Tag Archives: twins

March 18, 2013 · 12:26 am

On being at home with the kids

My time at home with my babies is over. Four years ago, almost to the day, I was heavily pregnant with twins and left my job with only a vague idea of what was to come. I had notions of heading back to work as soon as my maternity leave was over. I was all “I am woman, hear me roar” about it and there was no way I was going to give up a career I had worked so hard for.

That didn’t happen. A different kind of feminine notion took hold in the minute between the first and second of my sons was born. In an instant, holding them both in my arms for the first time, I grew up, got wise, and became the fierce mama I am.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

This. This is when it happened.

Being a stay at home mom has been an experiment in extremes, punctuated by life events that were completely out of control and all the expected things that kids bring, but double the intensity. The highs are higher and the lows are lower with two, and we have ridden that rollercoaster 1398 days now.

My boys are wild, loud, beasts who will take over the world some day with sheer force of abandon. My Unicorn has imagination beyond compare and an incredible depth of kindness. My Engineer has an aptitude and precociousness for figuring out how the world works and he does it with wit. These are things I already know about them, and I know in my heart who they will be long before they get there. And so I don’t worry for that; I know that they will be themselves, and if they’re lucky, be happy at that.

Fall 2012 090

The Engineer and The Unicorn

And tonight, tonight it hit me with the force of a speeding railway, after they were snuggled into bed, after all the dishes were done, and the wine drunk, the relaxing over. Tonight, as I went to check on them before I turned to bed myself, I realized that tomorrow we will wake up and be a different kind of family. I will be a different kind of mom.

I know that the fact that I had a choice to stay home and now go back to work was a great luxury, so I won’t dwell on it. But I will grieve a little for this shift in my universe; this separation that I never wanted. I will still do all the mom things that moms do everywhere every day. I will still be there in the morning and at night and every minute that I am able. They will still need so much from me.

And oh my god, I am grateful, so profoundly grateful that I had nearly four years to spend with my little folk and grateful that I found it in me to do it, because I was so afraid that I didn’t. I am grateful for the things that they have given me; the patience, the knowledge that time passes whether it’s good or bad, and how to find joy in those small moments even when the day has been hard.

Summer 2012 645

Like this. This was hard. OMG I HAVE CLEANED UP SO MUCH SHIT IN THE LAST FOUR YEARS.

So tomorrow I send them off into this world a little bit in a way I am not prepared for yet. I will have to approach it the same way I approached becoming a mom; vague notions and blind faith that it will all work out alright. And it will, because I am armed now with the knowledge that as long as those two little goofballs are in this world with me, everything is ok.

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Aside

Snowy Sunday Misadventures

It looks like this outside this morning.

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Stop focusing on the fact that my Christmas lights are still up and look at all that stupid snow.

That is some major bullshit. To some of you southerners this might appear like the end of times, but up here in Canadaland we just call this “March”. It’s Sunday so people will still go to church if they’re really dedicated, but less people will go shopping and we shall collectively roll our eyes and generally endure.

So anyway, that’s happening today. I may have over-imbibed a bit with the neighbors last night and my kids have the sniffles so I was really looking forward to a movie day. Maybe some baking. If things got wild, I’d make popcorn. You know, really earth shattering type stuff. But nothing that would require me to put my winter jacket on because I am totally done with that fucking thing. I am really serious about that.

You can imagine how delighted I was to wake up to the following conversation:

Engineer: Mommy, get the gray thing out of my mouth.

Mommy: (launching self out of bed) WHAT? What grey thing? What did you eat?

Engineer: The grey thing. From playgroup.

Mommy: (stabbing at eyes to make eyes work before remembering to put on my glasses) WHERE DID YOU GET IT?

Engineer: (Points at desk)

I surveyed my desk. Grey things include: paperclips, staples, tacks, money, BATTERIES. No grey things that seemed like a good idea to eat. Maybe I am not being imaginative enough, but I can’t think of any grey things that seem like a good idea to eat. (Google says buckwheat noodles. I’ll give them that.)

Mommy: (In shrill, shrieking voice) Where is the grey thing?

Engineer: In my tummy.

