Twintensity

And Another Thing About Dieting

2012-02-11T00:01:00.000-08:00

Has anyone else noticed that the weight goes on bottom to top but comes off top to bottom?

July 3, 2006. Good thing about two babies in front of you is that it makes the rest of you look really really tiny in comparison!

I mean, how unfair is that?

I'd lost 3 kgs (about 6 1/2 lbs) last week when a friend at school asked me if I'd lost weight.

Yes, I admitted shyly, I have been working on it for a couple of weeks now, thank you for noticing.

"Yeah, your face looks really thin again." she added.

Uh huh. Three pounds per cheek.

And not the cheeks that needed it either.

Reality Diet and Exercise

2012-02-10T06:20:00.000-08:00

I've only ever sent one book back to Amazon. It was a diet and health book written for women. It began with the words: every woman should take the time to wake up slowly and have some time for herself each morning.
I was livid. Who was this lady kidding?!

One week to go

I've had similar issues with a recent diet and exercise plan I signed up for online. Free. Through one of the television stations here.

Even if I did have the time to shop for all the exotic produce on the menu, there is no way at all I would find the time to spend over an hour making up a salad. Sorry, it's rip off the lettuce, slice a quick tomato and some mushrooms if I got em, maybe a cucumber and sprinkle it with sunflower seeds if I'm feeling particularly fancy.

Yesterday I simply took the head of lettuce out of the refrigerator, ripped off some leaves, and shoved them in my face on the way out the door to pick up the kids. Honestly, who has the time?!

Matthew and Aidan eat a rainbow

This morning I poured the granola cereal into the bowl.

And then poured it back into the box before driving the kids to school.

This strategy seems to be working for me. I've lost ten pounds in three weeks.

I 've tried the so-called sensible diet plans. Is it just Australia or is everyone eating every two hours now? I mean honestly, who needs this sort of pressure?! I'm generally already running behind by 10 AM, combining morning tea with lunch at 2 PM which makes afternoon tea late. So that I have no appetite for dinner. And do I HAVE to stay up for evening tea?!

Second brekkies (also known as morning tea) at Aunt Merle's

Can I just stick to boiled eggs, baked squash and tuna fish, please? Plus that nummy lettuce I can now eat on the go!

Then there's the exercise. This seems like a reasonable thing to expect.

I started when the baby was 6 weeks old. Up at 6 AM anyway. Might as well take a walk. Even found time for 20 minutes of AM yoga. And evening too.

The first week.

By the second week Ian had figured out he didn't like the yoga tape.

So I tried abs.

You'd think I'd get the six minutes in to do abs, wouldn't you?

No really, which one of you kids is going to tell Meka and Opa I'm having a baby?

I gave up until I ran into one of those women at a pool party recently. There I was, fat and happy, breastfeeding and eating and in walks this petite, slim but curvaceous (still breastfeeding the last one) redhead, her three children, ages 3, 2 and 10 months, all dressed in khakis and grays like something out of a Bennetton commercial. I put down my chips long enough to think "crap."

It's bad enough these people exist in magazines ads but do I really need to get to know them personally?! (Yes, really, her first two are 11 months apart and the third 18 months behind that. Australian powermums can really put the rest of us to shame!)

I had to admit - she was really really nice too, the bitch! - that if she could exercise with three toddlers I could probably figure out something to do with my four month old. Who is still more of a weight belt than anything at this stage. So now I do baby triceps and baby situps and baby squats. Ian really likes the baby squats. I had to do them through a Parents Coffee at the school recently to keep him quiet. He'll actually lift his legs to his stomach and grunt along when I do them. Baby butt raises work well too since you can sing "Hoopah Hoopah Reiter" to them and bounce the baby on your belly to the rhythm. He really gets a kick out of those. He's laughing AT me, not with me, when I do situps, but I try not to mind.

The neighbours are getting used to seeing me carrying him around the block "Minion" style in the Baby Carrier on days when it is neither too sunny or rainy.

Which means that most of the time we end up doing baby laps in the pool. Until fairly recently this was a private affair since baby laps involves me bouncing around the pool with Ian in front of me singing childrens' songs and dancing. If I'm happy and I know it clap my hands, bum bum. If I'm happy and I know it clap my hands. I also do a mean hokey-pokey now. I can really boogie. I got the legs up and the hips a swinging and some really fancy footwork going, thinking I am really good here, I don't need Zumba and....

Then a friend pops up unexpectedly telling me that she just hopped the fence (they DO that here!) because the neighbour's twenty-something year old son told her I would never hear her knocking on the door what with all that singing and dancing going on.

Oops. Caught.

Baby laps anyone? 11:30 my place most mornings.

And afterwards I promise not to feed you either!

Use Your Hands, Luke!

2012-02-02T03:46:00.000-08:00

A long time ago in a galaxy far far away...

Or just this week, on a continent on the other side of the globe...

Hey, how come I have to be Leia?!

my boys are dressed in black and white, chasing eachother around the house with lightsabers.

Matthew, who has always had a predilection to power, is Anakin BEFORE Vader this morning. He's dressed - to kill as it were - in black sneakers and jeans, an inside out black Spider-man Tee and a black plastic vampire cape we bought for them all when they went to school dressed as Harry Potter for 'Come As Your Favourite Literary Character Day' last year.

Aidan, as Luke, is wearing grey sweatpants and a white shirt.

Defying the space-time continuum as only childhood can, Anakin and Luke team up to go and combat the real bad guys.

As I sit in the armchair breastfeeding baby Leia.

Vader

(Harry Potter is spread across the sofa immersed in a Horrible Histories book and not taking part in the action this morning. He's got his list of spells at his side and his hand-made wand at the ready.)

"I wonder who'd win, Darth Vader or Voldemort." Andrew ponders.

"I guess it would depend on if the Force is magic. Or if magic can defeat the Force."

Pause. "I bet Dumbledore can defeat Darth Vader though." And back to the history book.

We get questions like this all the time and so, as mother to a number of great and powerful Jedi warriors, I have one of my own.

Luke

What does it take to get ANY of you people to actually pee INTO the toilet bowl?

Not around it, not near it, not onto the rim and into the corner.

But actually INTO the bowl itself.

Quick hint. That's what it's there for.

It is not there as a reminder or as a suggestion or as a "give it your best go" as you pull down your pants mid-battle with the enemy and take a vague general swipe in a vague direction.

I'm begging you people, stop peeing on my floor and pretending not to notice.

Ah hell, who am I kidding. Noone's pretending.

I'll even leave the lid up for you to make it easy.

But you do have to place your body part somewhere near the bowl to ever have a shot at it.

That's right. Slow down. Put down the light saber. Well, yeah, THAT light saber, put it down.

Do I have to make you people SIT to do it? How utterly un-Jedi would THAT be?

Although, if you ARE sitting, because you know, sometimes you DO...how about aiming the little guy down in the right direction?

Luke and Leia with two knights who later swapped head gear for lightsabers and became Jedi

I mean, I'm all cool with the whole "using the Force" thing, really I am.

But when you pee, how about giving it a go with your hands instead?

At least until the Force gets better aim.

I'll be Dumbledore can hit the toilet.

Jean Luc can DEFINITELY hit the toilet.

And as Trek creeps into Wars ( I really DO need to get more sleep).....

To boldly go where no man has gone before.....INTO the toilet bowl.

Migrant Whinge

2012-01-27T02:32:00.000-08:00

Today, Thursday, January 26, is Australia Day.

Australia Day 2011, since this year was canceled due to flooding

Our local radio station is listening to stories of people who have migrated here, "New Aussies," and reminding us that most of our ancestors have only been here for a blink of an eye as well.

(Many Aborigines call this day "Invasion Day" since it celebrates James Cook's arrival at Sydney Cove in 1788, and the beginning of colonialisation, not the official birth of Australia as a federation on January 1, 1901 Lookie there - even a new Aussie can learn!)

In any case, we are listening, this morning, to stories of how other Australians got to be Australians.

Like America, there are many tales.

Ian with his Aunt Merle

Debbie's ancestor really DID steal a loaf of bread.

Karina's ancestor jumped ship within sight of shore.

Damon's great-great-great-great uncle McPherson came over from Scotland to keep watch over Debbie's and Carina's ancestors.

Damon and Uncle Don contemplate the enormity of their task

Uncle's parents shuffled him from place to place in the 30s and 40s because his father was white and his mother indigenous and they had to stay one step ahead of the people who wanted to take their children away and reeducate them to 'fit into' modern Australian society. As a servant.

Mick's mate came over a few years ago from Eritrea, where he was sentenced to death for his religious beliefs.

Aidan taking matters into his own hands

Leading Damon to break into the greatest migrant whinge of all times. (Doing a really good impersonation of me at my worst this week.)

"Oh. Oh. Oh. Please don't make me go back to GERMANY!

It's COLD there.

And it SNOWS!

The state-sponsored schools really really suck.

Although the roads are good. And everything is neat and tidy.

What do you mean I have to fly to NEW ZEALAND?!

But the airplane seats are really really tight and the movies suck.

AND you have to pay for snacks.

What if the aircon doesn't work?"

Silence.

And applause.

Liberal Party, Connor-Style

2012-01-27T00:01:00.000-08:00

Although I am trying to stay out of the two-ring circus that is the American election, I have to thank Ryan for assuring that Matthew never has a chance of any role in politics at all.

Another example of what happens when you leave the kids alone for too long with a camera.

A HORSE, OF COURSE! (But apparently a horse in drag!)

You DON'T think this shot will win over Texas?

What about this one then?!

How Many Men?

2012-01-26T00:01:00.000-08:00

It's been interesting having Damon home this week, the week school begins.

King's Beach, Caloundra, January 9

Interesting because Damon has now learned WHY the 8 PM bedtime is nonnegotiable and WHY all three boys shouldn't sleep in the same bed.

Interesting because he now sees WHY I snap up the half-price school shorts and sweatshirts when they go on sale months before we need them.

It's also been a lot of fun watching him send the boys to do errands. Like yesterday when it took all three of them to go down and hunt for the screwdriver. Which not one of them found.

Or when he expected them to know where to find their own school clothes. As they were standing on them.

Wet N Wild, Gold Coast, January

Honestly, sometimes you just give up and get Ryan to help out instead.

Leading me to come up with a lightbulb joke I know I am probably not the first woman to think of.

"How many man does it take to screw in a lightbulb?"

"Only one. But you need a woman to find it for him."

Ian. Yesterday.

I'd better go and find out where he's misplaced the baby!

Australia Day 2012 (With Photos From Mapleton Visit in January)

2012-01-25T00:01:00.000-08:00

THE VIEWS EXPRESSED HERE ARE VERY LIBERAL - AND PRETTY CHEEKY FOR SOMEONE THEY HAVEN'T EVEN OFFICIALLY LET IN YET! THEY ARE NOT NECESSARILY THE VIEWS OF ANYONE ELSE IN THESE PHOTOS EXCEPT FOR ME. I just wanted to get in some shots of Aunt Merle and Uncle Don and Sol and our visit to Damon's family in Mapleton so that his family in the USA could see them and forward them on to Nana and Granddad.

I'm a little ashamed. Not of the pictures of my son in drag that I am going to post tomorrow, but of the frivolous nature of most of my recent posts in general.

Happy with Merle and Don in Mapleton.

You see, I love it here. And I am trying to amuse you. Not proselytize (and not only because I can't spell it!) and certainly not be a drag.

I want you all to like me.

And so I plan to write about learning to serve that cuppa properly and how to bake scones and meat pies.

Because I want to be like you. Because I love it here.

Aunt Merle and Uncle Don

And then, in the days before Australia Day, I hear that I may have to leave the country. That there are no exceptions to the rules and that not having the cash to leave and return - a condition for a 309 visa being that you have to be out of the country to receive it - does not qualify as a hardship.

I cry because I realise that I don't have a right to celebrate Australia Day.

Because I find I've been kidding myself.

It is a privilege to be here, one I might not be entitled to.

It breaks my heart, not only for me but for the four children I have promised can be Aussies and stay here forever.

The boys with cousin Sol

My husband talks to the consulate in Berlin, he calls Sydney, we go to Brisbane. And everyone is friendly and wants to help but doesn't know what to do. Then I go online and find a website, one that directs me to a set of rules that might just get us out of this, a set of rules that SHOULD allow us to get permanent visas without having to fork over thousands of dollars for a forced flight to New Zealand. We SHOULD be able to qualify for a 100 permanent spousal visa.

And, again, I am reminded of how lucky I am. (Although, in the end, I will be flying to NZ for two days in March with five children, we will get those permanent visas after all.)

I am a migrant, but I am not a refuge.

I am desperate to call Australia home and to give my children the privilege of being citizens of the luckiest country in the world.

Uncle Don letting the boys take a breather on the trail!

But not as desperate as those who risk their lives, and their children's lives on it.

Not as desperate as those whose lives would be put in danger just by returning to their former countries.

Really puts those rainy German summers in perspective, doesn't it?

On Australia Day, be proud. Be proud because you are part of the greatest country in the world. But be proud too that it IS a nation of migrants, a nation still struggling with the aftereffects of colonialisation on its indigenous people, a nation born of many nations, European, Asian, African, Christian, Muslim and Buddhist.

Sol, ever the gentleman, escorting Ryan and Aunt Merle

On Australia Day, be aware of how lucky you are if you have been born here. And realise that all most migrants want is to have the privilege to be like you.

The first people to Australia came on boats tens of thousands of years ago.

A second, invading, wave, came on boats a mere two hundred odd years ago.

And more arrive today.

Our tickets to stay!

Let Australia as a nation be strong enough to accept our diverse histories to build a common future.

Let us recognise that who we are, as a people and as a nation, lies not in where we come from but in where we go from here.

When It Rains...

2012-01-24T18:59:00.000-08:00

"i was at the beach, i was at the beach, oh ho ho. now we ALL want to move to australia."

And who can blame you?!

It rains here sometimes too, Claire. (And no, you haven't been the first to complain. Lori was already reminding me to be gentle over a year ago!)

What we don't have are those grey, dark days where it's not really raining but just cold and miserable. The days where the school insists on sending the kids out onto the ashpalt for recess so that they can huddle in the misty drizzle. Because it's good for them, mind you - all that fresh air - and, I suspect, having been raised by a German father myself, because it teaches them that life is tough and you just have to endure it.

First Day of School. Before the downpour began.

I also strongly suspect it has something to do with lack of staff and needing to herd the kids together for a few minutes so that the teachers can take a coffee break.

And we don't have those days for four seasons end to end either.

The sun shines, 39C (102F) in the shade.

King's Beach, Caloundra. Beginning of January.

And two weeks later it pours.

And pours and pours.

We are talking about a downpour of 270mm in 24 hours at Caloundra, on the Sunshine Coast, in the last 24 hours. (No, I have no idea what all these mms are really about either, but a typical really rainy thunderstormy day seems to drop about 4 mm. So 270 is A LOT!)

We are talking about unremitting rainfall the entire week.

We are talking floods of Old Testament proportions.

Both main roads out of our neighbourhood are flooded and closed. (Although we managed to bring the kids to school this morning so all is not lost.)

They've called off the Australia Day celebrations tomorrow and the pool is almost flooded.

There ARE sadder things than an unused pool.

The pool is almost flooded. That's like complaining that your child is underchallenged in school.

Cmon. Let's think of some REAL problems here.

Because, honestly Claire, I still can't complain.

Aussie girl.

I belong here like I have belonged nowhere else. A country of extremes, of highs and lows, of flood and drought. There's no middling greyness - there is sun and there is rain. If ever a country were to be called bipolar, Australia would be it.

And, true to my underlying competitive German nature, I can also say, that although we whip your ass in beach and sunshine, when it comes to rain, we certainly give you a run for your money there too!

