Carrying on the Family Tradition

   A longstanding family joke is the bad luck we have when traveling. My parents are particularly prone to this bad luck curse. One notable instance was the time they were supposed to travel to Scotland and arrived at the airport only to discover that my father’s passport had expired. As this was not long after 9/11, renewing passports was a more lengthy process which meant the whole trip had to be cancelled. The kicker was that my mother had previously reminded him to check the expiry date on his passport; something which still gets brought up from time to time. Then there was the time when my parents traveled to Tofino. They remembered to bring their dogs, the dog beds, the dog food, the leashes, all the accoutrements needed to travel with dogs. What they failed to bring was their own luggage. This was not the only time they forgot their luggage. They also drove to the airport for another trip and forgot their luggage at home. Fortunately, my father believes on arriving at the airport with more than enough time to check in and sister was able to make a speedy trip with the forgotten bags. Speaking of my sister, she has also not escaped this curse. In her case, it was nothing to do with forgotten bags or expired paperwork, her entire backpack was stolen when she was backpacking around Australia at the age of eighteen. She was traveling alone, just graduated from highschool when this happened. I can only imagine how scary that must have been for her. Nothing that occurred was her fault. She had been directed by the bus station staff to leave her backpack in a pile of other luggage. When she got off the bus in Blue Mountain, her bag was nowhere to be found. Not her fault and certainly bad luck. Actually this may have been the start of this whole bad luck curse.
  Now, I’ve counted myself pretty lucky. Aside from an unscrupulous hotel in Cancun, my traveling has been fairly smooth sailing. It was really only a matter of time though. Markus, Isaac, and I are supposed to be in Connecticut this week visiting our dear friends, Gill, Atila, and Olivia. We had a two night stay planned for New York. Gill, without prompting I might add, suggested she look after Isaac while we stayed in New York. Two baby free nights in NYC! We also planned to stay the weekend in a beach house in a town called Mystic. I had dreams of sand dunes and scraggly grass, picnics on the beach, and children building sandcastles. Well, we arrived at the airport on Saturday bright and early, 6am to be exact, ready for our adventure. Getting to the airport at 6am meant getting up at 4am. 4am people! We made it through the check-in line up and presented our tickets and passports to the clerk, only to find out that in addition to Isaac’s permanent residency card, we would also need a Visa for him to enter the US. Now, I thought that I had done my homework on this. I had checked the Canadian Immigration and Citizenship website and looked under the section, Traveling with a Permanent Residency Card. The website helpfully indicates that to return to Canada all you need is your PR card. What would have also been helpful would have been if that section had also had a simple one line warning: Make sure to check the requirements of the country you are traveling to as a PR card may not be sufficient to enter that country. As a Canadian, I have the benefit of being from a country that is welcomed to most other places in the world without additional visas being required. Unfortunately, Zambians do not share this luxury and thus Isaac with his Zambian passport and Canadian PR card required a Visa to enter the US. This is not the first time I have felt incredibly stupid after trying to navigate the CIC website. Despite having a Masters of Science, I find the CIC website to be very confusing and challenging to find the information that you need. It’s almost like they purposely make it this way, like they don’t want people immigrating to Canada.... hmmm... that couldn’t be the case, right?

  So the long and short of it was that we made a disappointing trek back home, called our friends and tearfully explained that we wouldn’t be able to see them, and then later in the day booked accommodation in Uculelet. Markus and I both wanted to make the most of our time off and realized that staying at home would only be depressing. So, here we are making the most of our vacation and embracing the rain that has now come (finally) to the West Coast.
  Really, it was only a matter of time before I carried on the family tradition. Let’s hope that’s the end of the bad luck for at least this trip. 

On Wickaninnish Beach. Both our boots were full of water by the end.

This morning on the Wild Pacific Trail.

Kelp graveyard

My woodland baby. He walked and ran for 1km on our hike this morning. It's only a matter of time before we won't be able to keep up with him.

Gotcha!

