First world suitcase blues

I should be excited but I am an anxiety ridden mess.

We are about to embark on a two week long family vacation that will take us first to Iceland, then to London, England.

And I don’t know how I am supposed to pack for that.

On the first of the leg of the journey I have one extreme. Reykjavik tops out at about 15 degrees Celsius, and is not particularly urban. I will need to keep warm and be prepared for hiking. I can do that fairly fashionably with some leggings under a tunic, some luxurious sweaters, a beret, lovely scarves and a pair of good ankle boots. Done and done.

On the second leg, I have super urbanity to deal with. London in August is ten or more degrees warmer than Reykjavík, and the heat will be on to get my look just right. Urban chic is my forte – this is not my fashion challenge.

I need to pack to accommodate both hiking along a desolate coast line and fitting in on the fashionable London streets. And knit caps don’t double as derby hats, you know?

Somehow I have to do it all without packing two separate suitcases. I have been very strictly informed that I actually do have a one bag limit. No negotiating for more space, no sneaking items into the boys’ bags. Ugh.

I’ll let you all know how it goes.

I’ll also report back on how strict the one suitcase policy is on the return, because I’m going to Harrods. After all, everyone knows that a princess is as a princess does and Harrods is the place for a princess.

My woMAN Cave

At this very moment I am sitting in purgatory while my husband strings cable up through a vent in an attempt to save me.

Purgatory is the boys gaming/movie/computer room. To my left are 4 empty coke cans and the remains of a bag of doritos. To my right is a mouse pad with an anime girl’s face and boobs as the wrist rest.

This is my life. I live with four men ranging in age from 16 to 54. At any given point during the day I will look up and see a man walking around in naught but underwear, hear farting and/or belching, find abandoned socks or cutlery in between the sofa cushions, or discover (the hard way) that the bathroom is temporarily uninhabitable.

I am the lone female in a house of maleness. I need a fortress of heavenly solitude to which I can escape after enduring the daily grind at work and the gauntlet of duties being a wife and mother thrust upon me.

So, at this very moment my husband is stringing cable up through a vent because the spotty and unreliable wireless in my refuge is not conducive to my redemption. I can’t be sure if he is doing this because he has grown weary of my complaints about the inferior quality of the wireless in the south addition, or if the boys are tired of my presence in their refuge, or he is just really that gallant.

Which ever is the true motive, I’m getting a reliable internet connection so I can retreat back into my artroom/woman cave.

canada election fashion orange

Election Budget Blues (and fashion budget orange)

The writ has been dropped, Canada. Which is great, I am a huge fan of democracy, but the timing is so inconvenient. This is going to be the longest election campaign in Canadian history. Seventy-seven full days of electioneering, baby kissing, hair and beard dissing, and definition of risk duelling.

When I saw the flurry of political tweets come in this morning I gasped. How am I going to deal with this many of days of politics? Do I have what I need to get me through to the bitter end or will I need to stretch my resources and deal with the constant fear that my closet will be empty before the race is over? I would hate the success or failure of my election fashion to be determined by budget constraints. After All, here in Alberta orange is trending. I feel it is my patriotic responsibility to see that trend expand across the country.

So, as the journalists and pundits struggled to foretell Canada’s future in 140 characters, I leapt out of bed and threw open my (new) armoire.

Never fear! I am fully fashion covered for entire the election cycle.