Some Thoughts on Boobies (With NO pictures of Boobies, Promise!)

2012-01-21T16:57:00.000-08:00

Am I the only nursing mother in the world whose milk actually dries up when she hears her baby cry?

I remember going to English Group in Boeblingen with the twins during that first year. You girls remember, the year AFTER the twins when EVERYONE in the group had a baby.

July 2006, Making it look easy!

One baby would cry and everyone would groan as their milk letdown.

Me? I could feed an army after 8PM when the baby has gone to sleep and I'm sitting downstairs relaxing with a cuppa - or something else I SHOULDN'T REALLY be having, like the leftover Margaritas from Christmas. Feet up, legs curled up under me on the sofa... and a good book. That's what works for me.

Some other interesting notes on boobies I have rediscovered over the past four (has it really been FOUR?) months

1. Men really don't look further down past the boobies to your ass if your boobs are big enough. Yay boobies. Great camouflage for post-partum fat-ass. (Although I still don't know why I get this since I have been reassured by many pregnancy books that I don't actually carry the babies in my rear end!)

2. If your husband has told you he WASN'T really a boob man anyway, because you were a size A after two years in the Peace Corps, you will never actually know the truth until you turn into a DD after breastfeeding twins. "Boobies." No dear. Those AREN'T for you. Remember, you aren't really a boob man anyway, right?! And the time to show an interest is NOT at the end of the day when another man (or two) has been attached to them for the majority of the day. To be sure, it's a bittersweet breast enhancement all-around. After nursing five children, they aren't the boobies he fell in love with all those years ago anyway.

August 2006 at Europa Park. Yup, that's two at once under there!

(A corollary here, for those of you worrying that you are too fat. When I came back from two years in the Peace Corps in Haiti, so proud of myself that I was FINALLY a size 6, and around 130 pounds/60 kgs, none of my male friends who hadn't seen me in two years were all that impressed with the weight loss. I'll never forget the disappointment on Dan's face when I met him at the bar in Stamford. "But, but, but, where are the boobies?" Spoken a BIT more discretely. Note: you aren't as fat as you think you are. And noone else wants to see you as skinny as you want to see yourself!)

3. Men stop looking at your face and focus on your boobs when they are babes at the breast. HELLO IAN! Mommy's face it UP HERE! North of the where the milk comes from.

Ian, January 2012. Working out the logistics.

On the other hand. Not everyone IS looking at your boobs as much as you think they are. News alert Christine: you are not as central to everyone else's lives as you think you are! I have managed to walk through Horseland, buying Ryan's Christmas presents, with one boob entirely exposed before the sales lady at the counter discretely pointed out to me that I MIGHT like to close up my nursing bra BEFORE heading out into the real world again!

This explains the numerous ladies I have spotted at the shops with their boobs hanging out trying to make it through Woolies before the baby wakes up.

And kudos to Lawnton's LOTE (Language Other Than English, in this case German and Mandarin) teacher, MALE LOTE teacher, who actually WAS speaking to my face a few months ago when I noticed that my front was undone.

Nothing sexier than a man who actually IS focusing on what you are saying! (I was trying to rope him into a Lawnton School Writers' Group I have floating around in my mind.)

It's a short time though, the time when your world revolves around your boobs as food source.

January 2012, Movie World, Gold Coast, Australia

After all, a mother DOES have other roles.

There's the cleaning, the shopping and the prepping for school. (Which starts tomorrow, YAY school!)

So that rather than focusing on the boobs, I've decided to nickname Ian and myself after ANOTHER role vital during that first year of infancy - carrying.

On the days that I don't feel like a permanent food dispenser, I feel like the robotic sidekick that MegaMind has designed to carry his pet fish around.

Minion and Dad at Dicky Beach, Caloundra, Australia

Minion. That's us. With Ian propped up in front of me, face out, commanding me with flailing arms and shrieks of joy to show him the world he can't quite reach on his own yet. (Although he's trying. Giving Andrew a run for his money on first to crawl. ALMOST has it, working eerily methodically on mastering the coordination required.)

At least carrying him around like that covers the booby I've probably forgotten to tuck away again!

Speaking of Reincarnation

2012-01-05T00:01:00.000-08:00

The other debate at our house is whether the punishment is being reincarnated as a big, old, hairy, smelly man.

Aw! But they start off so cute and cuddly!

Or being the woman who has to put up with living with a big, old, hairy, smelly man.

Wolfy? Is that you?!

2012-01-03T00:01:00.000-08:00

We've got this reincarnation theme going on at the moment in our house, ever since Ian was born and we knew he had done this before.

Then Ryan realised Ian had the same hair colour as Wolfy, our old dog and.....

Wolfy wondering what he's done to deserve this!

Now it's between Wolfy having found a way to be allowed up onto the couch and a little old Asian man in saffron robes from Tibet wondering what the heck he did to end up as a funny looking white boy in Australia.

Om.

12 years Later - A Day at SeaWorld Australia

2012-01-02T19:10:00.000-08:00

Stars at SeaWorld.

If you'd have told me twelve years ago in the birthing suite of Stamford Hospital in Connecticut that I would be spending the day at SeaWorld on the Gold Coast in Australia with Damon, our newborn daughter, Ryan, and her four younger brothers - including a set of twins - twelve years later I honestly wouldn't have cared.

Okay, I might have been a bit psyched about the whole twin thing in the future, but for the most part I wouldn't have believed that life got any better than it was at the moment my daughter was born. (For the record, I was content when Andrew was born, elated with the twins, and frankly, just a bit pissed off and suffering from loss of blood when Ian arrived on the fast train recently.)

Peaceful moment at the shark tank.

If you'd have told me about the intervening ten years in France and Germany - well, I don't think that is something we need to talk about. People ask me often how I did it. Folks, I had NO idea what I was getting myself into...ignorance is bliss and all that jazz.

But I did it. I got through the big, fat, hairy, ugly mess...climbed the mountain...met some really cool people in the crossing....and found the beach on the other side. Literally, in my case.

I'm not saying that life is going to be all smooth sailing from here on in but, let me get away from the pithy sayings and give you the rundown of our day at SeaWorld as an example.

Birthday girl in the audience.

The bakery was closed for the holidays. (Aussies felt ripped off that New Year's occured on a Sunday and so wrote themselves an extra day onto the books on Tuesday. Same for Christmas. We work hard, but let's not get too crazy and work as often as the Americans have to! After all, where has that gotten them?!)

So we had the brownies I had baked the night before for breakfast. No worries.

A few minutes later, on M1 South from Brisbane to the Gold Coast, Matthew informed us from the back seat of the car that he had to vomit. Maybe the brownies hadn't been such a good idea. We pulled off onto the emergency break, had a breather, and relocated him to the middle seat next to the baby - Ryan's usual spot - with the air on full blast and a plastic bag in his lap.

Thumbs up from Matthew. Good to go.

Half an hour later - almost to Sea World - he vomited profusely into the bag. Twice. I reached from the front seat of the car, handed him a napkin and a bottle of water, tied up the bag and placed it into a second scented disposable nappy bag. While Damon kept driving.

We recollected fondly the chocolate cake vomiting incident on the highway from Stuttgart to Belgium on Andrew's second birthday.

And made it to SeaWorld in time to take in the first dolphin show.

Ryan meets Nicki and Nala.

Matthew rallied bravely, surviving on donuts, churros, coke, a snowcone and a bite of Dagwood Dog for the rest of the day. As well as a rather nasty tumble outside the Ray Exhibit, where a nice lady from Sydney whipped out her emergency kit and gave us two band-aids to staunch the bleeding on his side and elbow. (I have not yet mastered the knack of bringing an emergency kit, and not yet had the need, since someone else nearby has usually mastered it for me!)

Aidan confidently had popcorn for lunch while the others had their snowcones. And also rallied from his decision to watch the Sponge Bob 3-D movie a second time while Andrew and Damon went to the pirate ship to join in the water gun battles. He was a bit disappointed to learn, upon coming out of the theatre, that you really can't be in two places at one time, even at the very rapid and energetic age of five, but managed to forget about it fairly quickly racing up and down the penguin exhibit, torn between watching them underwater on the bottom level and seeing the baby penguin sleeping on his mother's (father's?) feet on the upper one.

A butt, but a cute butt.

Maybe if all those other people hadn't been in the way he COULD have picked up enough speed to be in both places at once.

"Nice rallies on everyone's part." I told the boys on the way to the car later.

"I didn't rally." answered Andrew. Rather truculently, I might add.

"No. But you didn't even have to. Better yet, mate."

We like this one!

If you'd have told ANYONE who knew Andrew as a baby in France that you could go a whole day - let alone an hour - without hearing him scream - they wouldn't have believed it.

And the birthday girl. Doesn't the photo say it all? (We are looking into geting copies for the family from http://www.myfun.com/.au - just in case you can do it yourselves!)

We sat in the front row - almost missed having her picked by having the announcer note the baby and tell us they couldn't allow a baby into the show - and then waved and screamed loud enough to catch his attention a second time and tell him it was her birthday.

The three kids picked were from America (originally from America she said) South Africa and England. Which we thought was kinda funny! Since Australians are even more uncomfortable with 'Ryan' as a girl's name than the Germans were - the announcer passed right over it after he asked - she has to explain herself. As well as that funny accent. We might be able to pull it off as a Brisbane accent farther afield from here - like in Darwin or Perth - but were too close to home to pull it off this time around!

Any Aussies in the audience?! (Hey, it IS a nation of immigrants!)

Ryan spent the rest of the day being recognized as the girl who was in the dolphin show. And, as it turned out when we went to pick up the photo at the end of the day, having her picture hanging, framed, in the photo shop out front!

Her favourite animals are the rays, gliding through the water with quiet elegance, giving off an impression of hidden, ancient wisdom and serenity.

(Shame about the whole Steve Irwin thing really.)

Ryan's favourite place to be, the Ray Tank.

Lower my expectations? Turns out I don't have to. My daughter - she of the Third Grade Math series - has exceeded them in every way. Having set them high to begin with makes it even better.

And the day at SeaWorld? I've got the vomit-in-the-car and the blood-on-the-pavement as well as the surviving-all-day-on-sugary-snacks (because the alternative is a $70.00 greasy burger and fries carbo meal) thing down pat.

So that I am able to enjoy the sight of my daughter gently waving her hands in the water as the rays glide by.

Opening presents the night before. Good thing too, because Meka sent the purple shirt she wore for the day from the USA!

And make it a perfect day, after all.

Sage Advice Revised

2012-01-02T00:01:00.000-08:00

I will never forget the advice my Peace Corps liason gave me back in Haiti.

"Lower your expectations." she told me.

My first and my last.

Never ever ever EVER forget it because it was the worst advice I'd ever ever EVER heard.

Although well meant and, in retrospect, rather suited to life working in government.

I prefer the poster hanging in the Reflection Room at Lawnton State School.

"A goal is a dream with a deadline."

(Have I mentioned how much I love this school?!)

Traveling light! (And yes, I am missing one!)

The thing is that my expectations are what drive me to achieve. I accomplish more -make those dreams into a reality - because I do expect more.

The fact that they are so high are also what make me feel like I can never accomplish enough, though and I like to think that this is what my Peace Corps liason was refering too.

So that the best advice so far is printed on a little placard (still packed up in a box somewhere behind the bar) given to me by my mother. Although I don't have to make this up, it fits nicely into the story, don't you think?!

"MAKE PEACE WITH IMPERFECTION."

Andrew's camera. (Plight of the dolphin or the beauty of it?)

Make peace with imperfection.

I think we should stop and meditate on it.

Daily.

Hourly on days that need it.

What it means is that I don't have to clean the entire house before I sit down to write, the way I used to be able to clean my entire apartment before sitting to study for an exam in vet school. Cathartic, yes. Necessary? Not if I ever want to get anything else done but clean the house.

What it means is that I have gone from needing to clean the entire house to being able to just focus on a room or two at a time. Which has, since the arrival of more and more kids, developed into just making sure the kitchen and bathroom meet basic standards of hygiene. And lately, just that the sink and toilet get done.

What it means is focusing on what's really important to me despite the clutter that is life.

January 1, 2012

Accepting that the clutter will always be there, in my mind as well as in my life.

And moving beyond it.

It doesn't mean not trying to end world hunger, but not letting it get you down when yet another natural disaster claims more innocent lives.

And, most likely because Aussies tend to like you for who you are instead of judge you for who you are not, it means you don't have to have the perfect household, car, job or children, to like yourself.

Perfection at the Peace Pagoda in South Bank

C'mon. I know you aren't supposed to care what other people think of you, but how good can you feel about yourself if your German neighbours don't feel comfortable coming into your home unless the dishes are done?

The nice thing is that this advice also allows you to forgive them for it and move on.

To forgive yourself for what you haven't done and focus on what you have.

If life really is, as I have said, in the big, fat, hairy painful struggle (or as Miley Cyrus has stated a bit more eloquently, it's the climb) I like that my high expectations can still be there, without bogging me down in the business of getting on with it.

Reality at same said pagoda!

Make peace with imperfection.

And discover that life really is just fine the way it is.

Christmas Without Snow: Summer Holiday Photos Continued

2012-01-01T03:02:00.000-08:00

One of my favourite TV commercials here has university students from the University of the Sunshine Coast at a rally in support of those less fortunate than themselves.

The leader of the rally urgently describes the plight of those poor university students in the cities.

"They only have a beach that is a few hundred meters long." he explains to oohs of disbelief.

"Yes. That's really small." he continues, shaking his head sadly.

Pause for the punch line.

"And it doesn't even have any waves."

You gotta love a country that knows how good they have it.

So, once again, do we miss the snow?

Feel sorry for us all you like! Our lagoon in Brisbane doesn't have any waves!

Won't they be surprised once I AM walking!

Well Aidan, we just won't tell anyone Mommy is drinking a Margarita while breastfeeding! (December 22, South Bank, Brisbane)

Wrestling Daddy at the lagoon in South Bank, already rebuilt from last January's flood.

Matthew at South Bank lagoon.

Ian and Daddy at South Bank.

Ian greets the local sea urchins, Aidan and Ryan.

Christmas morning.

Looks like Santa knows where Australia is after all.

What?! No turkey for Christmas?!

And all Ian got for Christmas was this palm frond that fell into the pool.

Zianda, Chris and Ollie came to wish Ian a Merry First Christmas.

Ice cream! Ice cream! (Days after Christmas.)

Um, no, not missing the snow!

Would you mess with THIS mob?! (Sea World, Gold Coast, for Dad's birthday on December 29)

Can't do this in the snow!

Sea lion show.

Ian. Because I couldn't very well end with a sea lion now could I?!

2011 is over. It was one of the most turbulent years in Queensland recorded history: flooding, cyclones, earthquakes in Christ Church and Japan, record high rainfall and record low temperatures. The latter two which affected us not at all since the worst lows here still made it warm and sunny in comparison to Europe.

2011 is also the year Ian was born and the year we began our lives as Aussies.

It feels right that we should have been here for the floods, to share in the tragedy and the rebuilding, the sense of community and good will, the knowledge that although we do live in a country of violent extremes, it is still the lucky country.

Even without snow for Christmas!

Holiday Photos: Waiting For Christmas

2012-01-01T01:57:00.000-08:00

The birthday girl out for a nighttime swim in the pool.

There's always been talk amongst those living in temperate climates in the Northern Hemisphere.

"Won't you miss the snow at Christmas time?"

Uh no.

Ryan's end-of-year gymkhana.

Santa's vacation home in Queensland.

Turns out gingerbread travels well.

What happens to the front hallway when next year's school supplies are added to the stockings, cards and overseas gifts.

Decorating for Christmas. (Note the Queensland Advents Wreath!)

Plus mangoes!

Camping in the backyard for Ryan's birthday party.

Where you end up on the beach with a baby.

The boys play outside.

Andrew dives.

Aidan poses.

What happens when you leave the camera out and turn your back for one minute.

And look! St. Nick found us in Queensland too!

So that, no, we really haven't missed the snow. Thanks for asking, though!

Notes to Self (And Photo of Kids with Santa!)

2012-01-01T00:51:00.000-08:00

Note to Self: Never again install a new computer the first weekend of summer break and expect to be able to sit down to it again before the next school year starts. Note also that the above applies in triplicate if there is also a new baby in the house.

The new baby thing should not be an issue ever again. Unless the universe has a really wicked sense of humour and surprises me with triplets in my mid forties.

Note to Universe: Would not really be funny.

AWW!

Note to Self! Note to Self! Note to Self! Will never ever write great German-American-Australian novel if keep having children every Christmas.

HAPPY NEW YEAR.

Christmas Memories

2011-12-12T17:30:00.000-08:00

I'm on! New computer installed LAST NIGHT!

I do also, however, have a campout to prepare for four girls, aged 12 to 15, in our backyard, in honor of Ryan's birthday. Seems the German taboo against having a party BEFORE the actual date doesn't stick in a country with a higher birthrate. Honestly, mates, you do it when you CAN!

And a cake to bake. And the computer telling me it has to do some initial scan before I use it.

Great. It's telling me what to do already.

So...in the interests of my sanity...really, I go nuts when I don't post.....here are two links to Christmases past.

For the Aussies who want to know what Christmas is like in a cold Northern winter. (Highly overrated in my opinion, although I'll be the first to admit that Germany does Christmas well!)

http://twintensity.blogspot.com/search?updated-min=2010-01-01T00:00:00-08:00&updated-max=2011-01-01T00:00:00-08:00&max-results=50

And for Babette, who liked my spoof on the American Christmas card enough to print it out for her mother two years ago. My highest honor as a writer so far, Babette. No matter what I publish in the future I will never forget that moment in your living room with you and Lori, when you whipped out a copy of something I had written from amidst your stack of reading. Best gift ever.

http://twintensity.blogspot.com/2010/12/christmas-greetings-american-style.html

I owe Babette and Lori a newer version of an Aussie Christmas card.

And Anita and Liesl and Lynn-Ann an impression of my first REAL Christmas in the Southern Hemisphere.

Merry Christmas folks, be it German, American, Aussie or other.

I AM the dummy!

2011-11-23T19:43:00.000-08:00

"Does 'dummy' mean, uh, something else here too?"

Damon was assuming - and hoping - that it did.

"Or else everyone around here has taken to calling me an idiot."

Pause.

"And that's your domain."

Like the time in Geneva when an English mum asked me for a nappy and then looked at me like I was out of my mind when I went through my diaper bag - note the term! - pulling out wipes, tissues and towels while at the same time explaining that I didn't have any napkins, but I thought one of those would do just as well.

Looking back on it now, I don't know why she looked so exasperated when she finally took matters into her own hands and grabbed a diaper. As if she'd never watched American television. And hey, I wasn't the one without a nappy!

For the record, they don't call them diaper-bags over here either. (Carry bags, maybe?) Or strollers. (Prams, which somehow always reminds me of heavily-bundled nannies in 1920s London.) I believe what they call singlets here are what I used to call onesies in the USA. Neither of which will mean very much to you unless you have had a baby. I just call them those little tiny shirts that you can button under their legs to avoid confusion.

Back to the dummy, though.

"If the term fits." I replied. Before explaining that yes, dummy was the term for pacifier.

Seems that dummies are out here. (As in dummies are out of fashion not as in there are idiots all around us.)

Which is fine with me, having never considered using one.

The generation - and nationalities - that ask are the ones who used them to keep their babies quiet while they spent time doing other things, the ones who have been taught that children shouldn't be heard (perhaps not even seen in some cultures!) and shouldn't make demands and certainly not as newborns.

There is also the mistaken belief that you should make it as easy on yourself as possible, that the baby should be taught early on to be easy, that you have the right to have time for yourself when you want it and that you are somehow a failure at parenting if you spend too much time doing it.

Problem is, I really wanted this baby. Really wanted him.

Not so that I can silence his demands on my time but so that I can raise him.

Sure, I'd like to be writing more, I'd like to get that children's book out and submit to more - okay, admit it, ANY magazines.

I'd like to do my yoga. Or at least 5 -6 minutes of abs.

But sticking a dummy in Ian's mouth is like plopping my other four in front of the television.

It's a poor substitute for my attention.

Let's face it, the little guy is already 8 weeks old.

"The Cat's in the Cradle" and all that.

I deliver meals to the elderly with a friend of mine every so often. I see the amount of time I will have on my hands later on. Alone.

Say what you like. I'll be the 'dummy' for as long as I have the privilege.

Andrew Sank the Boat

2011-11-23T19:31:00.000-08:00

Andrew has this larger-than-life view of cosmic injustice.

Might be a middle-child thing.

Or an only brother to two twin brothers thing.

I've had a sense Ian was born to bring balance.

Until Ian is older, we have addressed the great cosmic wrong with understanding and a sense of humour.

Andrew is a very very good kid. He has a deeply ingrained sense of right and wrong (or of what he sees as right and wrong) and as deep a need to see justice prevail.

You can imagine the trouble that gets him into.

Add to that a witty, precocious sense of humour and his inability to keep his mouth shut. (He's inherited the latter, at least, that absolute need to share the wonder of his thoughts, from his mother. Sorry about that, mate!)

So that, although Andrew is almost never the culprit, he is most often the one getting yelled at unjustly. (Ryan tops the chart for involvement, again making me grateful for my four sons to one daugher ratio.)

His quips, absolutely on the mark, are so well-timed they are ill-timed.

You would laugh, and do laugh later, but want to throttle him at the same time.

My guess is his teacher at school has the same problem.
We call him the straw that broke the camel's back.

That last flea on the bed. (On top of the granny, the grandson, the dog, the cat, and the mouse in the book 'The Napping House' by Audrey and Don Wood.)

The tiny mouse in the mitten. (On top of the bear, the badger, the owl, the rabbit, the fox, the hedgehog and the mole in the Ukrainian folktale 'The Mitten' retold and beautifully illustrated by Jan Brett.)

And lastly, the mouse in the Australian children's book 'Who Sunk The Boat?' by Pamela Allen. (Was it the cow? Was is the donkey? The sheep? Or the pig?)

So that when the boat is rocking precariously around here we can at least laugh at at the quip that threatens to send it to the bottom.

"Oh Andrew, you just sank the boat again."

And we DO laugh.

Which beats any alternative that comes to mind!

Positive Reinforcement Gone Wrong

2011-11-23T19:03:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Michael things are actually fairly mellow around here.

http://twintensity.blogspot.com/2011/10/two-men-in-my-mirror-with-pictures-of.html

So mellow, in fact, that I am having some difficulties with the whole positive reinforcement thing.

Good enough for Santa? (Waiting for Santa's arrival at the Strathpine Shoppng Center.)

Positive reinforcement is also the cornerstone of the behavioural program at Lawnton State School. So much so, that one begins to wonder when too much is too much. The program is in place mostly for the children with behavioural issues and for those, often the same, who don't get the attention and positive reinforcement at home. Ryan's teacher quoted some appalling statistic to me about children of university educated parents hearing positive things something like a hundred times a day while children of parents without a university education hear it only twenty. By the time she got to children of parents with problems like drugs, alcohol and incarceration, the number went down to seven.

Don't quote me. But you see where I'm going.

But when does the absence of positive reinforcement turn into a punishment in itself?

(Rest assured we never had these problems in the German school system! There, Andrew's accomplishments were downplayed to make him more like everyone else and Ryan's accomplishments were never good enough to count at all.)

I strongly support the program at Lawnton. How can I not love a program where the vice-principal comes onto the PA system before break to remind everyone to to be kind?!

But when I mimicked the program at home, I began to run into problems. The first ten days were great. We were dealing with minor issues; Matthew throwing a tantrum because Aidan had the chalkboard first, Aidan throwing his truck at Matthew, Ryan tickling Andrew on the back of the neck, Andrew punching Ryan in the face because of it. All normal kid things really.

Not perfect, but trying.

When I implemented a reward system, counting the days they all behaved, and then celebrating with 'Spiders' after ten 'good' days, the days sped by quickly and we were sipping 'Spiders' almost immediately. (Spiders are known as ice-cream sodas to the rest of the world.)

And now we can't get past two.

The problem doesn't lie in the kids' behaviour; again, we have some teasing, a bit of punching and throwing, some chatting with Jesus in a less-than-respectful manner.

It lies in the expectations.

Sure, Aidan has called to Jesus twice in the past week. But he immediately apologized and then told me that he really likes Jesus and meant no disrespect.

There have been no other swears. At all. For ages and ages.

There IS hitting. Aidan throws things quite a bit too. Quite a bit as in once every couple of days. The hitting is almost daily, but it is one of the three boys throwing a quick punch. Ryan pesters everyone almost constantly but we figure that is a girl thing. (THANK GOD I HAVE FOUR BOYS! I'll take a well-placed punch over constant pestering any day.)

Yes, good enough for Santa! (I realize I have an extra in there; always room for one more, especially when it's Jade!)

Whatever it is, it happens once, is immediately addressed with a time-out, apologies are exchanged and the issue is over.

So that, really, ALL of our days are 'good' days.

And it seems that not labelling them as such under the current system is actually a form of punishment in itself.

I believe my expectations of perfect harmony at ALL TIMES isn't fair. These are good kids. They don't actually NEED a reward model as positive reinforcement for good behaviour.

The reward lies in a sense of family and in time spent together as family.

Something a sticker on the forehead doesn't come close to.

Matthew's Worst Nightmare

2011-11-09T16:41:00.000-08:00

Matthew came out of his bedroom yesterday morning looking particularly groggy and extremely concerned.

"I had a bad dream, Mommy." he told me.

Serious Matthew.

Andrew and Aidan are the monsters and scary bad guys men; Andrew sleeps with the twins ever since he started reading ghost and supernatural stories and Aidan occasionally falls out of bed when fighting off particularly gruesome monters in his sleep, but this was a new one coming from Matthew.

He looked so sad.

"Why don't you tell me about it, honey. Sometimes that makes you feel better." I told him.

He very earnestly related the following dream:

"Daddy brought home three chocolate Easter bunnies for a treat."

(Uh oh, three, I thought, alarms immediately going off in my head.)

Slowly, very seriously, Matthew continued:

"And then he gave one to Ryan."

Oh. The agony of early childhood.

Slower still: "And then he gave one to Andrew."

A pause, some choked sobs, before he bravely continued.

"And then he gave one to Aidan."

Big breath, looking me squarely in the eye

"And there wasn't any Easter bunny for me."

WORST DREAM EVER! What do you say to something like that?!

Hard to stand out in this crowd.

If I'd read it in a book I'd say it was too obvious to believe. But really, I don't make these things up. I don't have to!

And so I hugged my Easter-bunniless child and made it better. (I reassured him that that would never happen.) An hour later, when I asked him to tell Daddy his dream, he had already forgotten it.

Damon told him we would have shared the bunnies equally, even if we had to bite their heads off to do it. THAT, as it turns out, was the right answer, severed bunny heads apparently being immensely reassuring to an insecure five-year-old boy.

Making cookies with Mom!

As I tell Andrew when I kiss him before bed - you'll need something to share with your therapist later on!

My Version of STFUP

2011-11-07T19:12:00.000-08:00

The thought has occurred to me that parents spend way too much time taking - and posting - photos of their children in costume.

Look at the joy with which I did it on my last blog.

Ready for entry into a blog I read about recently (and now can't find) called Shut The F#@$ Up Parents or something similar. Meant to post articles about perfectly mundane things children do that their parents find absolutely fascinating. The tag line apparently is "You used to be fun. Now you have a baby."

I wonder if it is linked to the book going by a similar title: Go the F#@% To Sleep. Now coming out in a children's version. Without THE WORD.

Just when I've given up cursing.

For the most part.

Another thing we like to do is post pictures of our older children tormenting the latest addition.

So, here goes. (I gave up being fun YEARS ago. I'll settle for relatively clean and out of my nursing top by mid-afternoon.)

Aidan explains the deal to Ian: Pose nicely and she leaves you alone!

That's it!

No really Mom, that was it!

Ryan co-mothering.

With the burp rag.

And the chin-as-third-hand technique!

Who needs a doll when I've got a brother!

Andrew is not as fond of posing. Ian agrees.

Honestly, Mom!

Matthew prefers the career route. With family plans. (Reads: When I grow up I want to be a fireman. With my girlfriend. She will be a firelady.)

But keeps his options open. (Reads: When I grow up I want to be an ambulance driver. With my girlfriend. She will be an ambulance lady.) He also had a police option going.

I'm showing this one at his wedding. (Reads: When I grow up I want to be a knight. With my girlfriend. She will be a princess.)

English as a Multilingual Language: Part One - Chips

2011-11-07T17:28:00.000-08:00

The Germans! Matthew and Aidan with Levi, whose Mum also hails from Schwabenland.

IF I can EVER get a series going, this English thing should be it.

Am I raising my children bilingually? You betcha!

We were discussing the German-thing at a friend's first birthday party recently. I told the other parents that my kids don't listen well in at least THREE to possibly even FOUR languages.

In addition to ignoring me in English and German, the kids refuse to cooperate in French and Spanish as well. (And the school is wondering why the twins need speech therapy for English!)

They should at least be able to understand "I don't know.", "I don't understand." and "I am very very tired." in French. Just rolls off the tongue.

The twins! Thomas and Lachlan as Hawaians.

Why is it that they haven't picked this up, I asked rhetorically.

To which Ryan replied, in a halfway decent accent, "Je ne sais pas."

Wise - ass.

Turns out the twins will deign to understand German as well, when it is something that it is in their best interests to understand. Not just , "Get into bed now before I turn you into a Weiner-Schnitzel" but also dessert choices and whether or not they would like to turn on the Fernseher.

Thanks to the forty-five minute carride to riding on Saturday afternoons, I've got them singing more that Shakira songs in Spanish. So that if the need ever arises, when we visit Spain, to point to their ears, eyes and nose, they will be on top of it.

Then three of us will be able to excuse ourselves in Cantonese.

The Americans! Jack as an Eskimo, with two American Indians and a Hawaian.

We've got summer vacation coming up and will be homeschooling again. More as a form of crowd control than as a need for more knowledge. I thought about adding baby sign language to the roster. Because nothing was more fun the first time around than two babies animatedly pointing to their mouths and demanding to be fed.

But this English thing is completely baffling.

Take Friday night, at Andrew's baseball game, when Aidan came over to ask if they could buy chips.

"Chips. Why sure honey. How much are they?" I asked. (I do admit freely to bribing them with their weekly allotment of coca-cola and sweets in order to get them to consent to being dragged to their older siblings' sports activities.)

"And what kind of chips do you mean?" You only get this kind of question from an American mother.

Bob as cowboy. AMERICAN cowboy.

Aidan looked completely dumb-founded. He meant the chips they'd had at school.

"Do you mean potato chips, chips or do you mean French fries, chips?" I elaborated.

Uh.

(Having never lived in America, or spent much time with Americans besides Damon and I, it shouldn't come as a shock that American terms don't mean much to my children either, but somehow it always is. Even in English, my children are often learning a different language than my native American.)

"Pommes frites?" I tried in German. And French.

Still nothing.

"We call the potato chips "crisps" in Scotland." Help from the crowd that was listening in on this rather interesting - and amusing- exchange.

It's A Small World, as demonstrated by the Preps.

"Would you like crisps, love? Or chips?" (Great. Now we'd added ANOTHER English language into the mix.)

As if poor Aidan hadn't made himself clear.

"Hot or cold?" a friend continued.

Hot.

As in chips.

Andrew poses for his biggest fan!

The disgusted look on Aidan's face by the end of this exchange was plain to interpret.

Was he not making himself clear?

Was Mommy going to be needing medication?

Can we really call ourselves multilingual when we can't even understand eachother in English?!

Baby Vocab Connor-Style

2011-10-24T00:01:00.000-07:00

The Smile

Remember when the baby books told you that your newborn smiling at you wasn't smiling at you at all? But that it was gas?

Yeah right.

Still a Steinmann!

Ian was smiling at me at three days old and it wasn't gas. (You can tell when a Connor boy has gas. And NOONE is smiling when he does!)

I thought it was contentment.

Would you trust THIS smile?

Three weeks later he does it more and more often, often in response to my voice while lying in my arms after nursing.

It's a smug smile and I do believe I've figured it out.

He's laughing at me.

Or this one?

Laughing at me, not with me, as in "go ahead and put me down now Mom, and see how fast I open my eyes and scream bloody murder." As in "you may think I'm out cold, but I'm just waiting for you to let your guard down." And as in "hey, lady, you and I are spending most of the night together....awake."

There's also the possibility that he's just dreaming about boobies.

The finer points of horseback riding explained by Ryan

Ryan found a way to get him back though.

I walked in from hanging the laundry yesterday to find him on her bed surrounded by all four siblings. (I'd been fooled by that smile to lay him down, thinking I had at least thirty minutes.)

He was on his stomach - which at this point still means mostly on his face.

And the kids were cheering him on, encouraging him to start crawling.

"Look Mom, we're teaching him to crawl."

Has anyone seen the baby?

"Tummy time" the baby books call it.

"Survival" is what I am calling it.

Or maybe "payback's a bitch, pal."

Wise to the world at three weeks

Go ahead and laugh little guy. I'm yours all night, but I'm giving you to your siblings in the morning!

Twinternational

2011-10-23T00:01:00.000-07:00

The first time we attracted the attention of tourists was in Heidelberg. That was before we even had the twins. The Chinese tourists coming out of the castle onto the ramparts where we were picnicking surrounded us, snapping shots of Ryan and Andrew, totally impressed that two siblings could be so unalike in colouring. One young lady even asked if Damon and I would pose with the kids. (We did, happily.)

With Wolfy in Heidelberg

Genetics. What a concept. I hadn't even thought about it until then but yeah, white people ARE funny that way!

This friendly interest totally beat the German woman in the swimming pool locker room a year later who boldy informed me - not asked - that my children obviously didn't have the same father. In front of the kids. Nice.

It's called hybrid vigour. It's why mutts are less prone to diseases than purebreds and why the Russian royals were on the way out even before they were brutally executed by the communists. (Hemophilia, for those of you who missed the in-school movie, thanks to generations of inbreeding.)

Both mine (Barefoot park in Germany - odd concept when I think about it now! But cool!)

We draw less attention for the twin-thing now that Matthew has sprouted up a head taller than Aidan. (Nowadays it's " how old ARE your boys?" as they try to figure out how I could have three boys so close in age.)

But I tend to dress them alike when we go to any major tourist spots; easier to pick out weather-appropriate gear AND easier to spot them if they are both dressed in brigh orange. (I choose their swimwear identically for the same reason!)

We are often attention-grabbers, posing for pictures in front of world famous tourist spots as the tourguide patiently - or resignedly - waits for the photoshoot and obligatory question and answer period to end.

A Japanese tour group delayed their entrance into the Frauenkirche in Dresden in order to snap us. And later the Italians gave up a view of the Elbe to follow for a photo session in the park.

Twins in Dresden (Look at that hair!)

Last week Damon said a Chinese man promptly turned his lens from the Opera House in Sydney to fire shots of the twins climbing around the steps in front of it.

Twin sighting in front of some building!

Eh, you can always buy a postcard of the Opera House.

Eh - we've got the same barber! (Dad.)

It isn't everyday you see twins!

Two Men in My Mirror (With Pictures of Sydney)

2011-10-22T20:31:00.000-07:00

The week the baby came home - and the pregnancy hormones settled back to normal - I realised the toll the pregnancy had taken on the kids.

At the Royal Botanical Gardens in Sydney after renewing their American passports

I was a bit irritable at the end there.

Irritable as in "why the $&%^*ing #&$* do I have to $*%*ing bend over to pick up everybody else's $&%*(^ing socks?"

Irritable as in bending Matthew over to touch his toes to show him how easy it was to bend over when you weren't carrying a person inside your belly.

And while the question about the socks - and books and sticks and legos and soccer balls - is a valid one, the $*($%&% used liberally as an adjective and noun isn't.

Big city. Bit chilly for the Queenslanders. (Huh? How did Ryan EVER survive in Germany?!)

This hit home when Matthew used the "f" word as an adjective. And then came up with the "er" version to describe the brother he wasn't getting along with.

Also when Damon asked Aidan to brush his teeth one night and Aidan sat down in the middle of the bathroom floor and said "JESUS CHRIST".

He sounded just like me. Which would have been funny....

More impressed with the icecream than the Opera House.

Except that sort of behaviour really isn't acceptable - or pretty - in a five year old.

(We have since introduced Aidan to the "Jesus Christ" I keep in our kitchen pantry, next to the flour and baking products. A gift from the Mormon missionaries, the picture is too pretty to throw out, and so I keep it to comfort me whenever I open the pantry. When Aidan DOES slip up, we remind him about respect and invite him to visit Jesus in the pantry if he feels the need for a chat.)

Back in Brisbane! (Where Mommy and Ian are waiting for us.)

Seeing my vices reflected in my youngest two children made me see how ugly - and unacceptable - they really are.

I've gotten WAY better. (I only lose it when the computer refuses to cooperate with me.)

And the twins' behaviour has mirrored mine.

Michael Jackson knew what he was talking about.

"I'm starting with the man in the mirror.
I'm asking him to change his ways.
And no message could have been any clearer
If you want to make the world a better place
Take a look at yourself and make the change."

At the Botanical Gardens.

It's very Tao. (Verse 58: Thus the Master is content to serve as an example and not to impose her will.) But I never would have understood it without the example from my children.

I haven't had to do much. Just change my own behaviour.

I want my kids to be better people than I am.

Meaning that I become a better person for them.

Twentieth Century Technology in a Twenty-First Century World

2011-10-14T19:44:00.000-07:00

Just a quickie to apologise for the lame photo placements and kitschy blogs. I know family and friends want to see photos.

The latest 'blog' took over two hours to post and the one introducing Ian took over four.

My desktop is collapsing.

Meanwhile, I HAVE written some blogs worth reading. But am scared to spend the time posting them since every time I do I end up fighting the computer and swearing at the kids.

Don't even get me started on Facebook or emails.

The baby DOES need to eat every now and then!

So that the best I can do - FOR NOW - is thank everyone who is happy for us, and thinking of us -despite my abysmal failure at keeping in touch this past year. And everyone who takes the time to check in on us per blog and took the time to send messages our way as well.

FOR NOW - it is technology keeping me silent. But I was and am THRILLED you haven't forgotten me entirely - I do miss you all - 'my' writers' group in Stuttgart, who I still write for; 'my' Mommy's group in Boeblingen, who were there for me when I needed them; and for those who write to me in German, because they love me even though the may not understand me!

Speaking of kitsch! Good thing I have to go and feed the baby!

(THANK YOU!)

Two Week Milestone: Sleeping Through The Night

2011-10-14T19:27:00.000-07:00

Spoiler Alert: If hearing about how fantastic the weather (and people) are here, if my gloating about the fantastic school system and my fabulous children's achievements within in, already have you sick to your stomache (sorry Lori!) then you might want to skip the piece on the two week old baby sleeping through the night.

Honestly though, I deserved this child.

We celebrated his two week birthday with him sleeping from 9PM to 3AM the night before. Which yes, is officially sleeping through the night. We then had two more feeds at 2 hour intervals until 7 AM.

I have never felt so fantastic!

That's more continual sleep than I got with the twins (or Andrew for that matter!) in A WEEK!

I firmly believe that you can endure anything all day if you are able to get enough sleep at night.

Don't get me wrong; some of this has to do with expectations. Ryan slept this much as well but I was napping all weekend to catch up on what I thought was lack of sleep. Until she slept through the night, 8PM to 8AM, at 3 months and then even I couldn't REALLY complain anymore.

With Ian, I know myself to be lucky to be getting as much as I am.

And no matter how much I have to hold him all morning when his belly aches - I am able to hold him without worrying about what the OTHER one is doing.

I know to cherish these times the way I cherished them with the first.

And I get to share the delight with the four that came before.

The circle is closed. Those family photos are finally filled. (There was always an empty gap in my mind where a fifth child should have been.) And I no longer count to four and wonder who I am missing.

"The Connor Baby" (as aptly named by a third grader at school yesterday) is here.

And I am complete.

Welcome Ian!

2011-10-05T23:57:00.000-07:00

Ian Adam Connor

Well, we did it! Although my Mom's ESP was sending out 'something is up' signals from the USA and she did mention, after the fact, that I WAS looking a bit heavy on some of those blog photos, Ian Adam Connor arrived - with record speed and WITHOUT that much requested epidural - at 1:43 PM Queensland time, on Wednesday, September 28, 2011 weighing in at a whopping (for me) 3.7kgs / 8 lbs 3 ozs and measuring 51 cms.

"We'll take those pain meds to go." said Damon on the way home.

With happy siblings

Our little rocket man arrived moments after Brisbane Royal Hospital decided I really DID need a birth suite. At 1:25 I was 4 cms and anxiously awaiting that epidural. (Because, nitrous oxide, my friends, is a recreational drug, not a pain killer! Nice buzz. But it still hurt.)

At 1:43 I had a baby. Um. Very nice and all that but....did someone FORGET THE EPIDURAL?!

When the midwives start looking like teenagers....

Blog obviously to follow.

In the meantime, we snuck little Ian into the world at large, but to much fanfare among his siblings and our friends/family here in the area, all who have been anxiously waiting to meet Connor #5, and Boy #4. (Ryan, thanks for asking, is THRILLED with ANY baby. We are co-mothering, and I couldn't do evenings without her!)

Not enough Ian to go around!

Without further ado: what you REALLY tuned in for. PHOTOS!

Dad in the birth suite

Look! Mommy made us a doll.

Aidan and Ian

Matthew and Ian

Andrew and Ian

AWWW!

Ryan CANNOT WAIT her turn!

Ryan and Ian. She's in love, boy or not.

It's all right Ian. Ryan's gotcha.

Sisterly love

Dad FINALLY gets a cuddle too!

So far, it's been easy. You have to remember, I had Andrew. And then the twins. So that this little guy, as easy-going as his sister was, is a piece of cake. He was up the first night - supposedly nothing unusual for babies who shoot into the world as fast as he did - a bit of a shock for him as well as me! But, has been sleeping in 3 - 4 hour stints ever since. (Andrew, for his part, slept through the first night and then didn't sleep for 2 1/2 years after that, so I really wasn't worried!)

Yes, it's all-consuming. But what a joy to be consumed - and able to meet - the needs of ONE baby after flailing about helplessly 5 years ago trying to even adequately meet the needs of two.

And the siblings help. Hint for that last baby: have an older daughter around to help out!

We did it! World...Ian.

Ian....World.

Poisonous Beast Test

2011-09-24T17:38:00.000-07:00

As I was taking the laundry off the line one evening earlier this week I heard a rustle in the grass.

Me being who I am, a nature-lover, an animal-lover, an ugly beast lover, and an immigrant myself, I immediately thought fondly of the little - or big - cane toad who was probably hopping nearby.

"Hey Ryan," I yelled. "Run and ask your father for a flashlight." (Ryan was stationed nearby to deal with my imaginary nighttime fears - vampires and werewolves lurking in the bushes - not with toads and snakes.)

Jedi Knights

Within seconds - I barely ever get a response this fast from my men - Damon and the three boys were by my side, carrying not only torches (whatever, can I mix Englishes, please?!) but armed with baseball and cricket bats.

Like there really was a werewolf after me. And a baseball bat was going to make the difference if there was.

"Honestly, Damon. A cane toad isn't going to kill me. I just wanted to see the little guy, not mash him to bits."

"They're poisonous though." Damon replied. Treading rather carefully.

Yeah, only if I lick it.

Damon is right, you are actually obligated by law to kill the little buggers here if you see one. They are an introduced species - intentionally introduced by early morons trying to get rid of the cane beetle. Like most other introduced species, they thrive here, outbreeding native fauna and destroying the ecosystem. My guess is they dealt with the cane beetles though.

If we could find a way to ship 'em to Haiti, they are the same toads whose venom is used in Haitian voodoo ceremonies for its hallucinogenic properties.

And I can't kill 'em. First of all you have to prove it's a cane toad and not some other local toad. And then I just can't bring myself to blame that one cute little toad for all the destruction his species does to the habitat. It wasn't his fault he was brought here. And again, I'm an immigrant too. (Really I just can't see myself allowing anyone to kill anything, let alone with a baseball bat. Or a cricket bat or golf club either. And who the heck wants to stick one in the freezer next to the icecream?!)

What to do when you aren't sure? (Matthew has his doubts.)

Two days later we were at Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary where we were fortunate enough to see the keepers taking some of their charges out for exercise.

"Is that poisonous?" a woman asked me, eyeing the large green python on the ground with suspicion.

"No. No. It's a python." I reassured her.

"But how can you tell?" she insisted, not at all perturbed by my rather odd accent. (Like I should be an authority on native Australian fauna!)

"Well, frankly, " I told her. "I can't really. I just go on the attitudes of the zookeepers handling her."

Send in an overconfident brother! (Aidan checks it out.)

Aussies are pretty brave, to the point of nonchalance - Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter is a BIG hero here (and his zoo is right up the road) - but even Aussies will exercise caution - and USE a snake stick - when dealing with poisonous snakes that eh, might not KILL you outright nowadays, but will certainly give you quit a sting, put you in the hospital for a few weeks and generally ruin an otherwise perfectly good day.

So that when the kids and I got to the beach yesterday and saw a bunch of large, blue plastic-looking jellyfish lying all over the sand and in the water, although my INITIAL reaction was BLUE BOTTLE, the saner part of me thought that even Aussies wouldn't be letting their children swim if they REALLY WERE blue bottles. (They are called Portugese Man of War everyone else, but Aussies like to put a light-hearted spin on it! Box jellyfish, also blue, are also deadly. I believe THESE were blue blubber jellyfish though. Perfectly harmless. I checked!)

Touch it and see! (We DID ask first!)

A few weeks ago we got the kids - ALL of the kids, not just ours - out of the water when a fin pierced the shoreline. It was probably a dolphin, but it popped up quickly.

I am SO bummed it disappeared just as quickly. Shark OR dolphin, I would have REALLY LOVED TO SEE THAT! As long as I wasn't in the water.

Ryan's solution. Bring shark bait.

So that, just in case there were any doubts by now, this really IS the place for me. The Huntsmen join me in the evenings when Damon is out. And I just let them out the back door. The tiny little spiders help me hang up the laundry. I haven't actually SEEN a redback - the POISONOUS one - but I figure if it's flourescent yellow or green or that really pretty, snowy white I'm clear. And the little guys swing about happily letting me get my work done.

You can pretty much tell how dangerous something is by watching an Aussie react to it.

And maybe letting him touch it first!

Lawnton Rocks!