And so in a flurry of coats and hats and boots and car seats, we found ourselves at the Children’s Hospital before breakfast. Not to cast aspersions on our local Children’s Hospital, because they are wonderful people who have given us excellent care over the years, but they were NOT AS PANICKED AS I WANTED THEM TO BE. In fact, they barely registered any alarm at all. They directed us to the waiting room where we sat next to the poster full of “Actual Items Swallowed by Children”. The actual items were glued to the poster and included things like buttons, pennies, small toys, a safety pin, magnets a KNITTING NEEDLE. Not one of those little crochet hooks, either; this needle could have been a bonafide weapon.  I am not shitting you. This informative poster did nothing to make me feel better.

There was virtually no waiting time because not many children were committed to self harm on a Sunday morning, so it was us and a few pukers. The Engineer informed the doctor that a grey thing was in his tummy and he wanted a picture of it, so off we went to x-ray. By the time we got to the x-ray, I was kind of didn’t know what to wish for. I kind of suspected that this could all be a lie, and here I was calling his bluff by shooting him with radiation. I had only a couple of seconds to ponder the risks of either proposition though, and decided on the balance it was better to find out what he ate.

The Engineer was a superstar about it and laid as still as he has ever laid for five seconds at a time. And we learned just a few minutes later that the kid was completely full of crap. Literally and figuratively. But no dangerously sharp, life threatening metal objects that were going to poison him and shred his insides, as I had naturally assumed.

Then we braved the blowing snow and crappy roads home. I am sure that the worst part for the Engineer was the twenty minute lecture, borne out of complete gratitude that he was totally fine and this was just a misadventure. Now we can get started on doing absolutely nothing today.

Winter 2013 063

Resume regular programming. MORE OF THIS TODAY, CHILDREN.

 

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March 3, 2013 · 11:38 am
December 22, 2012 · 10:15 am

Things I found in my printer

Today’s edition of “Things I found in my printer” include:

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The natural reaction to having these items jammed inside the paper tray of your printer might be upset. On the contrary; it makes me feel better that the cordless phone thing wasn’t all my fault; we were playing a really advanced game of hide and seek with it. I am also happy to report that I am not losing my marbles in thinking that I owned a stapler. The rock; I can’t explain its origins except that I think it’s some kind of sedimentary rock from the Badlands of Alberta.

Three year olds are delightful, aren’t they?

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October 15, 2012 · 10:45 pm

The Rollergiraffe on Mommy Shaming

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September 27, 2012 · 8:33 am

Red Letter Verses from the 3 Year Old Bible

And they* will get popcorn from the store for Mommy and Daddy and The Unicorn and The Engineer**. And grandma and grandpa and all our friends. And other grandma and grandpa. And crabs and lobsters. And Batman and Spiderman and the Increbabel Hulk and the Hulk and Capan Merica and Batman and Robin. And Miss Sharon and Capan Merica. And lobsters! And My Big Big Big Big Big Big Big Big Friend***, and (unintelligible string of names, presumably people the Unicorn and Engineer met or saw on TV). And grandma. And the Hulk. But mostly Spiderman.

*assuming this is some form of deity that goes grocery shopping. I pray to this god myself.

**not their real names. I am not that terribly cruel.

***pretty sure the original bible had links in it too. I don’t know, someone else did my catechism homework for me.

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August 29, 2012 · 11:01 pm

Twin FAQ for the Overly Inquisitive Stranger

Strangers like to make conversations about babies. Baby twins make you into a D-list celebrity at the mall. I don’t even know how higher order multiple parents handle the attention. Most of the time I appreciate that people are good and kind and generally curious and I am more than happy to chat. Every so often I run into a douchehole who interrupts me while I am trying to get other things done, or is just your general expert on every goddamned thing around and here’s what I would really like to say to them.

1. Are they twins?

I am not sure, I just found this stroller at the grocery store. Just kidding, I found them at the playground. I was looking for a matching set.

2. Did you do fertility treatments?

Wow, that came right out of the gate. They were spontaneous, but in general I do not discuss the shortcomings of my ladyparts with strangers. Tell me more about your ovaries, do they function?

3. How do you do it?

I don’t fucking know. Babies have pretty good ways of compelling you to do their bidding. Sometimes it’s like wrestling an octopus, so I feel like I am developing other skills at the same time.

4. Are their personalities different?

Personality is so complex, isn’t it? How do you define ‘different’? What criteria would you use? Do you have a scale for multiple factors for me to rate them? I am not sure if they’d score statistically different in enough categories to qualify as different. Oh wait, NO. You just want to know if there’s an evil twin. No, their mother can be a bitch on wheels when people get all inquisitive though.