I find it amazing to be able to say that one year ago today, Markus and I were given the greatest gift of our lives when we met our son for the first time. In the adoption community, many people refer to this as your "gotcha day". While I'm not completely sure about the name, I love the idea of celebrating this day and remembering that this was the day your family was created. Thinking back on that day, I remember the nerves, excitement, and adrenaline as we drove up to the orphanage with our social workers. Having barely slept in three days, I think I was running on fumes. But the moment Isaac was placed in my arms, all that faded away. All I could feel was love, joy, wonder, and amazement at this beautiful baby boy in my arms. To feel his soft skin and smell his amazing baby smell. To be able to kiss each of his chubby fingers and hold his tiny (but actually quite large) hands in mine. It was just an incredible moment and I don't think I can truly do it justice in writing. I find it hard to describe the bond that formed that day. This was my son and I knew in that moment that I would do anything for him and love him until the end of my days.
  Fast forward a year and I find it hard to believe how far we have come. Markus and I have taken on this crazy challenge called parenting. I'm not sure there are many situations in life that have quite the same learning curve as becoming parents, but we adjusted and tried our best which is all you can really do. Isaac is now an active, curious, loving, mischievous, and busy 17 month old. One of the first descriptions we read about Isaac in his proposal was that he was "energetic". We had a hard time understanding what that meant for a five month old, but the description fit him perfectly. He has such a exuberance for life and the "energetic" description still holds true today. He is constant motion. I love this about him, but also sometimes wish he would just hold still a bit more like for example when I'm trying to put on his shoes. Everyday Markus and I always have something to chuckle about because Isaac is always doing something new and usually funny. I find those moments when I look into my husband's eyes and we look at our son together in joy, awe, or amusement some of the best times in my day. It's a knowing look. We don't have to put anything to words, but during those times, I know that we both feel so lucky to have Isaac in our lives. So here's to many more gotcha days to come.

One of the funny moments

I just can't get enough of this little guy. Such a handsome little man.

One of his rare moments of stillness.

Should I be worried?

The great thing about the internet is that when you have a question, you can often find someone else who has already been in a similar quandary. Even when your question seems obscure or very strange, chances are someone else has already been there before you. So, tonight at dinner when Isaac gagged himself to the point of vomiting up his just eaten lasagna, I went to my trusty google search for some answers. And, low and behold there was already a chat underway on the Baby Center with this exact problem. Turns out it's very common for toddlers to gag themselves to the point of vomiting. Who knew? Just another behaviour to add to the already long list of questionable things Isaac has already done. Apparently some toddlers do this to get out of naps and bedtimes as they have to be taken out of their cribs if their blankets are covered with vomit. Smart. Isaac has only been gagging himself at meal time. I think he finds it funny. To Markus and myself it's just plain disturbing. I'm not sure what goes on at day care, but I really hope the kids aren't sharing secrets. The last thing I want is for Isaac to discover the vomiting to avoid nap time tactic. As with most things, from what I've read, this is just a phase that will pass. I can only wonder what the next one will bring.
 

Good Hair

Recently I watched Chris Rock’s documentary, Good Hair. It was an interesting exploration of African American hair culture with of course a bit of humor added in. At the start, Chris Rock reveals his motivation for making the documentary stemmed from his daughter telling him that she wished she had “good hair”. He decided to look into what that actually meant.

  As someone who’s never considered herself to have “good hair” some of the viewpoints expressed by the black women really resonated with me. Also as we look towards a second adoption in the future with the wonderful possibility of having a black girl enter our family, understanding the culture around black hair becomes extremely important. What comes across in both the documentary and in main stream culture is a woman’s desire to have princess hair. You know, the long, flowing thick straight or slightly wavy hair of Disney princesses Ariel, Belle, or Cinderella.

 I have thin, bone straight hair. There is no natural wave and if left to its own devices, my hair will just hang straight and limp. I need to wash it once a day otherwise it looks wet it’s so greasy. So, yeah, I have never thought that I have “good hair”. Taking a walk down memory lane, I have tried countless numbers of hair styles in an attempt to achieve the elusive “good hair”. There was the perm phase which just ended up in somewhat curly, frizzy hair. Then there was the invention of the crimper. This was an awesome 80s invention that allowed you to have totally fake looking tight waves. Crimped hair went nicely with a side pony tail and wave of the bangs. In high school, I tried the Gwyneth Paltrow hairstyle from the Sliding Doors movie. This was a short hair style similar to the horrible John and Kate Plus 8 hairstyle that Kate Gosselin rocked at the start of the show. I think this hairstyle actually suited me somewhat until I got a trim and a new hairstylist shaved the back of my head. I guess you have to be specific when you specify that you want the back short. I meant short, not shaved. I think I actually got a discount on that one after crying in the salon chair.  There was also the Jennifer Aniston circa Friends layered look which unfortunately looked somewhat mullet like on me. I now know that a lot of layers just done work that well with my hair. When you start cutting off layers, you aren’t really left with much underneath. In my 20s and now into my 30s, I’ve come to an acceptance with my hair. I’ve had it short and longer. It looks okay. I don’t think I’ll ever think it looks amazing, except for the hair style I had for my wedding day, but unfortunately, I don’t have my own private hair stylist at the ready every morning when I get up. But, I guess that’s what happens as you get older, you come to accept who you are and embrace it (this might still be a bit of a work in progress for me).