2011-09-22T00:01:00.000-07:00

Pine Rivers Press, September 14, 2011

Subtitle: Lawnton State School and Mt Maria College Petrie were among 19 schools in the north coast region to record big improvements in the 2011 NAPLAN test. The results were revealed to the schools on Friday.

Lawnton State School and Mt Maria College Petrie have improved the most in the 2011 NAPLAN results, testing students in reading, writing, numeracy, grammar and punctuation.

Education Minister Cameron Dick credited the introduction of Prep for the improved results across the State, especially in Year 3.

Lawnton State School principal Kylie Smith said teachers, students and parents also deserved credit.

"This year's grade 3 is the first cohort that were part of Prep so that may be part of the improvement but as an entire school we looked at the areas that we were strugglin in and really focussed on those," Ms Smith said.

While the greatest improvement was in Year 5, the school recorded improvements in all three year levels tested - Year 3, 5 and 7.

To be fair, the school needed improvement.

In 2010, the school was ranked either below or substantially below the Australian schools' average in all five testing areas.

So were all but one parochial school in our area. (And that was ranked as barely average.)

What impresses me, beyond the improvement itself, is the transparency of the system, where I was able to go online (ourschools.com.au) and look at the rankings and the ability and willingness of educators to evaluate themselves, see and ACKNOWLEDGE THE NEED FOR IMPROVEMENT and then do something about it.

The teachers and administrators have worked really really hard.

But you can't improve if you don't admit there is a problem in the first place.

This frankness, honesty, and willingness to admit there is need for improvement is the basis for the improvement. (Try getting ANY national test results out of a German school - even on your own child - it is all classifed as state secret apparently.)

The willingness to work longer hours, to work harder in those longer hours and to try new programs....the willingness to try something new...oh, heck, you all know where I am going with this.

Who knew I deserved a school like this for my children?!

Really. This is the kind of school my children get to go to. (And the message on the board was posted in May, long before the national test results came back.)
It's attitude like this that gets the job done.

I asked Ryan why she thought we were all so much happier here than in our old school in Germany.

She very thoughtfully came up with three reasons. (Negating my need to worry about her processing and synthesizing abilities!)

1. They help me here when I need it.
2. We have one teacher for all of our main subjects.
3. We aren't stuck in the same classroom all day.

Eh. Every now and then we can get her to knuckle down and read.

1. In Germany Ryan was ignored and overlooked. She was quiet and didn't make trouble. And so noone bothered to help her even though it was obvious from at least second grade on that she needed it. Her classwork was half-finished and incorrect. She had no idea what they had done all day. And yet that was all seen as her own fault, for not being more mature to get it done. When I tried to talk to the teachers about helping her, I was seen as overambitious and meddling.

The entire class of around 30 students was taught at one - admittedly academically high - level. Tough luck if you couldn't keep up. Not every child can go to university you know. This, of course decided by second grade. No special help for those who needed it, no extra challenges for those who were ahead and bored. No small group work at all. (This is seen as unfair. All the kids should be treated equally - interpreted as EXACTLY THE SAME - even though each one has individual strengths, weaknesses and needs.) This system is so horrendous and outdated that the United Nations has officially cited it as a violation of human rights. No kidding.

2. From first grade on the kids in Germany had at least four teachers for German, Maths, English, Religion let alone Sports and Music. When I tried to talk to Ryan's third grade teacher about her problems in math she HAD NO IDEA how Ryan was doing in math. NONE AT ALL. This despite the fact that I had been asking for help for Ryan for three years and could see the correlation between her reading and comprehension difficulties and her comprehension problems in math. NO ONE KNEW. NO ONE CARED. Not all kids can go to university you know.

3. The school in Altdorf had no library. How unbelievable is that? There were 30 computers in a computer lab. For over 400 kids. No computer interface in the classrooms. The kids sat at their desks all day. Here the kids alternate serious maths and writing time with trips to the library and computers. (They also have computers in all the classroom and the teachers can and do access the internet for lessons.) The large, grassy sports fields - and the climate to use them year round - are an admitted luxury. As are the gardening and cooking classes. The music program. The choir. The interschool sports and scholastic competitions.

Poor Aussie kids - FORCED to read and write at 5!

Funny enough, Ryan and Andrew both feel they are learning MORE here than they did in Germany. To be fair, I believe it is just a change in emphasis. Since the kids don't have to spend as much time learning to form their letters perfectly (they do work on it but not to the same all-exclusive extent as in Germany) or rewriting their essays four times (talk about taking all the joy out of writing) they are able to spend more time on science and history and social studies and the world around them.

I'm just so proud of our little school.

And while I know I need to get over the anger I have towards the German system, it does make me sad that children I know and love and Germany are stuck in it.

A culture of change. An ability to acknowledge faults and seek improvement.

It'd also take BUTTLOADS of taxpayer money to overhaul a decrepit system that still teaches the kids NOTHING in the years before first grade and then only teaches the kids part-time once they reach school-age. With no teachers' aides, with no improvements in the schools...

Our school isn't perfect.

Lawnton State School pride

But it is still paradise. Thank you Lawnton State School for making each one of my children special and for helping each one of them to grow into the best people they can be.

A Day At Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary - Photos

2011-09-21T23:23:00.000-07:00

We're on Spring Holidays for two weeks.

This is how we spent September 21st.

Posing for Mommy's blog!

LOVE those koalas

Rainbow lorikeet

Eating oatmeal?

The Germany Bird! (Known to everyone else in Australia but us as the bush turkey.)

The prettiest bird in Australia.

Andrew gets in on the lorikeet feeding action.

Although holding chicks is just as much fun!

Mommy wants that picture for her "Sheep versus Brumby" essay!

Aussie cowboy and his dog

Let me at those kids!

Shearing the sheep. (So that Matthew can practice his 'sh's.)

ALL MINE! (My friend Zianda, her son Oliver and my four. Could all be mine though, couldn't they?!)

Hey! How'd I end up with the baby?!

Mommy FINALLY gets to see a WOMBAT!

The usual view of a wombat. (If any.)

IN THE OPEN! Must be breeding season.

Australia's Next Top Model

The Fam with Kanga

Posing with Daddy. (Doesn't Daddy look a lot like Rafiki?!)

Matthew coaxes a kangaroo to bother standing.

Aidan too. Look - they can STAND on those hind legs!

AWW!

Supposedly these animals hop. Saw it on the Animal Channel once!

Isn't a day at Lone Pine without a picture of a koala!

The End!

Ryan's Horses

2011-09-21T21:39:00.000-07:00

Just as I was beginning to wonder about Ryan again - she had an oral test at riding that made me question her ability to synthesize and express information - her teacher and vice principal met with me to assure me how well she is doing in school. (Quarterly student evaluations - there's a concept!) She scored in the top of her class on the national exams - at par or ahead of other Australian children nationwide. And, although she isn't as quick or perceptive as some of the other top students in her class (and does seem to have some trouble processing information), she is in the top groups (another nice concept, small teaching groups focused on the needs of students at different learning levels within a classroom) because she tries so hard and is so responsible and efficient about getting the work done.

It's not snazzy. But she's the one who pulls out the notebook and gets it done.

She may not dazzle but she has a steadiness and maturity about her that her teachers sense and appreciate.

So that the parent - teacher conferences are really more about treating the parent!

"She's a lovely child." they tell me.

What a nice change from "not everyone can go to gymnasium, Frau Connor."

I'm still learning to accept that she isn't an avid reader. I still wonder what she could have done if she had had the benefit of the same fantastic program that the twins are in now. But, thanks to her teachers, I AM appreciating what she DOES have - a steadiness, self-worth and a real sense of who she is.

Parenting Ryan makes me a better person. If it doesn't kill me first!

Andrew's Work

2011-09-21T19:59:00.000-07:00

Andrew's class has been working on descriptive writing. He also reads a LOT - sometimes a book a day. And it shows. Sure, there are some inconsistencies, and sometimes his fancy turn of phrase makes no sense. But rather than correct it all to death - and take all the fun out of it - we are letting him express himself freely. As for staying on the lines....once again, really not as important as learning to put your ideas into words.

Children are a work in progress. Something there is no word - or concept - for in German.

(These are two essays...neither finished as the idea was to express yourself descriptively in the amount of time allotted.)

Matthew's Spring Break

2011-09-21T19:54:00.000-07:00

Once again, the Germans would be appalled. No writing on the line. In fact, THERE IS NO LINE! God, I love this country. And don't ask me what Matthew is talking about in his first picture. Making a dog? Whatever. He is proud. And I love the colours. Even if his proportion and symmetry is off. (An automatic fail in Germany.)

Aidan's Spring Break

2011-09-21T19:39:00.000-07:00

It's September 21st in Colorado and I'm trying to post some photos and artwork from the kids in honor of my mother's birthday. True to form, I am not only internet incompetent, but internet impatient. In any case, here's what I got. Kid by kid.

Also a big 'in your face' to the German school system on what five year olds can and can't do. Both my five year olds are not only reading and writing in Prep - the year before first grade - but LOVING it. The emphasis is on encouraging the kids to express themselves, on introducing the CONCEPTS of phonics and writing. As opposed to spending the first six months of first grade forcing the kids to write on the line and form the letters and numbers correctly with no idea of WHY. Kids are curious at five, they are interested in the world around them. These little guys are so excited to be ALLOWED and ABLE to read and to write - to express themselves creatively - that the rest naturally follows. Learning CAN be fun....if introduced that way!

In any case, HAPPY BIRTHDAY MEKA!

(PS - Click on the piece of writing and it will enlarge so that you can read the whole thing.)

Odd Aussie Customs: Sooks and Socks

2011-09-15T20:25:00.000-07:00

For the record, sook is actually a word. A sook is someone who sulks. Obviously.

In New Zealand and Australia that is. Apparently derived from old English/Scottish. In the midwestern U.S, it is apparently used to call cows in from pasture. Whatever.

Picture found next to the word 'sook' in the dictionary!

Amazing what you pick up at Friday morning tea. (Amazing that folks are actually reading my blog, especially given my lackadaisical writing habits lately. For you, I chose to do this today rather than clean the fridge and bathrooms as planned. A hardship, I know.)

The other English/Aussie terms that are tough for an American to come to terms with mostly have to do with articles of clothing and car parts. (A robot, for all you South Africans, is obviously just a secret code you people have to identify eachother. The rest of us call them traffic lights.)

Although she can be a love too! (Look at that view!)

A bonnet is the hood of a car, not something to put on a baby's head. A boot is the trunk of a car, not...well you get the point. But we HAVE had to point and pantomime to learn that a tow-bar is a hitch and a float is a trailer.

A ute is a pick-up. Apparently not invented by Ford after all, just enlarged and Americanized. (IF that is a word, it HAS to be spelled with a zee - not a zed - and certainly not with an s.) You aren't a true Aussie unless you own a ute. And yes, here in Queensland you can tie your dogs - mostly cattle dogs, sheep dogs and Staffies - in the back. Although new seatbelt laws prohibit you from doing the same with your children.

Staffies are pit bulls. No matter what you call 'em. But I'm not saying that to the bloke in the ute with the "Fuck Off. We're Full." sticker stuck on the back!

We've already been through the bathing suit, bathing costume, togs and cossie fiasco. http://twintensity.blogspot.com/2011/05/bathing-whats.html

Aidan proving that the word 'sook' is gender neutral.

Jumpers are sweatshirts. Tennies are sneakers. Sports articles are different too, but somehow self-explanatory. I believe they call sweatpants 'joggers?' Or perhaps those are tennies too. Hmm. It seems that the same rules for understanding a foreign language apply to learning Aussie English. Listen to it in context and make an educated guess.

Also realise that Australia is the only place in the world where grown men have no problem abbreviating long words into cute-sounding abbreviations. Chrissy for Christmas. Mossie for Mosquito. Maybe because they've grown up in places like Toowoomba and Indooropilly that sound like Disney-Land amusement parks anywhere else.

Luke and Padme flanked by two "Ritter"

Important to remember that a cooler - to hold your beer, preferably Australian - is an Esky.

Obviously.

Football is either soccer, rugby, Australian rules or, in last place, that woosy game the Americans play with padding. But you call it footy. And still sound like a man. As in ' Have you got an esky for the footy tomorrow, mate?'

Rugby is either league or union. I believe the league is the one I like, lighter builds, more like touch-football. Union are the guys with no necks. Who play other guys with no necks from South Africa and New Zealand for some trophy noone else in the rest of the world has ever heard of. Not to belittle it. It's big. Just tucked into the lower right hand corner of the map.

Rugby cool with or without the proper footwear.

I believe I might be getting the hang of it!

Enough to correct the twins when they come home from school sounding out B...B...B... cookie! (Biscuit in English, Bikkie in Aussie - as in "Throw some bikkies in the esky for the footy, mate.)
Or L...L...L...candy! (Lolly)

I gotta love a country that not only calls McDonald's "Mackers" but uses the abbreviated form in it's advertisements. When in Oz.

Aidan pitches.

So that the vocabulary isn't at all as difficult to accept as this thing with the socks.

First off, you can STILL spot my boys as the only ones wearing socks with their sandals. Honestly, I am trying to break them of the habit. Secondly, you can spot them as the only ones WEARING sandals, with or without socks. Barefoot is best, saves loads on footwear too.

This winter I saw a barefoot teenager shopping with his mother. Who was wearing Uggs. With shorts. Not only do we have the climate you can do that in - winter boots for cold toes at the same time your hot-blooded teenager is running around half-naked, but we have the attitude for it too. Whatever. They're your feet.

A bit nippy for all but the German-blooded!

I love it here.

The only thing the German in me absolutely, positively cannot deal with is the kids running around in their socks. Outdoors. Playing footy. Of any variety. Put on shoes or take off the socks. It's so simple.

Also apparently an outrageous request.

Noone else gets it. What's the big deal? Their feet are a bit chilly maybe. (THEN PUT ON THE SHOES!) Once again, we have that rare climate where one COULD run around in socks - grass is dry, dirt is dry, it's fairly warm. The snakes and spiders not half as prevalent in the suburbs as one has been led to believe.

Matthew swings.

If you ran around in socks in Germany you'd end up with mud.

So that my poor kids are the only ones barefoot while the Aussie kids have socks on. Honestly, who needs to add that to the laundry pile? Buying new ones every week just isn't an option for this all-too frugal German mindset.

Call me a sook. A sook about socks. And I still love it here.

Zed

2011-09-02T17:22:00.000-07:00

The kids at school still find me awfully funny, but I'm not sure they actually trust anything I am trying to teach them.

After the seasons and number of days in the year fiasco last month (still to be posted - turns out the seasons in Australia don't start on the same day as the rest of the world and um, yeah, there are 365 NOT 356 days in the year ANYWHERE on the globe!) the school is still letting me come in and volunteer in the classrooms.

Must be desperate for volunteers!

Yesterday was fun though. I get to do writing with Andrew's 3/4 class. The kids really inspired me with their fantastically imaginative descriptions of an ancient castle sitting in the middle of a misty lake. (And yes, I had trouble writing that sentence after all the more evocative descriptions I read yesterday.)

I have definitely got to pick Sophie's mind for some of her stories. Tyla too. I'm thinking of a book of childrens' stories about the floods last year.

Then there's the poetry. I'm sure it comes as no surprise to anyone in my former writers' group that the kids are way better at it than I ever was. Never mind that they are supposed to be writing in complete sentences. Correcting Samantha's free flow of words would have destroyed it entirely. Beautiful. She would have gotten an "F" in Germany - not a complete sentence on the page. Here, we figure we'll work on the sentences later and recognise the thoughts and flow. Work in progress and all that!

Spelling, for the most part, was not the strong point. I helped the best I could. (I know now, for instance that 'gray' is spelled 'grey'.)

