18
Apr
2011
And then there were two. Well four between us. No make that five!
We’re back! Refreshed and ready to go. Well, kind of still a bit sleep deprived and distracted, but less so and relatively speaking. I’m at the highest point of my game possible for the foreseeable future. I’m past the dreaded first three months of the second baby so I’m back on easy street – as easy as they get in the suburb of Two Kids (under two) on The Block. New baby is, by the way, completely objectively, very beautiful.
Kate on the other hand is about to pass through the choppy waters of another newborn. In case you missed it she and Captain Sensible have number three on the way. I haven’t told Kate yet but when a mother of three saw another mother of two cooing over my baby at the playground the other day, she warned ominously that a third was a whole other ball game. Two was difficult. Three was utter chaos. On the upside, after that, they say it can’t get any more difficult. Three, ten, all the same . We’ll see – Kate will be telling us all about it. In the meantime, I can report that for me two is on the one hand, not double the trouble, but not filled with many moments that permit you to gaze lovingly and tranquilly on the children that are your joyous good fortune to have.
12
Dec
2010
New family tradition and a shameful confession
I have a shameful confession to make. Although I am boastful and annoyingly proud of my children’s eating regime, we *whispers* never eat as a family. I KNOW. HORRIFYING. I bang on and on about their table manners, I make them eat copious amounts of vegies, I supervise their eating at their little table, I am smug about their love of plain yoghurt.
But it’s not at the big table. It’s not with me and the Captain eating beside them (well, except for obvious shameful stealing of anything that looks good and doesn’t involve broccoli).
It suddenly struck me when we were discussing Christmas lunch – this will be the first year that son will be allowed to sit at the table with us all rather than banished to naptime in his cot – we never ever eat together as a family. Well, except for yum cha/dim sum, where getting food in as fast as you can, drinking juith with a bendy straw and spilling food at the table, is all positively encouraged. Not something I think aunt and uncle will appreciate at carefully laid Christmas feast table.
5
Dec
2010
Saying goodbye – and trying not to get caught looking shifty
There are a lot of goodbyes when you’re an expat. When you’re a young thing backpacking and travelling, it seems there is always
someone new arriving in town – ready to replace the last ones out. But as I drift towards my mid-30s (until I reach 38 I am in my MID THIRTIES so bugger off the lot of you), circles seem to shrink and getting replacements becomes trickier.
We said goodbye last week to two of the core members of our gang. I’m feeling very melancholy about it. I know their time was up. They arrived in this wonderful city single (ish) and fancy free 12 years ago and left married, with two children, home owners and undoubtedly with a dog in their future. (I predict a golden retriever and another child, but no-one has ever accused me of being Nostradamus so don’t hold me to it.) The leaving was painful – selfishly, I think those of left behind in the minus three degree slush are feeling it more than those of us headed to a couple of months off to play beach cricket. Slackers.
9
Nov
2010
It starts with pirates.
A while ago the lovely Gigi from mumsrock asked me to write a piece for her cool site. Obviously I told her that if she paid me a large fee, gave me the copyright and licensing fees then I might be able to manage something. Or maybe I just said ‘sure, when would you like it?’ I can’t quite remember. Anyway, the piece is up at the mumsrock site now, and here it is below for your reading pleasure…..
I’ve got pirates on my fridge. No, not some weird Johnny Depp type apparition – fridge magnet pirates. I used to have a study. The place where I used to sit and write witty and informative pieces on the state of the world. It now houses a cardboard box car, a wheely ladybird, several sacks of leftover sandpit sand and three hundred and seventy two pieces of puzzle waiting to be sorted. Possibly three hundred and seventy three. I am the Queen of Minimalism. I can’t bear nick-nacks and I’ve only just come around to having my fruit bowl on display. That’s been something of a breakthrough. So it has come as possibly the worst shock of motherhood (just before the horror of ugly nappy bags and the indignity of the electric breast pump) to find out that the main aim of the little buggers blighters is to TAKE OVER YOUR HOUSE.
3
Oct
2010
Mind the Bump – why you MUST avoid overalls in pregnancy and other essential maternity clothes tips
THE STORY OF THE POST
you need some maternity clothes. Seriously, a leaf is not going to cut it.
This is a long post with zero interest to anyone bar the newly pregnant. But I enjoy shopping, and embrace every new opportunity to shop, so my two pregnancies gave me a WHOLE new genre to investigate. The joy. So it’s long. But I figure if you’re first time pregnant you’ll be interested. And if you’re not, you won’t read any of it, so I can whittle on for pages without shame and if you’re really just interested in looking at things for yourself without my helpful hints (rude), skip to the bottom for a list of good maternity clothes stockists.
Top Tip which I give you after several years and a couple of dollars spent – bear this in mind: you won’t need true maternity clothes until at least four or five months in. Possibly later depending on whether you are one of those annoying people who wears their own jeans until about 8 months in. Possibly a bit earlier if you are onto your third child and carrying a 10lb heifer in your stomach. Either way, although I fully appreciate the desire to embrace this whole new category, it is NOT for a whole nine month period, you do NOT need an entire new wardrobe. That being said though, you wouldn’t want to ignore all the lovely possibilities out there…..