5. Are they identical?

Yes, they are identical. (no smart comments needed here; it’s going to get worse)

6. How do you tell them apart?

I don’t fucking know. How do you tell your hands apart? How do you tell these little baby rhinoceroses apart?

Everyone join me in saying awww (desicolours.com)

Chances are if they lived at your house you’d figure out a system to remember which one steals shit out of the pantry all the time and which one thinks he’s a unicorn. I can’t describe it to you.

7. They don’t look identical.

Well, due to the weirdness that is epigenetics and the developmental process, including the fact that my twins developed twin-twin transfusion syndrome late in my pregnancy, there are small differences in their weight, height, face shape etc. And they have different personalities, so they tend to use different facial expressions.

8. No, those kids aren’t identical, I don’t believe you.

Please refer to my comments on epigenetics and, you know, I am not even sure why I am bothering; you clearly don’t know science.

9. They are not identical.

Well, you got me. You win at the “spot-the-difference” game. YOU MUST BE SO FUN AT PARTIES.

10. Well, they just don’t look identical to me.

Six sonographers and my OB were obviously wrong. You know what, just go fuck yourself.

11. Humph.

(ANGRY FACE)

12. Twin boys! Do you have any drywall left?

No.

13. I would die if I had twins.

Probably.

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August 27, 2012 · 5:02 pm

Camping Tetris

I took the boys camping over the weekend. A great time was had by all, except that it was minus a gazillion in the mountains at night (I swear to god snow turned up on the peak next to us while we were there. Total bullshit. It’s STILL AUGUST, MOTHER NATURE) so no one got any sleep at all because we were too busy staving off hypothermia and convincing ourselves that camping is a good idea. Usually by 6 am we had come to terms with camping and drifted off to sleep, just in time for the kids to adopt tigger-on-ephedrine levels of energy and start bouncing around the tent so hard I am sure from the outside it appeared like we had set loose two small bears in there. It felt like that when I was woken up with a kamikaze ninja jump onto my head.

Anyway, this level of sleep deprivation always takes its toll. On the way out to the campsite I was patting my back for my superior packing skills. Everything was organized neatly into the back of the van, rolled up in their respective bags. Never mind that I had to text my husband eleven times to bring stuff out that I forgot; eleven is about average for a trip to the mall. For a weekend of camping, eleven is great news. When I got out there my neighbor had already set up her campsite, sans husband, with two small children in tow, and in the spirit of looking like I was up to the same level of amazingness I attempted the same. And it happened! The tent got up, the van got unpacked, the beds got set up and the husbands arrived to a very charming scene. With beer. Everything was perfect.

The ensuing lack of sleep caused us to flunk the post-camping cognition test. Despite the fact that we trashed a few chairs, ate most of our food, and drank all the beer, we could hardly fit everything back into two vehicles, much less one.

This is exactly as full as the van was on the way there. Packing up we took up the same amount of space.

Plus this.

And this.

Pre-camping, I put this pillow in the bag in under 30 seconds flat. Post camping I wandered around the campsite for nearly 20 minutes trying to just get one corner shoved in with this result:

A drunk lab rat could do better.

Putting the tent back in the bag proved to be too much for my damaged psyche and if it hadn’t been for my husband I would have just abandoned it. I might have cried a little. I might have also stomped my foot like a five-year old.

I have never loved this man more. Not even on our wedding day.

So in the spirit of this, I’d like to share an open letter to Coleman, purveyors of camping products everywhere.

Dear Coleman;

You make a fine camping product, it’s true. Your brand has been a part of many cherished family memories. But your storage bags are not condoms, ok? It does not matter if there is a little extra room in there because no one is going to get pregnant if it falls off. Let’s be honest, most of the people buying the fluffiest sleeping bag around are driving a huge SUV and parking it eleven feet from their tent. There’s no need to kid ourselves about conserving space and packing light. Think of the Sunday morning hung over and sleep deprived among us when you’re designing your products. We’re just pretending to be outdoorsy; make it easier for us to feel superior and you’ll have a lifelong customer in me.

Sincerely,

The Rollergiraffe

P.S. Also, if you can figure out an un-tippable camping chair I would be forever grateful. I am just saying that balance is not my best attribute after six Pilsners. I am funnier, just not more upright.

