Oh f*ck.

Yeah, really. I lay in bed after I got in last night, not sleeping, and thought of the title for my first post. That is the phrase that ran through my head hourly throughout my travels yesterday.

In the morning, when I realized I was all ready; packed, dressed, fed, waiting for my ride to the airport, and all that was left was to wake up Leif to say goodbye. Oh f*ck.

On the plane, waiting to take off from Victoria to catch my connecting flight in Vancouver, and the pilot said there would be a 30 minute delay due to a baggage issue. I'd possibly miss my connecting flight. Oh f*ck.

In the Vancouver airport, as I ran the length of the building, from local to international, in flip flops, carrying my suitcase, as I'd opted not to check my bags for fear that they'd get lost. I arrived just in time to line up with the last few passengers. No time to get lunch or any snacks for the 14 hours flight. Sweaty as a glass of beer on a humid day in Hawaii. Oh f*ck.

On the plane, as it taxied down the runway, picking up speed and finally lifting off and banking right to fly North over the Pacific Ocean. Knowing that this was it, I was in this, and whether I liked it or not, there was no way out now. That I'd be spending my first solo travelling experience ever in a city as foreign to me as possible. Knowing that the things that comfort me most in the whole world, Kit, Leif, Hannah and Ivy, weren't with me, and I couldn't get to them to distract me from my anxiety. This was it. Oh f*ck.

I had the best luck on the plane, in that there were many empty rows and I snagged one before take off hoping I'd sleep on the long flight. I'd be arriving at 4am my time (5pm the next day HK time) so planned to try to sleep about halfway through the flight. I brought knitting to keep me busy.

A deliciously soft skein of Manos Del Uruguay

Realising I might have brought the wrong needles, I improvised the pattern to make it stretchier.

After 10 hours in flight, I was done with this stupid activity. Fresh air and room to move about please.

 I never thought I'd say this, but I got tired of knitting and watching movies. We were chasing the sun to HK, so my brain just couldn't think 'sleep'. I tried, really. But eventually I decided the est way to over come the jet lag fastest was to stay up and then just fall asleep on HK's schedule. This plan turned out to be crap, but I didn't know that then. And I couldn't sleep, so whatever.

As we approached HK the clear blue sky and white clouds we'd been flying over changed to grey and turbulent. It is thunderstorm season here, and we felt it on the way down.

Some outlying islands as we approach the airport. The airport is on an island as well, and it looks like you're going to land on water until the last minute when land appears.

I arrived at 630pm, exhausted and hungry. I ended up walking to my apartment after getting so turned around inside the train station that I was done with being the lost tourist, asking directions of people who did not speak English. I felt very bulky amidst all the commuters, with my suitcases and uncertain steps. The sidewalks are very narrow, very steep and very uneven, so you need to look down to not break your ankle. Or at least I did. My plan was find food and create a space in my apartmemt to get my mental shit together. I bought the above goods at the nearby organic grocer (it was food I recognised, okay, so I went in). I tried to buy stuff on sale (my soymilk was marked down to $2 Can!) but the whole bill came to 400HK dollars. Oh f*ck. It was insane. That's about $65 Canadian. As I walked back to my place, the downpour began. So glad I followed the online advice to bring an umbrella and flip flops. I passed many cocktail bars and very hipster lounges and eateries. Signage advertised happy hour prices, $10 Can for a cocktail and $15 for edamame. Oh f*ck. I'll be eating in a lot this trip. And likely surviving on a lot of appetite-supressing coffee.

My first night was hard. I reminded myself that I was starving, tired, and in a really foreign situation. So having a wee crying was okay. My one savior was having my music with me. It made me feel a bit better, a bit more grounded, enough to drink some water and make some of my costly food for dinner.

So it's now 8am HK time, and I've eaten most of what I bought, having been up all night (still can't sleep! Which is now a migraine, oh f*ck). So I'm going to head out and try to navigate the city. It's pouring rain and about 31 degrees (plus the humidity brings it to about 34+). I'd like to succeed today, to find where I want to go, and not feel like I'm in the upside down world of another dimension. I'd like to not cry. Wish me luck my lovelies.


until later
xoxo

C

My first Typhoon season . . .

This is a test post, to see if this public space can be revived once more. I'll be travelling to Hong Kong in a few weeks, and rather than inundate my social media spaces with all my travel photos and thoughts, I figured corralling them here would be better. I'll be there for 5 days, and have scoured the net for of-beat, cheap and awesome things to do and see. I'm not an experienced traveler, so this might be a trial-by-fire sort of experience. I hope it rocks and makes me want to see more of the world.

xoxo

C

Flashbacks

flash·back (flshbk)

n.

