Category — Family

So, when do you think our bundle of joy is coming? Will it be a boy or a girl? And how much will s/he weigh? Post your predictions!

Date:
Gender:
Weight: 

Whoever is closest will win a prize! I am going to think of something exciting to mail you in the meantime… (Hint: the due date is August 27, though it changed once to the 19th, after a 20-week ultrasound.)

Let the guessing begin!

Living, working, shopping, churching in my own neighbourhood has become immensely important to me.

This passion began when Michael and I were first praying about where to live when we got married. We started off living in the tiny loft of the house where I’d lived for the previous five years. When we prayed we never felt God giving us a clear answer on the location question. We had settled on living in Kitsilano, renting part of a house or an apartment, until my dad and stepmom offered to sell us a condo they owned in Burnaby. The offer was clear out of the blue and as we prayed we felt it was God’s leading. We said yes. So, since last spring, we have lived in a corner of suburbia.

I never expected it, but I grieved moving out of Vancouver. I had fallen in love with my dirty corner of southeast Vancouver. I loved the hole-in-the-wall takeout Indian, the $2 bags of naan, and the crazy Chinese lady with the wooden broom handle. I missed running into neighbours on the street and housemates on the front stoop. Now I lived in apartment-land. On the 13th floor. APART-ment. It’s written right in the name.

I suffered something of a depression. I hardly went out. It was easy to do because I was newly self-employed and was working crazy long hours. Plus Michael and I were newly wed and working on building our relationship. My life felt disjointed. All of my favourite digs were on Fraser and Main, now I was a city away. We went to church near Vancouver’s city hall, but we were paying taxes in Burnaby. Familiar faces were non-existent.

I decided to get a (very) part-time job at Starbucks to meet people in the neighbourhood. And, you know, it worked! But I was SO overworked (5-9 AM at Starbucks, 9-6/7/8 at my desk) I had to quit. No matter, the short stint at the neighbourhood coffee shop opened up relationships where I lived. Now I walk into Starbucks and meet friendly faces. They even treat me to free beverages. They ask after our baby. They make me feel welcome — at home.

Slowly, slowly this area has become home. I think, in our right-now, click-culture, we forget that things take time. Relationships are forged. Homes are built. The expectation that these things will happen overnight is our great adversary.  

We found out yesterday that Michael’s sister is moving into our neighbourhood, two blocks from the little Anglican church we have been visiting and the butcher where we buy our steak and kolbassa. On Sunday we met up with our neighbour Tricia and her son Diego at McDonalds. We talked politics over Happy Meals (she’s meeting some federal big wigs as I type). Jennifer, our neighbour on the 8th floor, greeted us at the grocery store the other day. Her two-year-old daughter Amelia is looking forward to playing with our baby when s/he comes. 

Today, I thank God. We have a home.

So, I splurged.

Yesterday we celebrated Father’s Day with a visit to my dad and stepdad, but before stepping out of the house my husband got to experience his very first father’s day:

Eggs Benny. Homemade Hollandaise. Fruit Salad. Bacon. Fresh coffee. A letterpress card.

And tickets! to see Death Cab at the Coliseum next month. Woohoo!

I read this interesting article about how to bond with your preborn baby over the weekend. Apparently baby will be rocking out at the concert with us!

“Concert-going mothers report their preborn babies jump at the sudden sound of drums. In fact, from at least the 23rd week on, a preborn baby’s hearing is developed enough to enable him to respond to outside noise… Even the five-month-old fetus has been found to have discriminating musical ears.”  - From 7 Ways to Bond with your Preborn Baby 

And now Michael is off to Toronto for a week of work. Darling, I miss you already.

Since arriving home I have slowly been piecing our house together to make room for our new addition (due August 27, by the way.)

I’ve been purging, storing, cleaning and sorting every square inch of our home. I’m happy with the progress in all but our bedroom — the one room in our house that has always remained unfinished. Until now we’ve had two tall chests of drawers near the base of our bed, a set Michael inherited from his grandma’s deceased neighbour. (Grim, but true.) ;)

We’ve had our eyes open for a set of drawers for the past month or so, assured it is the piece to really complete the space.

I’ve had my eyes on some vintage sets, like this:

$250 at a vintage shop in New Westminster’s Antique Alley

and this:

But Michael and I differ in our affections (/repulsions) to retro furniture. (I love it, he hates it. Shocker.)

I’ve also been keeping my eye on Ikea, though our preference is for real wood. I’m particularly taken with the Engan collection.

Then, today, I popped into Value Village to pick up a VCR (I borrowed a prenatal yoga video from my sister-in-law and have also been dying to watch some of my old VHS favourites like Reality Bites and Fried Green Tomatoes) and I happened upon this find:

for only $35!

Sometimes a little determination and a little luck is all you need.

Image: by By-Your

It won’t be long until I’ll no longer be able to hop in a car at 10 pm and speed up the Sea to Sky for a sunny day spent with my nephews. So tonight I will indulge.

It’s a bit of a theme in my life at the moment. I have two more months before I am officially a mama and I’m basking in every moment. It’s not that I’m not looking forward to motherhood - I am, so much! - rather, I’m trying to fully embrace the seasons of life and for now I’ve got a midnight trip in me. 

Have a happy Monday!

For those who have been wondering, my grandma is on the mend. Thank you for your thoughts and prayers. They thought her infection would move into her kidneys causing irreversible damage but that has not been the case. She is still in hospital but getting stronger every day. Unfortunately, because she has a superbug (which I was previously unaware of,) I am unable to visit her anymore. It is unsafe for the baby :( who is, by the way, starting to kick and wiggle and hiccup every daylight hour.

Apparently a babies movements are more of a sign of their personality than their gender. That means this little one is more like his/her mama. ;)

© Christina Crook 2009

…and smiling.

I have been dreaming of whiling away over pots and pans for months now. Four consecutive months of eating out will do that to you. So will reading Barbara Kingsolver’s “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.” For this deprived domestic, it was a combination of both.

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Apple Rhubarb Crisp (adapted from Mama Crook’s recipe)

Equal parts Granny Smith apples and rhubarb, chopped and drizzled with honey

Topping:
1/2 cup oatmeal
3/4 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup organic sugar
1/2 cup butter

Bake and enjoy with vanilla ice cream (or my topping of choice: Island Farm’s raspberry swirl frozen yoghurt)

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I feel a new blog category coming on: Domesticity.

My heart swells. An ocean cresting beneath my skin. The waters rise, then fall. White paper sails waltzing, cradled between sea and icing-dusted peaks.

British Columbia, I am home.  

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I spent my first weekend home with my brother, sister-in-law and adorable nephews in Whistler (while Michael tucked away in Parksville with his best friend Andrew.) Five months without these four is far too long…

The fam: Reuben, Mike, Jesse and Heidi in the village.

Jesse (in a bit of a foul mood) and I. Woah, those glasses are big.

The raddest couple.

The kissing monster about to attack my two favourite boys.

Jesse Fin and Heidi at the skate park. My two and four-year-old nephews were tearing it up on their bikes. 

Michael about to eat a plate-o-poutine for the chance to win a blackberry.

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A weekend well spent.

Exciting as the prospect of being a mother is to me, I find hours of kids’ television programming utterly terrifying. Barney. Mickey. Icky!!

Thanks to Fiest, I maintain a modicum of hope: