Celebrating Ali’s first Valentine’s Day

The other day, I took Alistair out for a walk in his jogging stroller. Usually, the instant his five point harness snaps shut, his eyes close with equal ferocity and he’s out for the duration of the stroll. But this time, his baby blues were open wide in amazement. Birds, trees, cars and tall buildings – these are pretty spectacular sights for someone who has previously only been able to see as far as his feet.

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Knit with Love

In the little white casket sat a pair of blue booties, knit with love.

I was nineteen and in my second year of college. There was this certain, red headed boy that I’d been dating for a few months and I was busy working on my commercial pilots license. When we weren’t wandering our way through an Albertan blizzard, we spent a great amount of time trying to knit. Very few college students had managed to avoid the knitting fever – even the boys spent time “brocheting.” And so, when my roommate tossed me her old pair of knitting needles and a ball of yarn, I eagerly set to work.

Three failed attempts later, I’d finally completed my first project – a wobbly, lime green, garter stitched scarf.

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Swedish Pizza

In our house, following a tradition that dates back to my husband’s childhood, every Friday night is pizza night. The pizza itself isn’t intrinsically Swedish; it’s not a specific flavour or topping. More so, it derives its name from the fact that my husband and his family are so proud of their Scandinavian birthright that anything they touch turns Swedish. (My husband is like the Greek father in “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” – according to Andreas, just about everything comes from Sweden. Seatbelts, Angry Birds, dynamite… you name it…)

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