Day 181: The end

The end has come with a literal rather than metaphorical bang, as something exploded in downtown Canmore a couple of days ago. I thought I'd caused to door to our house to bang, but the house shaking, the echoes round the mountain and plume of smoke proved otherwise. We were showered with the paper debris ten minutes later, and socual media showed pictures of an impressive aftermath. Thankfully no one was seriously injured.

The second bang was Charlie reverse headbutting me and making my nose crunch. Just what I wanted before a flight.

Unfortunately we did not complete our four peak challenge. Grotto turned out to be a nine hour slog, leaving me physically and mentally like jelly. A woman had fallen to her death in the previous week, and despite my husband's assurances that we were always on the path, the huge bruise on my right bum cheek, a ripped pair of shorts and sewing machine legs suggested my experience was not the joyous romp we had planned.

Eeor (East end of Rundle) seemed much more promising, with half the height gain of only 750m. So we set off with a spring in our step to be beset by thunder and lightning: nature's version of get the hell offa my land. We shot down in half the time, having only been 500m from the official platform for success, if not the true summit. We had our first hearth fire since I nearly killed us all with smoke, and managed to burn most of our receipts.

More promising have been my climbing lessons. The local wall is home to several top bouldering and climbing champions, and despite my star struck awe at their spider like ability, and my lack thereof, I have managed to improve a bit. I have learned about foot position, not clinging on and burning out my arms, and a clever balance thing which works when climbing with no hands. I also managed my first proper knee drop (or drop knee?), and caught my husband when he fell from a non existent hold. No way I could have done it as even if I could have made a magical balancing move of feet and hands on the same hold, the next one was more than a full stretch away, so needed a leap of faith onto a tiny hand hold and no feet. That's 5.12 I guess.

So as I sit on our front deck with a pile of cases, I am thinking about all the funny things I'll miss. The noisy heating and washing machine, intermittent internet and squeaky bed are not top of my list, but the beautiful view, precocious animals, and beautiful weather are. I'll miss the people too. We had started to make friends and feel a little bit at home.

Maybe it will be home, someday.

Day 155: Potty training and hiking

Suddenly time has sped up and we have less than a month left. So many things I still want to see and do. There are four main peaks around Canmore, and I want to climb all four before we leave.

Lady Macdonald is the impressive peak which dominates the vista from our deck. She definitely won't be the first of the four.

We started with a trip to Grassi lakes, which after a pretty steep climb, were stunning. Overshadowed by Ha Ling, one of the actual peaks, they are a real tourist atraction. We met several groups of walkers, a nun, two volunteers studying a bear (which we saw through their telescope), and watched a small child pitch forward head first into the lake, in a comedy fashion.

Obviously we were allowed to laugh, as parents who had suffered already that day. Charlie has decided she would like to not wear nappies some of the time, but is not entirely on board with potty training. Last week I found her straining in the front room, completely naked from the waist down, so in true positive parenting fashion, swept her up with a cry of; "let's use the potty!" as she left a trail of large rabbit sized droppings in her wake. All whilst trying to maintain the isn't this all perfectly normal toilet etiquette.

I managed to install her on the potty before returning to the scene of the crime and started gathering the debris. At which point, she shouted she was done, and as she had finshed, needed wiping and her three chocolate stars (we are using the bribery route). I abandoned the mission in order to help her, only to be interrupted by a shout from the front room, by my mother-in-law of; "there's another one here!" Unsurprisingly, my rather terse retort, through gritted teeth, was that Charlie was my first priority, rather polite for the circmstances, I feel.

Still, we have battled on, the morning of Grassi Lake expedition, we had two positive potty experiences (5 stars, despite my husband's disappointment that his meditation time is now disturbed with shrieks of pleasure at bodily functions, a running commentary and comparisons). So I decide to allow the trip with no nappy.

We arrived, played by the reservoir and picnicked with no disasters. However, as the tourist loos are little more than toilet bowls over holes in the ground, my fear of dropping her in lead me to suggest she could squat in the woods. Her answer was no. Unfortunately, my wordy attempts to persuade her were rather too effective, and she did it there and then, filling her wellies to overflowing.

The next hikes will definitely be adult affairs I feel.

Day: No idea....