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August 23, 2012 · 11:08 pm

Down with domesticity!

I have complained about this before, but I am not super domestic. In my head I am this:

Makeup! Apron! Brushed hair! Spatula! Sass!

In reality I won this trophy last year:

Friday Night Pints Commitment Award of Excellence Winner, 2010

Every so often I get ambitious though and I am going to turn it all around. In my daydreams I plan parties and make magnificent cakes and everyone will be dressed in clean, ironed clothes every day.

This time I focused on the cakes. On a whim I signed up for a cake decorating course, convinced I was probably going to be asked to be the instructor. I was going to spend my nights practicing and making shit from scratch. It turned out to be  a mompetition over who could make the best pink icing. I hate pink, so I lost. I was the one squirreled away in the corner focusing on my piping technique, ladies. Anyone can achieve neon orange icing. Anyone.

I ended up making this.

Happy Campers! (cakecentral.com)

Cute right? Except I totally didn’t make it. I made this instead:

Avant garde camping cake. Rustic, even.

Yes, those are crumbs in the crappy, uneven icing. And the trees I made were heavily depredated by a unicorn.

Distinct branch breakage

Surveillance shot of unicorn fleeing the scene

I had to quit halfway through finishing the cake and skipped the class because we are going camping and I needed to pack and we have house guests and I was really tired and SO MANY EXCUSES. I really could go on forever, but the truth is that I didn’t want to hear the instructor congratulate all the other novice decorators for their gorgeous flowery cupcake designs and charming colour schemes while I was busy trying to make realistic rocks out of grey buttercream. It was so hot in there, you guys, I wanted to stab everything with my piping bag.

Anyway, I had a revelation as my boys devoured the cake. Maybe I am just trying to justify my laziness, but I really don’t think they care if I am a domestic genius. And I can raise them not to care. And their future wives will thank me for lowering their expectations. And I can train them to do domestic stuff for me, which their future wives will also thank me for. I just figured out how to be the best mother in law ever. Best mom went out the window some time ago.

I had a similar thought when my husband turned down boxes of nostalgia that his parents were throwing away. It never occurred to me that I could do the same. When my mother cleaned out her basement and dropped off every single piece of paper that I ever wrote on until the age of 18, I put it all in my basement in case I ever needed to remember how angsty I was when I was 13 (Hint: pretty angsty). It takes up space in my life. And every three years I have an argument with my husband about it. I don’t have to do this to my kids! I don’t have to scrapbook. I don’t have to finish those baby books. I probably will fill them out with the wrong information and crusty advice for them so they’ll have something to remember me by after they shove me in the cheapest nursing home. But I don’t have to; they won’t be upset if I don’t! I’ll show them my boxes full of depressive mournful teenage meanderings and they will thank me for not forcing the same on them. Then we’ll have a bonfire with all those heaps of paper and toast my parenting skills. Bring your marshmallows.

So fuck it. I was totally right to stay home and have dinner with my boys tonight instead of cake class. Beets are better for you than cake and sanctimonious crafters anyway.

You know, maybe I do need a hobby.

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August 8, 2012 · 10:27 am

You should have kids. Or don’t, or whatever, it’s really up to you.

A friend earnestly asked for my thoughts on pregnancy and childbirth recently, and I was drunk enough from crappy draft beer and was coming off a cruddy week so I was terribly cynical. I believe that I told her that it was like a grenade went off in your vag, and went on to discuss the various body fluids and such at length until she presumably left to go get her tubes tied.

I’ll let you form your own opinion about what kind of a-hole that makes me, but I am here to rectify that. Because you see it’s all fine to be cynical and self-deprecating when I am drunk and trying to be humorous, but I actually find my kids delightful. I enjoyed pregnancy and those early days even though I was crippled by anxiety and depression. I am proud of my boys and proud of myself for making it through the hard bits, and I would never want anyone to think otherwise.

So, my dear friend, this is what I would say to you if I was being honest:

There is no real apt comparison, but pregnancy and childbirth is a bit akin to the wedding before the marriage. Everything is about to change again. Use this time to find your voice, rely on your body, start discovering how you want to raise your child, building your network of trusted sources, and learn what your own limitations are. Mourn or celebrate the changes in your body. Learn to cut out the chatter of parents, relatives, friends, experts, and google.  Everyone has an opinion, and the only one that matters is yours (and maybe the opinion of a caring and competent midwife or obstetrician). While ideally you have an easy pregnancy and a joyous birth that leaves you with a euphoric start to parenthood, it may not happen as you planned it. That’s ok, mourn that too.

