Beautiful Things: Wordless Wednesday Edition.

Settling in.

Geeze Louise, Our Ship Has Finally Landed.

The kid's playroom in the making.

Yes, we arrived in the wee hours of December the 12th--so, why are you just now "landing" and why for heaven's sake are you just now posting about it all nearly a month later, you're asking? Well my dear family, friends and followers, the road to reach today, January 11, 2011, has been not without foes, follies and flabbergasts.

You see, today is the second day, and only the second day, that I feel as if my feet are on somewhat of a steady and solid earth. The minutes and hours, only as of late, are beginning to shape themselves into somewhat of a noticeable rhythm. Our incredibly delayed and somewhat dangerous flight from Los Angeles to Detroit to London, Ontario, has been somewhat of a mirror of the difficulty that we have also had "landing" here in our new town since our arrival. If we had internet during those early days and weeks, you would have caught every last slight detail chronicling the aches and pains of transition--living in a completely empty house surrounded by feet and feet of snow for 13 days--shaky and unreliable cell service as the only means of communication until last Saturday when our internet was finally connected--the inability to get forms of Canadian identification, thus internet service, thus bank accounts--the anti-laundering laws that forbid transferring funds from U.S. to Canadian accounts, or vice versa, (and the 21-day international check holds) that sent us scrambling to Port Huron, Michigan twice (once on New Years Eve) after being nearly crippled by the brain task it took to figure out how to meet all of our bi-national obligations between trips--the holidays that put a speedy stop to all of these "official" needs until the moments of merry glee finally dissipated into businesses' door signs finally reading "open"--the shock to learn that my husband's company had arranged for our car to be transported by a company that drove it, instead of freighted it, from Los Angeles to Canada--the incompetent gorillas that began unloading our house belongings (after Dean had to drive all the way to Toronto on December 22nd to clear it through customs) off of the truck at 6 p.m. on December 23rd leaving us with a fallen powerline in the driveway, a house full of boxes incorrectly placed, many belongings broken and bent, and a floor tracked with melted ice, snow and rock salt to tackle on Christmas Eve--the flat tire on New Years Eve--the flooded basement due to rapid thawing two days after Christmas. I could go on. But I won't.

Needless to say, last week was Dean's first week at his new job and coincidentally was the first week that we were finally able to figure out how to survive in our new world. And this week, as a result, is beginning to shape into a one where we are finally able to begin to enjoy this new world. We have internet, alas. We have a few favorite grocery shopping spots pinned down. We hosted friends for brunch last Saturday. Dean gets off at 5:00 p.m. e v e r y n i g h t (we are still trying to figure out what exactly that means and how to best manage all of this newly founded family time). We finally have finished painting the downstairs. Noah and I enrolled and attended our first Waldorf Mommy & Tot class today. We have a playdate scheduled in the neighborhood tomorrow and several more lined up for this week.

We are adjusting to the $10 gallons of organic milk (sold in 1-liter plastic bags), $5 gallons of gas (sold by the liter too, of course) and the 13% sales tax. There's just not much we can do about that, eh? And, for now, no more schlepping my pregnant belly in 20 layers and my unwilling toddler, in as many or more, around in the snowy splendor to sit in bank or federal building waiting lobbies. No more driving the 150 kilometers to miserable and oh so very dismal Port Huron, Michigan to visit the very nice ladies at Bank of America and waitstaff at Red Lobster (yes, we really did hit rock bottom, folks--there's just simply nowhere else to eat there, sigh.).

We are slating a new beginning that takes us back to something resembling our days pre-Milagro Ranch in Malibu. Back to Burnside Avenue in the great city of Los Angeles when Noey and I enjoyed our days together as a pair intertwined in a natural rhythm surrounded by friends, fun and all of the magical beauties that surround childhood. And back to the time when I was able to be the mommy who was lucky enough to experience it all undistracted . . . for the first time in 6 months. That is, until late May, however, when Junior(ette) arrives and throws our new world into yet another and a completely different kind of spinning whirly-twirl.

Nevertheless, hip hip hooray for lulls in the fast times of familyhood--no matter how fleeting or temporary they may be.

