Here and Everything In It

The Olympic Poo Toss

The other morning, Innis took off his poop filled diaper and threw it over his play pen wall where it landed, with a satisfying plop, right on Brad's pillow. Clearly, His Majesty's servants weren't acting as quickly or as alertly as what is Expected.

Just thought I'd share that little tidbit with you before I showed you what the little monkey actually looks like every morning when, due to the unfortunate circumstance of our hotel existence, he wakes up only a couple inches away from my face (I should mention that on the morning of the poo bomb, I got up earlier than everyone else to use the bathroom, and unwittingly left the path to Brad's head clear and without impediment to projectiles. Ha).

If you can imagine, the soundtrack to these pictures goes something like this:

"DADDY! MOMMY! Mommeeeeee! DADdy! MOMmy! MOMMYMOMMYMOMMYDADDY! ... poop! ... "

and so on.

(I imagine this last one was just after he scored a perfect ten in his event)

Already Braver Than I

On our drive back to the hotel the other afternoon, we saw this lounging at the side of the golf course:

And my first reaction was to scream a little on the inside and then tell Brad to drive away with haste, but then I thought -- No! I have a responsibility to my readers! To ... get out of the car (and not hyperventilate) and take a better picture! Godammit, where was my sense of journalistic adventuresome...ness?

So I ... got out.

And the iguana was all, IMA KILL YOU:

But I clutched my camera to my chest and gingerly stepped out onto the grass, just for the sake of getting some more pictures, even though there were definitely more GIANT MAN EATING LIZARDS out there that probably wanted to devour my eyeballs:

And then some guy on the next green (field? hole? pasture?) yelled "YAAARGH!" really loudly because I guess he screwed up a swing or something, and I jumped at least ten feet in the air and RAN (not pretty) back to the car. Just bolted. Good thing giant iguanas aren't predatory chasers (of humans) because OH MY GOD.

But then here's my son, actively seeking lizards in every garden, shrub, or flowery bush we pass on all of our walks:

  

He's going to want one in a cage one day, right? Like, in the house? Where it will eventually escape and then hide between my sheets or IN THE TOILET?

*dies*

Hide And Seek With A Toddler

Goes something like this:

Innis wraps himself in curtains, sneaks into the closet, or hides behind a chair.

I say, "Hey! Where's Innis?!"

Silence.

I say, "Hmm, I wonder where he went!"

Silence.

I say, "Did he go outside?"

And a little voice from inside the curtains/closet or from behind the chair says: "Nooooooo-wuh."

I say, "Is he in the bath?"

The little voice says, "Nooooooo-wuh."

I say, "Is he in the car?"

The little voice says, "Nooooooo-wuh."

And then suddenly he leaps out from his hiding spot, all, "HUZZAH!" and laughs because Mummy's so silly, she never would have found him if he hadn't let her win.

Inappropriate Chickens

On the hotel grounds:

(Almost on) the golf course:

(Actually right on) the golf course:

Seventeen Months

Instead of our monthly photo shoot (since this site has become somewhat of a photo diary as of late), I've decided just to share with you some funny things Innis is doing now that he's nearly a year and a half.

A YEAR AND A HALF.

(Is it too early for me to feel middle aged?)

 *

Things that he's suddenly saying:

Chuck! = truck

Vroooom!/tarh! = car

Peeeees? = please

Beet! = beach

Ag-dul = April, as in "Nana and Bobo are coming to see you in April!"

Aud-day = August, as in "Nan and Papa are coming to see you in August!"

Chsst! = chest

Doh! = let's go!

uuUH! and Dah! = up and down

Ozay! = lizard

Durchee! = chicken

OIN! = "oink"

Neee! = sneeze

Nohn! = nose

Nuck! = stuck

Nyack! = snack, but also possibly orange, since that's his favourite snack

Burdd! = bird

 *

Things he's suddenly doing:

Every time he sees a bus (driving or parked, doesn't matter), he stops in his tracks and starts rolling his arms over one another and we have to stop and sing "the wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round" until he's ready to walk again.

Whenever he hears a car beeping (regardless of what he's doing or where we are), he whips up his head and answers with a loud, bright, "BEEP BEEP!"

