathroom in a crowd of buildings, we can always visit.  And we do, because we miss our city friends. But better yet, city friends, and far-flung family members, come visit us! Our guest room and kitchen are always open, waiting to give you a getaway from the hustle and bustle.

Confessions of a Reckless Mommy

Until he was about 6 months old, Boodge HATED his carseat. When I put him in there he would scream blue murder for the duration of the trip until he was in my arms again. It was the kind of screaming that makes new parents feel like heroin addicts who need the next fix (so I imagine). My heart would pound, I would sweat, and my eyes would dart to the rear-view mirror constantly, watching the red face of my screaming babe. He would cry so hard I was afraid he would choke on his own saliva. I could think of nothing else but getting him soothed again, as soon as possible.

It made me reckless. I ran yellow lights, I sped through city streets, I honked at drivers who took a little too long to make a turn. My full attention was in no way on the road. I remember thinking that if I got pulled over, it would not likely be very sympathetic to a cop that I was reckless because my baby was crying. Endangering your child in a motor vehicle because they're crying? Not really excusable. And I'm not making excuses, but I can't be the only one who's done this either. That crying makes a mother crazy.

Flash forward 2 years, and I am driving recklessly for another, even less excusable reason. I don't want him to fall asleep. Car trips over 20 minutes have to be carefully timed because if he's anywhere within 1 hour of naptime, he will doze off. Lately, he won't make the transfer to the bed at naptime, he'll just wake up refreshed and ready to go. So I don't get my break that day, and by 5:00 Boodge is a whining, clinging, tired mess. That scenario is something I avoid if possible.

In the past, I've tried to do things like drive with the windows open and the music blasting, or I have reached an arm back to shake him periodically when I catch him dozing off. But I try not to take my hands off the wheel and eyes off the road, because it really isn't safe to get so distracted, and anyway, those efforts are usually futile. The best thing to do is just get him home before it's too late.

Yesterday morning we drove out to a nursery half an hour away to buy supplies to seed the part of lawn that used to be under a pool. We were heading home at 10, and Boodge usually naps at 11ish. It was in the window, for sure. I decided to try to engage him as much as possible. I cranked up the music and told him I was going to try to find "Big Rock Candy Mountain" (it's his current favorite) on the iPod. Then began tracking through all 800 songs without looking at the iPod to find the unlabeled (of many, many unlabeled) song. With each song, I shouted out, "That's not it!" Ridiculous to the outside observer, and not exactly fully engaged driving. Finally, we found a Bob Marley song--and since Boodge likes Bob, we stopped and cruised along.

We were on a country road with an 80km per/hr speed limit. There was very little traffic, and I was going 110, making good time. Then we passed a speed limit sign that said the limit was changing to 60km per/hr. I realized I should slow it down a bit, since I was almost double the speed limit. No sooner had I had that thought than I heard a WHOOP WHOOP, looked in my rear-view mirror, and saw the beige SUV of an undercover cop, lights a-flashing, right behind me.

My stomach lurched and adrenalin flooded my body. I felt immediately ashamed of myself. Pregnant, and with a 2 year old in the car, I'm speeding? How terrible would this cop think I was? I actually sucked in my stomach in the hopes that the officer would not notice the bulge of Peanut. Boodge started insisting "Go!" from the back-seat.

"We can't go yet, buddy. Mommy is getting in trouble from this man." I said, as the cop approached my car.

Right away he wanted to confirm that I lived in Vancouver, which it says on my driver's license. "No, I actually live in Mission."
"How long have you lived there?"
"Since March," I confessed.
"And why haven't you updated your address?"
"I just--it's a pain to go into the insurance office with him," I said, gesturing to Boodge, "and I knew I had to go in September to renew my insurance so I was waiting until then." Lame excuse.
"Ok, you can actually do it online. It's supposed to be updated within 10 days of the move. It's a $109 fine if you don't."

OK...you can't actually do it online. You can change your address, but to update your insurance, which is part of what the fine is for, you have to go in. And appointments of that type with the Boodge usually go the way Sean's and my short banking appointment the other day went:
"So here's the paperwork and you just have to-"
"GO!"
"We can't go yet buddy, it will just be a minute."
"Open the door!" Boodge gets it open and makes to leave.
"Leave the door. You have to stay in here." Sean pulls Boodge onto his lap.
"So, you have to sign it here and-"
"I want Mommy!" I take Boodge.
"Go! I wanna GO!"
"I sign here? Ok. No, Boodge, Mommy needs the pen. Please leave the pen alone. Boodge, leave the pen. Leave it!"