When Connor asked me to spell 'frozen' though, we hit the latest snag. He had the F and R so I continued with O and Z. He looked at me as if I came from another planet. Which, I guess I do.

Zee? ZEE? WHAT THE HECK IS THIS LADY TALKING ABOUT?!

Andrew, one row back, was probably snickering his little butt off - it's a running battle in our house and has been ever since Boeblingen English Playgroup in Germany. (You have never seen the alphabet song become such a battleground, the Americans and - well, the rest of the English-speaking world - belting out their versions of that final letter at top decibel! I have never been too committed to Americanisations - but fondly remember my mother and father battling it out laughingly over that same letter. I choose to continue the struggle for the sheer fun and history of it.)

By the time I corrected myself to ZED, little Connor had convinced himself it was spelled with an S anyway. Although I DO admit to mixing up Zed and S on a regular basis - Americanization, for example (Is that even a word?!), I am fairly certain that frozen is spelled with a zee.

Connor chose to look it up in the dictionary.

Which I like to think means that I am teaching the kids something after all!

Sooky

2011-09-01T21:07:00.000-07:00

It's only recently that I've realised the twins no longer understand German.
What's odd about this is that I continue to reprimand them in German and they continue to quiet down and behave when I do so.

Turns out noone is listening to what I say anyway.

They just know enough to keep quiet when I start yelling in any language.

Odd though that they follow directions in German too. Probably just because when I'm screaming "ins Bett. JETZT!" they already know the safest thing to do is to crawl into bed and be quiet, no matter WHAT it is I'm saying.

They still use some German verbs though. Mostly when announcing their intentions to go to the bathroom.

And, as wrong as I think it is to turn German into my language of fear and punishment, well frankly, I can't think of a better language for instilling fear and punishment.

You should have seen the look on the face of the women sitting in front of us at the Medieval Festival a few months ago when I broke out with "Faire Attention! Muss das sein! You people are going to fall off the bleachers." Yes, three languages at once. Not one of which my kids probably paid any attention too.

Then I promptly forgot how to ask for the time in English and asked Damon "Kile ou genyen?" which is Haitian Creole for "Qui L'heure" or however it is the French ask for the time.

Multilingual maybe. But still very few people who will understand me!

And speaking all these languages at home - I use "Je suis tres fatige" on a regular basis - just makes me realize that noone is listening to me anyway no matter WHAT language I speak.

At least I amuse myself. J'adore francais.

We're also getting a big kick out of being multilingual in English. Damon's "winching" was topped this week by Andrew patiently explaining a new word to us all over dinner.

Ryan was being 'sooky', he told us. Sooky? Yeah, he assured us, it means pouty.

Pouty? Sooky? I thought about the accent, I thought about how an Australian would say it. And yes, I am fairly certain that 'sooky' is actually spelled 'sulky'!

Although I can totally see Aidan and Matthew's Scottish prep school aide pronouncing it 'sooky' as well.

Last week I had to write a note to Aidan's speech therapist asking her if she really thought he had a problem pronouncing his "o's" - as in dog and hog - because we found him quite clear and were wondering if it might just be an American accent. Pronounce 'dog' the way a person who might pronounce 'sulky' as 'sooky' might and you'll be able to see the confusion!

Andrew still gets a German accent when giving a presentation in front of the class. Just like his Opa.

And it's been suggested that a few of the Prep kids might be intimidated by me because they think I am famous. You know, that glamorous Hollywood accent!

Last week Damon noticed the twins were singing in Spanish. Shakira for 45 minutes on the way to riding on Saturdays. Each way.

And the twins answer "ling" when I catch them doing something they shouldn't be doing and ask them what it is. "Ling" is Chinese for 'zero' but I'll take it.

Am I raising my kids bilingually? Heck - they're trilingual in ENGLISH alone!

And they are bright enough to ignore me in just about any language I throw at them!

What the BOX?!

2011-08-22T19:42:00.000-07:00

I've been writing. Honestly. I just don't have the energy to fight with our old desktop and post the pictures.

So here's a quickie. Just to let folks know all is well. Except for with our old computer. (I firmly believe all the kids' games Ryan and Andrew find on the internet have done it in for good.)

Aidan blogging on Mom's netbook.

Yesterday Ryan met up with the rest of us after school carrying a large empty box. For her stuffed guinea pig.

That, of course, reminded Aidan that HE too had a box stashed somewhere in his Prep classroom. He and Matthew came out dragging a box bigger than the two of them.

Proud box hunters

Oh yay. Just what we need in a house I am continually trying to DECLUTTER!

Is it too much to ask that other families recycle their recyclables at THEIR homes and not at mine?!!
http://twintensity.blogspot.com/2011/04/recycling-prep-school-style.html
(April's blog on Recycling in Prep School!)
Sigh. Aidan now has an announcer's booth - slash- drum set and Ryan's guinea pig has the largest room in the house, in relation to body size.

Rock star with stick guitar.

At least I got a cool blog title out of the deal!

Whinging

2011-08-05T00:12:00.001-07:00

My first whinge being that I will never get used to that word.

"Whinge." What the heck is that? Besides one of those things that Harry Potter does every now and then - like snogging - that reminds us he is English after all.

Nothing to whinge about here. Matthew his first week in Australia.

Mums - a word I can use when I have to - use it all the time with their kids at school. As in, 'quit your whinging' or - turning in exasperation to another mum - 'have you ever heard such whinging in your life?'

The best was when Damon tried it out.

Unsuccessfully.

As in "some of the guys at the bar last night were winching about....."

Winching about what, honey, the fact that you still don't know what tomato sauce is, let alone how to pronounce tomato?!

Americans, we bitch and moan, we might formally complain. But we do not whinge.

I will make an exception this week though, to whinge about the weather. And those damn friendly Aussies.

"I got a whinge, Mom. The surf's too high!" Aidan.

Doesn't the sun know better than to shine ALL THE TIME?! It's WINTER, for crying out loud. What's up with 23C (low 70s F)? (And this the coldest winter in a decade, they say?) Friggin' cloudless blue sky.

I'm trying to be miserable here. I have a RIGHT to be friggin' miserable.

How am I supposed to do that when the sun shines for 12 hours a day, every day, in every season, all year long, 5:30 AM to 5:30 PM. It's too damn consistent. How am I supposed to go loopy here? Where is my right to be SAD when I want to be?

For crying out loud, I don't even feel like taking naps here.

And then there's the Aussies. I'm miserable over here, or TRYING to be, stop SMILING all the damn time! I don't even know you, STOP BEING NICE to me!

School on Wednesday. I told you I was too sick to come in and volunteer. And I get a HUG and a "I hope you feel better soon?!" STOP IT. I FEEL BETTER ALREADY!

Aidan tries Japanese soup for the first time. YUM!

Royal Brisbane Women's Hospital on Thursday. STOP TELLING ME HOW GREAT MY ATTITUDE IS! I'm miserable on the inside, really, STOP MAKING ME SMILE!

The Chermside shopping centre afterwards. I know you are only trying to make sales, good-looking, friendly guy with the hair products, but do you REALLY have to rush over and tell me how beautiful I am?! I HAVE LOOKED IN A MIRROR TODAY. Crap, now you have me running home and putting on face moisturizer. I DON'T WANT TO LOOK GOOD! I am miserable. Or is everyone too busy smiling at me to notice?!

Friday is the worst though. Great, thanks guys. As if I need to hear how bad EVERYONE ELSE'S week was too! Is it the moon? WHO CARES? Stop empathizing (can you spell that with an 's'?) with me. My...oh damn, too late, your husband is even worse than mine. Yup, same thing. God love 'em, it's just the testosterone poisoning and they can't help it.

NO! NOT THAT! DON'T HAND ME THE BABY! DON'T YOU DARE HAND ME YOUR BABY!

AND they have rainbow icrecream!

And, when I whinge that you all are destroying the very blog I want to write on whinging, and when the jokes start and everyone starts laughing - laughing so hard my stomach actually hurts.

So that I really didn't need that telephone rep calling up five minutes with a sales pitch. And telling me he loved my sense of humour. (I'm married and I'm not switching companies, so STOP BEING SO DARN NICE!)

Friggin' A.

My only whinge about Australia is that it won't let me be miserable,

Where the heck am I going to channel all that negative energy now?!!

Sorry Mum, we love it here.

Uh, uh, you people speak funny and you drive on the wrong side of the road.

I give up.

Just don't come to this %*$ country unless you're prepared to be happy.

My Kids, My Heroes

2011-07-30T23:40:00.000-07:00

"Mommy says I look just like Daddy!" Damon and Matthew

Khalil Gibran, a Lebanese American artist, writer and philosopher, said it best.

Your children come through you but not from you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life does not go backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as arrows are sent forth.

Krishan Chopra, in his book "Your Life Is In Your Hands: The Path To Lasting Health And Happiness" (from which I also picked up the above quote), explains it this way.

According to the law of karma, a child is born to particular parents and a particular environment because his karma - the accumulated impressions of all his past actions and experiences - requires him to acquire certain physical and mental characteristics and have certain opportunities in this lifetime. He does not get a good or bad environment because of his parents, but because his own karma places him in a situation in which he can, if he so desires, utilize his accumulated knowledge and abilities and add to them.

I like karma. It places the responsibility for your life into your own hands.

Krishan is worth listening to. Not only is his book a fantastic explanation of Hindu beliefs and values, he is obviously no slouch as a parent either. His son, Deepak Chopra, seemed to turn out okay.

"Uh oh. Mommy needs pictures for her blog again!" Aidan and his sight words.

In essence, the concept of karma says that your children chose you as their parent for a reason.

I'm still trying to figure out what my kids are getting from ME, but I sure as heck am learning a lot from them.

This week the peer pressure on Ryan from the girls in her class got so strong that I finally spoke with the vice-principal. Getting your bra snapped by anyone, even another girl, is bullying. Although Ryan is no stranger to bullying - it was considered normal and routine in Germany - it was a welcome change to have help from an adult authority figure. Guess what? Not okay in Australia. But even with help from the adults, this situation is not going to go away. Ryan is not going to conform. And the pressure - right now it is to join THE GROUP on a 3 day camping trip the school has planned in 5 weeks - is not going to go away.

And so Ryan has decided not to go camping.

That kind of blew everyone away.

But why would she want to spend time with kids who are trying to control her and tell her what to do, who won't leave her alone, let her do her own thing and be her own person?

Ryan on Jack. Now THAT's a big horse trying to buck my little girl off!

The adults are worried about her 'missing out' on a school experience.

The kids will continue to pester her.

And Ryan will continue to quietly walk away and do her own thing.
I have no idea how this confident, self -assured child came from needy, attention-seeking me.

But I really couldn't be prouder.

She is so happy with her horses and her riding - this week she was the only one Jack didn't buck off in the field - and with her sketches and well, HERSELF - that she doesn't need the confirmation of others telling her that she is okay.

Jack figures he might as well listen.

It would have made parenting her for the past few years a heck of a lot easier if she HAD wanted to please me.

From Ryan, I am learning to be my own person, to be less needy and more confident in myself.

Andrew is teaching me to be a better person as well. And also to stick up for what I believe is right. Maybe that's why I had to become a mother. I doubt I would have stuck up for myself the way I will for my children.

This weekend Andrew was placed in goal for both halves, despite the deal we had with the coaches that he would play one half in the position he loves, in the field. I wasn't there, it was Damon's turn out the door at 7 AM, but they were playing The Pythons, the strongest team in the league, and the pressure was on. Losing 0-4 after the first half, even with Andrew in goal, the coach coerced Andrew into playing goal again in the second half, while Damon was away signing the volunteer register.

When Andrew protested the coach told him "You HAVE to stay in goal. You need the practice."

Andrew was in tears, but he did what his coach asked of him. And he did it well.

Andrew teaches his class about hip-hop. (Mr. Biri on the right. AND note the use of whiteboard and computers! 21st century in THIS continent's schools!)

Damon was furious.

I would have pulled Andrew off the field.

The coach isn't a bad person. He just made a bad decision. He chose points in a game over the joy of a 9 year old playing that game. He broke his promise - and the rules of fairness and sportsmanship - in order to look better on a scoreboard. And- although he doesn't know it yet - he's lost one of his most valuable players for next year. Go and find yourself a goalie NOW!

What Andrew couldn't understand is how an adult could go back on his word. But he played on anyway. What a champ.
How could I not, as a parent, step in and pull him from this kind of coaching? He knows what's fair and he knows when he has been let down. And now he knows he is worthy enough for his parents to stick up for him.

In goal. But itching to get on the field and run.

I'm actually trying NOT to make waves the past few weeks. The academic thing flew by with no issues. The camp thing will have bigger repercussions since now other people are considering withdrawing their children as well. But, for once, I am not doing any of this to make a statement or because something isn't right or because I can't have it my way. I am simply doing what is best for MY kids given the present circumstances. Am I going to change the peer pressure in Ryan's class? No. But I can help her not have to deal with it over a three day sleepover. Do I want to have to struggle with Andrew's coach a second season? No. And so we change teams, and leave him to his decisions without trying to change them.

I copied a quote onto a sheet of paper once. I'll have to credit the author - also of Indian descent I believe -when I find it again. It goes like this.

You can't always change the circumstances. But you can change your circumstances.

I was wise enough fifteen years ago to recognize that it should be written down. But I had no idea what it meant until this week.

I don't have to change the world or fight for what is right in order to quietly make things right for ME, my kids, and our personal circumstances. Things only change when you make choices for yourself, instead of worrying about making them for everyone else too.

My Brumbies making pizza.

Maybe that's what being a leader really means, not forcing everyone to follow you, but setting an example and allowing them to make their own decisions based on that example.

Ryan and Andrew have taught me to do things for us, for me, and for them. Without worrying about what everyone else is going to do. And being their mother - and seeing how strong they are - has made me strong enough to make those decisions.

How this crooked bow has sent out these straight arrows is beyond my compression.

But I do strive to be more like them. And am grateful that they chose me to be their mother.

Sheep versus Brumby

2011-07-24T16:18:00.000-07:00

Although New Zealand is the country most renowned for its sheep in this region - 25 years ago the ratio of sheep to people there was 20:1, a number declining rapidly as sheep numbers drop - Australia actually has 100 million sheep to rival New Zealand's current 35 million.

In comparison, the USA has 5 million sheep, comprising a mere 1% of our livestock. (We prefer beef - and have the useable acreage to support them. Nothing like genetically modified, hormonally enhanced American beef. Sadly, I jest not. YUM!)

July 2011, Brisbane

But you've got to know me well enough by now to know that I am not talking about those sheep.

I'm talking about me. (What do you MEAN, it's not about ME?!) And I'm talking about most of us.

C'mon. You know it's true. For the vast majority of us, life is way more comfortable in the herd, in a familiar field, surrounded by the picket fence we know than alone in the bush without any boundaries. Bah!

I'm the worst kind of sheep, as it turns out. I'm a sheep who wants to run around and do her own thing on occasion and then wants the herd to accept her back and love her anyway. After she's pushed the boundaries and jumped the fences. Love me. Love me. Accept me. Bah!

So that I actually understand the girls in Ryan's class who are currently having difficulty understanding why she is insisting on doing her own thing. What do you mean you aren't going to do the same thing as the rest of us? How can you NOT want to join us on the playground? You're in our group - if you do what we say. You're ALLOWED to be with US - if you follow our rules. How can you be comfortable enough in your own skin to rather sit and sketch horses? ALONE?!

Bah! Bah! Join the herd. How can we be comfortable with ourselves if everyone else isn't validating us by doing the exact same thing that we are?

I am not mocking these girls. I was these girls.

April 2007, Stylin' at Lake Garda, Italy

Ryan tells me the girls are 'the bad girls' and that she doesn't like doing what they do. She doesn't want to get in trouble. And, apparently unlike her former best friend, she is not interested in trying to impress these girls by joining them. Even if they are encouraging her to.