Noah at work with Daddy.

THE END, Los Angeles: Uprooted and Unplugged At Last.

My eyes are barely open, my fingers nearly unable to press the weight of the keys. It's a little after 1 a.m. the day of departure and we are now going to try and catch some rest before our long journey north--toting 1 toddler, 2 cats and 1 pregnant belly--early tomorrow morning.

I had so many things to say today, so many laments about leaving sunshiny California--especially on a day where the sun set in brushes of vibrant color over the park we found ourselves playing at with Noah in T-shirts and flip flops. I have found that this day has passed with lightening speed and has left little time for writing reflection despite the occasional tears.

I won't be back up and blogging (or doing anything on a computer, for that matter) until our car arrives at our new home as our desktop computer is going to be shipped in the trunk of our car--we are opposed for both philosophical and health reasons to laptops--which is departing L.A. a day after us.

For now, I am off to a short albeit sweet slumber land session and will hopefully connect again on the great world wide web in six-ish days or so. We will have cell service, however, and our California cell numbers will remain active until we establish new service in London in a few weeks.

In the meantime, wish us luck during our first week at a very empty house in our new very snowy, frigid and foreign new home.

Good bye, Los Angeles. You and everyone that we know and love who lives under your sun will be ever so sorely missed. Good bye, and thank you for an unforgettable decade.

Gearing Up And Ready To (For) Go (Snow)!

The day of departure is closing in upon us like a vice, a noose, a looming dooming day for mayhem and mania. "Hmmm...sounding a wee bit gloomy about this move," you're thinking? Well, perhaps I am. But it seems as if we have been planning for this great diaspora for a really long time.

In real people time, I guess it's only been a few months and strategizing an international move for a family in a few months would seem not only normal protocol, but even necessary for such a grand feat. So it is perhaps because of our living situation that these last few months have seemed so achingly long and d r a w n out--because in Surette-Nelson time it has felt like ages. Ages since we decided to move. Ages since we applied for the Visa. Ages since we found our cozy little soon-to-be new home. Ages since we began the process for shipping our stuff, our car, our cats and us. Ages, just ages, since all of this first began.

So, today with only T minus 5 days until departure, I am feeling overwhelmed by all of the both little and big things that still need to get done before our Delta flight leaves the dusty earth that is Southern California this Sunday. While at the same time I am overcome with feelings of giddiness and euphoria at our departure's mere closness in proximity as it has never been so far within reach.

The strife, concern and bitter distaste that I have for the current discrepancy in weather conditions between our now and future homestead--currently 21 degrees and snowing in London, Ontario versus a sunny 74 degrees here in Los Angeles--will have to be the whines and complaints of another post. The fact that the freight company is meeting us in Malibu at the crack of dawn tomorrow to pick up our stuff from storage that we still need to box is all I can handle at the current moment.

And, in the meantime, Noah Finn and I will continue to pass the time in between the time we are out flying around town in erranding-madness to try on and model our new snugly family of snow boots.

Up In The Air.

I have always been inpatient, antsy, unsettled even, anytime the status of major life events are up in the air. So, the idea that a major move is lurking somewhere out there in our immediate, and then not so immediate, future is nearly driving me insane.

It seems that our move status changes by the minute while our time spent waiting in between these changes drags on at a snail's pace. A major contradiction, I know, but so goes it in limbo land.

The draft for a post that I had written yesterday had to be scrapped as we received visa approval this morning--which changes so much while at the same time so very little. Now that we have the visa, our car can be picked up in Los Angeles and shipped. Our stuff, once it reaches Canada, can be claimed and continue it's voyage to our home in London. What it doesn't change is perhaps the most important part--when we can finally head to our new home. While our car will only take six days to ship, despite options of extra fees and 48 hour pick ups, the things that will eventually fill our new home will not ship out of Los Angeles until next week with an estimated arrival date of 14-21 days. This means that our arrival to our home anytime around when we were planning to arrive. . . um . . . this weekend!? . . . would be to a very, very empty house surrounded by plumes of newly fallen snow. Throw into the equation one pregnant Mama, a tireless toddler, two terrified cats, a tired Papa and no pots, toys, towels, beds or blankets, and you have a real d-i-s-a-s-t-e-r.

This time I can't blame Beck for finagling Dean into staying a bit longer to finish projects at work, nope, this is due to circumstances beyond our control--beyond the reach of a balking and cross pregnant wife.

So, what to do? We've mulled around many an idea but for one reason or another have determined that the most feasible of those means we hold out in the City of Angels yet another week. The 12th is our new date of departure. We can only hope that the kindness of the friends we are staying. . . and waiting with . . . doesn't run out.

I just somehow can't help but think that all of this (the expense, the hassle, the mental toll) would be worth it if we were moving to say . . . Spain, France, Tibet, Estonia . . . but, Canada, really? And, two hours or so north of the U.S. border no less. That really stings this mama's gaping international moving wound.

Illustration credit: Phil Wrigglesworth.

All In A Good Day's Play: The Disneyland Edition.

We visited Disneyland last Thursday with the mamas and babies from our Pasadena commune. One of the mamas used to work for Disney in her pre-baby days and scored us free tickets. I quickly jumped aboard the Disney train thinking it could be the last time for a long time that we visit the land of magic.

We conquered only a few rides--"It's A Small Word", "Dumbo's Flight", "Peter Pan's Adventure" and the carousel, of course. We stayed until close to experience the Christmas decorations, fireworks and snowfall in true twinkling-eyed style. By the time all was said and done, we had snacked, we had gazed, we had oohed and awed, we had met characters with huge hugs and the days end with dreary, weary eyes.

I unfortunately didn't get many great shots because we only had a wee hour or so of daylight left in Mr. Sunshine before he settled down for the night. And one hour or so at Disneyland with three toddlers and huge crowds, doesn't leave much time or available hands for photography.

API Article: "Numero Dos: Sharing The Love"

Another one of my articles appears today on API Speaks, the Attachment Parenting International blog. The title is "Numero Dos: Sharing The Love" and you can find it on API Speaks here and on my blog here.

Enjoy!

Malibu, I'm Going To Miss You Old Buddy, Old Pal.

So it may come as no surprise to most that we are going to miss living in Malibu--sorely, deeply, longingly, miss it. Just finding these "lost" pictures this evening taken from just before that doomed summer vacation makes my heart pang with loss, with mourning, with sadness, for what will be missed.

What will be thought of most often is probably not what you are imagining though. Malibu is a truly special place. But as I have mentioned here before, envisioning it's sand-crusted shores as a beach-side Beverly Hills is way off mark. Yes, there is a small smattering of fake boob, bikini-clad, baked and gold-bangled blondes about here and there. But, in reality, that's not the real Malibu at all.

Located in Los Angeles at the very northern tip of it's county line is an oasis from the smoggy city innards. It's rural, natural and rugged. Dusty ranches perch upon largely undeveloped hillsides. Coyotes, vultures and bobcats comb the brush for easy eating. Cowboys ride their horses down the winding scenic highways to the local country mart--as there are only three grocery stores in town and only two of those are chains. Most locals are salty, have beach-locked strands and tarballs on the bottoms of their feet. The mornings and evenings are always, always cold and dense with fog rolling in off of the Pacific as thick as pea soup. The water is never ever tolerable for entrance without a wetsuit--even during the dead of summer. Dolphin and sea lion spottings are frequent as are starfish and lively colored sea urchin. Dark colored rock formations scatter the beaches creating no shortage of caves and coves for exploring. Shark spottings are occasional and rattlesnake, scorpion, sea rat and tarantula visits come with the turf.

This is Malibu, my friends. And I am going to miss the hell out of it.

Now those of you who are regular readers of Mama Milieu may be rolling your eyes at my sudden change of heart--"forget the pain and remember the pretty, eh?" you are mumbling to yourselves. It's true that we had our fair share of struggles and strife on Milagro Ranch. Malibu and its raw roughness wasn't always batting for our team. I have not forgotten the sleepless and fully-lit nights on 10-inch centipede watch, or the mouse in the house, or the two rattlesnakes on the patio, or the tarantula in the living room, or the scorpion in the sliding glass door. I have not forgotten about the dust and the hard, hard work and the outdoor laundry facilities. I have not forgotten about any of it.