  So back to the documentary, I found it interesting to learn about some of the different ways black women style their hair. There is the relaxer which is what appears to be a nasty chemical that straightens and relaxes hair. Chris Rock spoke with a professor of chemistry who demonstrated the ability of sodium hydroxide, the key ingredient in hair relaxers, to dissolve an aluminum can in a few hours. He interviewed women and children as young as three or four who use this on their hair. Now, it’s easy for me to criticise the use of such a strong chemical on your body, but with everything that I’ve tried with my hair, if there had been a magical chemical that would have thickened my hair, I’m sure I would have tried it. Chris Rock also looked into the weave industry. Hair, mostly from temples in India where women are shaving their head for religious purposes, is attached to natural hair to create a completely new hair style. Extensions are popular with white woman as well, but possibly not to the same extent. I was amazed at the cost. A good weave is going to put you back $1000-1500! I spoke with my hairstylist about this. She’s white and said that she had extensions at one point. As she put it, she had Victoria Secret model hair. This made me wonder how many of those models and actresses whose hair I’ve admired actually have completely natural hair. I’m sure there are a lot of extensions or weaves going on out there for both white and black women. We’re all in search of that perfect princess looking hair.
  Possibly the most interesting part of the documentary for me was when Chris Rock interviewed several highschool seniors who would be graduating shortly. They all had different types of hair styles. A few wore braids, some had their hair relaxed, and one girl had a natural Afro. Chris Rock was interested to know what the girls thought about their prospects for getting a job with the different hair styles that they had. All the girls, except for the one with natural hair, said that there was no way you would get hired if you had an Afro. One girl mentioned that having an Afro just didn’t go well with a business suit. Thinking about the possibility of having a girl in the future, I wondered where these feelings about hair come from. Who’s telling these girls that they won’t be able to get a job if they wear their hair in a natural style. And why as women are we worrying so much about what our hair looks like with regard to our job prospects – I doubt guys are putting the same thought into their hair styles, but that’s a question for another day. Personally, as someone who has always been envious of women with curly, voluminous hair, I thought the natural hair style looked great and was one of my favorites. I spoke with my two friends who are originally from Zambia. These two sisters wear their hair differently. One has long braids and the other has short, relaxed hair. Both styles look awesome. I asked them about what they thought about having an Afro. Both agreed that you wouldn’t get hired with hair like that. One of my friends said that she sometimes lets her hair free from the braids, but that it’s very weather dependent. This made a lot of sense to me. My white friends with curly hair have echoed this as well.
  As a white woman raising a black son and possibly a little girl one day, I’ve heard from other blogs that there can be a lot of attention on how you are styling your child’s black hair. There have been comments made on the internet about whether a white woman would actually be able to properly style a black girl’s hair and understand the importance of styling it correctly. This sentiment I take issue with. First of all, I believe I have the ability to learn what I need to in order to care for my child and if I need help, I’ll ask for it. I wonder where these strong feelings about the “correct” way of styling hair come from. I wonder why it’s considered wrong in some circles for a black girl’s hair to be styled naturally. I was shocked to read that there’s actually a petition out there about Beyonce and Jay Z’s daughter, Blue Ivy, requesting that her parents comb her hair. There was similar outrage to Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt’s daughter, Zahara, about her hair which was apparently left au naturel. Why would anyone care how these two girls have their hair styled and care enough to take the time to create a petition or put their name on it? I have to wonder what little girls think when they hear comments like that, that someone’s hair looks bad or wrong. I wonder does it make them feel like their hair as it is grown naturally on their heads isn’t good enough? Is it this sort of sentiment that is perpetuating the idea of good versus bad hair?
  After watching this documentary, I felt like I had a somewhat better understanding on the ways in which black hair can be styled, knowing that not all black hair is the same. However, I still have questions about where the negative feelings about hair come from. As someone who has struggled with similar feelings, possibly not to the same extent as other women, I wondered, how do we raise our daughters (and sons) to love themselves regardless of their shape, size, hair, or colour of their skin? How can we teach them that they’re all princesses (or princes) regardless of what Disney tells them a princess looks like?

