Expatria, Baby

Stella Turns TWO!!!

Oh my girl! She turned two yesterday. While my heart is full of sentimental ramblings and blubbering idiocy about how sweet this wee little bunny is, I'll spare you. Because, after all, what you really want is pictures of The Most Awesome Day Of Awesomeness, RIGHT??

Here you go: 

We started the day with oatmeal, extra blueberries and maple syrup. Because she's so sweet.

And then post-breakfast presents. This was the first present occasion which she really "got" the whole present concept. As a big present fan myself, I can tell you that I'm very pleased about this development. 

 The bus puzzle from her Aunt. A very very VERY big hit. BUS!!

A sweater from Grannie. Also much loved. So much so, that it needed to be worn RIGHT AWAY.

Then it was off to the toy store where she got to pick any toy she wanted, care of Mama and Papi.

 Testing out her new found love, the shopping cart. 

Next up, a ride on the subway (aka the BUS!). Probably the most exciting part of the day. Then it was home for a plate of noodles, and a nap. 

And it may or may not be true that I, too, fell asleep, and the snoozy household was snoozing so well that we almost missed our own birthday party. Oops. But then, I was just trying to be true to my heritage by being late and stuff. You know. It's a thing that we do.

 Cake (egg free, dairy free, sugar full!) made by Papi while I napped. Because the cup cakes I made the day before, let's not even talk about those. Except I'll say that there has never before been a greater gastronomic catastrophe.

There were bubbles. Lots and lots of bubbles. 

See. Bubbles.

And for the grown-ups too. Out of paper cups, because we're classy like that. 

And presents. This from Stella's BFF, which has been a big hit, btw.

 

Oh, birthday girl. You are the sweetest little lovely ever.

 Then after all the cake was eaten, and all the bubbles blown, it was off to the playground for sliding.

Then home, and pizza for dinner. A favourite of Stella's. 

Really. Perfection. My girl. This day. Thanks for indulging me.

 

Scavenger Hunt Sunday

I so enjoyed last weeks Scavenger Hunt Sunday that I'm joining up again. 

So, we're off!

Beneath Your Feet

Hey pigeons, what's up. I'm beneath your feet. 

 

Capturing Movement

In Japan, I don't get the impression that pigeons are thought of as the rat of the skies. In fact, they seem to be appreciated. So much so that the shrine at the bottom of my street offers pigeon food vending machines (of course) and a couple of weeks ago, an old lady filled my hands with bread crumbs so that I could feed the flock of pigeons that live on the grounds of the shrine. 

Texture

The torii (and dirty lens apparently) at our neighbourhood shrine on a rainy day. Massive tree trunks, green with age.

Face Your Fears

Creepy crawlies are a major fear of mine. Unfortunately I have to face them in Japan. Way more often than I'd like to.

Currently

Two years and one hour since my girl was born. Exactly. This was where and when we had her birthday party. Today.

147/366 {two!}

Two! Two! Two! My girl turned two today. Full update tomorrow, but, spoiler alert, we couldn't have asked for a better girl or a better day. 

Love love love love love. 

146/366 {last day of one}

This, the last day of one, was a perfect day.

145/366 {fearsome}

Did you know that I'm terrified of fish. Like, not so much fish swimming in the ocean, though they do creep me out, but fish on a plate. Or a bowl. Or on a nice compact mound of rice. Nothing is scarier. Which, let's be real, makes life in Japan just a bit anxiety ridden. 

I mean, look at thoes eyes. YIKES.

144/366 {bookish}

Another day, another forgotten SD card, another Instagram photo.

But, come on. I mean, lounging and reading smarty pants books? This kid. I tell you. I love her so.

Small Style, Potty Style {Redux}

It was a big day today. My girl went off to daycare with no diaper on. Truth. 

I do not expect that she'll come home in the same outfit, so I thought that I'd better document the occasion. Here, stand by the flowers while I snap pictures of you on your first underwear day! We'll want that in the baby book! (p.s. I don't have a baby book).

Okay, SMILE, I'll make sure to post this on the internet so that the whole world knows what kind of situation you have going on downstairs.

For the past several days, Miss Stella Bella has been insisting on playing diapers. Aie down, Mama. Mama.Mama.Mama.Mama AIE DOWN. And then she "changes my diapers". (P.S. I don't actually wear diapers. Just so we're clear.) So, she's processing this whole pee-pee in the potty thing. Figuring it out. Babies wear diapers. Mamas don't. So it's hilarious to subvert reality, to change things around. AIE DOWN, MAMA!

I admit that this was a risk. Because of what happened yesterday. BUT, that debacle took place while fully diapered, and since things really couldn't get any worse, and since we had passed my self-imposed three-pees-in-the-potty-in-a-row threshold, and since S insisted that she wanted NO DIAPERS, I thought, okay. Let's go with it.

We'll see what happens.

Ahem. Toddlers. Body parts. So hilarious.

 

Stella Wore

Dress: Tea Collection procured during a super awesome sale. Kind of like they have going on now. Dresses for 15 dollas? YES PLEASE!!