And once you get over that hurdle, the real work begins. Your body will be a mess for a while as it knits back together, but you’ll hardly notice because you are in the kind of sleep deprivation state normally reserved for torture tactics and vision quests. You will both love the little being (or beings!) and be drained by it’s endless need. You will feel like you are doing everything wrong during the bad phases and everything right during the good phases, but recognize that it is all a phase. Everything is a phase. Enjoy the good ones, endure the bad ones and know how much wine you can safely drink before breastfeeding if that’s how you roll.

You have to deal with the various plagues and teething and other people’s terrible kids. Your kids will like things that make you feel stabby and they will flush all your preconceived notions about parenting down the drain (literally, if they’re written on something. Everything goes in the toilet). Your efforts will be spoiled by well meaning grandparents and you’ll have to navigate the wilderness of choices over babywearing, breastfeeding, toys, tv, feeding, sleep training, daycare, preschool; the list is virtually endless. And the worst part is that you will be in charge; you will hate making decisions. But, you will also have instinct on your side and develop a keen eye for things that will work for your family.

And they get bigger and become little kids at a furious pace. Kids are sticky and cuddly and surprisingly strong and louder than you think at 3 am. But they are delightful. Truly. All the magic that you lose the first time you have to pay for car registration or realize that you’re on the hook when the faucet breaks comes rushing back to you when you find yourself blowing bubbles in the middle of a Tuesday. Sure, it’s bound to end in failure and tears, but very few things are as freeing as staying in that moment. They come to you when they’re happy and when they’re sad and both of those are gratifying. There is nothing more powerful than when they snuggle into you or grab your face for a big messy kiss.

My boys saved me, healed me, and helped me become a more fully realized woman in ways that I never expected. They humble me and make me eat my words often and I am frustrated every single day.  But they also make me slow down and appreciate things I had forgotten about. I feel things with more depth because I bear the weight of their emotion too. They still have all the best qualities without the cynicism that comes with age; curiosity, humor, generosity and kindness. It’s impossible not to let that rub off on you a little. And they are watching, so you become a little more mindful of your actions and hopefully a little bit of a better person.

But this is my experience and yours might be different. You are already amazing, and your kids may not have the same effect on your life as on mine. Maybe you’re up for it, and maybe you’re not. Maybe you are really looking forward to getting tapped on the forehead at 3 am or taking the little beast everywhere under the sun. Or maybe you dread the thought of touching all of someone else’s body fluids and maybe a grenade vag is enough to put you off forever. Maybe you like being untethered. That’s all cool by me. Just don’t fail to do it out of fear or because parents complain all the time because those are just the surface bits. It’s harder to talk about how crazy in love you are with your kids than playing along with the narrative that parenting is terribly hard. If you decide you want kids, don’t do it expecting happiness or exhaustion or perfection or anything at all. Do it expecting your life to be ripped wide open and to keep expanding.

And you are totally going to rock this.

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August 7, 2012 · 11:21 am

A Rollergiraffe’s Guide to PEI

When we had to go to Halifax for family reasons I declared that we were going to rent a cottage and sit still for a week, so we rented the cottage in Prince Edward Island and didn’t sit still at all. PEI is a teeny tiny little island off the east coast of Canada that is also a province. It is known for lobsters potatoes, Anne of Green Gables, and for being the birthplace of confederation. We came to know it for haunted houses, cracked out road systems where wild turkeys (not the liquid kind) cause traffic jams, hermit crabs and ice cream. I slapped a statue in public for failed comic effect then flashed a bunch of people in Charlottetown. A lot of lobsters died. Here are some pictures.

Confederation Bridge

Confederation bridge and two of the dudes I live with pondering the ocean.

Our cottage was walking distance to the Confederation Bridge. I was completely sure in my mind that it was the longest bridge anywhere until my personal fact checker (my husband) looked it up and assured me that China, the US, Saudi Arabia, France, Portugal, India, Egypt, Vietnam, Thailand, South Korea, Russia, Brazil and Germany all have us roundly beat (thanks, fact checker). So I might have been a little off but the Confederation Bridge is the longest bridge over ice, which is what I was trying to tell him. My husband never lets me finish my sentences.

