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.