I feel like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. Nearly three weeks ago, I was looking forward to my husband finishing his exams and having a few days off to hike in the mountains in the spring, take some day trips and eat out with the family visiting. Instead, I ended up spending two weeks lying on the sofa with stomach cramps, frequent trips to the loo, and attempting to drink my own bodyweight in water every day.

Eventually I gave in after 9 days and went to the doctor, who surmised some sort of gastroenteritis, and it would go away eventually. I left disappointed, $120 lighter, and with a tub of pills to help with the stomach cramps. The pills seemed to make everything worse, so I gave up on them, and resorted to self medication. Essentially, what I had was virus based, and my body was still trying to get rid of whatever was in my stomach, so I needed to help it kill anything still in there. We've all seen what Coke does to pennies, so a can (emptied from height into a glass to get rid of excess gas) before dinner, seemed a good idea.

Anyway, it seems to have cured me, and I'm now back to my terrible cake and coffee habit. The weather has turned grey and cloud shrouds the top of the mountains, bringing a dusting of snow again. The sun will break through later and melt it all, and I may take my afternoon treat on one of the many terraces which have sprung up along main street.

During my hibernation, time seems to have sped up. I've missed several gym classes, havent run for a month, the grass is turning green, and the air is warm and smells of summer. We only have 6 weeks left of our expedition, and my thoughts turn to home and work, while still trying to make the most of our time here. I still want to do more hiking, climb outside, go rafting, paddle on a lake, and some crazy part of me is considering mountain biking.

However, before then I need to tackle the enormous pile of washing, and the legion of ants who have decided highway 1 runs through the gap in the side door and out through the bathroom window. Then I can stretch my wings, and wander out into the world afresh, to continue research for my never-to-be-published novel.

Day 105: Never leave the house without a raincoat...

April showers have finally arrived. Twice in the last week I've been caught out by glorious weather in the morning, and blizzard conditions by lunchtime. Of course I was out in only my gilet, and no raincover for the buggy. Still, it needed a good clean.

Today it was thankfully only light drizzle, and the smell of spring finally emerging from the parched ground. The creek outside our house is almost dry in places, and just as the place is starting too look more green, the lack of snowfall this winter suggests it may be brown and yellow again in a month.

It made me think, though, of all the things one should have in their handbag (or rucksack if I'm including my raincoat), and an article in one of the broadsheet supplements detailing the contents of a celebrity's purse. Of course it is supposed to give away their beauty secrets via well placed advertorial, and we are supposed to rush out and buy these overpriced cosmetics.

For my own part, my tastes are much more simple. Instead of the various receipts, expired coupons, leaky biros and suspect crumbs of Charlie's snacks, my handbag would be more suited to the yummy-mummy, ex-English teacher, aspiring writer I imagine myself to be. Apart from the obvious (notebook for important thoughts, fully charged camera for impressive photos of offspring, pad, healthy snack, bottle of water, lip balm, hair bobble, mirror, brush) I'd have space to put stuff. I never seem to have that in my handbag, just an endless chasm filled with detritus.

For Charlie's part, hers would be full of stones. No matter where we go, she seems to come back with pockets full of rocks; I'll have to be extra zealous when we pack to return, and make sure she isn't exceeding the weight limit with her own souvenirs. If she could, she probably would have brought half the zoo back with her last week. She amused several strangers with her cries of, "hold it," and, "stroke it," at pretty much every enclosure. Thankfully she made do with a handfull if grit.

It's scary how fast she is growing up. She now swims off round the pool with a noodle or armbands, no care for where I am, climbs walls to jump off, chooses her own clothes and is adept at finding things in drawers which she probably shouldn't touch. Diva in training.

Still, it's nice to have a snuggly baby back at nap time, who thinks that my lap is the most comfortable place to be.

Day 88: Sick day

Safe to say I failed Lent miserably. As I watched myself wobbling around in the mirror of the fitness studio during yoga last Thursday, I realised that I'm not just unfit (and unbalanced), but overweight too. So I decided that rather than setting myself unachieveable goals, as for Lent, I would try a tick chart of smaller ones, as in The Happiness Project, and aim to hit half of them each day in April.

