Crying over boiled potatoes.

I have been busy. So utterly, agonizingly busy. This move has not been very easy, not that I ever expected it would be, but that doesn't mean it has been anything short of Hard.

The transition of moving to a new city, leaving our beautiful home, friends, church, and established routine and life is difficult. As is starting new jobs, no matter how much Karl and I both enjoy them. For me, in particular, not having worked full time in nearly three years makes it even more of an adjustment. Living in another person's home is also very difficult, even when they are incredibly accommodating. 

It's all just really hard. 

I've got a draft post from March 20 that was meant to be about our trip to Victoria and back before the big move. I got as far as the title before packing took me away. It hasn't slowed down since.

Getting into the new groove means that I'm up at 6 or 6:30 and do not stop until 8:30 or 9 at night. Get ready for work, get the kids ready, go to daycare, go to work, work, take an inconsistent lunch break, come home, make and eat supper, spend an hour with the kids, throw a load of laundry in, put the kids to bed, make lunches, then collapse on the couch for 44 minutes if I'm not too tired.

Our weekends have consisted of unpacking, a quick trip back to Regina for a wedding, or shopping for groceries and clothes. I realized after my first week of work that I needed to buy a new work wardrobe. This is not as fun as it sounds. It took me two Saturdays to feel like I finally have enough professional clothes to get me through a full week of wearing items that fit my large and in charge mom bod. The seasons have also changed here, and not only did I need to get summer clothes for the kids, but Parker can't wear pajamas all day every day anymore so he needed enough jeans to last between laundry days. I am haemorrhaging money.

Today Karl brought my attention to a large bag of potatoes in the pantry that was slowly starting to spoil. Thanks to extensive googling, I decided to brave new territory and boil then freeze them. We started the process as Molly went down for her nap and Parker was getting ready for his. Molly decided to wake up just as I was turning the potatoes on to boil. Calamity and miscommunication ensued, and the lid to the pot I was boiling didn't get put on and there wasn't enough water in it.

What I'd thought was going to be a 30-45 minute chore was suddenly taking over an hour and a half. I'd been planning to spend the remainder of naptime reading my book, having a snack, and enjoying some blissful, long sought after time to myself. Those plans were gone, and I stood in the kitchen and ugly cried over our mess of dishes and improperly cooked potatoes.

I didn't think I had many idols in my life until recently, and today in particular was like a large pink neon arrow pointing right at mine. My comfort, specifically time to myself and the order of my home are huge idols in my life. I do not feel calm and rested living in the state of chaos we live in. Our stuff is everywhere. I do not feel complete without my quiet time to myself every day, time that I used to spend reading or catching up on shows. I resent everything that gets in the way of those two things in my life. And, well, right now that's everything. 

Right now, life is busy. We don't have a great routine, we don't have much space of our own, and it feels like we sprint from moment to moment because there is so much to get done. But crying over boiled potatoes is not the way I should be living my life. I hate it when, in the middle of my grand pity party, I get told I'm wrong. 

What's the expression? Shape up or ship out? Part of me wishes we could ship back to the comfort of six months ago, but I know that's not our role right now. I'm also not moving provinces again if I can ever help it. So, if you need me, I'll be eating boiled freezer potatoes for the next few weeks, and figuring out how to better manage my time and change my expectations. I'll also be working on putting my comfort where it should be.

When there might be something wrong with your antisocial baby.

My internet dating friend has a little guy ten days older than Parker. I'm happy to announce, that she and I are still good friends over five months after our first date. There's nothing like a little public nudity to bring two people together. We see each other once a week or so and go to the same mom group.

Her little guy did everything a lot faster than Parker. He held up his head better, rolled over first, sat up better, chatted more, and figured out solid foods while Parker was still giving me the death stare. Parker is still pretty unsteady when he sits, but he's caught up with almost everything else. I am perfectly content for Parker (Mr. Big Head) to do things on his own time and, as far as I'm concerned, the slower the better.

