Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Holiday in Magnetewan

BACK! We had the best ever time at the cottage with this crew.  It was a near-perfect confluence of personalities for optimal cottaging.  We have Pingy, who as it turns out, is a NYTimes Crossword Puzzle SHARK.  In fact, even though we all left the cottage at the same time, she didn't get home until 3 hours after us because she got sucked into spending 2 hours at the Burks' Falls Tim Horton's working on a Sunday puzzle.  She also indulges my love of celebrity gossip and we had a great time dissecting the whole K. Stew/Rob Pats debacle.  We have L'Armi, who is a fishing machine, so we went out and fished and talked lures and trawled and rigged up jigs and jigged up rigs.  We have Montreal I, who brought with her six (!) bags of Fairmont Bagels and a love of sitting around the camp fire talking long into the night.  We have the Roomie, who is content to sit and talk and philosophize and hold therapy sessions and will lend you her yoga mat and force you to stretch and do yoga after a run.  And then there was us, and we love doing all of the above and more.  

It was the perfect balance of quiet times, games, talking, gossiping, laughing, eating non-stop and late late night star gazing on the dock.  

So while the weather might not have been ideal (we happened to go the week that cottage country transitions from summer to fall), it was such a lovely time that there's already talk of a winter cabin.

These are L'Armi's photos:

Group shot!  Look at the expression on the Big Yam's face!  LOL!

One of the best family portraits ever. About to embark on a canoe trip.

The aforementioned canoe trip.

We swam back and forth to that island every day and then rested on the dock.

The Big Yam loved his Pingy, or "Ping Ping" as he calls her.  Instant BFF.

Look at that BABY!  Look at her!!! The cutest.

In the end, all my fears about oatmeal breakfast were (somewhat predictably) the overworked histrionics of a class A nutjob (me).  We ate well and couldn't have had a better time, really.  

We also had a Rachel McAdams and Michael Sheen sighting on the way home.  We stopped at a McDonald's just outside of Barrie and I spotted the unmistakable short, unassuming form and frizzy Jafro of Michael Sheen (is he even Jewish? Who knows?) and then looked down and saw Rachel McAdams hiding under a floppy hat and sunglasses and Uggs.  This is my takeaway from this: Rachel McAdams, who looks like a regular, slender girl, is TINY in real life.  TINY.  But she doesn't look it in movies, am I right?  I relayed this to Dr. Rei who relayed a story in turn of how a friend of a friend met the Jigga and Bey in real life and that Beyoncé is also, TINY.  Which is shocking.  Like, the friend of a friend was flabbergasted at how small she is IRL and how her petiteness is in NO way reflected in the photos of her that pop up in the gossip rags I so slavishly devour. Which means that Keira Knightley must be a will-o'-the-wisp and also: how cruel is it that the camera adds a million pounds?  All this means is that I'm probably the same size as Queen Latifah.  Which is mildly depressing, in a still body-positive and not dysmorphic way.

The Big Yam is THE BEST right now.  But also the worst.  He's gotten used to sleeping in bed with us so whenever we put him in his little tent/portable bed (the PeaPod, to be discussed later) he would scream bloody murder unless I did one of the following two things:

1) unzip the tent just enough so that we could hold hands while he went to sleep (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
2) pull him into bed with me

Seriously.  ALL HE WANTS TO DO IS HOLD MY HAND AS HE'S FALLING ASLEEP.  Which is every bit as heart-explodingly adorable as it sounds, but comes with the caveat that even I think he's been asleep for 10 minutes and I try to slowly extricate my hand from his grasp (and let me be clear: the kid is a champion hand-holder. Not too firm, not too loose. Not sweaty.), he wakes up and screams.  

The past two nights he's been adding to the pathos by sobbing out, "MAAAAMMMAAA!  MAAAMAAA!" 

I mean, really.  What the heck am I supposed to do?

I want to go home so that we can re-sleep train him because I'm not so far gone as to co-sleep every night, but the kid is killing me with the cuteness.  His voice is the best!  And I love that when I tell him what we're going to be doing he responds with this super-sweet, super-soft, "okay."  I feel like that "okay" sums up his current personality perfectly.  Even though technically he has no say, he's offering a soft little acknowledgement and agreement of his (theoretical) compliance.  It's so him.  

I'll post a video of him saying "baby toe" and I defy you not to have your sex organs explode in response.

I cooked up a storm at the cottage but we're hopefully going to be moving back into our house tonight (which is in the throes of paint-pocalypse) because we're so desperate to sleep in our own G-D beds again.

Fin.

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