My husband has been helping me by eating all the cake in the house, and I went for my first run in the Rockies. More of a walk really, due to not having run for 4 months, and the elevation. Of course, one day in, and my plans to go skiing are thwarted by Charlie. She was up through the night with a soaring temperature, and cried for an hour, refusing medicine. She has spent much of the morning snuggled up on the sofa, only venturing off to rearrange the lego bricks on her castle. I managed to catch up on some lost hours of sleep too, interrupted only by the jarring cartoon voices which she insists upon watching. Of course the second Daddy walked in, she leapt up from the sofa, said, "you play with me!" And off they went.

I went for a run. The mountains are stunning to run around (albeit on the flat plain in the middle), and I managed to run further than I walked and pace myself, admitedly with the dance music programmed into the ipodnano. However mapmyrun reckons I'm doing 16 min/mile, so some way to go yet.

So, missing Thursday's day off, Charlie has driven me mad for a few days, as I don't think she should push herself or go swimming, and she does. Resulting in her scribbling crayon all over the TV, and grinding yet more un-nameable substances into the red velour sofa. I obviously went bonkers (turns out baby wipes are better than brillo pads in this circumstance), and screamed at her. She retreated to the sofa shouting, "I want my Daddy," (well he's buggered off skiing again) and fell asleep until he came in. I evntually got the TV clean, God knows what we'll do about the sofa, and felt guilty about losing my rag with her yet again.

It seems cabin fever is a truth. And with so much time in our own company, Charlie and I are incredibly good at finding each other's weakness and exploiting it. I need to remember I am the adult and that mimicing her whining, and stropping and lying on the floor is not really appropriate. She apologised for shouting at me; clever reverse psychology on her part, as I say, "No, no, no, Charlie, mummy is sorry for shouting at you!" Only to realise that she has got away with drawing on the rented TV, and with the state of the sofa we'll probably lose our deposit. She's clever.

Yet as I watch the twilight over the mountains, and face the next two nights of girls alone, I realise how lucky we are: Charlie is incredibly healthy, bouncing back from her night of fever in an few hours, she went to sleep after her three books, and we had a lovely day wandering around in the snow and looking at the birds. Tomorrow, I will be a better parent, and we will enjiy the beauty of our surroundings  as weare half way through our escape, and we haven't enjoyed it as much as we clould.

Day 83: Self indulgence

We are nearly half way through our Canadian adventure, and yet I feel we have experienced so little. The snow is gone, the days are warm, and any thought of winter sport somewhat slushy. We had a few giant snow flakes in the park today, but as we were out in our jeans and t-shirts, we barely noticed. I doubt the picture will do the last of the sun setting on the mountains any justice, but I thought I'd include it. Hope for tomorrow.

We live on the dark side of the valley, as we don't get the evening sun, but the view is beautiful, at the moment. Sadly the mini ice rink opposite has gone, and building work on a conference centre is due to begin this spring. If the plans are accurate, we will lose the view of anything below the trees. The people building the houses on our street are super friendly though, and always wave from their diggers, balconies or rooves.

Despite us living in a shack, there are some lovely houses on our road, and looking at the local real estate guides, upwards of $850k CAD, so £425k at a conservative estimate. Either the local populous are minted or they all work in Calgary and have second homes here. No chance of moving to paradise then.

Charlie and I are on our own for a week, so of course she is pushing boundaries everywhere. Despite having an afternoon in the park, and being so hungry she ate all her dinner, she was up and wandering around demanding TV till 9. Up again at 730, she threw an enormous tantrum over the TV and refused to eat her cheerios. Thankfully nursery took her off my hands. A day of self indulgence will hopefully give me the strength for the rest of the week.

I'm having a Netflix marathon while doing yoga, having already cleaned the house. Tonight we will have arancini (discovered at our friends' wedding last year) and tomorrow we'll make pizza together, after library, swimming and park. If I tire her enough, maybe she'll sleep?

Day 71: Black runs

So how is your Lent going? My plans are 50/50. I've been swimming, skiing and doing yoga as planned. However, like an alcoholic, whose fall from grace is never with the finest scotch, but a bottle of lambrini or white lightning; mine was cooking chocolate. I started baking a banana loaf to use up the almost rotting bananas which had travelled to several ski resorts, and fou d myself standing at the kitchen counter, stuffing cheap chocolate drops into my mouth. I felt so dirty, but I couldn't stop myself.

