Misty Watercolour Memories

Two years ago today JM and I were celebrating our half-birthday in Barcelona. I was clean, I had makeup on and I was drinking beer in the streets. Later that night my girl was conceived. Currently it is 8:00am on Saturday morning and she’s throwing a patented monster tantrum because I won’t let her watch her Baby Einstein World Music DVD. I'm forced to make this decision because a month ago she broke the DVD player. Did I mention I was up no less than eight times last night?

I feel like there’s an ad for birth control in here somewhere.

169 Days

It’s been one hundred and sixty nine days since I posted about my inner dialogue and the vacation it took without me. Since then a lot has happened.

In brief: Jose Miguel and I separated. Mi familia y yo had an amazing/awkward/perfect/painful last week as a family in Perú. Two-thirds of mi familia flew back to Canada. One-third of mi familia screamed for over an hour on a flight from Winnipeg to Regina. A gorilla, a robot, some long-lost members of Jem and the Holograms and my Dad met us at the airport. Saskatchewan, as always, proved cold and somehow comforting. I made some bad choices, obsessed a little and lost twenty-five pounds from the stress of it all. I’ve never looked better. I started Spanish 101 and found myself in a level of hell only verb conjugation can create. I started reading and writing en español at a level I never thought I’d reach. I felt proud of myself. Jose Miguel was approved as a Permanent Resident of Canada after well over a year of waiting. We were told our paperwork was some of the quickest of anyone in our situation. I still want to burn Immigration Canada to the ground. Jose Miguel moved to Canada. Turns out the full three-thirds of mi familia in one house is amazing. We vaguely looked into filing for divorce but then something came up. Gaia learned to walk after an intense session with her personal Phys Ed teacher while Canada was winning an insane amount of gold medals in the Olympics. I finally went to Salsa night. I didn’t dance. I bought a car. I actually won’t own it for four years. Semantics. I tried snowboarding for the first time and I was amazing, even if I couldn’t move for almost a week after. I applied for a job, got offered a job and turned a job down. I’m glad I changed my mind. I love my job. Jose Miguel stayed home with Gaia full-time for almost a month. He’s an amazing father and still the most handsome man I’ve seen up close. The fact that we’re horrible at being married remains. I started running every morning at 6:00am. It made me feel strong and powerful and brave. We celebrated Gaia’s first birthday with a big party and a cake only my Dad could create. Jose Miguel took one last contract on ships. He left. Gaia got a spot at a home daycare. Gaia got kicked out of a home daycare. Gaia got a spot at an amazing, reputable, government subsidised daycare. I was reminded that everything happens for a reason. Gaia and I went to Vancouver for a visit. She made a lifelong friend in a big black dog, had her first experience with finger paint and was the star at her second first birthday party. She did this while wearing an excessively large tutu. I got to catch up, tell my story and celebrate the thirtieth birthday of one of the most amazing people I know. I felt like I could breathe again. We went home. I started a passionate love affair with coffee. Gaia started a passionate love affair with making friends. We are all very happy. I bought an iPhone. I took a week off Facebook. My Dad started cooking family dinner on Sunday nights. I got to dress like a grownup every day. It’s been said, by my boss, that I could take over the world all while wearing six-inch heels. She’s a smart lady. Gaia was exposed to every germ in existence. One day I caught her licking the floor at daycare. She was sick a lot. She stopped sleeping through the night. I talked to Jose Miguel on the phone almost every day. Who would have thought? I got my hopes up for spring and then it started snowing again. I questioned my decision to live in Regina. I started dating, realised I was bad at it and quit. I cut over ten inches of hair off my head. I was relatively unmoved but I’m pretty sure my stylist cried after I left. I had a picnic with my Mom. Gaia enjoyed her first ice cream cone... and her second... and her third. The sun came out and we got a big plastic pool shaped like a shark. Again, I got my hopes up. It was grey and rainy for a month. I cleaned my bathroom. Gaia proved she is a budding genius through a series of events I relayed to anyone who would listen. She started running everywhere. I finally sorted through all my old boxes, found I’d saved every piece of paper from university and threw it out. Now I have a whole extra room in my house. I’m planning on setting up a studio space for me and my girl. Gaia still doesn’t speak save for “Mama”, “Dad-Dad” (what she calls her Grandad) and “Uh-Oh” but she is the best non-verbal communicator I’ve ever met. She now knows the signs for “please”, “more” and “all done” thanks to the wonderful women at daycare. She has a genuine best friend who makes her laugh like no one else. They have perfected the best friend high-five. She climbs up the stairs, up the couch and up the walls. I’ve taken to telling strangers she is NUTBALLS when they look at her picture in my iPhone. She is. I drank many glasses of red wine and got drunk for the first time in a long time. I went to a lot of BBQs, playdates, dinners and a gala. I had my picture taken by Regina paparazzi one night with my boss. Apparently I’m Regina famous (or rather, employed by someone who is). A good friend came to town. We ate the best burger I’ve ever tasted, hosted a BBQ, drank a lot of Big Rock Lime Beer and bought fifteen dollars worth of jellybeans. I redesigned the blog one night while I watched Whip It. Jose Miguel and I made some decisions. We're still not divorced. This weekend the sun started shining. I got a tan while logging working hours and danced on the grass with Gaia when I was finished. Last night I took her to the park. She slid down the slide on her own for the first time. She perfected the art with at least eighty more solo slides before I could get her back home. As a result I think I developed an arm muscle I didn't know existed. This morning I felt like writing.

