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9
Mar
2010
Toys, toys, toys, I’m looking for a good time
I knooowwww. How LAME is that title? but I couldn’t help it. Laugh? I almost split my sides. Still snorting as I write. As an aside, residing as I am in Spain, the famous Sabrina song – which you can revisit here has come to my attention more than a B grade song from the 80s should recently. This is because it has a particularly special place in the heart of many a man in Spain. Hers were the first breasts to be shown on Spanish television, which took place in Janet Jackson style “accidental” wardrobe malfunction. And you thought Janet was a ground breaker. I challenge you to show me anyone who generated more publicity with less talent than Sabrina. Well, in the pre-internet and reality TV age at least. Anyway, information on the planned malfunction was leaked in advance and teenage boys and men, and I assume not a few woman, tuned in all over the country to capture the moment. We see so much booty every Saturday morning in music clips it’s hard to remember how controversial Sabrina was, even for the rest of us. In an ultra conservative, post-fascism Spain, still catching up from years of isolation, it was a really big deal. So there you are. Sabrina, a cultural icon.
8
Mar
2010
Bone Idle
CC photo credit: flickrfavorites
I am lazy. There’s no getting away from it. I’m pretty sure it’s an inherent rather than a learned characteristic because I remember my Dad singing “Lazy Bones” to me, in his best Louis Armstrong voice, when I was as young as 6 or 7, to which I usually responded with “Am not”, “You are” and other stinging retorts, from the comfort of the couch.
My laziness is manifesting itself on this particular occasion, as an aversion to cleaning the house. I’m not working right now so we can’t really justify a cleaner. I am after all at home, not working. I should really clean. I should. But I hate cleaning. As soon as I was able I justified outsourcing this particular thorn in my side through a faithful interpretation of the economics of comparative advantage (if you can earn more per hour doing one thing – sitting sedentary at a desk for instance – for another – slugging it out scrubbing down the shower say – you definitely should. It’s more efficient. It’s the way things should be, it’s the optimal outcome, the model says so), and I had banked on always being able to do so. But now I earn nothing, per hour or otherwise, so the model is not working in my favour.
4
Mar
2010
Buggy Running: As If Just Running Wasn’t Hard Enough
Brooke Shields with stroller. See now she can afford a gym and a personal trainer. So if she 'Chooses To Run' with a Buggy, it's got to be good.
I was not born to run. I am not motivated to run by a need to get my daily endorphin fix. If only. I’m not sure I’ve experienced this mystical endorphin rush, unless that funny chilly feeling and nausea I sometimes get from attempting to run beyond my capacity to do so counts. Running for me is HARD, requiring the mental as well as the physical energy to keep me going throughout the entire battling duration. Forty-five minutes of teeth gritting and negotiations in my head that make deals with myself to keep going to the next post, the next 5 minutes, permission to slow down as long as I keep going and many more creative attempts to convince myself not to stop.
3
Mar
2010
Cots – a life behind bars?
So here’s a question for all of you far more experienced people than me – what’s with the ‘big boy bed’ business? Two and a half year old son is still in a cot. I know – HORRIFYING. Many people can’t get over the fact and I am sure they are whispering about poor downtrodden son behind my back.
I have stayed in various different locations over the past few months and the question is always the same – is he in a bed yet? The answer is no, he is not.
So tell me, am I running the risk of a child used to gazing upwards at people forever? Will the bars scar him for life and ensure he is well primed for a life of incarceration? Thus far, he seems perfectly content in his cot, and no signs of him whipping off with the family silver just yet. Then again, if you ask English Captain Sensible, most Aussies return to their convict form at some stage anyway.
24
Feb
2010
And the role of mother will be played by ME.
Does anyone else ever feel like they are just pretending to be a mother? Like how did you get here and what are these words coming out of your mouth? Sometimes I really feel like I am playing the part in some mothering sitcom (with the requisite somewhat irritating child with a lisp and the small baby played by twins. Only not played by twins in our house – played by just the one baby thank god. Not that I don’t like twins. It’s one of those concepts that is so nice in theory and the matching outfits divine, but the reality seems like some bad horror movie – IMAGINE two year old tantrums in tandem, I think I would retire to the Galapagos, Or someplace equally far away with a beach and no twins. Sorry to those who have twins. I love twins. Twins rock. Twin rant over).
I woke up on my 30-something birthday this year and lay there marvelling about the fact that I have a husband and two children. A full on family. I know I have already expressed my shock, but I am still wondering – WHEN did that happen?
23
Feb
2010
Tales from the Poo Front
Stomach flu is impressive isn’t it? As if the achy pains and general sense of misery provided by your regular flu weren’t enough, adding nausea, vomiting and diarrhoea and then combining it with a constant state of hunger and thirst which can’t be satiated lest you want to spend another four hours retching into the toilet, is really a genius illness, in terms of maximising misery in a short period of time.
I’ve just had four days of caring for Monkey* with stomach flu, with me struck down with the same and shuffling between the bed, the toilet and caring for the little patient on day 4. I now listen to the dulcet tones of The Spaniard retching in to the toilet. Correct, child had only just recovered from bronchitis. Then he returned to daycare. Hence we have new illness after three days back.
However, on the upside, I feel like I have passed through a parent’s rite of passage. It is not with a small tinge of pride that I feel I can finally join in on the whole poo parents club, what with its infinite sharing of poo stories and sense of belonging and camaraderie. I’ve spent four days changing outfits and bedding with great frequency due not just to vomit but some spectacular poo incidents. I’ve earned some stripes. A few months ago dedicated reader and friend, Stephen, told me a poo story. It was a very good one — child had filled his daks and then used vehicular assistance — his bike — to spread poo to all corners of the house with utmost efficiency. I enjoyed the story but it left me feeling a bit…out. Like a draft dodger hearing the tales of war from the poo front. I had nothing of my own to come back with. It was awkward. Well, that has changed in the last 48 hours.
Yesterday we had no less than three baths and six changes of clothing. That’s if you don’t count mine. I had to completely change my own clothing at least three times. I would have showered if I had time but I was too busy with the wailing vomiter. So instead I swept hair up to a crusty ponytail. I pretty much couldn’t put him down, unless I wanted to hear some VERY loud crying (he has quite a voice on him, baritone, Kate says) which was awkward at times, especially when, feeling confident after two hours of isotonic drink without vomiting we tried some milk. Slowly, slowly catchie monkey he drank the milk. Calm and satisfaction followed. Then the flood was released. I tried to catch as much volume in my lap as I could to save the couch. It was relatively successful as I managed to shuffle crab like, sideways away from the crouch, with Monkey still in my arms, keeping the vomit in my lap and eventually dispersing it across the living room floor. The floor is not carpet so I think it was a good result.
14
Feb
2010
43 New Year’s Resolutions. Well, 8. But they are going well.
NAILing it - get it?? I know, my pictures are getting more obscure.
So it’s February. Almost the end of February really. So when am I going to start my new year’s resolutions?
Actually, I’m being slightly disingenuous here as I have a confession to make. I am NAILING my resolutions. Nailing them I tell you. Usually February finds me glass of wine in one hand, chocolate bar in the other with the same five kilos hovering somewhere around my middle discussing the 10km run I almost signed up for and the career change that is juuuuuust around the corner.
10
Feb
2010
Friendly Medical Advice from your Local Butcher
In continuation to my last post, the hospital and sick child at home experience has given me even more pause for thought – this time in relation to the Spanish approach to medicinal care. On the one hand I discovered a whole other area where people like to give advice (to my delight, as you can imagine). On the other hand there was also a slightly laissez faire approach from the nurses in the hospital actually qualified to give it.
Look! FUN with medication!
Spaniards are particularly prone to handing out unqualified medical advice – the government had to run a multi million euro ad campaign which featured a woman in the market handing over her antibiotics to her good friend the neighbourhood butcher telling him to take them to address his cold like symptoms. The tag line to the ad was “You´re not a doctor, don’t share prescription drugs and see your doctor for medical advice”. Or some such.
8
Feb
2010
Hospital visit and house bound caring. The job fits in where?
This week we returned to the hospital where N was born just seven months ago, this time to deal with a bronchial infection. He had to be put on an oxygen machine and given Ventolin intermittently. Don’t worry. Everything’s fine. In fact the worst part (for me – me, me, me, me, me) was the having to stay in hospital to help care for him. I discovered a whole new level of boredom, with no internet (I know, I know, yes, I’m ok, still kind of recovering, there’s a twitch in my eye but I think it will go away within a few days) and really bad Spanish daytime TV.
I was also sleep deprived. The Ventolin turned N into a CRAZY CHILD and he barely slept. For the first 48 hours the Ventolin was given every 4 hours (each time followed by at least 2 hours of extreme wakefulness), after that (and still now, as I write) we only have to give it to him every 6 hours. This still means a 12am and 6am session with very little sleep in between. It’s like having a newborn again which is particular unfair as he had JUST started sleeping through – we had three blissful nights of it before he fell ill.
2
Feb
2010
Why I am still very trendy and am not getting old. This year.
This is not actually me. In case you were wondering.
My son’s favourite game at the moment is to tell us all how old we are. He is two, the baby is three months (give or take a few months, it’s hard to keep up with her to be fair), Mummy is OLD and Daddy is ANCIENT.
I obviously derive tremendous amusement at the ‘ancient’ (and it’s not far from the truth for the poor old Captain) – but am not overly enamoured with the ‘old’ reference. Because I am quite youthful. In my head. And in photos. That have been photoshopped.
I do not feel that having children is keeping me young. In fact, I think they are causing me more wrinkles than any all night bender in my 20s. (And frankly – some mornings I think I got more joy out of the benders than the kids. Don’t tell people that. It’s a sure fire way to get chucked out of the Mother’s Club to admit something like that. Well, you try having a shower with three people in there with you.) No, the children are definitely making me older. But not OLD.
25
Jan
2010
The case of the disappearing career.
I cannot find a picture of a hen with its mouth open. Please use your imagination to imagine a hen. With mouth open. But no teeth.
A good friend asked me today what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. She was talking about my career, rather than whether I was planning on keeping the children. At least, I think she was — my daughter was being particularly irritating today so it would have been a valid question.
So the career. Ah yes. It was a good one. I loved the intellectual stimulation, the office banter, clever people around me (except the dim ones of course) and I loved so many of the teams that I worked with. Until I realised I didn’t really enjoy what I did. And that I was working myself to the bone with ridiculous hours and ungrateful sods demanding clients. And I was basically miserable in my industry. All of which wasn’t really conducive to being a happy mother and wife, let alone a happy worker. So now I find myself in the maternity leave tunnel with no light at the end.
18
Jan
2010
The first-time parent newborn experience (with Breastfeeding in starring role)
Well, well, didn’t Kate’s newborn experience sound nice what with all the sleeping through, high fiving and apparently oodles of downtime it’s given her. I’m pretty sure there were butterflies fluttering over the flowers on her windowsill and birds chirping from the water spout as she wrote that post from her writing desk overlooking a Provence garden. Good grief woman. Have you no mercy for the less fortunate?
Lots of down time? Really? Don’t worry readers who were wondering what happened to their daytime TV viewing opportunities. And heads up those who think they’re in for a cruisey time. Because the force may be strong with Yoda (aka Kate) but it’s not easy to use the force from the get go – that is, from the moment your first little bundle of joy enters this world.
Let me talk you through a typical day with a newborn, one made up of a seemingly never ending cycle of feeding, crying and not all that much sleeping.
Newborn sleeping: if you move your finger the baby WILL wake up
photo credit: Jon Ovington
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10
Jan
2010
Things I forgot about having a newborn – part two
This is me.
For those of you who didn’t read my earlier brilliant analysis – here is a link. I almost forgot to write a second part. Yes, I do see the irony in that. (Is that actually irony? In amongst the whole Alanis Morisette irony debacle I think I actually forgot the real meaning). Anyhoo, I’m four months in now and still my brain is remembering things that I had forgotten. Call it baby brain, call it Mother Nature’s insidious way of getting you to have another one, call it my memory was never that good to start with. Whatever, here are some more…
1. If you are a freakish nerd trying to get your beloved child into a routine, they are extremely difficult to keep awake for soooooo long. And then suddenly one day you realise you haven’t had to walk them outside all day and they’ve been playing on their mat happily for half an hour without passing out arms up and legs akimbo. It’s about this stage you can start to really get into day time telly. Just don’t get sprung by your husband watching it with a bag of crisps on the couch and the baby on their playmat in the corner. What? No, didn’t happen to me. I hate TV. And crisps. Mmmmmmcrisps.
24
Dec
2009
Nativity Scene and Pine Trees
Christmas Tree
We may have laboured the Christmas theme a bit but I wanted to:
a. Have the last word on it and be able to sign off before holidays saying “Merry Christmas”.
b. Show you my nativity scene and Christmas tree (the true artistic genius of which I think may not been captured in these photos) and
c. Write a post with bullet points/an itemised list so that I could demonstrate that while I may never surpass Kate in the lists department, I too can throw an alphabetised list together when necessary.
So, how good is my tree? One might say it represents my understated style. Certainly I do. To anyone that will listen.
And my nativity scene — sure, I am not sure how many stocky, short dairy cows there were in Bethlehem in those days. I’ll admit they look a bit incongruous next to the desert palm tree.
Nativity Scene
Right. I’m off to glaze a ham, which is carrying more than the usual pressure as I am representing the British and Commonwealth’s traditional Christmas dinner to the Spanish family.
15
Dec
2009
Mummy and Child Dates – does it ever go well?
CC photo credit: Flickr ID nateOne
For those of you who can remember, and believe me there are a LOT of you looking through glasses made rosy by the joys of the latter months (which, while understandable is not always helpful) the first two months of a new born baby are a pretty tough time.