1. a. A literary or cinematic device in which an earlier event is inserted into the normal chronological order of a narrative.

    b. The episode or scene depicted by means of this device.

2. An unexpected recurrence of the effects of a hallucinogenic drug long after its original use.

3. Psychology A recurring, intensely vivid mental image of a past traumatic experience

 

 

Today we'll be discussing definitions 1 & 3 above.

 

 

Last week the kids and I were walking through the neighbourhood, on our way to their summer camp. Leif & Ivy were about a block ahead, he pusher her along on her bike, and Hannah was walking with me, holding my hand. As we approached a house, I could see the following: a young boy, about 5, riding his little bicycle along the sidewalk in front of the house; his younger brother sitting on the sidewalk with his smaller bike tipped over, apparently upset and frustrated with the challenge of learning to ride or getting up a slight slop or something; and their mother trying to lock the front door of the house, empty grocery bags in hand, fussy baby strapped to her chest.

 

 

A literary or cinematic device in which an earlier event is inserted into the normal chronological order of a narrative.

 

 

On reflex, my flat palm flew to my chest and I stumbled a bit in my steps. I had to take a minute to breathe and look at my surroundings to take stock. No, that wasn't me struggling to carry out the most basic of tasks with 3 young kids in tow, desperately hoping for some glimmer of joy in an otherwise tedious every-day-looks-like-the-one-before-this experience of mothering a lot of young children at once. I had paid my dues and done my time. I was now the woman freely walking along, at a regular pace, with her chill, relatively older kids.

 

 

I watched this foursome get their stuff together and begin to set off. My eyes met hers and I said "Don't give up, it will get better, I promise". She grimaced and said "Really? Okay."

 

 

Our culture fears the dark side of motherhood. We dress it up, focusing on the maternity clothes, space-aged strollers, cute nursery decor, mommy blogs, milestones and sense of personal achievement. We don't acknowledge the other part. The things you get along with all that eye candy. The personal struggles and doubt, the blood, sweat and tears, oh the tears. The total sacrifice of self necessary to get you through it at all, and oh by the way you'll be heart-breakingly lonely a good chunk of the time too. I don't know why we do this. Are we afraid people will stop having kids if we tell them it will really, really suck at times? That sometimes, late at night, you'll truly consider getting out of it if only there was a way to give the crying baby back to somewhere, to someone? Are we afraid to admit that this western style of living, where we are all separate and alone, not living with our families or friends literally right-next-door, to help us, to relieve us, to give guidance if we want it or just to push that stroller around the block so we can sleep or weep in private, could be flawed? That maybe, the old way was a better way? Maybe that would lead us to question progress just for progresses sake, and then we're questioning capitalism and the education system and our whole way of life. Better to distract us with sexy maternity clothes and lie about sleep schedules and how becoming a parent completes you as a person or couple.

 

 

A recurring, intensely vivid mental image of a past traumatic experience.

 

 

Now when I pass that house I think of them, the people inside those four walls, the stage of family life that they are in, and my chest tightens, a touch of anxiety I guess. Yes, we have tons of great, hilarious, heart-warming memories of our time as a family with really young kids. With all those babies to snuggle and carry around on your shoulder, all that laughter and the silly phrases and off-key singing. They were fun, they were so cute, and our English language is lacking when it comes to words to describe the awesome feeling of becoming a parent. But I have never tried to hide the flip side of that coin, the other edge of that sharp sword. When you become a parent, and those early years of constant diapers, pee, shit, laundry, vomit, crying, being awake, being awakened, being sad, angry, forgetful, isolated, exhausted, uncertain and sometimes feeling none of it would ever get better. I'm not one to dress things up, to put on a happy face when it means denying your own experience. It is our experiences that shape us, that make up who we are. I cannot imagine my life without my kids, nor my personality without the breadth of my experiences.

 

 

When I look at my kids, I feel amazing, they are amazing, my life is full and rich and good. And when I drive by that house, I say a little blessing, that I made it through that marathon, and that I never, ever have to go back.

 

 

xoxo

C

We are fa-mu-ly

You know the song, right? We had a lovely opportunity to visit with my brother and his sons a few weeks ago. They are moving farther away this summer, and I wasn't sure how/when I could get us all down there to hug them before they left, so we were so glad they offered to come to us!

The gang at the park.