Since then I have continued on a downhill streak. Even when I tried to be good  with orange slices and cream on my French toast, they mixed up my order and stuffed the centre with chocolate. I couldn't send it back though; that would have been rude (after I'd licked the plate clean).

On the plus side, my skiing has improved beyond measure. I had a 55 minute special at Mount Norquay: a one-to-one lesson for a quarter of the normal price. And it was really good. Despite my tutor telling me exactly the same things my husband had been saying for the last 3 weeks, I finally got it. I spent several petrifying moments convincing myself to ski off the top of a blue run on one leg with my poles balanced on the back of my hands, so as not to embarass myself in front of the teenager who was doing the same thing a few feet in front of me whilst skiing backwards.

It may sound like the weirdest way to learn to ski, but it forced me to focus on my balance rather than the seemingly vertical drop in front of me. So  ow I finish my turns fully, and have been dragged around every blue and several black runs we could find in the tri-ski area.

7 and a half minutes edited to 1.

My brother-in-law came to visit, and having had half the skiing experience of my own, proceeded to follow my husband down any run that took his fancy, despite my concerned, repetitive whine of, "is that a black diamond...?" He must have nerves of steel, or no fear. I survived though, and now feel I can ski a blue run, and at least get down a black. However, I did manage to fall over twice on completely flat areas again, so more bruises from incompetence.

We decided to risk Lake Louise today. Last time it was icy, and I hated it. Today we had a snow storm just as we reached the top of one of the mountains and had to ski over the top in little visibility. It basically reduces depth perception to so little, I may as well be skiing with my eyes closed. The resulting powder was fantastic, and despite a wrong turn down Ptarmigan, rather than Old ptarmigan, which was heart stopping, really enjoyable. (Can't get the picture in, but check out http://www.skibig3.com/trailmaps/ And look at run #1 on Louise). I was even convinced to attempt the Men's downhill, twice. I reached speeds of which I was proud, whilst keeping my turn shape and despite being overtaken by a six year old doing a snow plough. Luckily my weight advantage took me to the lodge and finishing line just in front, so pride saved.

I'm desperately trying to avoid chocolate bars, as that would be the pinacle of failiure. The improved skiing, and consequently aching legs, must balance out the misdemeanours, so I think I'm good. Just let there be a bottle of Merlot at the end of it all.

Day 50: Lent

I adore and dread this time of year with equal measure. Pancakes, crocuses, lamb. Fasting, frost, rain. And I wonder how much it will differ here. Crocus stalks used to be the favourite spring treat of my childhood pet rabbit. She would bite of the flower head and eat the stalks. I doubt any edible plant can survive the colony of rabbits here.

Sadly we lost 'little rabbit', one of Charlie's toys, last weekend. We took a rather icy and treacherous walk along Johnson's Canyon, with Charlie and little rabbit in the baby carrier. We only gained the lower falls before turning back, with Andy having to cling to the rail and me sliding into everything and everyone. At one point we paused to look into one of the pools, and as little rabbit was perched on the head rest, he slid off, bounced down the cliff and into the eddying water. Charlie was upset, but we told her he was swimming and would be fine. She soon cheered up when we opened the picnic.

The thing is, I'm not sure about lying to her, now that she is getting older and can tell when we are lying. She expects him to swim all the way down river, run a few miles, jump in to the creek and swim right up to our house. But of course he won't. It made me think about the other lies I tell her all the time; "You won't like coke, it tastes funny." "You'll get square eyes if you stand that close to the TV." "There are no cartoons after 7pm." Maybe I just feel guilty, because I knew it would happen; she always drops her toys when she is being carried, and I didn't stop her.

We didn't have pancakes: having skied at Lake Louise we arrived home late and exhausted from the effort of attempting to ski on ice for most of the day, and avoid the hoards of idiots on the slopes. My husband thinks they are deliberately out to annoy him, especially the ones who stop in a group at the top of a pitch, waiting for you to catch up, then set off all at different speeds just as you pass them, and stagger themselves like an ever moving set of cones for you to not weave in and out of because that would be rude!

So having missed all of the usual spring traditions and preparation for Easter, I have decided to throw myself fully into Lent. Charlie (who receved 3 Valentines cards and a chocolate marshmallow heart) is brutally honest in her actions and opinions. For some time she has enjoyed prodding my stomach and giggling, and pretending to lose her finger in my navel. However, a few nights ago, we were taking a bath and she was driving her duplo bus around my body, singing; "We're gonna go go go go, on an adventure." (From 'Cat in the hat' - prime Canadian viewing) followed by ad lib, "We're gonna go go go go, up a mountain," as she drove it over my stomach.

So I have decided to forgo wine and chocolate for Lent, as they are probably the main contributors to my expanding waistline (perhaps the dryer isn't shrinking my clothes). But to cheer myself up I am also treating myself to some positive resolutions. Last year I stoped myself from being bitchy (even in my head) and it had a really positive effect on my outlook. So this year I am going to aim to exercise 4 times per week. Skiing counts so that's two easily, and any yoga or walking with Charlie in the carrier has to be good. I am also treating myself to rereading Harry Potter, but in French. Got to have a challenge, right?

On good Friday I'll treat myself to a bar of Dairymilk and a bottle of something nice. I was toying with the idea of a bonus incentive of putting a dollar in a box for every day I don't have any alcohol and using it for my treat, but as wine and chocolate are so expensive I'd end up with a half bottle of lambrini and a freddo if I were lucky.

Tomorrow is Charlie's birthday so I'm baking her a chocolate cake (with cocoa powder so it's fine) and I'm sure she'll appreciate it if I toast her with a G&T. See, Lent's easy, n'est ce pas?

Day 45: Tempus fugit

Valentine's day is not normally a day we celebrate, apart from the obligatory card and effort to be more than civil for a day. Yet today seemed special. I had a lie in, and woke alone, hearing the patter of feet through the hall way, some giggling, and Charlie bursting into our room, climbing into our bed, cuddling me, jumping off the bed and disappearing. She returned with a card and some chocolates, sang happy birthday, opened the card and demanded a chocolate.

We had pancakes and maple syrup for breakfast, which were light and fluffy for once, exchanged cards (more posh chocolates for me, so feel rather stingy with my climbing magazine), and had a lovely lazy morning. It's also family weekend here; a bank holiday weekend, leading into half term. Last night we joined the local lantern parade. I'm not entirely sure what it celebrates, but it usually kicks off the winter festival here: a fortnight of frozen festivities. The minion head was definitely my favourite. Charlie's wind up torch didn't quite cut it, but she was happy waving it and jumping to the drumming band.

However, as it's unseasonable warm, some of the events may be a damp squib. I imagine tomorrow's ice skating on the melted lake will not go ahead. But some will: this morning we wandered to the Valentine's craft market and an ice carving display at the civic centre. Then went for coffee and muffins at a chain cafe, because we know it's good (smug local knowledge as some tourists passed by saying, 'it's far too busy, let's go to the one on the next block'). Then Charlie face planted in a muddy puddle, needed a full clothing change, tuna sandwich and tv boost before heading back out with Andy for an hour's park session. She was so tired she fell asleep in her dinner. Bonus early night and romantic (if slightly chewy) steak dinner.

All this has made me think about what we have gained, and what I miss. I'm starting to find my way around the bargains, and local discounts. Steak is really quite reasonable, but there's hardly any lamb, and Easter is round the corner. I love the hand driven sieve, but no pestle and mortar, and I still haven't found lard or bacon. The outdoors lifestyle is so alluring, and I feel healthier, but notice the increased use of moisturiser, and curse the moment I put my clinique eye cream in the no pile. I long for my own non-squeaky bed, linen and adult sized bath. Yet all of these things are easily remedied if we were to move here, and it is so tempting. There is a sense of community and welcome which I have missed since moving to the South of England. The expectation of life being spent outside is evident in the parks and facilities. And there are gherkins.

Yet as we dream of moving here, becoming outdoor instructors, skiing, running and climbing, Charlie an olympic snowboarder, I realise how much I am missing. My best friends'  and family's crises and celebrations: my dad turning 65, Sara and Ben's wedding planning, Luke hearing for the first time, my great-uncle's funeral, serious illnesses for which I can only send words and not hugs. It makes me feel that we really should be living for now, and enjoying all the opportunites presented. To mix proverbs: tempus fugit; carpe diem.

Day 35: Fugitive

The yoyoing temperatures here have us in various states of distress. Either it's too hot and we're peeling layers like onions, or as on Monday, I leave the house totally unprepared, and have to buy an extra hoodie just to survive the 2 minute walk home. It was a nice hoodie, and had 30% off. Charlie is always warm. The cheap onesie we bought her seems to be super heated, so she's happy to stay on the swings shouting, "higher" whilst we shivver at the bottom. Pushing.

We have also entered the community of Canadian car owners; which, quite frankly is a minefield. First you agree to buy a car. Then you have to go to your bank to get a banker's cheque because your card limit is far too small and the credit card rates abroad are crippling. Then you need to get insurance; again bankruptingly expensive as you don't have an Alberta driving licence, so any history is void and you are effectively a new driver. Goodbye any more nice clothes. Then you go and sit in the licensing office to buy plates (they don't come with the car here - they are registered to the driver. Weird). I say sit in the office as there is always a queue: despite 3 people working there, only one will be serving. And, get this, they do the theory test, obligitory eye test to go with the theory, and every other licence under the sun. There are 7 chairs and a permanent queue.

So we bought a car. Finally. It's better than our standard Focus back home; seats 7, dvd player, winter tyres, camera to reverse. And it was £1000 cheaper. As is road tax (paid for via the plates, annually, although I'll never get that hour back). Thankfully they've guaranteed to buy it back at the end of the holiday, at a loss, but the temptation to fill it with cheap clothes and skis, and ship it back is growing...

This morning I had one of those moments in motherhood which are so seldom appreciated, when Charlie turned to me and said, "love you mummy". I don't often feel a loving bond with her; more a necessity to keep her alive as she is relatively amusing. But today was one of those time-stans-still feelings. She's never used the word love before, and it was a bit of a moment between us.

I dutifully took her swimming, allowing her to nearly drown a few times to remind her why she wears arm bands in the pool (she took them off to go down the slide faster), but mainly standing around shivvering while she played on the slide. We took the car to have the weird tire low flashing light checked; they adjusted them, but said not to worry, as tyres fluctuate with the temperature and the sensors are sensitive. Really? Isn't that their job? Did check what to put in it; diesel or petrol? Gas, silly. Eh?

I took Charlie to daycare in the car, with a slight detour on the highway after a wrong turn, and her repeating, "mummy play with toys," to my distraction in the rear. I then went on to commit my first crime of the holiday. I saw the parked school bus with stop sign, and stopped. And as at other stop signs, assessed the danger, and carried on around it; it was parked of the other side of the road. Nobody followed me. Apparently, this is a road crime, and if someone is to have taken my number, I am to expect a phonecall or ticket in the next few days. Feeling sheepish and hiding in the house seems appropriate. At least it doesn't meet my fellony of driving down a tram line twice in Calgary (they look like roads and there are no signs to say not to) and getting pulled over by the police in 2010.

So, we mainly walked today. Thankfully I had a playdate (v. Canadian) with my fellow expat and walked to the park to panic over 3 toddlers skidding off the climbing frame and giggling with glee. God know how you parents of 2 or more cope at such destinations. Ratio 2:3 = total bedlam. However this caused my second crime in as many days, as I dropped off my rubbish in the bin, only to close the lid and see 'PARK TRASH ONLY, NO PRIVATE WASTE'. Did not extract it, and now am worried about CCTV, although they don't seem to get the dog walkers who ignore the no pets rule.

Exited park with some decorum; Charlie didn't lie face down in the snow to object to hand holding whilst crossing the road. So, to be nice, and praise positive behaviour, I let her empty the post box. As usual, we had fliers for the elections and Domino's. Charlie was thrilled. "I love it!" she exclaimed.

Not only am I Canmore's number 1 fellon, but on a par with a pizza flier. Maybe I should flee the country. After tomorrow's skiing, obviously.

Day 25: Sleepless in suburbia

The problem with trying to write a blog is time, or the lack thereof when you have a toddler who doesn't believe in naps without some sort of exhausting physical activity beforehand, and can escape her bed at night to request more milk/books/cuddles. Even now as I sit typing at 830 at night, I can hear her singing and chattering away to her toys. And now the patter of feet from the hallway...

So not sleepy

So what are our options? She seems to be fitted with duracell batteries. No need to recharge. Lock her in her room, so she can't escape? Calpol her into collapse? Let her stay up till we go to bed so we get no time alone, and she doesn't get enough sleep, and is irritable all day.

I've been testing the theory of tiring her out in some way each day. We swim, go to the library, baby group, wiggle time, indoor climbing frame, and occasionally the park if it's not too cold, so above minus 10. The problem with this is the preparation. Even if I finally get her to sleep, and prepare the night before, she has to inspect the bag, taking everything out; declaring it's the wrong swimming nappy (since watching Finding Nemo, Tigger just doesn't cut it), wanting a different towel, wandering off with her arm bands. Then whichever coat I have selected is dismissed and a tantrum thrown over choice of footwear.

I've tried the usual tactics of restricting her choices, while giving her autonomy, "Which shoe would you like to put on first?" But it just doesn't cut it. She knows the wellies are somewhere else. And her current response to an either/or question is 'yes', which drives me nuts.

If we do manage to get to our destination, she enjoys the activity so much she doesn't want to leave, even if they are switching the lights off. Then there's the inevitable battle of the coat and gloves whilst avoiding a full scale lying down tantrum in the muddy puddle of any entrance hall.

From this I may get her to nap on the way home in the buggy, and with ninja-like stealth transfer her to her bed (fully suited and booted), only to have to sweep the floor, do the washing up (dishwasher packed in), and sort through the washing and drying (the industrial monsters are efficient, if you don't mind the static). So blogging gets done in 5 minute blasts here and there.

 

Discovery of egg yolk inside of egg!

The thing I seem to forget is that everything is new for Charlie. She carried a block of ice home two days ago, and wanted to keep it. We let her have a bowl to watch it melt, and tried to explain, but the next day she just wanted more; there's plenty outside, she seemed to say.

Cooking is another way to entertain her although the clear up post seiving and mixing is a serious undertaking. We made boiled egg sandwiches for lunch one day. She peeled the shell and helped mix it all together, amazed by the yolk in the middle. She's had eggs before, but doing it herself, despite the mess, seems to have taught her something new.

In one of her many bathroom visits (personal space means nothing to her) she stroked my leg and said I had a hedgehog. I hadn't shaved for a while, so assumed it was a metaphorical reference, and agreed I was a bit spiky. She disagreed, and said I wasn't spiceky (not to be confused with spiceky food) but had lots of hedgehogs, and pointed to my moles. Yesterday she put her knowledge of moles to good use pointing them out while changing after swimming. I showed her the giant freckle on my hip and large mole on my back, only to be loudly corrected that they were an 'ouch' on my side and I have boobies on my back.

I don't think it matters what we do or how tired she is, Charlie just wants to be up exploring the world and doing what we do. Maybe she'll write the next blog...

Day 14: Adapting

Charlie is incredibly excited by the rabbits that live on our street. At first I thought they must be escaped pets; they are grey, black, grey and white patched. Not like our brown wild rabbits, only seen in the countryside. Perhaps they are former pets, but their colours are perfectly suited to their surroundings of snow and shadows; brown would be too obvious. Natural selection and survival of the fittest has allowed them to become the local residents. Their presence usually elicits a conversation something along the lines of this:
"Ooh rabbit. Charlie hold it."
"Erm..."
"Mummy catch it, Charlie hold it."
"They are very fast and difficult for mummy to catch, not like Amy's rabbits."
"Rabbit. Charlie catch it."
Followed by a look of expectancy.

She is still of an age where she thinks she can do anything. As we were walking to the pool yesterday, she looked up and said, "Big mountain. Climb it." As if we might postpone our swim and merrily yomp up and down Lady Macdonald and be back in time for tea.

I, on the other hand, have taken the glass half empty view of the world. I thought we wouldn't be able to leave the house because of the cold, yet minus 6 is absolutely fine for a stroll to the shops. Minus 10 may need an extra layer, but we still get out. I didn't believe Charlie would adapt. She loves the snow. She dives face first into it because she can, and would spend every hour of the day making footprints if she could.

There was a bouldering competition at elevation place as part of the tour de bloc at the weekend. I didn't believe I could complete a single route. We went today, and with some encouragement, I managed to complete 10 routes. I'll be going back before they change them. I reckon I might be able to do no. 12 with its overhang and arch.

