Blondes Are Overrated

Remember that time when I went to Europe with my 14 year old daughter and promised to blog about it but instead of filling my blog with amusing and interesting anecdotes about how an ape sat on my head and tried to rape my face, or how I almost fell off a camel or how my plane almost fell from the sky and the cabin crew yelled at me because I was exiting our plane too slowly as it was on fire, I just didn't write anything at all?

Those were good times.

Turns out being an official world traveler rather kicked my aging arse. A little thing like jet lag and breathing in recycled airplane air for 24 hours led to my body being held hostage by a vicious army of germs determined to maim me.

And then there is the wee small thing of spending every. single. day. since my return at the hospital because Jumbster had a rather serious accident as I was flying home from Barcelona.

But all of that is a story for tomorrow.

Today I thought I'd share something else with you. Mostly because I'm pressed for time because I have to take the Jumbster back in so more of his skin can be peeled off.

How I wish I was exaggerating.

Remember all those times I whine write about needing to do something different with my hair and then never really doing anything different with my hair at all?

Ya. Well this wasn't one of those times.

This was me 10 days ago.

This was me a few days ago.

This was me. Yesterday.

Turns out making hair care decisions when you are jetlagged and deliriously ill is surprisingly easy. All you have to do is sit in your hair stylist's chair and tell her to do whatever the heck she wants.

"Just make me pretty."

You know what's fun? Not telling your husband you just killed your natural blonde hair, the colour he adored and loved and possibly treasured and then texting him a picture of your new auburn locks without any warning.

Also fun? Hearing him hyperventilate on the phone and then try and cover his shock (and possibly horror) by telling you it looks fine. He still loves me. Even as he sounds like he's about to yak on the other end of the phone.

So, do me a solid and tell me what you think of it, because my husband is too busy rocking back and forth in a dark corner, weeping over photos of when I was a blonde to be of any use to my ego.

Next up? I'm totally working up the courage for a pixie cut. Just don't tell my husband. Heh.

Two Years with Jumby

Two years ago, on Feb 16, I was told I would be bringing home my fourth child.

Luck intervened and we were able to bring him home a few days earlier, but Feb 16 marked the day I was first legally responsible for another child.

It's been two years.

Two years ago, I held a strange child in my arms and promised myself that one day I would love him like I loved my other kids. That I would feel as completely and wholly his mother as I do the three that came before him.

I worried that I may have bit more off than I could handle, may have made promises I couldn't keep.

Two years have passed and it seems like forever this child has been mine. I can't imagine my life without him in it.

Today marks the day we first became Jumby's legal guardians, and then a year later his official parents. And today is the Jumbster's day.

Today is the day his past can officially no longer come back to haunt him or threaten to take him away.

Today is the first day, in two years, he is absolutely and forever, mine.

Today is a good day.

The first ever snuggles Jumby and I had, only hours after first meeting.

The first time Fric got to meet her new little brother. Tensions were high all around, wondering if this was going to work. One look was all it took to assure us this would turn out okay.

Frac meeting his little brother moments later. We introduced them separately, one at a time, to make sure everyone's feelings were being properly looked after. My heart was in my throat the entire time.

Just weeks after bring Jumby home he had his first major health challenge and spent the next three weeks in hospital. It was trial by fire, learning to parent in a hospital all over again.

Jumby, however, is very resilient and recovered beautifully. He then proceeded to come home to explore his new home and get stuck under every piece of furniture we had.

Jumby's standing frame. We call him Hannibal when he's in it. He spends time in this generally while I cook or bake, so he can help get right in there and make a big mess. Like little boys are supposed to do.

Jumbster exploring his world and learning that occasionally there are soft things on the floor that purr when you roll into them.

I spent hundreds of dollars on buying therapy tools and new toys to help amuse and educate my new son. He prefers to wear a bucket on his head.

It's always a party in the kitchen.

Fric spoils Jumby rotten.

Brotherly love. I hoped the boys would take to one another but I underestimated how attached my kids would become to their newest sibling. My kids rock so hard it hurts sometimes.

Two years I've been able to look at this face and call him my son.

It's been two of the best years in my life, kid. We love you.

*****

Coincidentally, I'm celebrating Jumby's second anniversary as my son by guest posting over at Aiming Low. I'm talking mullets, minivans and wheel chairs and everything in between. Hop on over and check it out.

Detoured

For the past year I have been scrimping and saving because this spring I planned on taking my daughter on our very first mother-daughter vacation. Thanks to the stars lining up, a school travel club and my hard working husband, this March my daughter and I were bound to the land of Pharaohs, mummies and sand.

It's always been a dream of mine, an item on my bucket list if you will, to go to Egypt and suck up that nation's history while wiping the sand out of my eyes. The ability to share that experience with my teenaged daughter seemed like frosting on a freshly baked cupcake.



And then Egypt had other ideas. Ideas revolving freedom and new government and riots. And our long held plans were suddenly in limbo and I found myself, along with the world, captivated with the turn of events in a far away nation, watching history unfold as the people of Egypt try to make real change for themselves and their people.

Suddenly going to see the Sphinx isn't so important. Explaining to my daughter the political history of Egypt and trying to educate her as to why the people of that country were rioting in the streets held more value than paying a few bucks to ride around on a camel in a desert. I want her to understand how lucky we are, as Canadians, to have the freedoms, both personal and political that we do.

Without setting foot on Egyptian soil, Egypt has enabled me to teach my children about lessons I often take for granted. And as I watch the Egyptian peoples struggle to find their own path, I find myself appreciative of my lot in life and reminded of how lucky my children are. It is hard to feel disappointed about not having my own personal frivolous dream of seeing Egypt with my daughter come true when I'm witnessing the very real and important struggle the Egyptian people are embroiled in while trying to make their nation's dreams come true.

Perspective, I have it, and I'm not above using current events to teach it to my children either. That is one luxury afforded to me by nature of where I was lucky enough to be born.

So Egypt, sadly, is out. But the trip is still on. For the last week I had no idea where I would land, only knowing the tour company we gave our money to would be setting up an alternative for us. My only hope? Wherever we landed would be warm because I am sick of the snow.

Yesterday I received our final destination plans. And unless Mother Nature has a schizophrenic moment of confusion, cold temperatures aren't in my future forecast.

I'll be hauling my daughter off to Portugal and then to Spain.

Lisbon, you look lovely.

Algarve.

Barcelona.

My dream of being able to show my daughter, and hopefully one day soon, my son, a slice of life so very different than the one we lead, is still very much alive.

I've learned that life doesn't always work out the way you plan for it. But I've also learned that sometimes, when you look away, it turns out even better than you hoped.

I hope the people of Egypt find that true for themselves very soon as well.