We chilled out, island-style. Went to the market, bought popsicles, played ping pong, fell asleep with the kids when we'd meant to stay up afterwards to chat. :) Ah yes, we're siblings, who are both now busy and tired parents. The catching up will have to wait until we have teenagers.

We took Leif's slack-lining kit to the park. It is a lot easier than it looks!

 

Leif and Hannah fought over who got to play with their younger cousin Emiliano.

Whereas Ivy didn't give a hoot about Emiliano so much, she had her buddy in town and wasn't going to miss a minute with him.

 Mmmmmm . . taco party!

We are really looking forward to our mega-family-road trip to go visit them this winter. Until then, it'll be all about Skype and the US postal service.

Love you Bro and my little nephew-Dudes!

xoxo

C

Simple Song

We (meaning Kit & I) are all over this video lately. We've tried explaining the details implied by the unsaid things in the video, the relationship between the parents, between the siblings, between the parents and the siblings, and how it was in childhood and now has played out into adulthood. We don't think they get it, but we know you will. :)

xoxo

C

Down at the farm.

It's funny that when the kids were little I loathed the petting zoo. Really, I loathed any community activity created for families, as I knew it would draw crowds of kids (duh!) and their parents and I am not a fan of kids or crowds. So I never took them to the little local farm. That was the Grandparent's responsibility.

Now that we are all older and more capable, we've been volunteering at the farm once a week since early spring. It is the perfect opportunity to let the kids choose to give back to their community, to volunteer, at something they enjoy, that they chose to do. I've struggled with the reality that our culture lacks many opportunities for kids to give back in a real way, not just with money, and part of this is that we've become so libelous, many places will no longer accept children as volunteers, even with parental accompaniment. So the petting zoo is one of our last bastions for kids to lend a hand and really feel like they're DOING something, really helping out.

Our jobs vary each week, but there are some basic tasks we expect to do at every visit.

We need to cajole the pony and donkeys, to get them back in their corral before the public arrives. Those guys know kids are not to be obeyed.

Finally, success!!

We need to change all the water buckets for the goats, after we help run the stampede of goats down to the petting area.

There are a lot of water buckets!

There are peacocks all over the farm, screeching their high-pitched calls and fluffing out their feathers. Yes, it IS beautiful, a spectacle of nature, but these guys do nothing but THIS all morning long, and honestly, they kind of get in our way. They're not quick to move because they want to be sure we've seen all their glory. They give you the eye, saying "Do you SEE this, how glorious we are? Are you stunned at our beauty?"  They don't get it that we're not peahens, we're hu-mans.

And frankly, the peahens don't care about the cocks feather-show either.

There's always poop to scoop. (The other side of Ivy's bucket says "Zoo Poo Patrol". She feels very responsible with this task).

Our reward at the end of our shift, when the daycare and school groups leave, is having the baby goats all to ourselves. They climb on us and chew our sleeves. We just sit there and let them fight over our laps, the little cuties.

I try to give my love to those tired mama goats. They like a good chin-scratch session.


On our way out we fawn over the baby pigs.

 It's a pretty good way to spend the day. :)

xoxo

C

If it's not one thing . . .

 . . . it's your mother.

This phrase has made me grin since I first heard it years ago. It brings together our cultures' collective pastime of analysing our behaviour and childhoods, and how our adult relationships with our parents (it's not just mothers!) can be a minefield of subtle slights, sighs and feeling like, no matter what your life is like as an adult, one minute with your parents, and you're right back to being the child again, and all the feelings that can bring. And our culture seems to focus on the negative. Was it the missed sports events, was it not having what other kids had, was it being made to eat food you hated, was it report cards that weren't up to their expectations? For many, it is far more serious issues, where the role of parent was only as important as how little you could give to it, and for those children, we all feel a great sadness. There are many adults who have come out of awful childhood situations, and those that I have met have moved on however they can, and focus on the future, having laid their pasts to rest in some way. But our culture as a whole is so often about 'our parents' and how they have affected us negatively. The jokes about therapy, the mother-in-law characters in films, the recurring seasonal movies about adult children coming home for Christmas only to descend into squabbles with their mothers and fathers amidst a symphony of other relatives and siblings. These momemts in film are so funny, because they touch us, they are familiar to us. Family is where we come from, so often, and it does shape who we are. And so we joke about it, and commiserate about it, and vow, as parents ourselves, to not be like our parents, even though we know we are, in that moment and many others, being so exactly like them it's uncanny. My mother always tells of how she'd go to bed at night vowing that tomorrow she would not yell. That tomorrow she'd enjoy the moments with us, and be patient, and have things organised, and not worry about the cleaning or the mess we were making, and soak up our childhoods as the precious, fleeting moments in time that they were. And then tomorrow, when it came, she'd be yelling before we made it out the door to school. She'd tell me this in response to my own feelings of inadequacy as a parent, of messing up my kids, yelling too much, not enjoying the moments and ignoring the trivial things. We are so much like our parents, even as we vow to somehow do things differently, to find that magic solution that so eluded their generation. Yet somehow, instead of finding connection in these similarities, in finding support from each other, we turn to focusing on our differences, in those achilles heels of our relationships with our parents that make us groan and sigh when they offer advice, or guidance. We've made childhood angst into a topic of entertainment and shared greif.