Summerside

We crossed the bridge and I pretty much pushed our very kind cottage owners out the door so I could go find myself some lobster. The first night we went to a seafood shack, the second night we went and trashed the local legion and pretended to be in the local Lobster Festival Parade float.

I am not sure that’s how you’re supposed to eat it

Practicing to be the lobster queen. WAVE, boys, WAVE AND SMILE.

Kensington

The cottage was perfect, but not so perfect were our freakishly busy kids. After one day of watching our damage deposit disappear before our eyes we decided to go see every tourist site that we could in 6 days.  Cavendish beach on the north side of the island, but along the way we decided to stop at a boring historical train site. The guidebooks totally neglected to mention that there is an amazing Haunted Mansion. The train station was about 10 feet of track and some stores and you have a Haunted Mansion in your back pocket? Play that up in the guidebook, PEI. Anyway, we thought that would be a great idea for 3 year olds (because we’re terrible parents) so we went. Twice.

This looked way scarier in the dark. And smelled scarier too.

My love rating is “dull”

And then we got to carry a kid out of a haunted house screaming “I WANT TO GET KILLED BY A GHOST AGAIN” for all the strangers to hear. So we took him to a theme park and let him play in the ball pit which was probably posed the actual threat to his health and well-being all day (those things are so dirty, why are they allowed?). Then we took him back to the haunted house because who doesn’t need a good scare before bedtime?

Charlottetown

Charlottetown is the capital of PEI and where Canada happened. Or rather, where the first of a series of meetings happened where our drunk and disorderly illustrious founders decided Canada should be a thing. It’s easy to imagine our founders showing up in town and being greeted by adoring crowds a band of political enthusiasts a bustling populace an abandoned town and one guy with a key to Province House because everyone was at the circus that day. What can I say? Apparently Charlottetown residents get more excited about traffic circles than Confederation. So much so that when the first traffic circle went live everyone set up lawn chairs to watch the chaos. Traffic Circles 1, Confederation 0.

M. reenacting being the only guy not at the circus

I was on a mission to find oysters in Charlottetown because by day 4 I was kind of sick of lobster. What? It was cheaper than ground beef. My quest for oysters led me to several bars and a brew pub with the boys in tow and more than one disapproving glance in our direction. By the end of the day I was making some fairly questionable decisions.

I thought slapping a statue of our first Prime Minister was hilarious at the time. Turns out I was just drunk. And my husband kept yelling “make it look like he was touching your boob”. We are such good role models.

Cows Ice Cream is a PEI chain, rated second in the world by Reader’s Digest. Reader’s Digest. Obviously. Anyway, they have cows outside their stores, so this happened.

I want this exact statue on my grave when I die

And a lot of people saw my underwear while I was mounting that cow. That sounds bad. My husband helped me and afterwards said “I just got a face full of crotch in public. Don’t ever let a stranger help you onto a cow.” I didn’t ask him whether I should let friends help.

The Last Supper

The beach was magnificent. If you don’t like the beach, there is something wrong with you. Or at the very least, our power animals are not compatible. Our last day I was hell bent on creating Beautiful Family Memories. So we went into town and bought the two largest lobsters we could find and let them loose in the cottage to freak the kids out.

Lobsters

Mr. Giraffe and I sat on the beach drinking microbrews while our kids caught hermit crabs and the sun started to go down and it started making me sad that I had to go home ever again and then I berated myself for not being able to stay in the moment and then I tried to enjoy it harder, but it was already ruined. I hate my brain.

See? Everyone is having a good time. And I am letting my beer get warm.

So we went home and cooked our new pets and set the table for this glorious scene:

I WIN AT VACATIONS!

And it was perfect until moments later when the boys were eating my lobster in the nude and I was scraping citronella wax off the deck while my husband sat back and enjoyed the sunset. But I am used to fleeting happiness, so that one sip of wine will keep me afloat for some time to come.

Overall rating: Rollergiraffe gives a sound double thumbs up to PEI. We did a lot of other things that were relaxing and uneventful, so I didn’t mention them here but it’s an awesome place to travel.

Travel advisories: Watch out for the elderly drivers parking sideways on the highway outside of Lucy Maud Montgomery’s house.

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