These are the days...

... I realize that I really do live in a different country. It's so funny to me. Canada is right across the border from the US, right... I mean, Canadians are just our "neighbors to the North". Better yet, our house in Michigan is within 30 or 45 minutes of the border. How different could it really be?! The answer: very different. Sometimes I think they think I'm an alien. Case in point:

I had a business dinner last night at a very nice Italian restaurant, which somehow turned into a conversation about All-You-Can-Eat Buffets. One of my coworkers mentioned that he was on a business trip to the Atlanta area several years ago, and his customer was so excited to take him to an All-You-Can-Eat Buffet because... well, because apparently they don't have them in Canada. And if you do happen to find one, it's a special treat. Like a put-on-your-Sunday-best, say-yes-ma'am-and-please-and-thank-you, you-only-get-it-once-in-your-life kind of treat.

Enter the Southern accent! "Y'all don't have buffets?!" "Bless your heart!" "Where does everyone go after church on Sunday?" "Imagine the dessert selection at those places!" "You're missin' out, really missin' out."

I grew up in Georgia, people... I think it's the homeland of All-You-Can-Eat Buffets. I started explaining the bagillions of buffets we had at home, and the frequency at which we dined at such establishments, and I'm fairly certain I dropped a few notches on the "Americans aren't so bad" scale. I think we ate at Shoney's once a week. And I'm fairly certain I've never seen a Shoney's menu. Or what about Ryan's. That was a buffet, too, right, especially for the church crowd on Sundays. And we can't neglect CiCi's pizza or the Pizza Hut buffet, because we all need to eat that much pizza. But I think my favorite, and the one my Canadian counterparts found most appalling, was the Hartz buffet... a buffet of fried chicken and mashed potatoes and biscuits and corn and peach cobbler... yum yum yum!

Then the conversation turned. I honestly think they were just trying to get a reaction out of me, make me feel completely alien. Next subject: the church potluck. This coworker of mine was talking about a family vacation to a park in South Carolina and the fact that the after-church crowd showed up with mounds of food and a barbeque in their pickup. A "barbeque"? Oh, he means a grill. And is it really that strange? Really? I mean, how else are you gonna feed all those people. I'm Baptist y'all. The one thing we know how to do is eat. We had lots of church picnics... and potlucks... and "progressive suppers" in the back of a dumptruck filled with hay. Totally normal. Especially the dumptruck part.

At work today, I was asked by three different girls to bring back jars of peanut butter when I go home this weekend. Yes, peanut butter. You see, they sell peanut butter in Canada (though it's completely banned in schools - the horror!), but they don't sell Reese's peanut butter. Did these girls try my peanut butter? No. They want it simply because it's Reese's and they can't get it here. And I'm supposed to bring back a few Whatchamacallit bars, too, because apparently they don't have those in Canada either. And some Warm Vanilla Sugar soap from Bath & Body Works. Again, another thing lacking from the Canadian lifestyle. And Target. I need to find a way to get Target to open a store or two in Canada because I'm having withdrawals. Major withdrawals.

Someone rescue me please. I've been abducted by aliens... or just some crazy Canadians!

You Are My Special Angel

Today is my sweet sweet NaNa's birthday. I wish I could tell you how old she is, but I can't... basically because she stopped getting older when she was 55 and my grandfather was 65. And I can assure you this: that was many, many years ago. Funny thing how age works when you're a kid!

For those of you that don't know, my grandfather passed away on October 13. I was blessed to be in the hospital room with my NaNa, mom, uncle, aunt, and cousin when PaPa took his last breath. It was so incredibly peaceful, one of those moments where you know God just reached down and gently carried his soul away to heaven. I was heartbroken. I don't do funerals, not that anyone does, and PaPa's death was really only the second one I'd experienced in my life. I was a basketcase at the viewing, completely unable to control my tears as pictures of PaPa and I from back in the day scrolled across the tv while "Go Rest High On That Mountain" played in the background. I had so many people give me that "bless her heart" look and hug me tight, which only made matters worse. Watching those pictures, I remembered moments with PaPa. We lived near NaNa and PaPa or with them for a decent chunk of my childhood. PaPa was my favorite and I'm fairly certain I ranked pretty high up on his list. I loved spending the night at their house. I loved playing in their backyard. I was amazed doing crossword puzzles and word-finds with PaPa. I watched those pictures at the funeral home and saw the image of my daughter in me. I saw the faces I made and could relate them to Savannah. I saw a picture of me pushing PaPa on a porch swing, the swing much larger than I was, and thought back to earlier that day when Savannah was doing the exact same thing for me on the porch of the house where PaPa grew up.