Going to a mom group we get to see other kids the same age as our boys and what they do. Now that we're around the eight month mark, the next big step seems to be crawling. Most kids their age are moving in some way or another. Parker's just starting to scootch himself unintentionally backwards and I'm afraid that crawling will happen before we know it. His little friend doesn't crawl yet, either, unless there's food in front of him or a mirror to ogle himself in. It seems to me like he's got it all figured out.

My friend took her son to the doctor for his check-up and mentioned that he wasn't yet crawling while some other kids his age were. (This is the same doctor I saw when when I first found out I was pregnant and he had to phone a friend to find out whether pregnant women should get the flu shot.) (They should. He said they shouldn't.) The conversation she and I had afterwards was too good not to share.

Friend: The doctor says that G doesn't get up and crawl because he has no friends.

Me: Did you tell him that his friend is a judgemental jerk?

Friend: I told him that he has one friend that ignores him and they just spin on their tummies on the floor. He said he needed new friends.

Me: Understandable.

Friend: He also said that there's still time for G to get friends and learn to crawl before we need to worry.

Me: Like when he starts school.

Friend: He suggested I put him in a corner and put out toys for him to crawl to but if I do that he'll just lay there and play with his feet. He's just lazy. And his head is really big.

Me: You won't find me crawling. My head's too heavy to hold up all the time.

Friend: Yeah. And it's hard on my hands and knees.

Me: Way too much work.

Friend: And I have no friends to crawl to.

Our kids are screwed.

A History Lesson: Canadian Thanksgiving

I've gotten a lot of questions lately from my American readers as to why we celebrate Thanksgiving in Canada. Didn't the pilgrims land on Plymouth Rock? Isn't that in the US? What's Canada got to do with it all? And why do those kooky Canadians celebrate Thanksgiving so dang early? Isn't Thanksgiving supposed to be in November? Are Canadians just that eager that they have Black Friday in October so they can get their Christmas shopping done? If they're that organized when it comes to Christmas does that mean they're planning to take over the world and make us all double-double drinkers?

The short answer is, yes. To all those questions.

Now, on to the long answer.

Canadian Thanksgiving is on the second Monday of October. American Thanksgiving is sometime in November, on a Thursday of all things, within spitting distance of Christmas. Canadian Thanksgiving means a long weekend, American Thanksgiving means a long week.

According to the internet, Canadians are an inherently thankful people and have been celebrating thankfulness for their harvests and good manners since 1578. Americans tapped into their thankfulness when they came to the new world and met Pocahontas. At least Colin Farrell did, but I think that was when his ship went way off course and ended up in Virginia. That's not where Plymouth Rock is, is it?

The new Americans brought delicious things like small pox and borderline starvation to their Thanksgiving dinner that they shared with the aboriginal population. The Canadians shared their shiny colonial outlook with the aboriginals they encountered. Small pox was optional.

Canada is also a lot colder that the US. It always has been. This is why Canadians are so much happier: more snuggling. In November Canadians are more focussed on snuggling and lumberjacking; they're already looking ahead to Christmas, and like to space their turkey dinners out. Americans just like turkey. That's why their turkey days are so close together. They go through turkey withdrawal otherwise and have to have elections to fill the void. You wouldn't believe how many more elections they'd have if their Thanksgiving was in October.

Although not one of the "official" reasons for celebrating Thanksgiving, Canadians still appreciate the pilgrims just as much as their American counterparts. This is why Canadians have their traditional Thanksgiving cornucopia. Everyone at the table takes turns wearing the cornucopia on their head while going around in a circle and saying what it is they're thankful for. Someone always says "pilgrims." Without the pilgrims we wouldn't even have Thanksgiving or pumpkin pie.

In England they don't have Thanksgiving (no one's ever happy to lose the pilgrims) and pumpkin pie sounds like a bad word to them. They have banoffee pie, though, I guess that's understandable.

And that, dear friends and readers, is why Canadians celebrate Thanksgiving and how it differs from the American version.