Jour D'amour Heureux.

My littlest Valentine is snug in the oven, my toddling Valentine is blanketed in for a love-day nap, and my tummy is full of freshly made Valentine shortbread made at our Valentine playdate this morning. My bearded Valentine will be home this evening with take-out fingerling potato pizza and caesar salads with freshly baked croutons and we won't have any Valentine cooking or Valentine dishes to do.

This day of love is lovely indeed.

I hope that your Valentine's Day is shaping up to be that way too.

Happy Valentine's Day.

xoxo

P.S. Thanks to my Los Angeles Valentine, Asami, for the cutest little red crocheted heart that has been warming my heart all day long.

Finding Home Beneath The Snow.

Noah, at home, in his new home.

Our new life here in Canada is just that, new--in so many ways more than just the weather. Sure the adjustment from 70 and sunny nearly every single day to downright bone chilling and snowy has not come without its challenges. But if our move to our new northern homestead was just limited to changes in the weather, I suppose it would have been less life altering. But, of course, nothing can be that simple or clear cut for the Surette-Nelson clan.

Dean, Beck & Cassidy.

This move has meant many changes on many fronts. Not only has Dean swapped soireeing with Malibu-side music greats as work (if you want to call it that--see above picture with your doubts) for the nobler and more humble profession of molding the minds of young engineers/mixers/producers-to-be in Canada, but he also has an entirely re-envisioned set of work hours. And by new, I don't mean subtly altered--I mean exchanging a 12-14 hour, 6-day a week workload to a 9:30ish until 5:00ish, 5-day a week light load. This means lots more of Daddy for Noey Finn and I.

With all this fresh and foreign "help time" that I am finding myself with, I have been cooking up a virtual storm. Now, cooking creative and massively complicated decadent meals are no longer saved until the sparse weekend hours. I have been meal planning (see my meal planning post on my other blog, Feeding Little Foodies, to find out what the heck I am talking about) my way into the most tantalizing series of nightly dishes--Lamb Tagine, Yellow Split Pea Soup With Yam & Cumin, Lamb Chops Over Garbanzo and Tomato Salad, Roasted Salmon with Roasted Fennel and Heirloom Tomatoes, etc. etc. In addition, I have a regular weekly pre-natal yoga escapes and even have time to push back my cuticles from time to time.

And, Dean. Ol' dear hubby has been soaking up the extra Noey hours with bread--playing and singing and dancing with the wee lad until dinner, after dinner, into the bathtub and off into bed. And, in between all of that, he's managing to finally catch up with all of the guitar and piano practice that just wasn't able to find its way into our previous time-strapped chaos.

We have several vacations planned, free midwife and home birth care, a two-story home--not an apartment or guesthouse--a huge yard, a room for Noey Finn and baby numero dos, plans to get a pup . . . and time--time to read, time to talk, time to play, time to watch movies, time to paint, time to be inspired, time to learn, time to tinker, time to think, time to just be, together, as a family.

A lazy day last summer on Leo Carrillo Beach, Malibu.

"Giddy'up Mama" I think he must be saying.
"Let's get thee to Canada and leave this all this beachy business behind."

So, in summary, can I say that we--I--miss California--Malibu--dearly . . . oh, ever so dearly? Yes, yes we can with utmost certainty. But can we also admit that all of the anticipated reasons for moving are coming to fruition slowly but surely as we dig our brains from beneath the permafrost? Yes, yes we can. Perhaps not yet with utmost certainty, but with certainty nevertheless.

Paul Bunyan and his snow shovel.

All In A Good Weekend's Play: The First London Edition.

Visiting Sunnivue Bio-Dynamic Farm just outside of London this past weekend
(6.5 months pregnant).

Noah Finn with costume hatbox finds and new friends.

His Royal Highness.

Who would have ever thought that "throning" the the king of challenges would ever have been so easy? I didn't. Noah Finn has been a beautiful blessing in so many ways--but there are bear essential aspects of rearing him that have not always been. Sleeping--oh my god, sleep--for example--as any of my earlier followers know--has never come easy for my fellow of the nursing night. He never slept through a single moondance until 21 months old, for example. So then, it was only natural for me to prepare for the worst when it came to potty training and weaning from the breast.

Though he's currently in the throws of the "temperamental two's", having just turned two in late December--tears, tantrums, testing and all--he potty trained himself at 18 months and very voluntarily and gently weaned at 21 months.

We're not all in the diaper clear for nap and bedtimes--perhaps if we hadn't moved or had the incredibly topsy turvy prior five months to contend beforehand with we could have supported that effort a little more. But nevertheless, we're 100% diaper-free during the day.

It's amazing, simply amazing what those little racing minds and bodies can master all on their very own. Sometimes even better so without our meddling or hampering their attempts.

Now, as far as how learning to read the toy catalog while working out yesterday's dinner came about . . . I am sure Daddy had nothing to do with that.

Grumps, Grunts and Grief: The Musings Of A Snow-Sullen Mama.

My good friend, Jessica, with Noah on her first visit to see us in our new Canadian home.

The very first thing out of most people's mouths, both Canadian and American, when they learn that we have just moved from Los Angeles to London is, "So, how do you like all of the snow?".

The fact of the matter is that the snow--and the bitter, freezing, perpetual cold--is not so bad. As long as my iGoogle page doesn't inform me of the devastating fact that the high in London last week was 4F and a perfectly sunny 74F in Los Angeles again, then I am just fine. No, the problem isn't the snow or cold at all--it's all of things that come with it--literally--it's the layers, the preparation for going outdoors, it's a toddler who isn't crazy about the snow (much less walking on his own in it), it's a pregnant mama with a big bulky belly whose winter shoes for the last several years have consisted of nothing more than an old pair of broken-in Tom's.

It's plain and simply all of the inconveniences that come with the snow and cold that we have yet to appreciate. It's remembering, finding and putting on the following e v e r y t i m e you want to go a n y w h e r e: thermals, two pair of socks, sweater, pants, snow pants, jacket, gloves, mittens, hat, scarf and snow boots. Multiply this by two, or three if Daddy is along for the ride, and you have a real fiasco at trying to get out of the door. Combine this with a toddler who never wants to walk anywhere in the snow, bags filled with emergency clothing supplies, an ice covered driveway, a huge pregnant belly, a car that needs substantial thawing and scraping, and a balking toddler that somehow needs to be strapped into a car seat whose straps barely accommodate artic layering. Did I mention that this was protocol procedure for each and every driveway departure? Makes you simply want to hibernate, eh?

Take a close look--see the expression on Noah's face in the picture above? That grimace--that smug and disparagingly scathing scowl--as he wonders why the hell he's standing on a sheet of ice while clothed in enough layers to outfit an entire African Village? Yeah, Noah's not such a fan of the snow and cold and I don't blame him. How can I? He's a SoCal boy whose last vivid memories of our past home was of a warm beachy Malibu paradise where he never had to clothe a single sand-caked cheek or little toe.

It will take some getting used to, I suppose. And maybe by the time this part of our "new home acclimation" is taking place it will be time for the big thaw. But then again, though next winter I won't have a big belly to manage around, I will have yet another set of multi-pieced snow gear. So, brace yourself. You may be seeing a very similar post come this time next year--with less jest and even more exasperated whine.

Happy February 1st!

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.