It’s the night of the 6th here in Ontario but of course back home in London the morning commute is already starting. And I’m not really one to note anniversaries or to dwell (well at least I try not to), but I can’t not mention what happened a year ago.

My lasting memories of 7th July 2005 involve confusion and terror, but for the most part it’s actually positive. This sounds terrible as obviously it was a horrible event with tragic consequences. But my own experience started off, before I even knew what happened, with Mark not being happy with me not answering my mobile (I was in a meeting) and calling a number of different people in my organisation before he knew I was okay and we had a chance to chat. I need to remember things like that when I get annoyed with him! We had teary phone calls from family just so thankful we were okay, and emails from people I hadn’t heard from in years making sure that we were all right. It was slightly more emotional as I was pregnant and a load of people were going to be coming over from Canada in a few weeks for the wedding.

I realised later that day that I had actually not even arrived at Baker Street station until all of the bombs on trains had already gone off. The bus I took to work passed the back of Edgware Road station uneventfully as usual. I had no idea what had already happened. But then we were locked into our building, watching the bulletins on the BBC get worse and worse, and Mark and I had to figure out how to get home (he picked me up in the car). It felt like the day that Grace and I watched the planes fly into the towers at her house in Kitchener at lunchtime during our social work placements – except worse and more real.

So I guess I focus on the positive feelings that came out of that horrible day, and feel thankful.

I’ve been able, thanks to my parents, to have some time hanging out with friends this week. Going out to restaurants, having drinks and good chats – just feeling like a normal person again and not some stir-crazy undomestic non-goddess getting frustrated with a crying baby stuck in the middle of the countryside with no friends and nothing to do. But the best part is that when I come home, I am happy to see Oliver again. And I feel lucky – a feeling that Mark expressed a few months ago that I couldn’t empathise with at the time.

I have some advice for anyone considering a trans-Atlantic flight with a baby on your own: DON’T DO IT. IT SUCKS. I was in tears a few times. And this is what I looked like when I got to the airport as my father felt the need to record my bedraggled and desperate state when I landed (after dealing with having to put Oliver on the floor of two different airports when unfolding/folding up the pushchair about 4 or 5 times, his screaming for approximately 3 hours of the flight + sleeping for the other 5 while I held him and couldn’t move, and then having to be interrogated in Immigation as to why I had clearly kidnapped him away from his father):

(the shine on my forehead indicating sweat and tears)

In happier news, Oliver has now met his grandfather, his uncle and his uncle’s girlfriend. I can’t put my photos on my dad’s computer so here is just one of the kid with his Uncle Mark and Angela:

Wow formula is expensive here. Have switched to follow-on milk just to save money. Got some cheap nappies and clothes, though. More to report as we meet others, including a few other kiddies.

I’m in a strange place. There’s a tornado warning. And, after supermarket shopping, I’ve filled the house with many yummy things like chocolate pudding, vegetable soup mix + sour cream dip, bran muffins and iced tea. Weird things you can’t get (well, you can but not as good) in England. I seriously have culture shock. I’ve been out of Ontario for 2 years and it feels really bizarre to be here. I think moving back is going to be just as much of a change for me as it will be for Mark. The first time I returned after moving to the UK, it was like a big emotional homecoming. The second, only 7 months later, was just another fun trip. This is just different.

I keep trying to climb into the wrong side of the car (sorry, I mean giant beast of a gas guzzling truck) for the passenger seat. Everything’s clean and new. The roads are so wide. And every day I get to have a Tim Horton’s double double.

Oliver and I are adjusting to the time change (I’m getting there faster than him which is going to result in a bit less sleep for me, but hopefully he’ll get there in the end). We’ve only hung out with my family so far, so lots of fun yet to come.

(The he-doesn’t-know-he’s-half-Canadian-baby whose bodysuit and socks bedecked with the mighty flag caused a great fuss amongst other Canadians who loved the look)

I was pretty impressed with yesterday’s Canada Day in Trafalgar Square. (Did I mention it had to be one day early due to the Pride Parade today? And they have cancelled the regular canuck street party in Maiden Lane in Covent Garden as the Met can’t handle football match watchers at pubs + Pride Parade people + some Canadians. So the Canadians had to go.) Anyway…

It was a good afternoon out.

We watched a bit of the street hockey tournament.

We met a Mountie.

We got decked out in our maple leaf gear and got given lots more just for coming out.
(please note that neither of these people are officially Canadian! Shameful!)

We amazed at the crowds, particularly in the evening.

We watched Dance Saskatchewan and loved the costumes.

We got messages from the Tragically Hip and others wishing us in London a Happy Canada Day.

We watched a bit of Ron Sexsmith, finally, and then headed home as it was a bit late for the baby.
Also it was SO HOT and STICKY in the city yesterday and I was about to melt so I came home and felt like I was dying but I have recovered and no one is sunburnt.

This really was a major step up from the normal gathering of expats in Canada House with some free booze and cake. They had major sponsors and a huge stage and sound system, loads of freebies and stall after stall of information. Quite impressive, and nice as it might be our last one here. Ottawa on 1st July is quite overwhelming – in London it’s not only more intimate, I think there’s even more pride and emotion involved as we are all away from home.

And the Brits are slightly befuddled (well, at least Mark’s family are) as they can’t even display the St George’s flag for the World Cup without racism being brought up as the flag has been hijacked over here as a symbol of extreme right wing views. I like our comfort with patriotism. And we have a nicer flag anyway.

Happy Canada Day!

There’s no questioning whether or not Oliver is Canadian now.

Who needs a citizenship certificate and passport when a Mountie has christened you??

(Mark’s mum got a bit annoyed at his shirt, All Canadian Boy. I could have changed it to Half Canadian Boy but I don’t want to ruin nice clothes.)

More about yesterday’s fun in Trafalgar Square on the other blog.

But in more important news, he’s reached 6 months old! That’s a pretty big milestone. It means we can experiment with even more food now. No teeth yet, but he does a pretty good job at munching with his gums. He’ll eat anything as long as either Mark or I are eating it, ’cause then it must be good. Example – a green bean last night at dinner. Other than that, he loves his Petits Filous fromage frais; the mouth is already open for the next spoonful when the spoon is like 10 feet away. And he still does well on most fruit and vegetables.

He can’t sit up on his own yet, but he’s trying. He’s mostly too busy standing up to sit on his bottom though. He’s been wanting to stand since he was about 5 weeks old or something, and his legs get stronger and stronger. When you carry him, he holds on now. He will sit quietly for books sometimes, but not always. I think he’d rather be rolling around mostly. He still loves his jolly jumper (which I recently discovered was invented by a Canadian – this person deserves a medal) but his baby gym frustrates him a bit since he can’t pull the hanging toys down any farther to chew them. And new things are fun, like raspberries blown in his hands or peek a boo.

So tomorrow, I will attempt an 8 hour flight with him and hope that his ability to charm people comes out full force for everyone we are trapped on the plane with. And my family can fuss over him for a couple of weeks hopefully giving me a bit of a break.