When my baby was in month two, one of my first social ventures out with baby in tow, sans father, was meeting up with a friend and her toddler over coffee. It seemed like the natural approach: ‘ You have a baby, I have a baby, let’s do coffee.’ Well, actually, it wasn’t the social escape either of us had been hoping for.
10
Dec
2009
Truly awesome newborn present
I have just received a gift from my cousin for the recent birth of my first baby. I opened the package to see a slightly tattered and dog eared edition of Graeme Base’s “The Eleventh Hour”.
The Eleventh Hour by Graeme Base
It’s a wonderful, beautifully illustrated book with a captivating story in the form of a rhyme, including a who-dunnit mystery for the reader to solve.
But what makes this present really special is that this book was first given to my little sister, 21 years ago. My mother then gave the book to my cousin’s younger sister and then each of my cousin’s three children in turn have enjoyed the book being read to them hundreds of times. And now I have the book for my own child to enjoy. In it my gorgeous cousin has written an inscription to my little baby wishing him the same joy it has brought to all the children who’s sticky fingers and eager eyes have absorbed its pages before him. It’s a beautiful thing to see that list of names in the inscription.
I can’t wait to give it to my little sister for her first child, already on it’s way, so that the book will have come full circle.
9
Dec
2009
An Expat Christmas
Christmas time is when expats often miss home the most. Australians at home might take this opportunity to count their blessings and appreciate being home with family. Or perhaps not. Perhaps you are filled with envy and wish that you too were separated from your family by a 22 hour flight and thousands of miles of ocean on Christmas Day.
For Kate and me, Christmas abroad and with our husbands’ families, the festive season, as for everyone, has its highs and lows. Here we each share ours with you.
Kate’s London Christmas:
Brussel sprouts – those horrible green balls that feature on every mother’s threat list, pretty much sum up Christmas in England for me. They have these on Christmas Day. On purpose. They also have weird mini sausages wrapped in bacon. Not on the barbecue as some homage to their colonial cousins – no, just because well, it’s Christmas. And then there is the hideous sounding three bird roast. Chicken, goose and turkey. All in one. Yes, I realise that conjures up odd visions of a freakish looking giant bird with three heads (is that just me?) but it’s actually a supermarket creation – quelle surprise.
7
Dec
2009
Some thoughts on the world going mad about children.
I should start this post by saying that I love my children. Even the annoying one. No really, I do. They are funny and cute and entertaining and relatively well behaved. My life changed when I had them and although I still sometimes mourn the loss of my old life, for the most part my life has changed for the better. And I suppose they have become my anchor (not in a weighing me down til I drown way, as in a nice kind of centre of my world way – yes, probably a bad analogy in retrospect) but it doesn’t mean that they have taken over my life.
6
Dec
2009
Babymoons – essential pre-child experience, shameless marketing ploy or clever female trick to squeeze in another massage? Also – how the Sydney Morning Herald shamelessly stole my scoop.
naff swimming costumes TOTALLY optional on babymoon
So I have been planning for weeks to write about babymoons and how good they are. And then Rachel Browne from the Sydney Morning Herald COMPLETELY STOLE MY STORY. I suspect some sort of espionage – the SMH has probably been hacking into the back end of the onedayyoullthankme website trying to get the edge on us. Don’t blame them – we are fully on top of the key stories. Like babymoons. Anyway – Rachel talks about how ‘Along with the pram, bassinet, nappies and size 000 singlets, expectant parents are adding babymoons to the long list of must-have items before their newborn arrives.’ WHICH IS EXACTLY WHAT MY OPENING PARAGRAPH WAS GOING TO SAY. Almost – except for the size 000 singlets. And I was going to say buggy, not pram. And had a much better use of alliteration. So basically I am a much better writer than Rachel Browne. Journalist, shmournalist – I have a pink blog. Plus, I tend to write in bullet points, which is commonly understood to be a much more innovative approach than say, paragraphs. Here are my top tips:
2
Dec
2009
Making Christmas Edgy
CC photo credit: snorp
I know it’s totally acceptable to be disparaging about Christmas. It gives you a kind of intellectual, nonchalant, coolness to be so.
There is good reason to cynical about the festive season, but I’m on a mission to turn that around. I’d like to help make Christmas the new cool, so it’s ok to like it again – a little bit like it’s cool to knit now.
It’s time to shake it off cynics. Relax and let the festive spirit take you. As Susie Boyt, from the Financial Times reminded me this weekend, Christmas doesn’t have to be about religion or even consumerism, although it is those things too. It’s a festive time and, if you try hard enough, you can focus on the great things that it is: people coming together, the wonder and joy of children, beautiful window displays, delicious food, lots of drinking and celebration, celebration, celebration. Does it matter if you’re a Christian or not? Hell no. Celebrate under whatever guise takes you fancy.
It’s worth quoting the fabulous Ms Boyt at length;