He's started to do that toddler crouch -- you know, the one where they bend their knees and nearly sit on their butts, but brace their hands on their thighs to keep balanced instead? It's his supreme concentration pose, mostly used when peering into bushes after rapidly fleeing lizards.

He lets me know when he's pooped. Grabs his diaper, and says "pooOOP?!" And I think it's hilarious that the most important alert system of my day is the one that informs me of my son's bowel movements.

He's become a copycat. For example, just a few minutes ago, when I was putting him down for his nap, I let out a big breath. He looked at me, big grin on his face, and did this exaggerated, for-the-stage version of my sigh. He thought it was hilarious (and even though it was Nap Time, and we had to be Very Serious, I thought it was kind of funny, too).

The Power Of Cows

Today we basically made Innis's life by taking him to an agricultural fair. And all the way there, while Brad tried to focus on driving from the wrong side of the car and on the wrong side of the road, Innis and I practiced all of our farm animals sounds so we'd be ready to communicate with the beasties once we arrived.

I'm sure it wasn't distracting at all.

Once we got to the show, we toured the cow pens, goat pens, pig pens, chicken pens, and the horse corrals, and while we were hoping to continue to capture Innis's expression of childlike wonder (suspicion?) all day long ...

... what we mostly ended up with was this:

and this:

and this:

But then? THEN THERE WERE COWS:

... which led to another obstacle on our path to professional picture taking, as illustrated by the following instance in which Innis is far too concerned with the cows being herded in the rodeo corral to actually look at the camera or show even a mote of recognition for his own name:

"Just ruuuun, cows! RUUUN! The horsies are COMING!!"

He eventually made up with horses in general, though, even if they were being super mean and chasing the cows around, but only because he got to ride a fake one:

(that woman in the background is all, "posture? I'll give him a B+ ... general horsemanship? A-. Proportion of body to horse and thus potential for career as award winning jockey? A++")

And all was made right in the world once more.

Oh, and remember how I told you about how marching bands turn me into an emotional disaster zone? Guess what else does?

STEEL DRUM BANDS. Didn't see that one coming, did you? And, well, funnily enough, neither did I. And honestly, there's only so much emotion you can hide behind big, dark sunglasses. Because embarrassing, spastic lip quivers? THESE CANNOT BE CAMOUFLAGED BY ANYTHING SHORT OF A BALACLAVA, which, as it stands, are in rather limited supply in these warmer climes.

Better Than Whine

I was trying to write a post about being stressed out about everything involved in an international move (house hunting! politics! money! DOGS AND REX OH MY GOD PET TRANSPORT), but then felt like an idiot because I was complaining about relocating to the Caribbean. I've since decided to reroute this post, and instead of a lengthy diatribe of epic whiny proportions, I give you this, which is infinitely better:

Maybe We Could Stay Here For A While

P.S. Ocean sand is salty:

Time To Settle

Ok, I'll get the Travel Day Of Nightmares out of the way and then move onto better things. Because there are very many more better things to talk about than how Air Canada is a terrible, terrible human being (corporations are legally considered people, isn't that ridiculous?).

So basically, it was this: we left home on Friday at 4am to make sure we were on time to catch our 7am flight. No problems there. We settled into our seats on the plane and rejoiced that in a mere 6.5 hours, we'd be in the Cayman Islands.

But then we got to Toronto and even though our flights were booked, confirmed, and paid for over a month ago (and we'd also checked in online the night before), we were bumped because at the time the flights were booked/paid for by Brad's employer, whoever was doing that forgot to reserve our seats. Because, apparently, paying for a flight isn't enough to convince the airline you're actually going to be on that flight.

After they bumped us, they then told us we could take the same flight the next day. We said we couldn't, because we'd left all of Innis's winter gear in Ottawa because WE WERE MOVING TO THE CARIBBEAN, and there was no way we were leaving the Toronto airport in February with Innis dressed in his summertime shorts-onesie and sandals.

Thus followed a frantic hour at the customer service desk, from which we were finally rerouted to Jamaica. Innis and I went ahead to the gate while Brad finished up with the last minute paperwork, and when I got there, the gate guy was all, "you're going to Jamaica?" to which I replied, "yup," AND THEN HE SAID: "well, hurry up! Why're you late? They've been calling! The plane's waiting!" To which I said ... nothing. THE RAGE WAS TOO STRONG.