31
Aug
2010
Herding cats. Or how to throw a kid’s party – part 2
So – part one was about the basics – planning the party. But every kid knows that planning the party is secondary. The venue can be ace, the games fun, the fire thrower awesome, but if you don’t get the main event right then all else may as well be thrown out with the pass the parcel.
Yes, I am of course referring to The Cake. Big, small, cupcake, multi-layered behemoth, store-bought, ice-cream, homemade – The Cake is the big kahuna of the party day. You have to have one.
If you’re Australian it is likely that you spent some time in your childhood pouring over the Cake Bible – second only to choosing your showbags from the newspaper lift-out (if you’re not from Australia, you just had to be there I’m sorry, but believe me, the day that lift-out came out was the BEST DAY OF THE YEAR) was the choosing of the cake from the Australian Women’s Weekly Kid’s Birthday Cakes Book. And if you don’t believe me, then see someone far more amusing than me…
Anyway – here are other top tips about cake preparation:
17
Aug
2010
Herding cats. Or how to throw a kid’s party – part 1
Not appropriate for a three year old. And frankly, a little bit disturbing at any age?
I have been planning my son’s 3rd birthday party basically since his 2nd birthday. I know – what a nerd. But that won’t be news to anyone who knows me – I do love a drink good shindig. And as I have the most amazing memories of parties thrown by my mum, I guess I’m just trying to make sure my children have the same sort of memories. Of course, emulating my mother’s parties is a slippery slope. It’s only a hop step and a jump from similar parties to bridge games four times a week and antique shopping. Before we know it I’ll be posting about ten ways to improve your family tree (sorry Mum – I really am dying to see the results of the three thousand years of research you’ve done.)
Where was I? Oh yes – parties. Seriously, how can you not like kid’s parties? The mess, the screams, the tears – there’s something for everyone. Personally, I’m in it for the cake and the champagne. And the fairy bread – which I have discovered today is an Australian thing. Who knew? And if you are unaware of the JOYS of fairy bread – see here. In the meantime, here are my top tips:
10
Aug
2010
World’s Worst Mother Award – or how to counter your smugness in a couple of easy steps
So you know when you are feeling really smug about something that things can take a turn for the worse?
This could well be me accepting the award
Like when you move out of your first house in London that you hate into one that you absolutely adore, and then regularly drive down your old street just to lean out the window and say ‘’aaaarrrrgggh, suffer’ to the old house? And then get a call from your landlady at awesome new house saying she wants awesome house back for herself and you have one month to vacate? And you end up living with your parents-in-law?
Or like when you feel really clever about getting up to date with all your personal admin and then realise you have forgotten to renew your visa meaning a last minute dash to Wales on the day it is due to expire, and costing an additional £830 for a priority in-person appointment? And 24 hours before said priority appointment, manage to lose your passport while organising papers for said visa? Meaning an emergency emergency appointment at Australian High Commission to replace said passport, only to discover (day before emergency trip to Wales) that some amazing soul has handed it in at the High Commission but in the process of preparing documents, photos plus emergency drive-as-fast-as-you-can taxi rides, adding another 100 quid to the cost of said visa process?
20
Jul
2010
The big child raising issues. Or how to annoy your husband in the middle of the night.
Do you worry about your children much? I mean clearly, crossing the road, not jumping into the pool or licking other people’s dogs – the things we all worry about. But I am talking about the really big issues. Those that keep us awake at night.
Sometimes I think I am doing aok – I have a nice little pigeon pair (what on EARTH does that mean by the way? And as an aside, I got a lot of congratulations on the birth of daughter. To which I of course blushed and looked suitably proud and modest. Like I had ANYTHING to do with it. Except of course my secret girl making potion sprinkled liberally on husband while sleeping.) . Anyway, a nice little pair who are occasionally well behaved and haven’t set fire to anything in months.
9
May
2010
The Land of Limbo – expats and why I am not a spoilt brat. Most of the time.
This is one from the wedding snaps. Not really.
There is a feeling familiar to many expats – well, at least those who have not committed to being an ex-expat, i.e., committing to living in the one country forever, they are usually happy with their choice (and keen to tell you about it, may I mention in a totally non-snipey way). For the rest of us? It’s often the land of limbo baby.
The most common discussion amongst expats, almost from the moment you get off the plane in your adopted country is – ‘How long are you here for?’ ‘How long do you think you’ll stay?’ ‘When do you think you’ll head home?’ ‘Do you think you’ll be here for good?’ And many other equally same-same-but-different-questions.
These questions come from many places – from other expats eager to know if you are staying to keep them company (hello London friends); other locals keen to see you leave (hello everyone who wants a place in my nursery); family who would like their grandchildren to stay put forever (hello mother-in-law); family who would like their grandchildren returned to them (hello mother); friends who want you to come to their weddings (hello increasingly impatient friends on all sides of the world); and people who may or may not want to employ you based on your answer (umm, hello all future employers. This whole post is actually made up.)