In other non-Western cultures it seems to be unquestioned that you respect and appreciate your parents, no matter what they do. You know how hard they work for you, how much they sacrifice, how much they love you. It is simply an accepted fact. And so you act accordingly.

I wonder if those adults have a different experience of dealing with losing their parents. Are there things left unsaid, worries that they never enjoyed their parents while they had them around? For that is the flip-side of my culture's angst about our parents: we sigh and complain about them while they are here, and then regret not enjoying them as much as we could have, when they are gone.

My dear friend lost one of her parents last summer, his death unexpected, arriving in the night, leaving his children in shock and full of greif. And as I watch her and her sibling and their children deal with this, with the feeling of wishing they'd had more time, of things they'd have said if they'd known this was coming, I keep coming back to our perspective that our families are permanent. That that is why we can afford to analyse them, and criticise them, and be driven crazy by them. Because we believe, as we did as children, that they will be with us forever, that when we finally find the time to appreciate them, to enjoy their company, they'll still be here for us. Just as sibling rivalry is an accepted part of our perspective on families, so is our frustration at our father's stubborness or our irritation at our mother's nagging. Of course we never treat our friends how we treat our families. But perhaps we should treat our families how we treat our friends, because they are our people, our kin. They are where we come from, and shape who we are, for better or worse.

When my friends and I get into talking about how our mother's drove us nuts that week, or how our fathers just didn't get it, a friend of mine is silent. She lost both of her parents years ago. And she is full of stories of how much she appreciates them now, how she wished she'd gotten it earlier on, when they were still here. And as parents ourselves now, we would of course want our children to love us and appreciate us now, not after we're gone. My parents are so saddened by the loss of my grandparents, both of them wishing they could've talked to them more before they'd died. No one wants that sort of grief for their own children. But maybe our culture perpetuates it by laughing at our families instead of cherishing them. And maybe in some ways we need that, as a release, a bit, of the frustrations we have with those relationsahips we have with our parents and siblings, relationships we were born or adopted into, and now must maintain forever. My mother and I laughed and cried through Steel Magnolias in the 80's, because it showed how our family ties are both funny and impermanent, reminding us to live in the moment. Maybe we are afraid to acknowledge that we will lose each other, that as time marches on, we will have to say goodbye to our siblings and parents, to those people we have known longer than anyone else. So we should keep the laughter; laughter is so good. But maybe we should also have more love, more talking. Some kind words amidst the jokes and angst. Let our parents know, while we can, that we love them, and appreciate them. Set an example for our children, and hopefully help them not feel as burdened with greif when we leave them.

xoxo
C

The Ballad of Bitter Honey

That's the title of my favorite Clem Snide album. It's also the perfect title for this story.

I've been meaning to post for weeks about my honeybees. They bring me such joy. Every morning I can look out the kitchen window at my hive and see them already busy at work, darting out to find nectar. It literally brings a smile to my face every time I see them. So it brings me such sadness to discover I have to get rid of them. First, the back story.

Bee hives function just like any other species. Their goal is reproductive success. As more and more bees grow and hatch and the hive gets crowded, the bees will decide it's time to break off from the group so they grab their queen and fly off to find another new hive spot. This is called a swarm. Beekeepers don't want this because it means they lose their beloved bees. To prevent swarming you must ensure your bees have enough room, and watch them often for signs of swarming. The sign you're watching for is the building of a queen cell. When bees plan to swarm they try to grow a new queen to take with them, as every hive needs a queen. Queen cells (where they grow) look very different from regular bee cells. See it hanging off the honey frame below?

Some of my keener bees built double-queen cells.