  In the end of the documentary, Chris Rock is clearly struggling with what to tell his daughters about their hair. Brilliantly, he says, “So what do I tell my girls? That what’s on their head isn’t as important as what’s in their head”. I couldn’t agree more.

Getting perms with my best childhood friend, Kim. Ah, I can still smell the ammonia.

Independence

Well, we now have our first week of daycare under our belts. It feels like a success. Isaac handled everything very well. He still cries when I drop him off, but the tears only last a couple of minutes. He then plays happily while I'm gone. I think the day care workers have been impressed by his appetite - most people are. I'm happy that he's happy, but I've been feeling a little strange about the whole thing. I couldn't put my finger on what was causing these feelings a first and then I realized that this was Isaac's first independent thing. Day care is his world and I have very little contact with it. After being attached at the hip for almost a year, it's strange to think that he has something that's separate from me. That's not to say that I've never left him with others, but it's always been with family or close friends and I've always had a good understanding of what the day entailed. With day care, I have a general gist of what goes on, but I'll never really know everything that he's doing. Obviously this is a good thing. He has to slowly build his independence over time and I certainly don't want to be a mother that smothers him, but I guess it all feels a little bitter sweet. I'm proud of him, but sad for the loss of our time together. I'm sure this won't be the last of these feelings. The push-pull of motherhood. Wanting your child to develop a sense self and identity, but at the same time wanting to know all about it. Wanting them to go out into the world as confident, independent people, but at the end of the day, hoping they come home wanting to share some of what they experienced. We're just at the start of this grand adventure. I'm glad it's been a good one.

He looks so big in this photo. Definitely a toddler.

It's nice to have reminders though that he'll always be my baby.

Another First

Isaac started daycare today. As I write this post, I’m sitting at Starbucks waiting for his two hours to be up. I’m filled with nerves. I feel like I’ve been preparing to take a test. Some of the same feelings are present – the pit of anxiety in my stomach, the GI issues (I won’t go into details), the restless sleep, the questions of readiness for both Isaac and me. I feel like I’m back at university again, but this time, the test feels a lot more important. I know that eventually he’ll be fine. He loves playing with other kids and the daycare we’ve chosen has a great reputation and sounds like it will be a lot of fun for him. But, I feel horrible leaving him without knowing whether he understands that I’ll be back. I know that all parents who put their children in daycare go through similar feelings. No one wants their child to feel distress. As I walked out that door today with Isaac crying in the background, I felt like my heart was being constricted. I just made it to the car before I started crying myself. I know his tears mean that he’s attached to me and that I should be forever grateful that we’ve been able to create this special bond. But, I can’t help but think back to how he started his life on this Earth. I never want him to feel like he’s being left again. That’s been my promise to him from the start and although I know this isn’t the same, it’s hard not to feel like I’m breaking my promise. I can only hope that when I go back to the daycare in 53 minutes now (I‘m obsessively counting the time), that I find my son playing with lots of new friends and complaining that he doesn’t want to leave. We’ve got two weeks to figure this all out before I’m back to work. Another first for us – two working parents. If I wasn’t quite ready for today’s first, I’m definitely not ready for that one...

Back in the Hood

  It feels like ages since Markus, Isaac, and I have had a weekend together in our house. First of all, we were living with my parents for a month while Markus renovated our bathroom. He worked so hard and did such an amazing job. After that, we were on vacation on Hornby Island, so this weekend was the first weekend we really had in our house without any plans. Don't you love weekends that have no plans? I relish them. It's so easy to over plan your life which I actually find a bit stressful. It's nice to allow for spontaneity and just going with the flow (somewhat against my personality). I also love that it gives you time to just enjoy your neighbourhood. Yesterday, we had one of those days. In the morning, we hit up the farmers' market and playground at Trout Lake. We bought some lovely local veggies and fruit. It was great seeing Markus's Pemberton neighbour, Anna Helmer, who runs Helmer's Organic Farm with her parents. We love their potatoes! Next we were off to the playground so Isaac could have a bit of a run around. I love the new playground design that seems to be in fashion now with the sand area. Usually there's some sort of water feature which is an Isaac magnet. True to his character, that's were we spent most of our time. After that, we were off to the off leash dog area for Gibson to have his run around while Isaac had a bit of a snack. So, all in all, everyone was happy.