You have to feel sorry for her friend who just doesn't seem to understand how Ryan can NOT want to join up.

I don't get it either. How did a people-pleaser and joiner like me - BAH, BAH, - raise children who are confident enough to do what THEY want and not what OTHERS want them to do?!

How did a sheep end up raising a Brumby?! (Wild, Australian ponies, the counterpart to the American mustangs.)

And - as it turns out this week - it's not just Ryan.

Princess and Pirate, August 2007, Herrenberg

Andrew too, is resisting, not peer pressure, but pressure from figures of authority, figures he respects and has been taught to listen to - ie me and his teachers - and gone his own way.

I couldn't be prouder. (Although I'm still looking backward at the broken fences and wondering if it wouldn't have been easier to stick with the herd this time. Bah! Bah!)

This week Andrew and Ryan both chose sports over an academic program. (Let's put this in perspective. Isn't it wonderful that they have too many fantastic after-school options to choose from?!) Honestly, I'm not sure why the teachers - even the sports teacher - seemed so surprised. I did all those competitions in school too - but mostly to get out of regular classroom time - and mostly because it was the highest level of achievement there was and I was expected to. Bah! Thinking back, I don't know that I can say I ever really enjoyed it.

I was under so much pressure in school - even though I always did well - that I recall the ride home after my last day of fifth grade, sitting in the back seat, up the hill past Nick Rosen's house on the right. The weight of the world dropped off of my shoudlers at the thought of almost three months summer break. Literally. My shoulders must have physically come down at least a couple of centimetres. Knots unraveled as the tension eased.

Mind you, I was in FIFTH grade. And a straight A student.

I also hated group work. Because most of the time noone else got much of anything done and I ended up doing it all myself. I felt obligated to. By highschool it was more than self-imposed pressure. The teachers EXPECTED me to carry the group. I remembered getting reprimanded by an English teacher in 12th grade because I hadn't given it my usual effort and the project hadn't been up to my usual standards. (We - horrors of horrors - got a 'B'.) I told her that I was sick of doing everyone else's work - that I had done my own. And she said "yeah, and look at how well that turned out."

I am not making these things up.

March, 2007

So that when the teacher in charge of an extracurricular academic competition that runs for the next six weeks asked Andrew to give up his Wednesday afternoon sports program to join the group, well honestly, who can blame him?

Soccer. Extra schoolwork. Soccer. Extra schoolwork.

Ryan just met a 14 year old girl who wants someone to ride her 16.2 H, 8 year old Thoroughbred mare with her in the afternoons. I would have suggested half the days riding and half doing the academic program but when the teachers insisted it was all or nothing on afterschool time, well, again, this was a no brainer for Ryan. Honestly, I'm not sure I find it healthy to want the kids to spend ALL of their afterschool time on this program anyway, even if it is for only six weeks. And how am I supposed to just drop all of our other commitments at a moment's notice?

I guess I'm less of a sheep than I used to be too. Although I do keep looking back at that fence.

In any case, I would have had the kids do the program. I had it all scheduled out. Since Andrew has soccer on Tuesdays and sports on Wednesdays then those would also be the days that Ryan could go riding. That left Mondays and Thursdays for the academic competition. Fridays were up for grabs.

It would have been an exhausting, logistical nightmare for the next six weeks - but not something I was strong enough to say 'No' to. How lucky for me that the teachers insisted on unlimited commitment of our time. (Once again, WHO can do that?! And HOW? I would really LOVE to learn how anyone can be not busy enough to on the spur of the moment just devote six weeks of their time to ONE temporary project unconditionally. Not anyone I know personally. It boggles the mind.)

August 2007

I'm obviously still struggling with the decision.

"No."

Who knew that such a little word would be so hard to say?

And so easy to say for my kids?

So that I'm left chasing after my two Brumbies, still uncomfortable with NOT conforming to the expectations of others, but so totally psyched that they are both confident enough in themselves to follow THEIR dreams and not mine, or anyone else's.

August 2007. Definitely their own people!

It's a wild ride with these Brumbies. But I am learning more from them than I ever did as a sheep.

My Kids Make Me Sick (Or Ryan's Riding Lessons)

2011-07-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

August 2006, Holzgerlingen

I'm actually not thinking about the deep vein thrombosis I got when I was 28 weeks pregnant with Ryan. That was due to Leiden V Factor deficiency and possible APLS (Antiphospholipid Syndrome), stuff in my genes that affects how I clot, or not, depending on the pregnancy. With the twins, I was hospitalized for NOT having clotting factors at 35 weeks.

But I'll blame that on heredity. Gotta blame the parents for SOMETHING, right?!

Funny how it's all in the bleeding though.

November 2006, First Ribbon, Holzgerlingen

Because what I do remember is the beginnings of an essay I had back when we were living in France, before I had a blog, before I was writing regularly or had even joined a writers' group. I had just read one of the Harry Potters. Whatever was out when in December 2002. And I was crossing the park towards home with a huge bag of Christmas toys I had bought for the kids. (In retrospect, how much could a 9 month old an almost 3 year old possibly NEED?!)

I remember having spent what I considered to be a huge amount of money, considering our financial situation, living on the outskirts of one of the most expensive cities in the world (Geneva) with Damon on an intern's salary. (Having now seen people spend THOUSANDS on their two toddlers at the pre-Christmas sales here, the couple hundred I had spent was minsiscule in comparison.)

August, 2007, Tripsdrill Animal Park

But it hurt. The money hurt. And I remember feeling as if I was hemorrhaging money that I couldn't really afford to lose. I was bleeding for my children.

But that that was not only okay, but the way it should be. That a parent SHOULD bleed for their children, and do so happily. Because that's what being a parent was. Just like Harry Potter's mother had given her life for Harry, her sacrifice ( and somehow her blood?) protecing him from Voldemort.

It all made great sense. And I have it written down on a napkin packed up in a cardboard moving box somewhere downstairs.

June 2008, Holzgerlingen

Let me get back to you on that though.

Because this time I am vomiting.

Really.

I was physically ill for over a week after we went to Ryan's new riding stable. Still am if I allow myself to think about it too much.

She was bouncing around in the seat next to me, radiant and chattering about her new riding program.

I was trying to hide the tears I had streaming down my face.

June 2008, Holzgerlingen

There is no possible way we can afford this riding program for her.

None at all.

And yet she started this weekend. The outrageous lesson fees. The course guides. The required lesson texts. New boots and chaps. Stirrups to follow. Barn polo shirt and sun hat. Safety vest optional. Formal attire and show fees still on the far horizon, but there none the less. Not to mention 45 minutes each way to get her there.

The 9 seater van we were looking at has turned into a 7 seater second-hand model. I guess my new glasses and contact lens prescription can wait. And I saw a dentist in Germany so I'm good. I'll just line up behind the kids the next time Damon is cutting hair. And I can get used to sandwiches and homemade pizza. Even have the kids convinced that homemade fries and chicken nuggets are an acceptable alternative to take-out.

June 2011, The Gap (Brisbane), First Lesson

But it's dull, not having ANY extras AT ALL. (Would LOVE to see that last Harry Potter!) And a lot of hard work cooking without ANY chance of a night off. The other kids have sports activities too. But Andrew's agreed to wait on the hip-hop dance lessons until 2012. (He's still got soccer.)The twins can swim in the pool so that they don't need formal lessons. And goodness, looks like replacing that old couch can wait until the kids go to college after all.

We're not living in poverty.

But we have had to make some serious choices about lifestyle - mostly about Damon and I giving one up - in order to get Ryan those riding lessons. (They were 15 Euros a week in Germany. Here, all we could find was a nationally certified dressage and show jumping training program, with internationally competing coaches. All of which is well worth the money, just a lot more than we were counting on. Kids don't take casual lessons here. They either have a horse in their backyard or Mum and Dad are wealthy enough to allow them to compete at an international level.)

The horses are getting bigger!

Even as I bleed - and vomit and cry - for Ryan's riding lessons, I don't regret them for a moment. This week, when I returned to pick her up after three hours, the other girls - all 4 to 5 years older - told me how amazed they were at her riding abilities.

"She stayed on Ace," they told me. "And he's not so easy to stay on."

We've gone form Welsh and Shetland ponies to Thoroughbreds.

And they threw a couple of jumps at her to see what she can do. "Um. They didn't jump in Germany" I told the coach. Ryan just rolled her eyes and told him she could do it.

Brave new world. Jumping.

Then did. "She'll have no problems getting right into the program." her coach reassured me.

"She's REALLY good." said another girl. "Wish I could have trained in Germany!" (And I really gotta credit Stefan Lange's program in Holzgerlingen. Fantastic foundation. 15 Euros a week.)

Ryan's stepping higher again since she started riding. She's back in her element. Calm, centered, focused, balanced, confident.

She belongs on a horse.

They don't call it 'Wattle Creek' Riding for nothing. Look at those trees!

And if I have to lose blood to put her there, yeah well, it's not like it's good for much else. Anitbodies to things I need. Clotting when it shouldn't. Not clotting when it should.

It's all I have to give. And I look back on that time in France, a time when I was just beginning to understand that a parent would give more than her life for her children...

And shudder to think of how easy I had it then. And what might still lie ahead!

(Barf.)

Working From Home

2011-07-19T15:17:00.001-07:00

On par with trying to get any rest while the kids are home is trying to set up a daily writing schedule.

July 6 at the beach. A bit nippy. But not bad for winter!

We've been here 8 months now, we are MOSTLY moved into our new home, Damon has work, the kids are at school from 8:30 to 3:00 and I am still here on a tourist's visa.

I should be bored out of my mind, right?!

Let's not even get into the fact that Damon is still home until 2:00 most days, and gone all weekend. He's a good egg. (I make him take the kids to school in the mornings.)

But that's where the distractions come in. Budgeting discussions for the new car. Can we afford to buy all of Ryan's riding manuals first-hand? (Vomit. See next essay.) Do we need to get the twins' hearing assessed right away or is their speech improving? (And does it REALLY matter that they still say "I muss toilet" after 8 months of living here?!) Should I be there for all the dental appointments? (Um. Everyone's teeth were SUPPOSEDLY fine in Germany but I believe the Aussies have other standards. Perhaps a bit high, but if the state is paying for the capping of milk teeth, then what the heck, right?!) Who is going to write the letter to the real estate agent about the possums that are taking over the house WE are supposed to have exclusive use of?

Nintendo DSIs are on sale at Target now for Christmas. (No kidding. Layaway in July is like the BEST Aussie tradition EVER! Not only is the shopping almost done, we are paying it off a month at a time!)

Aidan

This is life - I like to think of it as LIF after a typo to my mom years ago that just about put it all in perspective. LIF is..well, if I have to explain, right?!

LIFE would be getting it together to do what I love as well as the daily chores. Although I have to admit, I am LOVING my new space, the ability to cook curries and peanut sauces due to that space - and the fact that you can get Asian ingredients at Walmart. (Does anyone know the difference between a Malaysian red curry paste and Thai red curry paste? I do!)

Still, writing professionally is going to take some dedication, some ability to set aside a space (got it!) and a TIME to take it seriously. My Bible, Stephen King's book on writing (Funny enough just about the only book of his I enjoy! GREAT author, as it turns out, just not my style story.) is on the make-shift desk in my bedroom. And if he can do it with a portable Olivetti typewriter perched on his knees while hiding in the laundry room from his kids....

There's the rub. But I don't WANT to wait until the kids leave home.

Matthew

So this past Monday, when I had a day-long appointment in Brisbane that involved a lot of just sitting in waiting rooms in between meetings, I did what Karenne taught me to do through writers' group. I laid out a plan to write. When and where. (Not quite up to GOALS yet, Jim, but once I have the time down, I'll send them to you! I know, I know, having seven projects in a list doesn't mean they are going to get done!)

I planned to start Tuesday. 9 - 11 AM four days a week. Since I spend Friday mornings at school and quite a number of afternoons there as well. (Writing program with the kids on Fridays- yay me - and Optiminds on Wednesdays - and did they really rope me into doing math with the smart kids?! That doesn't sound too promising, does it?! Ah well - maybe I'll learn something!) Someone DOES have to do the grocery shopping and the errands too. So 9 - 11 sounded doable, if not the 10,000 words a day, six days a week that Stephen suggests. (Let's remember, HIS kids are OUT of the house!)

Swear to God, Ryan started vomiting on Monday night. After I cleaned the bathroom and got her tucked back in, Andrew woke up with a nightmare. Which wasn't surprising, since the possums living in our walls seemed to have invited friends over for a late night party, without asking our permission of course.. I had a hard time falling back asleep after that since I wasn't sure whether the stomping going on above my head was Ryan vomiting, Andrew panicking, the possums or Damon coming home from work after midnight.

Ryan. My fairy, so beautiful!

My biggest regret about myself is that I need sleep.

I enlisted Ryan's help in setting up my writing space - some incense, my Anne Lamott books, Jane Austen, some other inspirations and, of course, Stephen - while Damon took the boys to school.

When Damon came back to tell me about Friday's 8AM pancake breakfast to honor Ms Dance as one of Queensland's "Favourite Teachers" and how Tracy had invited us over for tea on Wednesday afternoon and Aidan had cried because he forgot how to pronounce the word "how" on his reading list (no worries, I have it printed on his palm now and he has to raise it like an American Indian to see it!)and if he should call the rental association and would I like to write a formal letter of complaint about the possums (who, by the way, look NOTHING like American possums, but are actually red and quite cute, and look a bit like foxes)....

I felt a little like I was throwing him to the wolves (with a vomiting child to boot!)

But I shut the door and put words to paper for 2 hours.

The big boys check out the beach conditions. 18C in the water. (High 60s F)

I got 400 words down that I am reasonably proud of.

And today I plan to do the same. 9 - 11.

Because, as it turns out, the bathroom isn't going to cheat me out of the pleasure of cleaning it by cleaning itself while I am looking the other way. The books aren't going to jump out of their moving boxes and arrange themselves on the shelves in the wrong order. And the laundry will hang on the line until I am ready to take it down.

Am I able to write from home while I still have kids in it?

Absolutely not.

But I'm going to do it anyway!

Afternoon Naps at Our House

2011-07-17T03:08:00.001-07:00

"Do they let you lie down and take a nap during the day?"

Does it LOOK like they let me lie down and sleep during the day?!

This from other Mums at Prep comparing the activity levels of our children.

How do these kids come out of six plus hours of school still full of energy and bouncing around in anticipation for the afternoon's activities? (How do Germans still believe that kids wouldn't be able to handle more than four hours of school a day?!)

Oh goody. Some assembly required.

"Can we play on the playground for a bit, huh huh?" I set down their school bags and slump to the grass.

"And today I got a prize for reading and we made a scarecrow for the garden and then in cooking class we got to..." The list goes on.

No. They do not stop. Thank goodness for the trampoline..

July 1. Aidan doing a happy dance at Bribey Island.

I did, of course, TRY laying down a couple of times over the school holidays. Not often.

Because, while all four of them were more than happy to let me go downstairs to lie down, the concept of uninterrupted sleep still eludes them.

Matthe digging for oil. Really. (Now where the heck did he come up with that?!)

I can ignore the herd of elephants trampling overhead in the interests of having a room to myself. I can forget the forays into the fridge and cupboards, the whispered excitement of being alone without supervision, the doors slamming and the rearranging of toys that goes on as they set up to play.

It is harder to ignore them standing over the bed, breathing heavily, waiting to see what I will do,

WHAT DO YOU LITTLE PEOPLE THINK I AM GOING TO DO?! IT'S BEEN FIVE MINUTES SINCE YOU EMPTIED THE CUPBOARDS AND BROUGHT ALL OF YOUR TOYS OUT INTO THE HALLWAY. NOW WHAT?!

