I moved to Canada for a man. UGH. I know. GROSS. I have never been the type to drop everything for a guy. Except: here I am. In my kitchen drizzling gravy on fries, grilling brats, and sipping from a flask of maple syrup.
It’s a complete and total mystery what came over me. At least the climate is exactly like where I grew up. And by that I mean in absolutely no way whatsoever, because I grew up in southern USA. Every three or four years it snowed, or at least that’s what I called a snow dusting back then when I was young, naïve, and didn’t know a single snowfall could bury your dog.
No worries though, we found him. And I’m working hard to build the snow-shoveling muscles required by law to become a resident. The snow shovel is also handy to shovel through the mountain of paperwork to be filed for said residency. C’est la vie. (See how well I’m acclimating, y’all?)
So I’m exactly where I never expected to be. But PLOT TWIST this has turned out to be exactly what I was meant to do all along. I’m a wife to an amazing father and engineer, and a step mom to a ridiculously adorable 5-year-old who beautifully believes in the wonder and magic of the world no matter what the non-believer kids at school tell her.
And of course there’s that time my mom, me, and my three siblings built an entire 3500 square foot house together by watching YouTube videos. And yes. You’re right. That’s exactly why I leapt in to reengineer a bunk bed to fit in the space I NEEDED it to fit for a reason that was only relevant to a small (but persistent) design idea in my head.
Because I love you already, here’s a sneak peek: Hiking (aka stalking Justin Trudeau’s jogging spots to get pics for my mom and sis.) Rock climbing. Getting my degree in nursing. Learning to cook some new stuff. Bargain hunting. Practicing the mom thing. And all around getting over this fish out of water thing I sometimes feel in my new life.