I make no promises, but... I'm back. Did you miss me?

Giving Thanks

Music Credit: Thank You by Led Zeppelin

Unfinished Thoughts

I’m sorry I’ve been so lame on the blogging front lately. In Vancouver I simply didn’t have time. Since I’ve been home I’ve been feeling so gross I actually thought I might be pregnant again... which I’m not... unless the three tests I took today are wrong. Add to the lack of time/energy the fact that Gaia is struggling pretty hard to give up naps entirely and I’m longing for blogging time. Still, I have so much on my mind. Here are a few things that may or may not get written about if I can ever find the time again:

• How it seems that even if I were dress my daughter up in a pink tutu she’d still get mistaken for a boy. It’s not that I mind so much just that I’ve been spending an extravagant amount of time obsessing over why everyone thinks my daughter is so butch.
• How I was a little sad when I got married that I’d never get fall in love again (well, you know, ideally) and how wrong I was. Since Jose and I got hitched I have not only gotten to fall in love with our baby girl, but also with Jose again and again in so many ways. I don’t think there’s anything else in the world like falling in love with your husband as a father. It’s pure magic.
• How rattled I am by the whole Jon and Kate divorce. I hate myself for caring, but I do. Last week I imposed an official ban on gossip magazines to not to participate in feeding the media fire. Today at the grocery store I noticed Michael Jackson has officially taken over the headlines but frankly I’m not interested in feeding that fire either.
• How amazing Gaia is in her new Jolly Jumper. I know a lot of people think they’re death traps but it makes her so happy it’s insane. I swear she thinks she’s learned to walk and jump and dance free of outside intervention but with a snappy new belt (obviously a big girl accessory).
• How Gaia and I slept in separate bedrooms on Wednesday night for the first time ever and how she did so well that I moved her into her big girl bedroom permanently which has resulted in me making over a hundred paper cranes to hang from her big girl ceiling. Crazy? Slightly. But also beautiful.

And those are just a sampling of the things I’ve been itching to write about should I ever find the time. Anything in particular tickle your fancy? Let me know and maybe it’ll give me the motivation to expand on it.

If They Could Just Spend One Day With Us...

Of everything I’ve done this year there is one thing I am especially proud of. It’s not growing a baby, or successfully helping that baby exit through my body or caring for her on my own once she was out. If I had to narrow it down to my single greatest accomplishment in the last year it would be that somehow, inexplicably, I’ve managed to stay positive through the back and forth of mine and Jose’s struggles with immigration. I hesitate to write about it, fearing it might result a verbal avalanche of self-pity and pure hatred towards the government. Still. With every disappointment we’ve found hope.

Hope is a beautiful thing but today I felt a little bit of my hope slip away. I feel defeated.

