Travelling with baby

Last month, we took a two week whirlwind tour of Canada. We crammed in a wedding, a 90th birthday, lots of visiting, and of course, introducing our wee man to the rest of the family. From Vancouver, British Columbia, to Kingston, Ontario, all the way up to the Yukon, we managed to cram in an unbelievable amount of visiting in the two weeks Stephen got off from school (we are now enjoying the school holidays and recuperating from our travel). While there are many great stories from each specific visit, I wanted to do a wee survey of how we successfully (read: no screaming by Hector or us) navigated our various modes of transportation - plane, train, automobile, and boat, to name but a few.

For a start, we booked our long overseas flight from NZ to Canada at night. This meant that we did our normal-ish bedtime routine in the airport lounge, boarded the plane and Hector went straight to sleep. Although we booked the bassinet seat, H-man did not like sleeping in it, but with the extra leg room, I was much more comfortable holding him the whole time.

On flights when he didn't sleep, we took it in turns to coral him up and down the aisle - making friends with many a passenger and many of the flight attendants (always try to use their first names, it's such an easy thing to do and so immensely meaningful). Breastfeeding him on take off and landing helped so much. Not continuously, but whenever he got a bit whiny (which I took to be weird feeling in the ears whiny). We were indeed lucky to earn the compliments of our surrounding passengers as to Hectors' quietness.

Once in Canada, we had planned to drive as little as possible, so we brought Hector's regular mountain buggy. I considered taking a smaller umbrella stroller, but the comfort of the reclining buggy meant that Hector could easily take the odd nap on the go so we could get more travelling done. Also, remember to bring your rain cover,you may not have family on the other end with an extra.

When we did drive, we rented a car seat along with the car. This meant we didn't have to lug one around and that we knew it was approved by the government safety people. We tried to do as little driving as possible, as it is our least favorite mode of transportation, but when we did, we were sure to have lots of toys and snacks available for all. And we made many stops to ensure bladders were not over stretched and legs were not under stretched.

We also did a little bit of bus travel in Vancouver. This was fun and easy.

Boats made an appearance as well. The only word of warning here is to hold onto your (and your childs') hat. We lost Hector's sun hat on our last trip over when a random gust of wind whipped it off his head - much to his delight.

Trains - our favorite mode of transport on this trip. We took the train from Kingston back to Toronto to avoid holiday traffic (and being in a car) and it was fun. We could watch the countryside rumble by, play with Hector up front in the luggage area where there was empty space, and generally, spread out. We even got cool paper train cars to take home and build.

 

Napping with mom and playing with dad. Good times were had by all.

Finally, we made sure to take time as a family to just relax. It was an intense trip and there are things we didn't get done, but we took time to just slow down and be together and this meant we didn't loose our sanity.
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Please Note: Stephen says I have made it sound like Hector didn't cry. He did. And the thing that got us through those rough patches was the idea that parenting while travelling is not about being good or bad parents, but simply surviving. If holding him while he slept is what he wanted, then by golly, that's what happened. If running up and down the aisle of the plane kept him quiet, then, hey, that's what we did (even the flight attendants believed this). Holidays are all about having a good time, including the little ones, so we just went with what made him happy - then we were all happy.

Happy (day after) Canada Day!

A red, white and grey quilt for Stephen (with elephants of course)

It is a strange thing to celebrate your country when you are not living there. Most notably, no one else is wearing red and white and singing the Canadian national anthem (though I will admit it rolled off my tongue more than once as I was biking about). In fact it seemed no more than a quaint little bit of information when I mentioned it to anyone. And I suppose why wouldn't it, with no investment or connection to the place it really is just a small factoid to roll through the brain before passing onto more pressing things like what to have for lunch. Much like Antarctica, Canada is simply just another place living in the depths of peoples' imaginations here, which is why it is so wonderful and almost self-affirming to be able to celebrate our national holiday with other Canadians. Little things like maple cookies passed out at school, and eating tomato soup (red) and grilled cheese sandwhiches (white) are great, but being able to sit down and play crokinole while eating maple pecan pie, all whilst talking about growing up in different parts of Canada. That is what made my Canada Day this year and reminds me of what makes being a Canadian so special.

Hope everyone had a great day today and has a wonderful weekend.

Happy Canada Day!

Looking out towards Christchurch from the Port Hills

Living overseas is an interesting experience. It makes you realize what you took for granted back home, the things that defined what home is. For over a year and a half, Stephen and I have been living in Christchurch, New Zealand. Going to school, working, making new friends and most importantly, learning about who we are and where we want to go.

Stephen and I spent our Canada Day quietly. Still having to go to work and school, we made red and white cookies to share around with students, teachers and peers. This was our effort at spreading our pride in the country we call home. A small one, but made none the less. At home, we listened to a couple of pod casts of Definitely Not the Opera from CBC and read some Stuart McLean stories. These were our own personal connections and reminders of tiny aspects of Canadian culture that remind us of home. Not just the country, but the weekly rituals like tuning into a favorite radio show. It's these tiny rituals that we notice most in our daily lives overseas. Things like the radio, the difficulty of finding cranberries in the grocery store, the knowledge of what crokinole is, having everything is english and french, being able to buy rubbing alcohol without being thought of as a drug addict, the fact that Canada Day is hot, sunny and very summery (not Christmas).

Most Canada Days for me involved watching the parade (sometimes taking part) down Main Street in Whitehorse. One year, a couple of friends and I decided to busk on Main Street just before and after the parade. It was a lovely warm, Yukon day, and the streets were packed with people waiting. We were maybe in our mid-teens, so well out of our cute stage meaning we really had to earn our money. But that day, in just 2 hours we took in some $250. I can still remember the high we were all on for the rest of the day. It was great.

When I was older, Canada Day meant BBQ and dinner parties. Friends gathered on the deck, beer or wine in hand. One year we even tried to fire off some fireworks from the deck (despite the light conditions in the Yukon at this time of year). After only one or two we got a visit from a neighbour who also happened to be a fireman who politely informed us that firing fireworks off above the boreal forest at this time of year was perhaps not the best idea.

And then there's Canada Day in Dawson City. The first year Stephen and I did the Yukon River Quest we arrived in Dawson the night before and crashed into bed. The next day, I remember standing on King Street, hand in hand with Stephen, watching the bike parade roll by (of which I had been a part in years gone by). When we went to separate our hands we found we were stuck as our fingers were still swollen like sausages.

Where we come from is an integral part of who we are. It shapes our views and ideas, it influences how we look at the world, and it is a place we return to, if not in body, than in spirit, throughout our lives. With our Canadian cook books up in our kitchen, our maple syrup (quickly disappearing) stashed in our cupboard, our Canadian literature stacked proudly in our shelves and our playlist of Canadian artists on iTunes, we have made sure to surround ourselves in as much Canadiana as possible. Not only to share with any visitors who walk into our home, but to act as touchstones to who we are, where we come from and where we want to go.

Looking South across Lake Laberge