Hanging at the Highland Games

What does a Scotsman wear under his kilt?

A nappy, apparently.

Well, okay, admittedly that was only one (very, very young and thus massively appropriate) punter, but I was surprised to see it nonetheless. Kilts, bagpipes and haggis have been the order of the day, as the fam and I have had the great pleasure of strolling around the annual Highland Games - a day of Scottish festivities - right here in the middle of the mountains at Canmore.

It's like walking through the soundtrack of Braveheart, or soundtrackS, to be accurate; there's about a billion players doing their thing for rather stoney-faced adjudicators, in what seems to be a non-televised version of So You Think You Can Bagpipe?

Then there's the teachers, coaching their piping/drumming/highland dancing proteges with final tips of encouragement (or in some cases, yelling "NOT LEFT, I SAID RIGHT! RIGHT!") before their moment of truth, there's the endless stalls selling kilts, hats and "Bagpipers Parking Space Only: All Others Will Be Prosecuted" signs, and of course, the fenced off section for the Highland Games themselves. The round of hammer-throwing we watched - different from hammer throwing in the Olympics - demonstrated the need for the fence, as the entire hammer broke apart on impact, with a long metal stick being hurled into the crowd. It was all I could do to stop from yelling "That's NOOO how yer throw a hammer!"

Then there's my favourite part - just kicking back on the lush green grass in the main tent, watching the band play their wicked Scottish jigs and letting the kids dance their Highlanding butts off.

Aye.

Love lifts us up where we belong...

The one thing that sucks about living la vida loca is that you usually have to leave behind your loved ones to do it.

Ah me.

Anyway, tis near midnight and I should not be writing of such things, lest I lose control of my emotions completely and start scouring the radio stations for Joe Cocker tracks. Then, dear friends, you will know it is all over.

No, indeed, I shall pry my eyes away from the spectacularly beautiful card my darling best friend Frankie gave me on the last day we saw each other (incidentally, she's about to set off on her own mad adventure, relocating her three bubbas over to the UK) and go exactly where I belong...

"Where the eagles fly, on a mountain high!"

Oh no, ehem, sorry, I mean...bed.

And the winners of the 'Rename My Blog' Comp are...

Mr Anonymous and Louise!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Congrats, congrats, chinkedy chink, clinkedy clink and clunkedy clunk.

I'm afraid I'm still not completely satisfied with the state of my site yet, I've been stuffing around with it for the past couple of hours and consequently am going to be beating to death the first hare I spy in the morning and using its stiff little ears to prop my eyes open.

But I am super satisfied with the new name and tagline of sorts. Ta!!!

Oh and, hehehem...

*tuning guitar*

"Tourelie (how the heck do you spell 'tourelli?"), toureli, all I can spare...
Is only six ribbons to tie up your hair."

I'm Sorry Mama...

I never meant to hurt you, I never meant to make you cry but tonight, I'm cleaning out my...

Oh sorry! You interrupted me.

May I just publicly say though, how completely and utterly underappreciated mothers are. Well, parents full-stop. But particularly mothers. I'm not martyring myself here (I'm saving that for later in this entry), but rather I'm referring to my own mother. Well, both of them, my real mum and my grandma, who raised me after mum number one died. For my dear mothers, I never in a million years realised how much you went through to get me here.

Firstly, childbirth. I truly think that on every birthday, we should just pause for a moment, pick up the nearest trumpet and blow. It doesn't even need to sound like 'The Last Post', just the thought will count.

Secondly, just dealing with the craptitude (yep, that's my new word for it) that comes with kiddies. I am astounded that you got through all that yuckiness I dished out, on top of sleep deprivation no less, and did so without even once spraying windex in my eyes. Thank you.

But finally, today I realised yet another marvel of effort that you put in - and here begins my martyrous spiel - in the form of getting me ready for school. Holy over-battered guacamole. I had no idea.

Ella is starting school on Tuesday, you see, which, while completely exciting on the one hand, completely shocked me with how much preparation it entailed. I could rant about it with a thousand words, so instead I'm posting a picture. (But just SEE all those sharpened pencils, all individually named?!??!?!?!??!)