“If they would only spend a day with us they would let him in” I think.
If they could see the way Gaia smiles at him. It’s a smile I see every morning when I get her out of bed. One not seen by the public and too precious to be photographed. A smile that wouldn’t be forgotten anyhow. That smile is the first time my daughter said she loved me. That smile says she loves Jose too. I wonder if she remembers him from the three weeks she spent in Peru in the womb. Does she remember the way he slept with his face right next to hers? The way he called her Gaia and kissed her and told her all of his stories through my bellybutton? I wonder if the way he smells has become a part of me, if he runs through my veins and she thinks of us as a set. Her parents.

How can we be somebody’s parents and still be kept apart by wait times and proof of relationship forms and immigration hotline numbers? Does that seem right to you?

I wonder if she knows why he’s rarely with us and if she cuts the desperation by living off a steady diet of hope. I wonder if maybe that’s just me.

For the last year we’ve always had something to buoy our hope. When he was denied for the first Visitor Visa we got through by perfecting the applications for our second shot. We rescheduled flights and consulted lawyers and crossed our fingers extra tight. The second denial stung the most, it was the rejection killing our hope, until we realised hope was the only thing we could count on and clung tight to the pieces we had left. Quickly decisions were made and I had a trip to Peru and Christmas with my in-laws and a marriage to focus on. Then it was applying for Permanent Residency. Complicated forms and letter upon letter and triple checking everything before our twenty pound package was on its way. Before I knew it there were the last months of my pregnancy. Prenatal yoga and nesting and fights over baby boy names. It was anything to avoid thinking of Jose not being there for the birth. Anything to not want to fly to Mississauga to let Immigration Canada feel the extent of my rage and distract myself from thoughts of burning that mother down. Anything not to think about how a country that preaches equality and fairness in opposition to the red-white-and-blue downstairs could take away that experience from us both like it didn’t even matter. Like we’d ever be able to get it back. When people ask if labour hurt I want to tell them that nothing could hurt as bad as not having the person you love there with you. Nothing could burn like that loneliness. I just say “nope” and smile instead. It’s the hope that covers the bitterness. Then it was the baby who became our hope in human form. It was two hours a day on Skype and stories about our child and learning to be a family when countries separated us. Didn’t I always say that there were all different types of families? Then it was a countdown to a new job for Jose, one that would bring him to us twice a month. It was packing and preparing and excitement. It was three days. Twenty-six hours of being a family. The best twenty-six hours I have ever spent. Every. Single. Second.

Today was our last day. Jose won’t be given anymore Vancouver days off. We have no plan for the future. No idea when we might see each other again. Ship work means two hour conversations are condensed into a ten minute phone call and one email a day. No one at Immigration Canada will talk to us and we know our paperwork sits near the bottom of the pile at the embassy in Lima. We have no end point. No magic date to count down to. We are exhausted from the hope. There’s only so long that you can let hope feed you in place of the dreams you rest it on. I hate myself for complaining. All my life I’ve known that nothing is ever as bad as it seems. That there are millions in far dire circumstances then mine. I try to save a little hope for them too and let the emotion I focus on myself be gratitude. I am grateful. For a husband who loves me and our healthy baby. For the way I know that nothing could make him as happy as watching me and Gaia for hours. For the way she smiles and him and he smiles at me and I smile at her. For the way that we share the smiles that no one else ever gets to see. Now that I’ve exhausted my hope I think I’ll focus on my gratitude. Maybe we’re just too lucky to be together every day. Like meteor shower or Canucks playoff victory maybe we’re lucky enough to have something so beautiful we can’t experience it every day because it’s rare and worth the wait.

That being said, if anyone has some connections with Immigration Canada feel free to pull a few strings for us. If you can get Jose into the country I promise we’ll make an effort to find something to fight about like who has to take out the garbage or why I refuse to change the toilet paper roll (I mean really, it’ll just run out anyway).

Tick. Tick. BOOM.

The way they locked eyes the minute they met and barely looked away until she was tucked into the backseat of the car. TICK.

The way I could see his heart breaking as she cried in her car seat on the way to the hotel. TICK.