 All in all I found 17 queen cells growing in my one hive. Many beekeepers would just kill those queens, as it's far too many and a swarm is surely imminent. But this softie couldn't do that, so the other option is to form new hives before the bees get a chance to do it themselves. These are called nucs, little starter hives. You take some frames with a queen cell or two on them, some of the bees and you build little shoebox sized hives to put them in. The bees feel like they've now swarmed as they are in a new space that is less crowded. I built 4 nucs and divided my queen cells up among them.

The next step is to check them often to see if a queen has hatched. Once she does she'll sting the remaining unhatched queen cells so they never hatch. It is survival of the fittest in there for sure! It is hard to see the queen in this shot but I have faith in you. She is dead centre at the bottom of the frame, to the right of those big empty holes in the beeswax. All the nearby bees are facing her, surrounding her. She is slightly bigger and longer than the other bees, and her back has no stripes on it, but is instead a warm chestnut brown colour. Do you see her?

Those sealed golden places above her house growing baby bees. When they are ready to hatch they'll chew their way out of their little spot. For 20 days they'll live inside the hive as nurse bees, tending the other baby bees that have yet to hatch, and then they'll spend 20 more days as forager bees, flying up to 3KM to find delicious nectar in the flowering trees and bushes in my neighbourhood. Then they die. Our yard is littered regularly with deceased little bees. Such hardworking gals indeed. And yes, they are ALL females. Much to my dismay Hollywood's ability to spread false information is still very successful, so not only do folks believe the hardest working bees are of course men, they also believe bees have only 4 legs. Sigh. Hollywood just keeps messing kids up, huh?

Anyway, my hive was doing great, my nucs were doing great, I was so excited to expand my little honeybee family. I'd have 5 hives by the end of summer, all buzzing happily in the garden.

Then I was stung a few weeks ago. I have been stung before, and while it is definitely painful, I didn't think it was a big deal. I was stung last year and my cheek swelled like I'd been to the dentist. No big deal, right? Then I was stung in April of this year and my leg swelled up so much I couldn't fit into my jeans. Wow, that's kinda crazy huh? It itched and hurt, but all stings do right? So I ignored it as best as I could. When I was stung on my hand a few weeks ago it swelled. A lot. And it spread up my arm to my elbow. It itched like MAD constantly, and only stopped hurting if I held my arm up over my head. This lasted for 5 days! Is this normal?

Nope, turns out it's not. Normal is what happens to Kit when he got stung last month. Nothing happened. It hurt, he itched it once, and life went on. My friend, who is a nurse, confirmed that my reaction is definitely not normal, and since it's getting worse each time, it's dangerous. My neck or scalp cannot afford to swell that much! Keeping my bees any longer just increases my chances of getting stung again.

So I've put my lovely bees up for sale, and a beekeeper from the Gulf Islands is coming next week to take them all away. I'll miss seeing them in the sunlight every morning, and the yard will be so quiet without the quiet hum of their busy work. I really loved the gift of having bees in my life, but I have  to accept my new reality. Bummer huh?

xoxo
C

I have 15 hours a day to work with . . .

 . . . why can't I get anything done?! Here is my answer. I have watched this 5 times.

The last stitch.

This is one youtube I love to watch. It's about knitting, but also about life and our endless quest for more, of never being able to just stop and be in this moment. Love it.

xoxo

C

This morning I got up early, before the rest of the house, as usual. Fed Mr. Bruce, made my tea, started the laundry, made salad and baked cookies. We will be out most of today so I need to have enough snax and lunch ready to take with us. I fed the birds, took my vitamins. As each child woke up I hugged them and confirmed their morning toast order. I checked my email on my way through the livingroom. Then as I stood buttering their toast I tried to process the news I had just read.

A childhood friend's mother has just died, my email told me. And I recalled lunches in their kitchen, sleepovers at their neat house in the woods, her mother's voice as she lamented my friend for not doing her chores or laughing at my friend's jokes. I can see her husband, such a great dad, and how they were always together, partners, in life, in businesss and in caring for each other and their daughters. They were one of my 'dream' families, you know, the ones you wish you belonged to when your own was driving you nuts. And now she is gone. My heart aches for my friend, whom I haven't chatted with in 15 years. For her sister, her sweet daughters, and for her father, who has lost his partner, his best friend. It's just hard, all around.

