embarrassed by the memories of my own words...

I spent this weekend in Port McNeill, on the northeast corner of Vancouver Island, with my brother and his wife and their 6 week old baby, my mother, my two oldest kids and my good friend Bobbi.  There are so so many memories. 

Road trips are so fun.   As we left home, I desperately tried to find the kid's favorite song (Rat-a-tat-tat - Seventeen), but I could not.  Dave has always been the one to play it and I simply couldn't remember either the name of the song or the name of the artist.  I couldn't help but think that if I were Kathy, I would have had several playlists of their (or at least MY) favorite music. I am not Kathy.

We stayed with Bobbi the first night.  Because Bob can get frantically food stressed, we spent that night making Calzones, packing granola bars (that she made), fruit, chocolate, and veggies for our lunch the next day on the road to Port McNeill.  Her forethought and care for us made our trip divine.... I WILL make those calzones again one day.  oooooooo weeeeeeeee, they were oh. so. GOOD.

We got to Port McNeill with a pretty great, uneventful trip.  A lot of laughs from the kids.  We were all anticipating a lovely trip.  Seeing your brother with his newborn baby is amazing.  I am awe-struck, both by her beauty and his.  His gaze upon her melted my heart and made me see a side of him I never expected. I loved every second watching him, watch her.

8AM our first morning there, my brother and his wife took us crabbing.  With my newly bought fishing license, and their newborn in tow, on a wet rainy morning we braved the elements and set out to catch some crabs.  The sky was gray, the temperature a little chilly, but the excitement and newness of hunting for crab took over my being.  We got there a little late, and the kids were not thrilled to hike through the tide pools and mud flats through sea-weed and kelp, but  we hiked to the edge of the exposed shore where the water lapped our boots and threatened to breech the sides of our boots.  We searched and searched, occasionally finding a female and males under 6 inches, but none that we could feel good about taking.  At last I was walking towards our party almost ready to give up (which is NOT in my nature) and I found a male belly up on the top of the seaweed.  Thrilled, we used a stick and plopped it into a bag.  I am convinced that perhaps my brother and his friend Chris dropped it for me to find (probably knowing they would have a hard time getting me off the beach if I didn't find one)...

I cooked that crab, cleaned it, cut it and shared it for lunch.  Oh baby. Fresh Crab. No. Butter. Needed.
My brother's friend Chris then brought over several of his catch that night.  He caught 20 in all.  We feasted. 

The next day, we visited the Salmon Hatchery in Port Hardy and the Whale Interpretive Centre in Telegraph Cove .  Both of these places were amazing.  The kids and I ate up all the information they gave us.  Especially the whale centre.... there was one guide there who was just amazing with the kids. They loved Anna.

It was all pretty great. Until at the whale centre Wesley closed some gate, probably not even realizing there was a tiny little yappy dog behind it.  He scared the dog, and well whether he meant to or not, the owner's response was a little over the top... he yelled at Wes and then turned to me and said, "Is that your boy?!  Lucky for you my little dog isn't a killer", to which I replied, "Lucky for you, I'm not".  It shook me for the rest of the day.  Did I really say that?  What did Wes really do?  Was this man actually being reasonable? Was I?  I don't know.  But Bobbi turned to me and said that she chuckled a little at me.... and perhaps even if Wes was being mean to his dog there was probably a better way for this man to go about getting the result that he wanted.

We left this morning.  It was a LONG drive back.  The kids were argumentative, restless and NOT the best travel companions.  We made it to Vancouver by dinner time, so before dropping Bobbi off we headed to a restaurant, where Wesley promptly locked himself in the bathroom.  Yes.  He was freaking out, and hearing him freak out my eyes started to leak... I calmly tried to get him to unlock the deadbolt, as I searched for other ways to get him out.  The hinges were on his side of the door.  The doorknob had neither a keyhole or the kind of hole that we all learned to jimmy when we were in elementary school.  The doorknob also did not have screws in it to remove from the door....

He's still in a panic.  I'm about to lose it as the server comes over to "help" and see what the commotion is all about.... she's talking in sentences that ARE REALLY NOT HELPFUL.
She says, "It's a deadbolt"
and I'm all, "yep, got it"
"it's really sticky"
"yah think?"
"it's up pretty high"
"super helpful lady thanks, WHAT ARE YOU ACTUALLY GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?!!"

I see the frosted window in the top of the door and BLURT OUTLOUD, "I'M ABOUT TO BREAK THE GLASS IN ABOUT TWO MINUTES"

and then I calm down a little, ask Wesley with tears welling up in my eyes (and no doubt streaming down his face) to "please, use ALL HIS MIGHT, and pull that deadbolt across"

He does.  He did.  He's out.


We ate. Dropped Bobbi off at home and drove ourselves home. (Never-mind that I needed gas and waited until the last Abbotsford exit when my tank was on the emptiest of EMPTY, got to the pumps and the power at ALL the gas stations had gone out....)  We're home. That's all that matters. Home.