The way he told her stories while he fed her a bottle and she smiled so wide the milk ran right out of her mouth. TICK.

The way he seemed to have a never ending supply of gifts for her, like a magician with a bottomless hat. Finger puppets, toys, a new alpaca sweater for every month of her infancy. The thought of him picking them out. TICK.

The way he never took his eyes off her as we walked with her in the carrier. How he put his arms around us to protect us from the world. TICK.

The way he took her from me when she fell asleep at dinner and how she relaxed against his body without protest. TICK.

The way they played in the hotel room for hours and she laughed and he laughed and I laughed. The way we finally got to laugh together. TICK.

The way she knew him, right away, and stared at him all night, enthralled by his face... his eyes... his voice. The way I know that feeling... how easy it is to love him. TICK.

The way they are the same. Their eyes... their noses... their toes. How they raise their eyebrows in matching expressions. The way he dances and she wiggles and the way they never stop moving. TICK.

The way they sat in the bathtub together and he pulled her through the water and washed the bubbles off her back. Our little naked baby against his chest. TICK.

The way he watched me put on her pyjamas. Goodnight feet... goodnight knees... goodnight belly... goodnight arms... goodnight Gaia. TICK.

The way he looked at us like we were his favourite people in the world as I bounced her to sleep. The way I know we are. TICK.

And then it happened. TICK. I’d felt it coming. TICK. Through family hugs and family kisses and family cuddles. TICK. Through silly songs and tickles and Gaia soaring through the air in his arms. TICK. Through dinner time and nap time and bath time and bed time. TICK. We watched her sleeping. TICK. Could not tear ourselves away, we watched her sleeping. TICK. He held me close. TICK. He whispered in my ear. TICK.

“Me and Chancho-Mono, we are so lucky to have you." He said. "This is the best day of my life.”

Tick. Tick. BOOM. My heart exploded. Just like that... BOOM... my heart exploded.

Later when he fell asleep and I was surrounded with the sounds of their matching sleepy breathing... their matching sleepy snores... the sound of the ocean from her Sleep Sheep... her favourite thing to fall asleep to... his favourite thing to fall asleep to... they slept and I snuck around the room collecting all the pieces.

Best Day Ever

After one hundred and fifty-one days apart I’m picking up my husband at the airport this afternoon. We have almost fourteen hours before he ships out (literally) to sail the Alaskan coast serving drinks to geriatrics. Fourteen hours to make up for one hundred and fifty-one days that included the birth of our baby girl and what seems like a lifetime spent chatting on Skype. Do I wish he was coming here for good? Of course. But today there’s nothing in the world that could make me as happy as those fourteen hours. As far as I'm concerned today is the best day ever. Seriously. Gaia’s excited too... obviously. As always she’s appropriately dressed for the occasion.


Like I said... BEST. DAY. EVER. Take it away Spongebob.



I’ve been singing this song all morning. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t one of my favourite songs of all time. I blame years spent working in childcare.

PS. Immigration Canada if you’re reading this please let Jose come here forever. Every second Monday is better than nothing but honestly, I want my husband please.

Actual Conversation

For those of who wonder what Jose and I talk about for two hours a day on Skype...

Me – Gaia and I went for a two hour walk this morning. It’s so nice outside baby... like 24 degrees.
Jose – Wow!
Me – I know! I had to cover Gaia head to toe in sunscreen just to sit in the stroller.
Jose – Baby? Is she very white?
Me – Yes baby, about the same colour as me or maybe a little lighter.
Jose – I was looking at the pictures of you both and she looked like a beautiful chubby vanilla ice cream.

Now you know.

Stupidhead Sillypants

Have you ever seen that episode of The Simpsons where Homer and Marge are trying to come up with a name for their unborn son? Marge keeps suggesting perfectly respectable names and Homer repeatedly shoots them down as he fires back possible playground taunts. The anticipation is palpable when Marge finally suggests Bart. I waited for the punch line that never came as they agreed on the name and left me screaming “FART... FART YOU JACKASS... BART RHYMES WITH FART!” Of course I realise the fact they completely missed something so obvious is the punch line but I never thought I’d find myself the butt of the same joke. I’ve worked in a childcare setting for the majority of my working life and if I’ve learned anything it’s that children are cruel. It’s true that at some point in life all children will be mocked, regardless of their parent’s attempts to prevent it. Still, I wanted to do what I could to insure my daughter was not an easy target. Unfortuntely it seems I have failed her.