So then we got to Jamaica at 3pm. And we sat. And waited. And waited.

This is pretty much what our time in Jamaica looked like:

Of course, this was after we found out that all of our luggage (including Innis's car seat, without which we were unable to leave any airport, including the one we eventually hoped to reach in the Cayman Islands) was lost. Gonzo. It didn't come with us to Jamaica, and no one could tell us whether or not it was back in Canada, in the Cayman Islands, or on the moon.

This was also after Innis had a giant poo explosion (might I add at 2:16pm, while we were still on the plane to Jamaica and not in our hotel room in the Cayman Islands where we were supposed to be, with extra diapers and clothes at our disposal). Thus, he spent the rest of the day changed back into his pajamas. Awesome.

So at 6:30, the check in counter for Cayman Airlines opened. Yay! we thought. At last! But when we reached the counter, we were met with blank stares and furious (and confused) bouts of tippy tapping at the check in computer because ... guess what? Air Canada hadn't bothered to book us on the flight out of Jamaica, as per the travel itinerary they gave us in Toronto.

So we waited for two more hours while they sorted that out. And this was when I neared a complete and utter meltdown, because at that point I had been awake for 40 hours with only a one hour nap sometime during the night before (the cause of this sleeplessness being some chaos regarding the pet crates, plus the usual far-too-optimistic packing/moving schedule we'd set for ourselves). The tears were also threatening because I was just so frustrated and felt like we were completely and entirely at the mercy of assholes who really couldn't care less about whether we were people or just numbers with dollar signs attached, and I also thought we were going to be stuck in scary Kingston, Jamaica, all night if they couldn't sort out our tickets, having to walk to the nearest hotel because we didn't have a car seat, with Innis on my hip, travel cash in our pockets, flashing neon signs on our foreheads announcing our complete and utter vulnerability. AND Innis hadn't eaten anything but sugar buns and potato chips all day because we'd planned to eat breakfast on the plane to Grand Cayman, and then actually be there for lunch by 1:30, but every area we'd been held in on our journey had been real food free, and so I was also a TERRIBLE mother on top of everything else.

After every single other person was checked in for the flight, our boarding passes were finally printed. Then the plane was delayed until 10pm. And then when we got to GC, we had another hour of wrangling to figure out our luggage (six bags had arrived, two had not -- one of which included all my etsy product).

We got to our hotel at midnight, twenty hours after we'd started out that morning. And then we went to bed.

Oh my god, that was supposed to be short, wasn't it?

Anyways. The next day, even though we were here, pretty much looked like this:

Overtired, overheated, hungry. Oh yeah.

But we did go to the beach:

And Innis allowed the water to touch him, just a little bit:

(even though maybe it was just so he could throw sand in the surf like he was mad at it)

But we're here! And we looked at houses yesterday! And maybe we'll actually rent one this week! And it's really pretty outside. So now maybe we can relax a little. Sort of.

T-Rex Trying ...

Oh my. THE HILARITY.

Here's a taste:

And here's the link to more.

And Yup, Looks Like He's Brad's, Too

Brad as a baby:

And Innis:

And Brad:

And Innis:

But on second thought, maybe it's not so much that they have similar features, but that they both seem VERY SERIOUS (or perplexed) all of the time, and this is where we can draw the comparison.

I mean, those brow muscles are getting a workout.

I'm Sure We Had More Productive Things To Do ...

But there was only one today.

So ... photoshoot!

Turns Out Flying Isn't So Easy After All

I really mean it: today I spent ALL day on the phone. From the time I woke up until about 5pm. It was like I had a full time job.

*shudder*

Because after I called Air Canada this morning to arrange air transportation for the dogs (after all the hoops we'd jumped through just to get them accepted for importation by the Cayman Islands government) we were told that the dogs wouldn't be able to come to the Cayman Islands anyways.

WHAT?!?!?!?!?!

And then we were all like, ok, now we can't GO, and THIS IS GARBAGE, and HOW COULD WE HAVE BEEN SO STUPID?

