A mother lives her life in bursts, or as the book I’m reading aptly puts it, “Between Interruptions.”

I write in between the time Madeleine dozes off and starts rooting around for her next meal. These moments are few, and enormously treasured. 

Madeleine and my first foray into the world was to Starbucks. It was on Day 9. A bright shining day. I read the newspaper for the first time since her birth. This past week she hit the three week milestone and we went to see the Midwife. She clocked in at 11 lb 3 oz. On the way there I filed my nails as Daddy drove. This weekend we embarked on our first adventure, to Victoria, in the safe company of Michael’s parents and the welcoming arms of Island friends. On the ferry deck, as Madeleine slept nestled in a carrier on my chest, I penned these lines:

Forest underfoot, out of sight
ribbons of saltwater taffy
streaming like a
blanket
closing in over
newborn skin.
winds dance over orcas backs
a dozen lazy dominos
waltzing like stars.

We took to our favourite island last weekend for an overnight stay.

We arrived a little tired:

But were quickly whisked down to the promontory to read poetry at sunset:

The next morning we rose to a big breakfast of eggs, coffee, sausages and hashbrowns to sustain us for a couple hours’ kayak:

And then we were glad. 

This post comes to you from North Lodge, Oxford, the beautiful home of Amanda and Dr. Dean Regier and their front lawn (which is actually a sprawling 70 acres of park land. Rough. ;))

Yesterday we visited the Queen’s home of choice: Windsor Castle. Here’s a photo of a 5-month preggy me within the castle gates (I know more than a few of you have been wondering how the bump is coming along.)

One more week and we’ll be walking in our front door… at last.

Love from the Old Country, Christina

My nephew Jesse Fin

This photo brought me to tears today. I miss this little man. I miss my family.

The pictures are up. View them here. And more below. 

Brooklyn

In Anthropologie

The UN

Le Statue

Soho

Classic over-stimulated tourist

A great irony

Our flights are booked! London, Oxford and a hop-over to Paris — here we come!

With the power of my new MacBook Air and the dust of Christmas travel settled, I thought I’d recount our trip to North to celebrate Christmas with Michael’s family.

December 23

3:15 p.m. :: Complete Air Canada web check-in for our December 24th flight to Mackenzie (via Prince George) and sign up for text updates.

3:33 p.m. :: Start three loads of laundry in the basement laundry room.

3:35 p.m. :: Receive the following text: “Flight AC 8201 CANCELLED.” 

3:36 p.m. :: Call Air Canada. Find out the next possible flight is on December 26. Thrust the phone at Michael to avoid verbally abusing the AC phone attendant. Begin stuffing our suitcases with wild enthusiasm. 

3:40 p.m. :: Determine to fly standby tonight. Call for a cab, none of which are available for at least two hours. Make a panicked call to my mom and stepdad for a ride. They happily concede. I rejoice.

3:43 p.m. :: Collect our wet laundry and deposit it in garbage bags, flinging sheets and towels on any available counter space. *Carefully* rip all Christmas ornaments off the tree.

3:46 p.m. :: Stop and pray, at Michael’s suggestion. No doubt our best spent minute in the past three days.

4:00 p.m. :: Three suitcases and two carry-ons, a dishwasher running and two runs to the garbage bin later and my stepdad, Chester, arrives.

4:15 p.m. :: Called Michael’s parents to let them know the plan, they suggest the overnight Loser Cruiser Greyhound. The snow is coming overnight. Okay, we say. Book us. They land us the last two seats. We readjust our coordinates to the First and Terminal train station.

4:45 p.m. :: Chester suggests a bite to eat at a Mexican spot on Victoria. We dine on the best tacos and fresh salsas ever. A welcome breather in what promises to be a long night.

5:45 p.m. :: Arrive at Pacific Central and unload. Have ourselves a scare. Our bus, it turns out, is the only one leaving that night and no tickets are being sold on the premises. I go for a Starbucks run and make a deposit at VanCity, the only errand that doesn’t get scrapped.

7:30 p.m. :: My feet begin to freeze. A combination of bad footwear choice, cotton socks and the shoulders of snow throughout the city. Plus I am fighting a cold. I go in hunt of socks. My only find: blue children’s Christmas socks at the train station gift shop. I cough up the $6.99 and am the better for it.

9:30 p.m. :: Our scheduled 8:45 bus departs. We are making it home for Christmas.

Fast forward two days, multiple Christmas festivities, a half dozen games of Skip-Bo, a lunch of turkey sandwiches and you’ll find me happily staving off the -30 degree weather, sitting in front of the Crook’s trademark 15 foot Christmas tree watching a dusting of snow pass by the windowpane.    

::  A BLESSED CHRISTMAS TO ONE AND ALL  ::