When we finally settled on the name Gaia I racked my brain for months trying to figure out any possible associations or childish rhymes. The worst I could think of with was GAY-A (which she’s already been referred to by pretty much everyone who’s only seen her name in print). Frankly I’d like to believe she’d respond to something so unoriginal and inoffensive with the same casual eye roll I perfected after years of being called Reese’s Pieces. It’s a move that clearly states “is that the best you can come up with?” Then last night I was tickling her and calling her by the various pet names she’s becoming known as. It was all Gaia-bears and Gaia-roos when it came over me in a wave... Gaiarrhea... the kids at school are going to call my daughter Gaiarrhea. How could I not have realised sooner? That combined with her dramatic, if short, history of gastrointestinal distress and I’m more than a little concerned. I guess all I can do now is prepare her for the possibility and hope she doesn’t end up pooping her pants at her first day of Kindergarten. Although I guess if she’s a five-year-old pants pooper I’ll have bigger problems to deal with than her classmates realising her name rhymes with diarrhea.

"Gaiarrhea!?! OH SHIT!"

As far things go Gaiarrhea is pretty rough, but nicknames have special place in our family. I can count on one hand the number of times my husband has referred to me as Risa in the last year. As far as he’s concerned my name is Chancho. For Jose nicknames are the way he shows his love. The way you know you’ve been accepted into his world. Calling me Chancho seems cute when it was just the two of us, but when we were in public situations I can’t help but notice people cringing. For those of you who have no idea why, I’ll enlighten you. Chancho is Spanish for pig. Of course it doesn’t help that I’ll always be a little bit chubby. I’m sure most casual observers think Jose is being mildly abusive, but it wasn’t my ample hips that inspired the nickname, it was Nacho Libre.

TV on cruise ships is a funny thing. In addition to the regular circulating programming for the guests, the crew has three extra channels, my favourite being one that plays the same movie in a constant loop for weeks. Shortly after Jose signed onto our last ship Nacho Libre was this movie. I’m pretty sure he watched it upwards of two hundred times in the course of the month we finally became a bonefide couple.

For anyone who’s seen Nacho Libre you might remember Chancho, the chubby little orphan who looked up to Nacho. The nickname began innocently enough over an inside joke about the similarities between Chancho and me in my Adventure Ocean uniform. Shockingly the one-style-fits-all board shorts weren’t so flattering on my big-girl thighs. Not to mention the way my overstuffed jacket pockets made me look as if I had an oh-so-becoming beer gut that sagged over my waistband. I consider the fact that I wore this uniform day in and day out and Jose still managed to fall in love with me a testament to my awesomeness.

Before long the joke had morphed into an intellectual character study where Chancho’s ultimate belief in Nacho became a symbol for mine and Jose’s growing connection. Of course, I know it’s a little ludicrous to let two comedic characters from a ridiculous (if hilarious) movie be symbols for our love but so it is, and now that the name has officially stuck, so it always will be. That’s the thing about nicknames anyway; the good ones are always born from inside jokes and secrets and walk the line of appropriateness. Plus as far as I’m concerned Jack Black is my own personal cupid. In Jose’s mind things were rocky between us when I was Risa, and then he got to the Navigator of the Seas where I was re-born as Chancho and suddenly it was all rainbows and roses.