Tights: H&M

Shoes: Minnetonka

Bow: AdornMeGirl

 

{updated:} OMG! She did it!!! Three hours and no accidents! High touch* all around!

*Japanese for high five. Obvs.

143/366 {clean}

 

Remember when I told you that I wouldn't post a picture of my child's bare bottom? Well I guess I was kinda full of it because somehow I believe this picture to be okay.

Maybe I believe that because I just didn't have the straight to lift my camera yesterday.

Maybe that is because the day started out well, with pee-pee and poo-poo in the potty. But then progressed towards the type of day when your offspring communicates solely through whining and crying, and you do your best to be understanding and kind because you know that things aren't alright in their world, but it's really hard to be understanding and kind to an unreasonable jerk, especially when you discover slimy brown footprints and hand that are really really really dirty, so dirty with unmentionable substances.

But you keep your cool, shower your kid off, and head out to the park.

Where you discover a crazy mess of unmentionable substances has befallen her pants. And you take her to the Starbucks bathroom only to find that you have no wipes, no wetbag, and there's no soap in the bathroom. Because WHY would there be soap? Why??? So you strip her down, use toilet paper to give her a bath in the sink, and then stand her on the ground so you can regroup, and figure what you're going to do with the mess of clothes. And then she pees on the floor.

So, yeah. This day was a three-bath day.

All I can say is thank goodness for friends who meet you for coffee and come bearing hand sanitizer and wine. Really. THE BEST.

Hearts and Hotels

When I was a girl, I used to dream about hotels. A night in a huge bed. Crisp white sheets. Room service. Slippers and bathrobes. Pool swimming. It was the stuff of magazines, of plush privilege. And so beyond my reach. Staying in a hotel meant you had arrived; I so wanted to arrive. 

We never traveled, growing up, except up and down the great lakes to my grandparent's cottage. Resources, temporal and financial, were meager. In my family, we ate store brand cereal for breakfast, and dinner was cow’s tongue with raisin sauce because it was cheap, but seamed fancy. In the summer, three of us piled into the back of  a red k-car, legs sticking to vinyl seats, and stop touching me! she's on my side! STOPIT as we drove four hours and hours through the Canadian shield. We didn’t stop at McDonald's for lunch, but ate brown bread sandwiches from re-used milk bags. Economizing. We slept two to a bed in a cramped cottage, and I dreamed that maybe one day we'd drive to Florida and play all day in the waves then sleep in a big hotel bed at night.

 

Then, at twenty-four, I found myself with my  boyfriend in a car, being driven up a palm-lined lane to the soft orange light of a luxury hotel. I was terrified and thrilled in equal measure. My chef was starting a new job on a new continent, and I was coming along with less than a thousand dollars in my bank account. I had no plan, no idea how I'd finagle my legal status after my tourist visa ran out, but the pain of being apart was worse than the unknowing.  I’d figure out my visa situation, and I'd find a way after my bank account ran dry.

 

We arrived at the hotel, and doormen in opulent silk guided us from the car. There were sleek black cars parked in front of the doors, and a Channel boutique in the lobby. I was wearing my best outfit; it was from H&M.

 

I always thought room service, crisp white sheets, and calculating tips for the house cleaners was beyond my reach, yet there I was living in a hotel for a month as we waited to find our apartment. I had room service palak paneer for dinner whenever I wanted it, but I never knew how much to tip, conflicted because in comparison to those who brought me my meal, I was rich, but every dollar mattered to me, and once my money was gone, there was no plan.

 

Source via pinterest

 

Now, all these years later, I’ve married that boyfriend because the pain of being apart is still greater than the anxiety of not knowing what will happen or where our life will take us next. I still watch our dollars, but I no longer fear that they'll dry up.

 

{Source via pinterest}

 

Tomorrow we’ll be celebrating six years of marriage, and I'll be counting the many ways in which these six years have realized the impossible, and looking forward to all the impossible possibles in the six years to come, and the six years after that, and then the next six years.

Who knows what is to come. I'm imagining starting our adventure all over again in a new city in a new country and in a new language. We’re talking about chaos, and humidity, new faces open and warm.  I'm longing for markets filled with fruit I’ve never before seen, dishes pungent and spicy, rickshaws, motorcycle taxis, batik prints, heat, traffic noise, horns, dust, and adventure. And, perhaps, as a treat, a weekend away somewhere in a nice hotel on a beach with sand so white and water so warm. And crisp white sheets on a big hotel bed, and room service for breakfast. I'll tip the service staff and not worry about the dollars, and we'll three sit on the bed and eat waffles and tropical fruit, he and me and our little girl.

 

{Source}

 

 

I was compensated for the writing of this post, but the content, sentiment and words are mine, all mine.

142/366 {eyes}

Oh man. This kid's eyes. So dark and deep. The sticker on her forehead, though. I dunno. She came home that way, and who am I to ask questions.

PS, there was a super helpful post on Ashley's blog today about black and white conversions. Go there. Read it.

Linking up with The Paper Mama.