My summer vacations were spent in Hinton, WV, where the average age of the population was 65 and I certainly never thought of our visits as a "vacations". We spent the week "visiting"... for those of you that didn't grow up in the South, "visiting" is just that... we literally went from house to house to house visiting relatives, doing nothing but sitting around talking. At Aunt Margie's house, some adults sat in the front room while some sat in the room behind the kitchen; the kid's often occupied the front porch or a room upstairs with games. At Aunt Frances' house, we sat on the back patio or played on the hill among the grapes. At Uncle Allen's house up on the creek, we fed cigarettes to the horse or stood in the kitchen admiring Aunt Macie's mad baking skills or played a game in the front room. At NaNa and PaPa's, we just sat in the living room of their little one bedroom apartment at "the highrise". Every now and then, we'd get excited about walking to Kroger for some Big K Red Cream Soda or the Majic Mart for a new swimsuit. The highlight of my summer vacations was the year they opened a water park... err, water slide... in town! These are moments I certainly didn't cherish as a child, yet they are such fond memories for me now.

Sitting up on the mountain, picking out PaPa's burial spot in the family cemetery, my cousin and I pulled up a piece of grass and admired the view. We sat there close to one another in perfect silence for quite some time. David had supported me the day before, as PaPa took his last breath and there was nowhere else to turn. He knows when to hug, he knows when to smile, and he knows when to merely be in your presence in peace and quiet. After we sat there looking over the edge of the mountain for a few minutes, the memories came flooding in. David said "do you remember when...", which was followed by my laughter and "absolutely, but do you remember when..." I guarantee that the two fo us have never been so solemn and serene in our lives. Nor had we truly realized the value of family... at least I hadn't.

My PaPa and I had a special bond in the early years of my childhood. I have very few memories that don't involve him. Yet sometime in my "I know everything" high school years, I fell out of the running for Granddaughter of the Year. I didn't call him on his birthday. I really dreaded those summer vacations. I didn't care to pick out personal Christmas presents. I was so ungrateful. NaNa and PaPa came down for my wedding in the spring of 2002, but I don't think I paid much attention to them. I remember NaNa watching me wrap presents and joking about a few things here and there, but I don't think anything really clicked with me. I certainly took my time with them for granted and didn't really see it as important. In the nearly six years since we got married, I can count on one hand the number of times I've talked to my grandparents. In those six years, we never once made the 7-hour drive to West Virginia to visit them. Worse yet, I have a three year old daughter that had never met her grandparents until the day before PaPa passed away. Again, not something that ranks high on my list of greatest achievements.

There's not much I can do about letting my teenage years control my relationship with PaPa. The good thing is that I know he loved me whole-heartedly and unconditionally, no matter how stubborn and hard-headed I am. My NaNa, on the other hand, is a different story. It's not too late. Tonight, on my NaNa's birthday, I did what any loving grandchild would do - I called to wish her a Happy Birthday. And I meant it. This is the first time in the two months since PaPa passed away that I've called her, despite my many mental notes to myself to call and see how she's doing. She said that I made her day. I. Made. Her. Day. One little phone call... 30 minutes spent talking to a woman who invested so much time and love in me in my childhood... a moment of conversation about how she makes it through each day... one call to a lady spending her first birthday as a widow. One call. That's all. And I can't tell you how many times I had to fight back tears during that conversation. I love that lady, plain and simple. And I honestly don't think I realized it until two months ago.

As we were ending the conversation and I promised to talk to her at Christmas, if not before, she said "you are my special angel... just like that song from back in the 50s". She's always referred to my brother as her "Tiger" and me as her "Angel", but I never really knew why. Now I know. As I told my NaNa tonight, through tears, hanging up the phone that I love her, she said "I love you, too, my special angel". Grandma's are special people. No doubt about that. And I am one lucky little girl that my NaNa still thinks I'm such an angel.

You are my special angel sent from up above.

The Lord smiled down on me and sent an angel to love.

You are my special angel, right from paradise.

I know you're an angel, Heaven is in your eyes .

The smile from your lips brings the summer sunshine.

Tears from your eyes bring the rain.

I feel your touch, your warm embrace, and I'm in heaven again.

You are my special angel;

Through eternity I'll have my special angel here to watch over me.

We love you, NaNa!

Above all else...

I think I learn new lessons quite frequently. It's part of being curious... or nosy. Being in Canada alone for so many weeks has taught me a million life-lessons. I knew it would be a challenge when I took this new job, leaving before Todd's transfer was complete. But I'm a big girl, a strong woman, I can handle this on my own, right? Wrong! Am I strong? Absolutely. Am I confident? Definitely. Did I make the right decision? No doubt about it. Is this easy? Heck no. I am blessed in that it's never been more than five days or so without Savannah... but travelling for an entire week, week in week out, is tiring. Living out of a suitcase is getting old. Eating out has lost its appeal. It's downright exhausting. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. I'm drained. In fact, I could probably be classified as a trainwreck.

