Sailing isn’t going to happen. We actually didn’t make it off the wait list. I thought it was going to happen and then, crash – no sailing. I’m a little sad about this if only because I grew up in Northern BC. We didn’t sail. Our summer camps consisted of making sure we didn’t have leeches on our legs after coming from the lake and swatting the mosquitoes the size of eyeballs once they had collected enough blood to make them really SPLAT on our friend’s arms.

Sailing just seemed like so much fun. Anything that has to do with the ocean seems like such a treat for Dickson and I. Even going down for a walk on Dallas Road brings on sigh after sigh about how lucky we are to live in a place so beautiful. People come from all over the world to see our little corner and of all the places I’ve travelled to this is truly the most beautiful.

So, it’s with this appreciation that we look on Franklin’s protests.

“The O-C-E-A-N… Why do we have to go there?”

It is hard to see how good you have it when you don’t know anything different. The ocean is practically in his backyard and he thinks this is a normal everyday thing. Just recently, however, he’s been easier to get to the beach. We have moved to by a particular beach that he likes and so we only have to ask him once (okay, maybe twice) and he’s game.

Phew.

However…. What to do in place of Sailing Camp? I’m clearly going to have to find something because you know what we did today after swimming? He opened his own bank account.

Yes. The Camp of Mom is just riveting.

Recently we moved to a new home closer to my work (when I’m not on maternity leave, mind you), closer to Franklin’s school (living near the friends he sees at school is so so so much better – even if the closest bestest one is moving to Japan in August), closer to the community garden (a billion hoorays for this!). Basically, we walk everywhere now.

Who would have thought that moving to suburbia would free us from the car? Well, I guess our situation has made it so, anyway. Shopping is much closer, the beach is much closer and like I have already mentioned, school and the people we often set up play dates with are much closer. We didn’t really live “downtown” before anyway. We lived “in-between” or "on the bus route" - in the hard to define area where nothing really gets built except for apartment buildings and subsidized housing, really.

One thing Dickson and I have noticed is that when we watch a movie, the volume on the television is 3 notches lower. Everything is quieter here. There are no more sirens screaming down the road and the friendly neighbourhood dumpster divers don’t come all the way up here to gather their goods.

I used to get annoyed when people mentioned things like “idyllic, quiet countryside versus the busy, noisy city” because I love living in a city. Victoria isn’t all that much of a city, I know, and I would move to a bigger centre in a heartbeat – given the right circumstances. I love the action. In the past, I would defend the screaming fire trucks, the excavators and the car alarms. However, there is such a remarkable change now.

I can hear a lawn mower. I can’t remember when the last time I heard a privately owned, hand powered lawn-mower from my own kitchen. These things do make a difference.

I took an environmental aesthetics class once and during one class I remember questioning the unappreciated aspects of city noise – both visual and audio. I defended both graffiti and ambulances. I demanded a world where we become accustomed to the hustle and the bustle. I wanted there to be a world where living so close to each other was okay (even desired) and that people weren’t constantly trying to “arrive” and “feel successful” once they move to the suburbs or the countryside. We can't all afford to live with a green yard and picket fence buffer between us and our neighbours. Thus, we shouldn't set up artificial standards and thrive for this kind of life

However, I get it now. It’s not the hustle and bustle that we need to change. The environmental pollution that is caused by the noise of traffic isn’t what defines a city and it shouldn't need defending. In fact, this is something we need to change – through better traffic planning, bike promotion and communal commuting. Car alarms, fire engines and dump trucks are not a proud badge of city life but a kind of toxin that can slowly wear you out. This is something we need to find a solution for as I’m not so sure that children should be growing up with that kind of beat constantly playing throughout their soundtrack of life.

I was talking to D about a variety of yoga classes and Franklin had something to contribute - the tree pose. This was taken at preschool. We get little Kodak photo emails every once and awhile so we can see the various stages of development from clean child in the morning to absolutely filthy child by the afternoon.

For a kid with a large head and outdoor gear on, I think this is pretty good. It's a hell of a lot better than I can do in hot yoga when my body is so soaked with sweat that I can't even get a good grip on my foot to bring it up to tadasana.

Speaking of the whole Bikram thing; it's not going to happen. I knew it was a bit of a fad at the moment but holy Moses! It's expensive! I was prepared for about $90.00 a month - only because I really, really love it. However, there is no monthly option here in the land of the insanely rich and I would be required to pay for 6 months up front - there is the option of 4 installments, but it's still not manageable in my world.

