Move over Martha!

The gang at work already gives me a hard time for baking Christimas cookies in my hotel room ... I'm sure I'll never hear the end of it for this:

Yes, those are flowers. Yes, that's Easter grass. And, yes, they're absolutely edible. Isn't that the tastiest bunch of watermelon, canteloupe, pineapple, grapes, and strawberries you've ever seen?!

And the survey says...

I ran across this random little "who does your kid look like" thing-a-ma-bobber today and figured I'd give it a shot. I mean, what do I have to lose?! This is a question that's never been up for debate in our family. Savannah looks like Todd. Period. From day one, the most I've ever heard is "she has your little button nose"... gee, thanks. So let's see what this super high-tech computer program can tell me that the rest of the world can't...

I win. Fair and square. No matter which pictures I chose... and I did this more times than any person should willingly admit... I couldn't get Todd to come out on top. So there. Take that. :)

For Tricia...

Alright y'all, it's no secret that I can spend hours and hours "stalking" people online. I've stumbled upon a few blogs that I read religiously, refreshing and looking for updates multiple times a day. Some of them are dang funny women, some of them give great advice, some are filled with heart-warming stories... all of them are mommies. One of the stories I follow is of a momma with CF, her sweet little preemie baby, and one heck of an awesome husband / daddy. To read their amazing story, click here.

So today, via Nate's blog, I was directed to another blog and given this challenge... Here are the things that I can't wait for Tricia to experience:

• **Baby giggles, deep-down-in-the-bottom-of-her-belly giggles.
• ** Watching Sesame Street. every. single. day.
• ** Walking in the door at the end of the day to a little one running, full-steam ahead, with arms outstretched.
• ** Butterfly kisses. Eskimo kisses, too!
• ** When a tube of lipgloss and a glass of water are staples on the nightstand, just like mommy.
• ** The first unsolicited "I love you"... and every one after!
• ** Insisting that "God is great" is said at the dinner table before mommy & daddy's prayer.
• ** Hearing her call you by your first and middle name in the middle of a store!
• ** When chip clips become her cell phone to call friends.
• ** Why? But why? Why? There's a "why" for everything!
• ** The pitter patter of footsteps, bright and early on a Saturday morning, because she wants to cuddle in your bed.
• ** Hearing "you're never never gonna let me watch Dora", even though she's watched Dora and / or Diego every single day for the past four months, and you merely told her to wait until after dinner.
• ** Hands on hips, pouty lip, sad eyes, exclaiming "well, I'm not gonna be your momma no more"... and when you tell her that you are the momma, she'll respond with "well, I'm not gonna be your friend no more!"
• ** A light on her nightstand that stays on two hours after she's been tucked in because she's sitting in bed, reading books to herself.
• ** Being called to her room, two hours after you've tucked her in, after the books have been read, just to hear "momma, will you rub my back?".
• ** Being corrected by a 3 year-old when counting in Spanish, because Dora is indeed educational.

I could go on and on and on and on... and we all know I'm not shy with words. But I'll stop here. There are so many amazing mommy moments that I can't wait for Tricia to experience. I've never met her, and I likely never will, but she is an incredible woman with inspiring strength and insane courage... she, too, will have a million memories to make with sweet Gwyneth!

Snow!

Enough said...

Hello? Anyone home?!

I apologize for the rather long hiatus from this blog. Part of it is because I wonder if anyone reads my ramblings other than me… and, trust me, I do enough talking to myself without needing to write it down. Another part of it is because there were holidays involved. Holidays that were accompanied by travelling. Lots of travelling. But, quite possibly, the biggest reason for leaving y’all hanging for so long is that I haven’t known which end was up for a couple of months. True, Mrs Organized was completely discombobulated and feeling totally out of control. That being said, we’re back… new, improved, and officially relocated! For those of you for whom we actually have a mailing address, you’ll be getting a cute little card in the mail with this adorable picture and our new address in the very near future. Once I figure out how the Canadian mail system works. Hmm.

Speaking of Canada, here’s some interesting things we’ve learned in the few weeks since we officially relocated…
** Milk comes in bags. Yes, bags. Plastic ones. And, no, they’re not resealable. You buy a pitcher, one specifically for milk, you cut the corner off the little one liter milk bag, you put the little plastic bag in the pitcher, and you pour. And the wonder of these pitchers! The bag doesn’t fall out. Even when it’s empty. Amazing. Weird, but amazing.
** Alcohol. Canadians are a drinking people. Problem is, they haven’t fully grasped the concept of one-stop shopping. At the grocery store when you get a beer urge? Sorry Charlie. Beer is only sold at The Beer Store. (Yes, that’s really what it’s called!) And wine and liquor are only sold at liquor stores, typically the LCBO. For an alcohol-consuming bunch of folks like these crazy Canadians, you think they’d make it a little easier. Alas, a beer run actually takes effort.
** Our house. It’s new. Brand new. And apparently FedEx and DHL don’t think we exist. People have tried, to no avail. So, if you want to send us packages that don’t come via Canada Post, let us know in advance and I’ll give you an alternate address. That’s right, no surprise packages for the Valentines.
** Speaking of FedEx, I seriously almost had to show the FedEx man ID when he delivered a package to work on Thursday. I signed for the package, which wasn’t for me, so he had to confirm my first initial and last name. When I told him what my last name was, he let out a few choice words and honestly couldn’t believe it. Yes, it was Valentine’s Day. Yes, my last name is Valentine. Yes, you’re the 387th person to make a comment like that to me today.
** And speaking of choice words. Canadians use them. A lot. And quite flippantly. Not good for little ears. Or stressed-out mommas.
** Buggies. You have to PAY for them at the grocery store. You heard me… deposit a quarter and get a buggy. Return the buggy, plug it back in to the rest of the chain of buggies, and your quarter will be returned. Strange. Very strange.
** I still can’t convert from Celsius to Fahrenheit. I just know it’s cold. I also have no clue how many liters are in a gallon. I just know gas is expensive. And how many kilometers are in a mile? Don’t even go there.
** Language. We’re in trouble when Savannah starts Junior Kindergarten in September. I refuse to spell colour or neighbourhood or centre as the Canadians would. And I won’t say process with a long O. Nor will I end a sentence with the word “eh” (though Todd has bets that I’ll be fluent in “eh” within the next month!). And let’s not even talk about the fact that Savannah will know the words to Oh Canada long before she even knows The Star Spangled Banner exists.

Oh Canada! You are different. You are crazy. You are freakin’ cold. But we’re enjoying you.

Now that we’re somewhat settled, the boxes are mostly unpacked, and the nearest LCBO has been located, I promise I’ll try to do a better job of keeping everyone updated on our journey in Canada. More Canadian idiosyncrasies to follow, of that you can be sure. I’ll do my best to capture the first time Savannah says “eh” or “aboot”. I could also start a ticker to track the amount of time Todd stands in amazement at the offerings of The Beer Store. Or you could all take bets on when my American accent will completely disappear and nobody will have a clue that I wasn’t born and bred Canadian (the horror!). And, hey, dig out those passports and come for a visit… we’d love to have you!

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!