Todd and Savannah came for a visit this weekend. Mind you, I was home two weeks ago for an entire week, so I've only been in Toronto since Sunday. Yet, when I found out Friday morning that they might not make the trip this weekend, I had a breakdown. In my car. In the parking lot at work. Very professional. It snowed in Canada on Friday. There's an ice storm in Michigan today. The weather gods are definitely not on my side. After my breakdown Friday morning, Todd realized just how important it was to get to me this weekend. Of course, that didn't keep me from fighting back the tears all day at work. It's a catch-22... I get to spend 48 precious hours with my family, which is amazing... but then they have to go home and I have to stay here until I get to make the drive home on Friday.

I relished in every moment I had with my little one. I came "home" from work a little early Friday afternoon to cuddle on the couch with Savannah. We eventually made our way over to Dave & Buster's for dinner. Upon our return from dinner, we put on our jammies, turned on a Dora DVD, and crawled into bed... promptly followed by lights out at 8:30. I fell asleep with my 3 year-old baby rubbing my back. Saturday was very low-key but so fun-filled. We went to IKEA. We braved a Super Wal-Mart, 17 days before Christmas. We ate dinner at Burger King, where it took Savannah half an hour to eat three chicken nuggets. We went to Marble Slab Creamery for dessert, apparently identifying ourselves as Americans the minute Todd ordered a malt. We came back to the hotel and cuddled some more. This morning included a trip to Chapters, Canada's version of Borders, with some coffee for mom & dad and drinkable strawberry yogurt for Savannah. Then Todd loaded the car, took Savannah by the hand, and headed back to Michigan.

And I've been a basketcase ever since. I'm a career-woman. A hard-worker. It's not at all unusual for me to spend an hour or two working at home at night, and that's after spending a full 8 hours working at the office. This weekend, I think my priorities were set straight. This weekend I realized, above all else, that I am a Mommy. Savannah's not going to be a toddler forever. She's not always going to want to sit next to me at lunch or hold my hand in the parking lot or rub my back at bedtime. When I say "I love you", she's not always going to put a huge grin on her face and say "I love you too". These are the moments to treasure. Work will be work. There's a time and a place. And it will all get done... eventually. Savannah, however, I can't control. She's going to grow up. She's going to become her own person. She's going to go to college and get married and have her own little babies. And I know that's so far down the road... years and years and years from now. But I also know that those moments will come in what seems like the blink of an eye. I generally get 48 hours a week with my little princess; 48 hours where I'm often pre-occupied with other thoughts. No longer. This is the new me. This is the me that's meant to be a Mommy. This is the me that is going to love and adore and cuddle my little princess.

Memories

"Momma, it's not Kristen and Gilbert's wedding anymore."

Really? I hadn't realized. :) Those are the words that very sincerely came out of Savannah's mouth tonight as we were watching yet another episode of So You Think You Can Dance. She's right, it's not Kristen and Gilbert's wedding anymore. Their wedding was a month ago, but it must've made quite an impact. After all, it's got to be difficult to erase from a toddler's mind the shrill and screams that echoed through the sanctuary at a perfeclty quiet moment in time when all eyes were on an adorable little flower girl that was supposed to steal the show. Steal the show she did, just not in the manner her adoring fans had imagined. I'm also fairly certain that Todd wasn't planning on acting as the honorary ring bearer.

In honor of the sweet little princess's memories, here are a few of our favorite pictures from that way-too-short of a weekend spent at home back in November. And for those of you that are wondering: yes, Georgia will always be "home". Always.

It only took 3 and a half years...

Savannah was bald for so long - literally until her second birthday - that I hesitated to ever give her a haircut. And after she found a pair of scissors in her changing table a year or so ago, giving herself a the best haircut a 2 year-old can manage, I just sat around hoping the mullet would come back in style. Alas, we've given up hope and needed to try to wrangle the scraggly hair.

After some discussions with Savannah about my recent cut / color (i.e. "Mommy, I don't want you to have brown hair - I want it to be light like mine!"), I took Savannah for her first haircut on Saturday. I tried to prep her in the car, telling her she had to sit still while they cut her hair so they wouldn't cut it crooked. But she wanted it crooked - she insisted... must be why she took matters into her own hands last year! With the bribe of a lollypop and balloon, Savannah was perfect! She sat big & tall in the chair, following instructions from the stylist, and never moving her head. It was adorable... absolutely adorable!