In seriousness, I'm stoked for Ella. She's going to an amazingly gorgeous little school with mountains as the backdrop to its playground...AND will be doing the French immersion program meaning that with the exception of her music class, her teachers will only be speaking French!

Part of me is terrified it will tip her over-stimulation scales over the edge and she'll implode, the other part is terrified she'll return home to me all 'Oooh la la, Mama, dzooo yer not knooow 'ow ter speak la Francaise? Oooh, how yer suck..."

Back to the brighter side, at least I'll be just that one step closer to being able to strike up a friendship with Johnny Depp the day that my little french speaking daughter ends up in the same playground as his little french speaking daughter. Masterful.

Ooh la la.

Working on the home (not in the Martha Stewart way)

I FINALLY feel that sense of relief that can only come after having worked towards something for months and months, only to have it come to fruition. Well, the kind that might also come from having escaped the clutches of a serial killer. But for now, let's go with working towards something.

For today, we moved into our new abode, the abode which will be our home-base for the next six months. And...despite the risk we took in signing ourselves up for it before having even cast a glance at it, I'm happy to say that we've been here less than two hours and already it completely rocks.

Check out the view from our balcony! I've honestly been walking around the past couple of hours grinning like a certifiable lunatic and even (and I swear this is true) bursting into spontaneous giggles.

Boy, oh boy, Tim's in for a long six months.

I'm so relieved that this is a place we can really embrace as a home, rather than just another temporary shelter til we make the next move (okay, okay, so it kinda is that too, but just indulge me for a moment). Cos we really need to work on our home-life at the moment.

In grand Comic Mummy fashion, I realise I've simply assumed that I've explained myself to you, dear reader, specifically in terms of why we've decided to make the move here. But I haven't. How to explain?

Well, take today for instance: I was supposed to take the bus to Calgary today to audition for a comedic/musical/dinner show that features regularly right here in Canmore! A paid performance opportunity, 5-6 nights per week, right here in the middle of the mountains; it sounded too good to be true (and would seemingly address my greatest fear in being here, that in spite of its beauty and creative inspiration, that my performance skills are going to rust up).

But then Tim seemed a bit out of sorts - after discussing it and how it would mean going straight back into the cycle we've been in for the past year (i.e. him working all day, then me going out all night to perform = us passing like two ships in the night), I ended up deciding to give it a miss.

I won't pretend I wasn't a bit disappointed (but the disappointment was allayed by Tim compromising and agreeing to support me setting up some comedy stuff of my own two nights a week instead) - but those of you who've read this blog for a while will know that I do find the comedy/family balance pretty damn elusive.

And THAT, my dear friends, is the real reason for this trip into the mountains. To have a bit of downtime in an environment which will help us get our family life back on track.

I mean, the initial major drawcard for coming to Canada for me was the pumping comedy and improv scene: if I'd had it my way we'd have been straight to Toronto so I could pick up with Second City and gig hard!

But I always come back to the fact that at the end of my life, I think the biggest achievement of all will be keeping my family together. Because it's bloody hard! I honestly look at every couple with children and find myself shaking my head that ANYONE is able to stay together.

Anyway, that's a whole other blog. The point is, that moving here, in the mountains, was our compromise.

And some compromise it's turning out to be!

Don't say I didn't warn you

Today has been our first taste of chilly Canada weather and I have to say, it's really not that bad. Then again, ask me when it gets down to negative 35. I'm planning on sitting on the oven for six months.

Anyway, as promised/warned/threatened, here's some photos, photos, photos galore...

LEFT: Where we walk every day to get into town, all the time keeping an eye out for bears.

RIGHT: Our first beany clad outing - I'm not even sure Caleb could see.

LEFT: Note to Canada: these signs do NOTHING, I repeat, NOTHING to allay tourist fears of meeting their end. Then again, maybe that's what you're going for. If so...carry on.

RIGHT: Oh boy, if we ever make it big, this is where I'm buying.

LEFT: This is the sign on the public bins - uh....do you think the innuendo is intentional?