And it’s not just the nickname that’s stuck. Jose and I now celebrate Chanchoversaries and give each other Valenchancho presents. We share in the joy of a Merry Chanchomas and blow out the candles on our shared Chanchoday. We even have a Chancho theme song (in its original form and a dance remix). It’s been over a year since I’ve gone to bed without hearing him sing “Eres mi Chancho, mi unico, unico Chancho.” When we got married we automatically started referring to ourselves as Mr. and Mrs. Chancho. When we found out I was pregnant we were having a Chanchito or Chanchita of course. Now that Gaia is no longer a fetus as predicted he rarely calls her by her name. She started out as Gai-ita, a nod to Jose-sita, his mother’s pet name for him no doubt, but lately he’s been calling her Chancho-Mono, our little pig monkey, and I know it’s going to stick. Chancho because she’s ours, and Mono because of the way she bounces in continuous motion as we talk to him on Skype.

I’ve grown quite attached to being called Chancho and I hope our baby girl always feels as special as I do as an object of her father’s nicknaming quirk. The truth is, when you grow too old for childish playground rhymes that special feeling is the point of a true nickname. And if nothing else let’s be honest, anything’s better than Gaiarrhea. Can I get an Amen?

Two Things

Firstly, today was one of those beautiful days where I felt sure I made the right decision in moving back to Saskatchewan. The sun was shining and Gaia and I met some friends for the Cathedral Village Arts Festival. It reminded me that Regina really does have a thriving arts community and that the city is full of interesting and inspiring people. Of course it helped that I ran into a counsellor from my years in summer camp who had a booth set up to promote the new alternative school she’s opening. I don’t remember ever reading about a school in Vancouver that meshes so perfectly with the way I want to raise my daughter. I can’t imagine a better educational model to encourage self-esteem, empathy and a sense of community responsibility (locally and globally) – all things I feel are sorely missing in the mainstream schools I’ve looked into. All I can hope is that the school gets enough support in the next few years to continue to be operational when Gaia is ready for kindergarten. If you’re interested check out their website here.

Secondly, on Friday Gaia and I got a package in the mail from Jose. Among the items in the package was a CD he made of his favourite Spanish children’s songs. Frankly, it’s amazing.

Being the true Canadian I am I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for Raffi. Lately, when we’re all alone at home I’ve been singing Baby Beluga to Gaia. I don’t know if it’s the song or my terrible voice, but I always manage to get a smile out of her.



Peru’s answer to Raffi is Yola Polastry. Mi Ranchito is Jose’s favourite of her songs and he’s been singing it to Gaia since I brought her home from the hospital. He and his brother have big plans involving this song, costumes and choreography for Gaia and her cousin (due September 2009).



While I don’t think any comment on the inherent cultural differences as showcased by these songs is necessary but I will say this, from now on every time I get frustrated about immigration hassles or the distance between us and wonder if it wouldn’t have just been easier if I’d fallen in love with a Canadian I’m going to remember how lucky Gaia is too grow up in a family where she’ll learn to sing both Baby Beluga and Mi Ranchito... my little Latina-Canadian.

Lullaby

Sigh. I know. After a promising start I went and had a baby and let the blog thing slip away. It’s funny because from what I can tell the first months of motherhood seem ripe for reflection. I’m back though and committed to trying to get all these thoughts in my head out onto the screen. I have big plans people so bear with me. For tonight, I’ll be brief.

This afternoon was spent, as is most of our afternoons, talking to Jose Miguel via Skype. We’d chatted through a feeding and the consequent burping, a bounce in her chair and an adorable online game of peek-a-boo when suddenly, inexplicably, Gaia started crying. She started crying with the full-on, high pitched wails of a baby girl who’s seriously distressed about something (although what it was is anyone’s guess). I offered her a pacifier. I bounced her. I held her close and whispered into her ear. I kissed her. I rubbed her back. I rocked her. Nothing was working. I almost forgot Jose was watching us until I heard him start to sing softly in Spanish. Just as suddenly as it had started, Gaia got quiet. She looked at her father, singing to her through my glowing laptop screen, smiled a little and fluttered her eyelashes then promptly fell asleep. Jose finished singing while I watched my baby girl settle into my arms and her heavy sleepy breaths. There’s nothing quite like the moments when you notice that the man you married is exactly the man you hoped he’d be. Lately I’ve been lucky enough to have a lot of those moments.

I’m going to sleep now and if the Gods are good I’ll be dreaming of the way my daughter looks while my husband sings her sweet lullabies. In my dreams we’ll all be in the same country.