So, I’ve joined a gym.
I've joined gyms before and it was successful. There's a drop-in Hatha class I can take, which is what Bikram is taken from so I'll just have to compromise this way. There's also something called "Iron Yoga" - I'm going to reserve judgment on until I take a couple of classes. Yoga with free weights... sounds interesting.

Still, the soft lighting, the heat, the humidity and the calmness is what I'll miss more than the constant reminder that I suck extremely large gopher butt at yoga and anything else to do with stretching in general. Ah well.

When people ask me how the hell do I work a full time job, raise a toddler, participate in a marriage, and go to school at the same time I usually shrug and mention something about the bags under my eyes and my dehydrated, coffee saturated skin.

What I have finally realized, as I sit here and become increasing annoyed, is that those little moments when you finally get a silent period in the day, when you don't have a child to play with, a husband to talk to, a distracting golf game on the television (not my form of entertainment, this is D's), or a job to be competent for.. these ARE VERY VERY PRECIOUS MOMENTS.

This is why, when you finally have those moments - the child is sleeping, the husband is playing squash, the job is on a sick day/vacation/weekend, you guard them with more ferocity than a fanatical celebrity and his own personal, religious, judgmental agenda (take a look at this link, it is brillant).
This is why, when even the ear plugs cannot drown out the constant basketball dribble of the 12 year old girl behind my home, I must use all my will power to resist the urge to TAKE A PICKAXE TO THE HORRID THING (the ball, not the girl).

She's lucky I sold that pickaxe.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP ALREADY!

Last night I met my neighbours for the first time and dug up their garden area. It was wonderful.

It's funny how much horrendous crap I was told from others about these people. Worse, without actually getting a chance to introduce myself to those who were being gossiped about. Even though I know better than to believe a stupid word anyone said, I still become wary of this apparently "abusive, drunken, irresponsive, neglectful" family.

Last night I was berating myself for taking this long to get to know these nieghbours across from me. They are lovely, generous and have nothing terrible to say about anyone. My nieghbourhood can get vicious if you talk to certain people. In fact, for some of us, it's nothing better than a depressive hole that they are stuck in until they can peel out of here. For others, like the mother and daughter of the garden space I worked on last night, it is a wonderful place to live. Of course, it has its problems, but it’s a great place to raise kids in an incredibly expensive city.

The storage locker that I was told was where she was making her daughter sleep because she had kicked her out of her house?
Yeah, that's her study. She has a computer and a little television set up in there and its just her place to concentrate. I got to listen to a Much Music tribute to Sonny and Cher as I pulled weeds and racked leaves.

The mother gave me her carrot seeds that she received from her donation to World Vision. She also has a pretty good motherly handle on the "troubled teenager" and her boyfriend next door. Instead of yelling at these kids and dismissing them to an eventual homeless life on the street, she asked about their day, whether they went to school, what their field trip was like, etc.

Let's just say it was a bit of an eye-opener on the "informed opinion" of the people I normally come in contact with around my home.

I'm excited to start planting. I just noticed this morning that the pumpkin I planted eons ago has finally sprouted in a major way. Those things take so long to get themselves out of the ground. I've had feel-good butterflies ever since I saw the shoot and knew I was going to be able to plant this weekend.

Of course, I have this major paper to do as well so I have to be careful with my time. I also have to remember to plant when the small kids around the complex aren't outside playing or I'll have a ton of little "helpers" who will want to make "stweams" and "gussing wivers" through the space. I'm all for teaching kids to garden, but these little guys (3 and 4) need their own, isolated flower boxes. A garden space like this would likely be massacred.

Perhaps I'll try to make it more kid friendly though. After all, I've got to walk the walk.

Before I start this off, I need to say something about my last post. The very last paragraph was misleading. It seemed to show that I am actually the sole provider of Franklin's lunch, clean clothes and general well being. This is not true. In fact, when assignment deadlines loom before me, I can rely on D to take up the slack in the parenting department. He is the main maker of meals in the house - breakfast, lunch and dinner. He's also the one who has been doing the laundry lately as well (granted, I still re-fold every towel he folds. Otherwise, we'd only have space in the linen cabinet for three towels). In fact, as far as partners go, D is the grand master in my eyes. Even during our 9-hour car ride home when Franklin was only what you could describe as "giddy and fanatic", he was cracking jokes and making me laugh.

So, everyone raise his or her glass/coffee/beaker to D.

Okay, back to my insignificant ramblings...

There are people across the way from us who have prime gardening space. This is what it looks like right now:

I have asked permission from half of the space to garden and I suspect that the other half will not care what happens to it either. Things are getting a little late but I figure we can still turn over the soil and plant something nutritious for the earth. Wouldn't be nice for it to look like this?

I'm such a dreamer.

Looking at this unused space reminds me of purple pen's analysis of parenting as a reflection of your gardening habits. I understand that most of what she's saying is with her tongue firmly in her cheek, but it reminds me of how powerful gardening can be for people who have no prior experience of a nurturing environment.

The Lifecycles board I used to belong to, and felt inadequately prepared for, has an extremely good program for teaching children to grow their own gardens at school. I so much wanted to be apart of this. They so much wanted someone else to be apart of this - someone with clout and connections I suspect. Unfortunately, clout and connections are not I.
I bowed out somewhat awkwardly and now I wish to at least volunteer. However, their volunteer support is dismal. In fact, a year before I became a board member, I applied to volunteer three times and no one got back to me. Yet, I'll try again.

Funny enough, speaking about volunteering.... I'm currently researching for a paper on identifying and developing strategic issues for volunteering in Canada. I'm looking at how to increase the number of volunteers and volunteer hours by 10% over the next three years and how to minimize the barriers preventing individuals from volunteering. The basis on the paper is the "Environmental Scan on Volunteering and Improving Volunteering" by the Canadian Centre for Philanthropy in 2001.

If anyone has ides or experience in this matter - or have something to say about their volunteering experiences, email me! I'd absolutely love to hear what you have to say!

I'm seeing a lot of cute little babies on flickr these days.

This little guy is one of them. Owen is his name.
Owen!
Man, I wish we had thought of that one. I was rooting for Atticus myself, but alas, D vetoed it. Tell me, who wouldn't want a son named after Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mocking Bird? I almost got Harper Lee though - also a cool name.

Owen. I love it. Even with the Throw Momma off the Train image running through my head.
OOOOOOOWWWWWEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNN!!!!!!



This is another little cutie, Theya.

My friends Chair and J made the name from a variation of my sister's name, Thuraya - a Persion name for Stars and Planets. In fact, there is a very cool star cluster called the Pleiades, which in arabic is "Thuraya".

I have found one other Theya in the world. She looks mighty interesting.

Charlotte - so sweet.

I absolutely LOVE that smile. Franklin did the same thing and it became a challenge to get a photo that didn't have his face all cheesed up like that.

After awhile, he just kept the "CHEEEESSSE" sound but could have cared less about us taking a photo. In fact, at 2 and a half, he's definively Cheeeeesed out.

This photo makes me want to start Franklin in summer dresses.
Elijah

Man, this little guy will have such a fun life. He has an older sister that looks like she will lead the world someday.

This little one's family lives in Victoria. You can see also go his Dad's website, kflood.net

Look at that bottom lip! How perfect!
Bunny

Nevermind the fact that this child looks like an angel, her Mother can take one amazing child portrait! Of course, I would love for this woman, Jaime (aka dockmaster), to take photos of Franklin.

One of her best photos was featured on the flickr blog.
So, of course, I sometimes find myself pining for those days when Franklin was also that small.

Tell me, how much are you loving the overalls?
What a cutie.

Chomp.

or, "How you know you are living in on the Westcoast"

I'm at home today writing a stakeholders report for my place of work. Franklin is at daycare and Dickson is playing squash for the afternoon.

- because we are bad parents, that's why.

Spring is quickly turning to summer and I don't know much about the school system but from the sound of the park behind me, the kids around here aren't attending. Is there some kind of Pro-D day going on?

About two minutes ago, there were three children discussing how fast they can ride their bikes through the pathway. One particularly socially inept child started taunting the other two by telling them that their Moms don't make enough money to buy them real bikes and so she could beat them in a race "anytime, any day, anywhere". Of course, I would have tried to point out that she was about two years older than these other kids, but whatever. I'm just the eavesdropper with 5 assloads of childhood baggage.

Instead, one of the little boys perked up and said, loud and clear.

"Anna, you are going to have some real bad karma."

Right.
There are six years olds who berate their bullies with Buddhist philosophy behind my house.

Only on the Westcoast.