But, I will miss the coos of owls and wild quail and the scampering of cotton-tailed bunnies munching alfalfa down at the horses' haybarn. I will miss the silence and breezes and front row view of the milky-way and all of its sisters and brothers and cousins. I will miss the carsickness brought on by the 5 miles of hairpins and switchbacks to and from the rocky coast. I will miss the breathtaking canyon views in the foggy mornings, the sunlit afternoons and fiery glow at sunset. I will miss the sparkle in Noah's eyes as he experiences the beauty of nature like all of us dream we could again--like a child--for the very first time. I will miss the stillness that results from no neighbors, not even one, for miles and miles. I will miss all of this and I just can't leave without saying so.

* * *
To read all about our adventures in Malibu and at Milagro Ranch, follow this link.

And, for our life in Malibu in pictures, click here.

Numero Dos: Sharing The Love.

As the date of the big move approaches and we shuffle from one generous friend's abode to another, this pregnancy, the little growing one all snug in my tummy, often seems to take a back seat (not in the back of our Volkswagen, but in the back of a very long bus)--which makes me a little sad. Aside from the slowly, and finally, dissipating constant nausea and fatigue, my little tummy buddy hasn't gotten much air time in any sense of the word over these last 13 weeks.

I can remember the last time I shared my body. It was a little over two years ago. From the day that joyous pink line appeared across the plastic pee stick, little Noah Finn was all that I could think about despite the fact that I was working everyday. I woke up and thought pregnancy, I peed (a lot) and thought pregnancy, I taught and thought pregnancy, I ate (a lot) and thought pregnancy, I slept (very little) and dreamed pregnancy. My growing abdomen was always on my mind.

This time is definitely different. Running after a bouncing, bounding, boisterous toddler while volleying between temporary living situations has certainly captivated the time that I don't spend eating and sleeping. The fact of the matter is that constant urges to snack and slumber aside, I often forget that I'm pregnant.

What does all of this mean? Is it normal? I am betting so. But it certainly does recall those initial pangs of subtle trepidation I first experienced when pregnancy test number two revealed yet again that solid pink line: sharing the love. How does a mama who has experienced everything about mommying--pregnancy, birth, mothering--with one child not feel guilt about sharing such sacredness with another? It feels almost like cheating on the first.

Melodramatic? Perhaps. But, these are real anxieties, that while slowly fading as the months tick away, remain present nonetheless.

So, how does a mommy share the love--that smothering, doting, gooey love that's gushed all over the first with the second and subsequent bundles of joy? Will my little Noah feel shortchanged and left out the decision making process--after all, he had no vote here!? Will he harbor feelings of abandonment and isolation, regress and insist on learning the alphabet Z thru A?

Think I'm being melodramatic, again? Perhaps. But these are tangible fears that I sometimes think about. That is, when I remember I'm pregnant anyway.

London, Ontario, Here We Come.

Downtown London, Ontario in the fall.

It doesn't have the fancy metropolitan flare of say, moving to London, U.K.--where we were seriously considering taking up residence before Noah Finn was born. My how things change when children come into the picture. Don't get me wrong--we'll always be city slickers--and perhaps even move back to Los Angeles after our great northern adventure peters out, if it does--but there has come a time, now, when we're yearning for a little slower pace and this job offer couldn't have come at a more useful time.

Everything that has occurred since Dean and I moved out to California in 2001, has seemed to happen serendipitously: Dean's initial job offer at a little studio in Burbank, my ditching the Peace Core to join him, our subsequent three homes (with the exception of our most recent Malibu madness), the timing of our wedding, the pregnancy and birth of Noah Finn, the new pregnancy, this new job offer and, now, the move to London. We feel lucky, fortunate even, to have had such a rosy decade here in the City of Angels. It feels strange, unfaithful even, to be considering any other place to call home. Lest we venture on to our next stop in a little less than month. I hope it treats us as well.