It was an oversight, you see.

We had assumed that Air Canada would be able to fly the dogs to the Caribbean. But of course, once we actually took the time to confirm this assumption, it turns out THEY COULD NOT.

(not the right size plane, don't do international live cargo shipping to the Cayman Islands, they hate us, etc.)

Thus began a frantic marathon of calling every single airline on the continent, asking (begging) them to please bring our shmuppy puppies to us so that they wouldn't be abandoned by their evil evil parents who'd already signed a work contract and were now obligated to travel for employment.

And then Delta said yes! ... but ONLY if the dogs could fit into crates that were a teensy bit too small. Meaning, of course, that if they didn't pass inspection on their way through customs, they could get turned away from the airport and not be allowed to fly because there wasn't enough space between their heads and the tops of the crates (supposed to be 2", and there would've been maybe .5").

So then we were all: BUT WHAT DO WE DO NOOOOOWW?

Because the risk was twofold: firstly that the dogs wouldn't be able to come to us, and secondly, that Mum and Robert would have driven them to the Buffalo International Airport (yes, Buffalo. Thanks, Canada), only to have to turn around and drive right back, dogs in tow.

So we figured, ok. We'll go up a crate size. But then it turned out that EVERY SINGLE PLANE IN THE ENTIRE AMERICAN NORTH WAS TOO SMALL TO FACILITATE OUR NEEDS. In fact, the crates required to safely and regulation-ly house our dogs on their cross-Atlantic flight wouldn't actually fit through any of these planes' doors. (I'm not exaggerating. It's true).

BUT, just when all seemed very bleak and we began to despair anew, we were able to book a flight with Continental (love you!), which is actually direct (so, better), and big enough to take all three giant crates. WHEW.

The only problem is that now they have to fly out of New Jersey.

And on a related note, I quite possibly have the BEST parents in the ENTIRE WORLD because Mum and Robert have agreed to drive the dogs to catch their flight. In NEW JERSEY.

Someone's a spoiled brat, and it isn't Innis ...

URRRRRGGGGgggglurgleglurgle ... urg

... is currently the soundtrack of our lives, all because Innis has discovered a new feeling:

DISGUST.

For someone who can sit in his own crap without complaint (sometimes for an embarrassingly long time until someone else notices that he needs a change), he sure is a Judgy McJudgy Pants when it comes to other people's codes of cleanliness. And he doesn't waste any time when informing us of our dirtiness, either.

Take for example the minute specks of fluff on Nan's staircase. Innis will stop dead in his tracks, mid ascent, fastidiously pick up said fluff between two pudgy little fingertips, hold it out to whatever grownup is nearest, and say "URRRRRGGGGgggglurgleglurgle ... urg" until that grownup removes the offensive mote from his sight.

Same goes for the dead bug he found the other day.

And the dust bunnies that puffed out from under the couch when we moved it out of the living room.

Or the hair on Mummy's legs (surprise, Innis! It's winter!).

Given the upheaval that has defined us for most of Innis's life, and our general disorganization as well as inability to put things back where they belong once we've finished using them, you'd think he'd be used to mess, like somehow the acceptance of chaos would be ingrained deep within his little psyche -- but no. Innis is like one of those little old women on that "How Clean Is Your House?" show. Helpful, but mostly just condemning. Not a day goes by that I'm not reminded by my toddler how much I lack in the housewifery department. And he can't even talk yet.

But I'll take it. It's ok. I'll just bide my time until he's old enough to develop the manual dexterity required to house clean. Just think. A child that likes to clean? That's better than a robot butler.

Say What, God?

After Innis was christened yesterday, God opened up a direct line to His office:

"You want me to eat lots of cake at the reception? And run around like a maniac? O-kaaaay, if You say so ... "

As baptisms go, this one was pretty great. Father Jack (who's also my yoga instructor -- I know!) made it super personal, and positive, and inclusive.

He even made sure to go over all the details with Innis before we got started:

But that may have been because Innis was dressed for business, so Father Jack felt compelled to keep him in the know:

And, people, his suit had tails:

Here are some more pictures that are pretty terrible, but only because I thought it'd be a good idea to mess around with my camera settings two minutes before the christening started: