Latest earthquake was a 6.3 magnitude with epicenter 10km from Christchurch and only 5km deep. It was much more intense than the initial one in September and felt like a series of violent impacts vs. the more rolling nature of the September episode.
All of us are fine. The Squidd was at home napping and slept through the entire thing (again!). Rocky was at school and ended up walking home since he and I couldn't contact each other via cell or land line and neither of us knew exactly where the other would be. He made the 6km trek in just under 2 hours, while drivers reported spending upwards of 5 hours trying to drive across the city.
Our house once again withstood the shaking, though we've noticed a few hairline cracks in the drywall here and there. A few pictures fell off the walls, shattering glass, but our other household goods are fine. All in all, we've been very lucky.
Current reports confirm 65 people have died, but the number is expected to rise as rescue efforts continue through the night. It's raining and cold and miserable outside. It's unbearable to think about the people who remain trapped in collapsed buildings and the families who anxiously await news of loved ones who continue to be out of touch.
On the upside, this disaster has introduced neighbors who were formerly strangers and has brought out the best in everyone it seems. After the quake, most folks congregated outside in driveways. We joined a group next door, and enjoyed their company immensely as we hunkered down around a camp stove boiling water for tea and hot chocolate. Another neighbor who we've never met just left here having knocked on our door to offer candles (the power was still out at that point) and to let us use her cell to text our American families. A woman down the street has a flooded flat, and several other units in her complex are in unsafe condition. So the lot of them are all sleeping together in unit #5, which remained unscathed. People are calling into the radio stations to offer shelter at their homes for strangers whose homes were destroyed. It's heartwarming and heartrending at the same time.
We're keeping our fellow Cantabrians in our thoughts tonight as we settle for bed in our own home, in our own beds, with lights on and our family intact. Hope you will do the same.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Happy Valentine's Day
As we still haven't found babysitters, Rocky and I decided to mark the day by going out to lunch together while The Squidd was at school. We went to a cozy little place called Annie's in the heart of downtown. My parents discovered it when they were here to visit last June, and Rocky and I have been meaning to try it ever since.
Had a nice lunch and wine (at 11:30am? Oh, yes we did). It was a proper event.
And since we felt The Squidd should also get to partake in some holiday-ness, we all had cupcakes after dinner. Sadly, I had no time to bake the cupcakes myself, so I shamelessly bought them at a little bakery 'round the corner. Yum!
Had a nice lunch and wine (at 11:30am? Oh, yes we did). It was a proper event.
And since we felt The Squidd should also get to partake in some holiday-ness, we all had cupcakes after dinner. Sadly, I had no time to bake the cupcakes myself, so I shamelessly bought them at a little bakery 'round the corner. Yum!
Sunday, February 13, 2011
OD on Fried
In these parts, around every neighborhood corner is a neighborhood fish 'n chips spot. I thought stateside Pacific Northwesterners were big on fish and chips, but we can't put ourselves in the same league as kiwis. There are literally hundreds of these tiny shops crammed into a city the size of Christchurch (all you need is space for a counter and some deep fryers), and even blink towns--the ones you'll miss if you blink while driving through them--have a handful of their very own.
Fish and chips not your bag? Not to worry. Because as far as I can tell, almost all of these fish 'n chip shops offer a bonanza of other fried food: springrolls, crab rangoon, donuts, tempura vegetables, fried fruits, etc. All fried up fresh for you there and wrapped up in a neat package of newsprint.
And did I mention it's dead cheap? Well it is. We went to one of these joints for the first time last Thursday with some friends. These friends are also expats but also seasoned veterans of the fish 'n chips dining experience. The hubby advised Rocky that the orders were generous: one order of fish and one order of chips should do the job. Rocky, feeling like he could really do some damage on an order of fries and knowing that The Squidd likes his share of 'em, too, orders fish and THREE orders of fries.
Oh, we ate and ate, don't doubt it, but here is what was left of our $8 meal. My hand is in the picture for scale, but you'll have to trust me that even this picture fails to convey a true sense for how obscene 5 lbs. of fries looks when it's leftover from the original meal. As our friend Warren's dad would say: "That's good value."
Fish and chips not your bag? Not to worry. Because as far as I can tell, almost all of these fish 'n chip shops offer a bonanza of other fried food: springrolls, crab rangoon, donuts, tempura vegetables, fried fruits, etc. All fried up fresh for you there and wrapped up in a neat package of newsprint.
And did I mention it's dead cheap? Well it is. We went to one of these joints for the first time last Thursday with some friends. These friends are also expats but also seasoned veterans of the fish 'n chips dining experience. The hubby advised Rocky that the orders were generous: one order of fish and one order of chips should do the job. Rocky, feeling like he could really do some damage on an order of fries and knowing that The Squidd likes his share of 'em, too, orders fish and THREE orders of fries.
Oh, we ate and ate, don't doubt it, but here is what was left of our $8 meal. My hand is in the picture for scale, but you'll have to trust me that even this picture fails to convey a true sense for how obscene 5 lbs. of fries looks when it's leftover from the original meal. As our friend Warren's dad would say: "That's good value."
(Still) Summertime and the Livin' Is Easy
We're feelin' it for our friends in the Northeast U.S. who, by all reports, are suffering through an eternal, miserable winter. As for us, we're still enjoying summer, though our warm days are liberally interspersed with cooler, drizzly ones, which suits this Pacific Northwesterner just fine.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
The Best Part
Yesterday, I took The Squidd to the Canterbury Museum and he loved it!
Despite all the dinosaurs, giant bugs, and machinery covering nearly ever inch of this place, The Squidd was most entertained by three steps and a ramp leading to the bathroom.
Outside the museum are the lovely Christchurch Botanic Gardens. Called the Garden City, Christchurch takes special pride in showcasing the skills and dedication of its armada of landscapers. Took The Squidd out into the gardens post museum visit. Pose with mom or dad next to the flowers for a charming, pastoral shot? Hell no.
But pose on my own in the middle of the gravel walkway? You bet.
Needless to say, the kid has an obsession with gravel and sand and rocks of all sorts. Sound like anyone else you know?
Despite all the dinosaurs, giant bugs, and machinery covering nearly ever inch of this place, The Squidd was most entertained by three steps and a ramp leading to the bathroom.
Outside the museum are the lovely Christchurch Botanic Gardens. Called the Garden City, Christchurch takes special pride in showcasing the skills and dedication of its armada of landscapers. Took The Squidd out into the gardens post museum visit. Pose with mom or dad next to the flowers for a charming, pastoral shot? Hell no.
But pose on my own in the middle of the gravel walkway? You bet.
Needless to say, the kid has an obsession with gravel and sand and rocks of all sorts. Sound like anyone else you know?
Thursday, January 13, 2011
A Wink and a Smile
I hate to bore folks with cutesy baby stories if they're not into that sort of thing, but tonight will just have to be a rare exception.
Let me set the stage: The Squidd was up early today and, therefore, napped earlier than normal. This early nap, in turn, meant that by the time he was tired again, it was much too late for a second nap yet much too early for bedtime. So he had to power through until a reasonable bedtime hour.
Fast-forward to 7:45pm. We've managed to keep The Squidd entertained and mostly out of the death spiral of crabbiness by having him help us make pizza (oh yes), feeding him dinner, watching snippets of crap TV, and going for a walk around the neighborhood. As we roll into our driveway at the end of the walk, Rocky says to me that he thinks we should skip The Squidd's bath due to imminent meltdown. I enumerate The Squidd's bodily functions from earlier in the day and recommend that we stick to routine and give the bath. Plus it will further entertain The Squidd and get us closer to his regular bedtime (and, thus, back onto his sleeping schedule--hopefully).
Being the good hubby that he is, Rocky capitulates, and we go forward with the bath.
The Squidd is now clean, and I'm telling him that I'm going to lift him out of the tub on the count of three. (I have convinced myself into thinking this helps to prevent meltdowns when he has to exit the tub, but I may have deluded myself.)
One.
Two.
Thr . . . oh crap. Literally. Just as I'm saying "three," he poos in the dregs of the bathwater. And lest I get too graphic, let me just say that it wasn't a little pellet either. (Our household is at the tail end of a stomach bug, if that tells you anything.)
So we heist The Squidd out of the tub, trying not to touch his lower half. We do a half-assed job of rinsing out the bottom of the tub, and then re-wash The Squidd from the waist down while he stands in the dubiously rinsed-out tub. OK, he's pretty clean. Good enough.
Rocky lifts The Squidd back out of the tub, dries him off, and is preparing to exit the bathroom, when his son--the apple of his eye--lets loose with a stream of pee, drenching Rocky's arm, and his own legs yet again. I'm laughing now but trying not to let The Squidd see that I'm laughing because This Is Not Funny, Young Man.
We repeat the stand-up washing procedure again and then race to The Squidd's bedroom to get the diaper on. I lay The Squidd down on his changing table--remember, he's nunga punga still beneath his bath towel. I lift up his legs to slide the diaper beneath when, suddenly, his little sphincter starts winking at me. Oh no, oh no!!@# Hurry!! And as I'm moving in with the diaper, the little shit pees again. Then laughs. To me it sounds a bit maniacal, like this is payback of some sort, but maybe it's just a bit hysterical because he's exhausted and on the edge. (The former makes the better story, don't you think?) Rapidly, I use the clean diaper as a shield, only removing it when I feel certain he's done peeing. Think again. The kid keeps laughing and firing off stealth pees every time I uncover him to wipe up the mess and get him locked and loaded in a clean nappy. This continues for about 5 minutes. After each interval, I try to wipe him clean with the diaper wipes, only to get another look at the "winking eye" before he goes fountain-style again. Oh, please no. I think at some point Rocky and I forgot to hide our laughter because toward the end, I think The Squidd thought it was some fun game. Great. Perfect. And by the way, how big is this kid's bladder anyway? Seriously.
Finally, 40 minutes after the bath that was meant to last 10 minutes, tops, our boy was in a clean, DRY diaper and pjs and ready for bed. In retrospect, we should've gone with Rocky's plan of no bath. (Think I'll ever win the bath-no bath debate again?)
Parenthood. There's no adventure quite like it.
And just for fun, here's a recent picture of the little booger. More soon, I promise.
Let me set the stage: The Squidd was up early today and, therefore, napped earlier than normal. This early nap, in turn, meant that by the time he was tired again, it was much too late for a second nap yet much too early for bedtime. So he had to power through until a reasonable bedtime hour.
Fast-forward to 7:45pm. We've managed to keep The Squidd entertained and mostly out of the death spiral of crabbiness by having him help us make pizza (oh yes), feeding him dinner, watching snippets of crap TV, and going for a walk around the neighborhood. As we roll into our driveway at the end of the walk, Rocky says to me that he thinks we should skip The Squidd's bath due to imminent meltdown. I enumerate The Squidd's bodily functions from earlier in the day and recommend that we stick to routine and give the bath. Plus it will further entertain The Squidd and get us closer to his regular bedtime (and, thus, back onto his sleeping schedule--hopefully).
Being the good hubby that he is, Rocky capitulates, and we go forward with the bath.
The Squidd is now clean, and I'm telling him that I'm going to lift him out of the tub on the count of three. (I have convinced myself into thinking this helps to prevent meltdowns when he has to exit the tub, but I may have deluded myself.)
One.
Two.
Thr . . . oh crap. Literally. Just as I'm saying "three," he poos in the dregs of the bathwater. And lest I get too graphic, let me just say that it wasn't a little pellet either. (Our household is at the tail end of a stomach bug, if that tells you anything.)
So we heist The Squidd out of the tub, trying not to touch his lower half. We do a half-assed job of rinsing out the bottom of the tub, and then re-wash The Squidd from the waist down while he stands in the dubiously rinsed-out tub. OK, he's pretty clean. Good enough.
Rocky lifts The Squidd back out of the tub, dries him off, and is preparing to exit the bathroom, when his son--the apple of his eye--lets loose with a stream of pee, drenching Rocky's arm, and his own legs yet again. I'm laughing now but trying not to let The Squidd see that I'm laughing because This Is Not Funny, Young Man.
We repeat the stand-up washing procedure again and then race to The Squidd's bedroom to get the diaper on. I lay The Squidd down on his changing table--remember, he's nunga punga still beneath his bath towel. I lift up his legs to slide the diaper beneath when, suddenly, his little sphincter starts winking at me. Oh no, oh no!!@# Hurry!! And as I'm moving in with the diaper, the little shit pees again. Then laughs. To me it sounds a bit maniacal, like this is payback of some sort, but maybe it's just a bit hysterical because he's exhausted and on the edge. (The former makes the better story, don't you think?) Rapidly, I use the clean diaper as a shield, only removing it when I feel certain he's done peeing. Think again. The kid keeps laughing and firing off stealth pees every time I uncover him to wipe up the mess and get him locked and loaded in a clean nappy. This continues for about 5 minutes. After each interval, I try to wipe him clean with the diaper wipes, only to get another look at the "winking eye" before he goes fountain-style again. Oh, please no. I think at some point Rocky and I forgot to hide our laughter because toward the end, I think The Squidd thought it was some fun game. Great. Perfect. And by the way, how big is this kid's bladder anyway? Seriously.
Finally, 40 minutes after the bath that was meant to last 10 minutes, tops, our boy was in a clean, DRY diaper and pjs and ready for bed. In retrospect, we should've gone with Rocky's plan of no bath. (Think I'll ever win the bath-no bath debate again?)
Parenthood. There's no adventure quite like it.
And just for fun, here's a recent picture of the little booger. More soon, I promise.
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