You get the picture. Yes, I could have gone in to do it with Boodge, and dealt with the 15 minutes of inconvenience. I could have gone on a Saturday or at Boodge's naptime, because there truly is nothing I'd rather do when I get some child-free time than take care of administrative details. But I knew I was going to be going by mid-September, so I was waiting to do it all at once. So sue me. Or better yet, fine me $109.

And he did. He fined me $109 for not changing my address, and $135 for speeding (luckily, he clocked me in the 80 zone, not the 60). He knocked it down from $195 because of my good driving record, and maybe because he had sympathy for the woman who was so wigged out by it all she had to call her husband to get their address of 5 months. "Um, hi honey. I'm getting a speeding ticket right now, and the cop wants my new address, and I can't remember it because I'm so freaked out. What is it again?" Sweet Sean, he did his best to make light of it and calm me down. I guess he wanted me to get home alive.

But the truth is, I was upset not about the almost $250 that I just threw down the toilet (though that is very upsetting), but because I was being reckless in the first place. There really is no good reason to speed, pregnant with one child, chauffeuring another one. My children are beyond precious, and as their mother I am indispensable. If anything happened to any one of us, I would never forgive myself. And it's not like I haven't had the thought, again and again, that I shouldn't let Boodge's sleepiness, or whinyness, or whatever, make me drive recklessly. I knew better.

So there you have it. $250 to teach me that I should not let the fact that I'm going to have to deal with a difficult child and not get my break time turn me into an irresponsible mother or someone who neglects administrative details (not that I could ever be cured of the latter). Lesson learned, universe. Thank you, because clearly I wasn't quite getting it on my own.

Still, I'm pretty sure I'm not the only parent out there who is guilty of child-induced recklessness. Driving while parenting is probably as dangerous as driving while talking on your cell phone, or even while intoxicated. Anyone else want to confess? C'mon? Guilt loves company...help me feel like less of a schmuck.

Goin' Up The Country

Last Saturday Sean and I left the house together, without the Boodge. I think this has happened a grand total of 2 or 3 other times since he has been born. The occasion? We went to the credit union to sign and initial here and there and everywhere to get our new mortgage, line of credit, back account, insurance, tax bill. And that's only the beginning of the paperwork--we still have to meet with the lawyer. What began with house hunting in Ontario has ended with the purchase of a house with a shop and 15,000 square feet of land in Mission, BC.





What do we know about Mission? Not much. There's a Mission there, atop a mountain of beautiful, old growth forest. There's a raceway, too (Me: Ugh. Sean: YAY!). The town's 35,000 people have a median age of 36. According to one website, it was built to resemble a small Ontario town, and the main drag there does remind me, vaguely, of the ones I've seen in Renfrew and Belleville. There's one yoga studio that I can find on the web, and one natural foods store. Some of our friends told us "It's redneck out there, you'll see." Others say it's the Bible belt. We figure there have to be lots of good, everyday people out there that we can connect with.

At first we were alternately scared and excited. We have been swimming in a world of mortgage brokers (when he pulled out his own shoe horn at the end of the visit and slickly slipped into his shoe, I knew we couldn't work with him), bankers, lawyers, inspectors, and figures. Now we are moving through rooms of boxes and half packed cabinets. Home improvement shows are suddenly interesting. We are about to take on a responsibiity that we anticipate will be like having a child, in that it will be a ton more work, but will also gift us with amazing growth and pleasure.

I'm going to plant a garden. Ardan is going to run in the yard and dig in the dirt and make friends with bugs and worms and raccoons and flowers he can pick because they're in his own yard, not the park. We're going to learn about plumbing and flooring. We may even be landlords, because the house has a one bedroom suite that can pay almost half our mortgage payments. That is, once we change the carpet, re-floor the kitchen, and paint the whole thing. Painting with a toddler could be fun, right? Right???

One of the best things is that there is space for visitors to stay a while and be comfortable. I am dreaming of having family and friends visit and stay for a while, enjoying good meals, playing games, and having peaceful space for themselves. I dream of creating a warm, happy haven for ourselves and others. So make my dream come true everyone, and come experience Mission with us. Our spare bed will be opening in March. Oh, and don't forget to bring your painting clothes.