And I stood their buttering, thinking of how stressed out I can get trying to show my loved ones that I care, to honour my friends, to try to do what I can for those in my big, gregarious family of people. And how much I stress about living my life 'right'. That I want to arrive at my final days feeling that I spent my life well, I did what I hoped and did not waste a minute. When will I have that career I dreamed of, when will I travel like I planned to in high school, when will I get all those books read? Yet each day I am taken over by the minutae, the details of what, when, how now. And that focus is lost. You get lost in your life, no matter how much you try to remember the big picture. But maybe that is not such a bad thing. To live constantly trying to shift your focus, trying to be sure you remember what really matters, is hard. It can really stress a gal out. And maybe being lost in your life is the same thing. Instead of focusing on the bigger picture, the big to do list, the forever-looking-ahead-to-be-sure-you've-got-it-all-lined-up-so-when-you-look-back-it's-a-life-well-spent thing can make you miss it, your life. Can make you forget what is going on now, how much you love it, or not, but that this is it, the life you've got. It could all be over tomorrow, or in 30 years. Maybe living in these days, getting lost in the tiny details and distracted by the toast crumbs is okay. It's being present, now, when that life you keep worrying about is happening right in front of you.


It's something worth remembering.






xoxo

C

On the water . .

When you are on the ferry, life is good. The islands float by, maybe the sun is shining down on you out on the deck, or maybe the day is cloudy and grey and you watch it go by from inside the boat. Either way, it is a reminder of the awesomeness of where we live. I imagine people living in the various geographies of Canada have their own similar connections to the landscape that is the backdrop to their lives. I have ridden the ferry for as long as I can remember. As a child, on holiday with my parents, then after their divorce, traveling to Al's cabin more weekends than I could ever count. As an adult I attended many a midwifery meeting in Victoria, and Kit and I camped and road tripped around the Coast. We lived in Roberts Creek on the Sunshine Coast, and years later made a final move to Victoria. The ferry has been such a constant in my life, and I am always restored when I can make that connection to my unique landscape.

Today, I soaked up some sun.

Yes, life is good.

xoxo

C

So far . . .

It has been months since my last post and a lot has happened. Some big birthdays happened around here which must be mentioned first.
A very lovely little person turned FIVE this winter! And now she'd like to be let in on all the action thank-you very much.

And then not much later an amazing fellow strutted through his ELEVENTH birthday! Holy cow! Do you all remember when he was only ONE??

In case you're wondering, both these great days were celebrated in Hawaii, in the lovely warm, humid sunny weather we love. It was great, each day debating pool or beach, and we generally opted for both.

We checked out the familar sights (the zoo, the reefs) and added in the Foster's Historical Garden in Waikiki. We saw crazy plants and gorgeous flowers. But we were not prepared for this:

What a crazy-looking tree! Pods growing off the sides!

We have since learned that lots of tropical, pod-bearing trees grow just like this. Cocoa trees are a prime example.


We were blessed to have friends and family make the island trek to come and visit us over the winter. It is so much fun to have the house filled with good buddies. The kids are forever busy and us adults just sit back and let the mayhem reign

And on all those rainy West Coast winter days, we kept ourselves busy. If you have these supplies (duct tape, empty beer cans, empty milk cartons and some odd-shaped containers, we used tofu and BIO-K) you can make the coolest thing.

A Star Wars AT-AT walker planter. How awesome is that?!!

The plants look a little rough in that pic, but it's been sitting on the counter in a bright window for months now, being spritzed daily by its attentive creator (Hannah) and now it is a flourishing forest that currently houses a fierce battle between Darth Vader and a tough little Ewok.


Speaking of battles, another sort of battle is waged regularily in our basement, and it looks something like this:

Those Nerf guns are definitly the best family gift ever!

Leif and Hannah have created many treasure hunts and quests for Ivy this winter. They are full of intrigue and challenges, like this one. She is so lucky to have such great siblings I tell ya'.

"WHOEVER DRAWS THE SWORD CAN DEFEAT THE MONSTER" it reads.


We checked out a new burger place that opened in town, Big Wheel Burger. I know, you'd never expect us to say that, we are not burger people. The kids asked us if this was what McDonald's was like. Oh no little grasshoppers, this is nothing like that. Big Wheel is a joint collaboration between a bunch of local chefs who wanted to create the old-fashioned burger place of yesteryear, using local, organic ingredients. So they have fries and burgers hand made from local, organic beef and spuds, buns from an island bakery and gluten-free buns from the awesome Origins bakery just up the street from us. Milk shakes from Island Farms milk and ice cream and local beer from Phillips rounded out the great all-local menu. It was very tasty, we ordered far too much, and will keep it in mind if we're at the beach this summer and have that childhood burgers-at-the-beach feeling.

And now it is spring, and we have proof that the weather is warming up. The bees are out! Wahoo!

xoxo

Caelen