Admittedly the temperature has been kinder these last few days, but I have shed some of my layers, and reverted to normal socks and walking shoes. The streets are mainly clear of snow, and my feet do not freeze the instant I step outside. I suppose,like the rabbits, I am starting to adapt to the cold, to the country, and to being more positive and open minded. It may be a new year's resolution I can keep. As long as it's not survival of the fittest.

Day 9: What's that?

Charlie's favourite phrase is, "What's that?" It is a multifunctional phrase: beyond the literal, it is used to distract, especially during nappy changes; to subtly suggest she wants what I have (usually chocolate related); and as an exclamation of fear or awe, see dishwasher and washing machine comments below.

However, here, I ask the question as often as she does. What's that funny set of boxes at the end of our street? Ah ha, it's our post box. Here the post, sorry, mail, is delivered to a set of boxes for each street. The estate agent secretary was very informative, if incredulous at my query, "yeah, you have a slot in your door, right?"

So while I trudge through the snow, 300 yards to check my empty mail box, I can also take out my trash. There are no rubbish bins; no door to door collection. Somewhere on every street are giant bear proof bins. What's that? It's the overpowering smell of rancid nappy (Charlie's constitution hasn't quite adjusted yet), which have to be kept inside until the next static charged expedition into the cold.

My favourite outdoor what's that has to be the crossing lights. Most of the time, traffic simply gives way to pedestrians, but at busier roads there are crossings with various different beeps. Until 3 days ago, the local ones played jingle bells and said ho ho ho when it was time to cross.

We have plenty of what's that in the house, so I thought I'd let you play too  with my top 8.

Number 1. This is our heating system, which automatically comes on with an earthquake rumble every 20 minutes or so and blows dry hot air through the house. On the plus side, it heats the floors, and dries our clothes and shoes almost instantly, but the drawbacks include a sensation of seasickness from the trembling floor, and a growing fear we are being slowly dessicated.
Number 2. A bit like spot the ball. It's a rabbit. Enjoying playing spot the tracks in the snow. So far, rabbit, dog, human, magpie. No bears yet.
Number 3. Probably what the **** is that! It's our enormous washer dryer, which can even put static electricity into cotton sheets. If we put metal objects in close proximity, they buzz (the sheets, not the machines that is). It can rival the heating noise, although the dishwasher is even louder, and finishes with a buzzer sound from a gameshow - we keep thinking it's the door bell.
Number 4. See comment above. The husband's choice of charity shop mugs...
Number 5. Our snowman, because it really is the wrong kind of snow. It's just powder, but Charlie insisted.
Number 6. Makeshift clothes horse. I really am petrified of shrinking my synthetics any further, or supercharging them in #3 so I light the entire street in an X-men style explosion.
Number 7. I thought this was a really weird tankard, but it is a hand squeezy seive. Genius. I want one.
Number 8. Not to be confused with #1. Look closer. There's a plug which pulls out. Daren't plug it in just yet. But the Devil makes work for idle hands, so one stormy day...

Day 6: Frigid

We are finally finding our feet in Canmore, although managed to lose them again in the 6 inch snow drift in the park this morning. I was prepared to be unprepared for the cold weather, but even the Canadian weather forecasters are describing it as extreme, or 'frigid'. Charlie, the master of understatement, describes it as, 'a bit chilly'.

The mountains were completely obscured by cloud this morning; the fir trees blanketed in powder like the icing sugar wonderland on a Christmas tree. Someone had swept our drive and porch clear of snow before we arrived: 5 days later and it's 4 inches deep and building. 3 layers are necessary to leave the house at any time, and as they are all man made fibres, delayering builds up static and we spend the next half hour shocking each other and looking like Doc Brown.

As a foreigner used to temperatures only on the positive end of the spectrum, I'm up for as many heat saving bits of kit I can get my hands on. I thought I was fairly kitted up with my buff (Charlie will only wear hers because we tell her she's a pirate), but I saw a woman today who had one for her bum.

The snow is all powder so my cheapy walking boots are fine. The pavements are cleared by the shop owners or the council with mini diggers. And everything carries on as normal. There is a new bridge being built across the creek in front of our house, and the men have worked on it every day. The creek has frozen over, the roads are solid with ice and snow and while we walked through Banff on Sunday, my breath froze in tiny crystals on my eyelashes. But this is normal, and life goes on. Because life surrounded by mountains is beautiful. If frigid.