I open an eye.

"Oh good. I was going to let you sleep but..." This from Andrew. "Can I play on the computer, play on my Nintendo DS?" YES. YES; YES. Sneaky little bugger. It's called blackmail in other settings.

Andrew. Looking good.

I close my eyes. Ignore the fighting and screaming and yelling and crying. Andrew trying to give Aidan and Matthew a time out. Ryan telling them how they should behave.

Sudden quiet.

I open an eye.

The twins are playing strong man with the three pound hand weights I keep in my room. Nice to see someone using them, I guess.

My budding artist.

Or they've spread a deck if cards out on the carpet and are quietly - ie lots of heavy whispering - playing War.

They spot me with an eye open. "Mommy, Can we have chips, candy, soda, granola bars"...anything I've told them they couldn't have fifteen minutes before. What ever happened to raiding the cupboard behind my back boys? Why are we asking permission?

They are also literally dying of thirst. "Can we have some water?"

YES. YES. YES. You know where the faucet is, for crying out loud.

Maybe I catch a few minutes of sleep.

Maybe not.

There's Aidan playing a drum solo at the foot of the bed.

So you wanna be a rock star?

Never mind that he's actually quite good.

All of this COUILD be solved by turning on the TV, I suppose.

Except then they'd be waking me up to ask about programming.

Do the kids let me lay down? They are more than happy to.

Do they let me sleep? They sure as heck think they do.

An AWW moment on July 4.

Is it touching that their little worlds collapse the minute I shut my eyes, that they miss me for the few minutes I am gone?

Maybe.

Just as touching as it will be in ten years when I wake them up at 6AM to tell them how much I love them!

A Day at Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary

2011-07-16T22:48:00.001-07:00

"Hey, guess which one of those groups of people over there are German tourists."

We call this giving Canadians a bad name! (The boys have their own style.)

We were at the Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary, atop the kangaroo meadow, and Damon couldn't resist asking.

I looked over the group. There, that group of four adults with two small children between them, the brand-new signature back-packs and rain gear and carrying their own lunch. Damn can I pick a stereotype. Nope. (Although it did turn out that they hailed somewhere from eastern Europe.)

I looked again. Aha! The young couple in the starched blue jeans, the latest photography gear (although put to shame by the Asian tourists who came by the busloads later!), and again, the crisp rain gear, new hiking boots. Everything just a little bit too perfect.

Yup. That was them.

Only true Aussies can be this cold when it is 15 C out!

"They're smiling though." I said to Damon.

"Yeah," said Damon. "There's another guy with a German accent entertaining a bunch of Australian girls too."

"Must be Swiss" I replied. (I was right!)

Too bad the only kids who would pose for me JUSt reach the 'Toilets' sign!

Later I ran into the cute, young Germans again. Because they were cute. They were just so darn happy to be here. Glowing and smiling, they came running over to the koala enclosure I was standing in front of. And addressed eachother in English. "Look at that one! Look at him! Did you see THAT? HE'S MOVING!"

I smiled at them. "Pretty amazing when they actually move. isnt' it?"

"First one we've seen move all day." they answered. "And look" - cameras going click-click-click - "THERE HE GOES AGAIN!"

I lef them to their joy. After all the koala hadn't even left his tree branch. Just opened his eyes an moved a few limbs a couple of times.

And I'd already run out of battery filming shot after shot of other almost inanimate koalas earlier in the day.

"Seventeen shots of the exact same pose." says Damon.

C'MON! Can't have too many shots of this!

Yeah, but they are just so INCREDIBLE to behold. Even if they aren't moving. How many shots of the kids do we need anyway? And unlike the koalas, they move too fast for me to focus.

So that that's really the way you tell a tourist from a bona-fide Aussie at the zoo. The Aussies are hurrying by looking for something a bit more exciting - like the sheep shearing demonstration or the birds of prey falconry show. The rest of us are staring in wonder at creatures that will contine to not move, not even open their eyes in fact, for 22 hours out of every day.

But a dog who can walk on sheep is worth photographing.

Um. I think we have these in the US too boys!

Aussies also like the venomous creatures demonstrations - snakes and lizards and stuff. Koalas don't kill you if you step on one. And they actually move fast enough once out of the trees to get out of your way so you DON'T step on one.

Largest eagle in Australia. Cool. But I worked with Bald Eagles in Alaska, so I'm a little spoiled.

Sure, the crocs are cool. The images of kangaroos spread across vast plains. (All we've seen is really sleepy kangaroos, about on par with the koala for energy levels. Do those things REALLY hop?!)

But the wombat won't show more than his butt during the daytime. Keepers actually laugh when you ask about the echidna. "I've seen him twice - and I've been here three years." said one. "You do know that they're noctural, don't you?!"

You get laughed at for taking pictures of the local pests - those flocks of cockatoos, lorikeets and gallahs, that hang about.

Local pests. The rainbow lorikeets.

Ah heck. They keep the tourists happy!

Not only did this guy talk, he spoke with an Aussie accent. We found that as immensely amusing as the Aussies found us for speaking with hum so long.

Bu Aussies ARE proud of their koalas.

Um boys. We have dirt at home. You're missing the lorikeets.

Just not excited enough to actually stop and take pictures of them.

Winter Break Preview Photos

2011-07-11T00:01:00.000-07:00

Well aware most of you didn't REALLY want to hear about Eric Bana and Hugh Jackman.

We've had two weeks of Winter Break AND a July 4th double birthday, so I haven't had a chance to sit AT ALL, let alone sit at the computer.

Right now, the last day of break, the four kids are busy running up and down the stairs, in and out from the porch and locking eachother out of the house.

So this will have to be quick.

I made these collages of Winter Break photos for our great-parents who don've have access to a computer.

July 1 at the beach and June 30 at Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary

Our July 4th Birthday Boys above. The gang, Matthew with the boys' girlfriend Saphyre and Ryan back on a horse after a 9 month hiatus.

The birthday party was a BLAST! Aussie good natures making it the hit it was. (Note: most Germans I know would have walked out in disgust!) And we spent this past weekend at THE LARGEST MEDIEVAL FEST IN THE SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE! (What?! They don't HAVE medieval fests in Africa and South America?!!!) Having now been to medieval fests in four countries on three continents - and BOTH hemispheres - bet you can't wait for what I have to say about those!

Let the third school trimester begin!

An Aussie of My Own!

2011-07-10T20:18:00.000-07:00

Did I really not know that Eric Bana is Australian?

Now I know where Hugh Jackman was when he didn't meet me at the airport in November.

Obviously in Eric's backyard drinking beer over the BBQ.

Now THERE's a picture for the Australian Tourist Board!

MY Aussie! Honestly, one of only two shots we have of him for June/July.

Melbourne suddenly got a LOT warmer.

It explains how Eric can look THAT good no matter WHAT role he plays, including scruffy full beard and fur-hooded parka. It's the Aussie shining out of those deep brown eyes.

Only to be rivaled by Hugh leading a line dance through the neighbourhood for some drink commercial.

Are they showing that one outside of Australia? I don't know how successful it is. I, for one, can't take my eyes off of the sparkle in HIS long enough to notice WHAT brand he is holding in his hand.

All of which makes me realize how lucky I am to have been stranded on a really small Caribbean island with an Aussie of my own.

A second sighting! A rare night at home, reading with Matthew.

Now, how do I get him invited to that BBQ in Melbourne?!

You Call THIS Cold?!

2011-06-29T00:01:00.000-07:00

I've still got to post the blogs I wrote about how cold in gets in Europe. To answer Aussie questions such as "My girlfriend and I were thinking of going to Europe in February, during the off season, to save money. Do you think I need to buy a coat?"

Uh yeah.

This past Saturday, 9AM. It was in the 70s by mid-morning,

In the meantime, we've experienced bit of a cold snap here ourselves. The week we moved, the first week of June, the Brisbane area experienced its coldest June day since 1916.

Let me repeat. Brisbane recently experienced its coldest June day since 1916.

It was nippy. For shorts and a T-shirt. Probably only the low 50s F. (12C.)

I was getting a little worried until I picked the children up at school and one of the teachers told me that this was the coldest she can EVER remember it being during the daytime. Oh, I thought, if this is the WORST they're gonna throw at me, I'll be fine.

But a frigid 60s in the early morning. The goalie got to wear sweats!

12C is the coldest it has been in June since 1916.

That same day, it was the Thursday after we moved I remember, was also gray and cloudy. Which meant that our solar water heating system only allowed us one shower.

But which also means that such a day is so rare here that you CAN rely on solar power to heat your water.

What a concept.

Late May. More danger from sun than cold.

Sure, we had a couple of nights the week after where the temperatures dipped into the 40s F. (5C). But nothing that a couple of blankets and a small heater in the living room in the morning wouldn't cover.

I read that the average Brissie household uses those heaters an average of 12 days a year.

TWELVE DAYS A YEAR.

In the meantime, most days are crisp and clear. Blue skies like Europe only dreams about. And in the low 20C (70sF).

Mid-May.

Really folks, I tell them, THIS is the type of SUMMER WEATHER Europe is DYING for.

My friend from Moscow gets homesick in the winter here, because it reminds her of summer back home.

I'd forgotten what it was like to see the sky - by the way it is BLUE here, not gray - almost EVERY DAY. With an almost constant 12 hours of daylight year round.

What a difference it makes.

May 1. Anything to keep the sun off!

I've promised not to complain about the heat when it does arrives in summer. (Although I have a blog about that too!)

I look up at the bright blue sky and know I will never take these beautiful winter days for granted.

Even if I am wearing a long-sleeved cotton sweater at 21C (low 70s F)!

The Effect of Moving on a Marriage

2011-06-28T00:01:00.000-07:00

Last morning at the townhouse.

"My husband is moving us into our new home as we speak," I told the woman at the service counter.

"On his own?!" she asked. "How the heck is that going to work?"
"I decided I'd had enough of the packing and cleaning, the organizing and time management. And I've been doing it for the both of us - and an increasing number of children - as we moved from East Coast USA to Arizona, from Arizona to Europe, from France to Germany and then from Europe to Australia. I'm done. I'm tired. It's his turn this time."

"Uh yeah, but HOW is he going to manage it?" she insisted.

Homemade pizza in the new kitchen.

And it's true. Damon had absolutely no idea how to start packing. I ended up helping the night before after all, or it all would have still been sitting out, waiting to be put into boxes, to be done 'while the movers were there.'

Obviously no idea of how LONG it takes to pack. And of how quickly two 20 olds can move heavy objects.

On the other end, he had no idea of WHERE things were once we got to our new home.

"Did you remember to put the childrens' school uniforms where we could find them tomorrow morning?" I asked.

Uh.

Never mind that I had had an idea of where everything was even as we moved across oceans, continents and hemispheres.

He'd lost track of it all moving down the street.

Look Ma, pizza!

And the cleaning. Yes, guys, here's the update. Someone HAS been cleaning all those homes you move out of for you. INCLUDING the oven, the fridge, the lighting, the blinds, the garage, and....yes, it DOES take longer than 1 to 2 hours.

It took Damon an extra week AFTER we'd moved out - going in when he wasn't working - to do it.

All of which meant that moving IN to the new place wasn't happening. Good thing dark blue school uniforms hide the dirt well.

WITH ROOM FOR A KITCHEN TABLE!

And it meant that the only person who had learned a lesson from me making him do it this time was, you guessed it, me. I am going to suffer either way if I don't do it myself. And he honestly didn't notice a difference between the well-though out, organized way I had always done things and the haphazard way in which he finally managed to get things done.

Unpacking the Barbies in Ryan's room.

Honestly, back in Germany when I was explaining the difficulty of packing and organizing for an autumn in Germany, things we would need there versus things we could ship on the boat and things we needed in Australia right away and needed to take with us on the plane, the only ones who truly understood it were the Germans. Most of who would never have bothered to attempt it.

Lynne's husband, Thomas, just looked at it all and suggested labelling each pile with a different colour marker to make things easier.

If I'd had know him any better I would have kissed him on the mouth. Who ever said German efficiency couldn't be sexy?!

Nutella too.

My husband has many other good points, but will never appreciate that side of me. I've learned to do it for myself though and not for anyone else. After lots of tears. (Funny enough, it was Lynne who talked me down off of the hypothetical ledge - or at least away from the divorce lawyer's door - during the final hours of leaving Altdorf.)

It could be worse though, as the woman at the service counter reminded me.

"We're moving next week too." she told me. "My husband spent four hours last night trying all the extra keys we had in our kitchen drawer on every lock he could find. In the end, he found one key that fit the door to the storage area. He was very pleased with himself and considered it time well spent."

Pool for summer. Trampoline for winter.

I remember the American Army engineer who wouldn't have been able to fit the items they picked up from our home in Germany into the back of his SUV without his wife's guidance.

But also fondly recall the trio of German men, a son, a father and an uncle, who came to pick up the kitchen at our old place in Altdorf. Also family of engineers, they brought their own tools and had the entire set efficiently dismantled and in the car within an hour.

A yard to play footie in!

Such men do exist.

Problem is I think they expect a warm meal at lunchtime.

http://www.homehound.com.au/17+keats+ave+strathpine+qld+4500/
(Photos of our home since I obviously haven't taken very many yet!)

Miley Cyrus

2011-06-27T00:01:00.000-07:00

Ryan and Andrew and I went to a rock concert on Tuesday.

Rock as in Joan Jett or Pat Benatar.

Never mind that the audience was mostly compiled of prepubescent and teenage girls raised on Hannah Montana.

This wasn't Disney.

And you know what, Miley Cyrus can REALLY ROCK!

Okay, I was kinda wondering why her Daddy didn't insist she wear clothes for the first act. Was she so excited to be in Australia that she forgot to get dressed?!

But the 7 year old girls in front of us didn't seem to mind all the crotch-grabbing (aka Madonna) and hip gyrating, and she DID know how to move, so why let it bother me?!

And you could actually SEE her lose about 10 pounds throughout the course of the evening. "Looking a little bit hippy, isn't she?" remarked my beloved husband on seeing some of the photos taken early on. Wake up world, THIS is what s fit 18 year old looks like. THIS is what all the 40 and 50 year olds are starving themselves into scarecrows for to emulate.

I'm fairly sure the guitarist she did some of her solos with felt like asking her Daddy to have a talk with her about boundaries though.

The music was good. Miley can sing - the comparison to Joan Jett kept coming to mind, especially when she did a "I Love Rock and Roll" cover. And the costumes too. Pat Benatar.

The show was amazing. Think Madonna. Although the hip-hop dancers weren't half as good as those on 'So You Think You Can Dance."

And you can see where her music is going. She DOES hang out with Ozzie Osbourne, doesn't she?

The opening act was a cute guy from Australia. Whose cover of Michael Jackson's "The Way You Make Me Feel" really brought down the house. Nice accent too. And some good stuff of his own. So why was I so concerned with the fact that he looked so uncomfortable in those tight pants?!

I guess maybe I am getting old. ER anyway. Too many worries, too many comparisons, instead of just living the moment.

What it all comes down to is that the moment was good. Miley's got a voice; she can belt it out. She's got a beat, she's got a message and she knows how to move.

We had floor seats just 14 rows and center away from the action. Andrew stood on his chair and Ryan sang along. Good quality family entertainment if you can handle the volume. (Damon, however, would have been appalled. Not EVERY mature male wants to watch a teenage girl prance about half naked on a stage, no matter how good her voice is! Especially once he has a daughter of his own. We're getting him tickets for Billy Ray, if Daddy ever does decide to come to town!)

Hannah Montana may be in reruns, but I really DO look forward to what Miley continues to come up with in the next few decades.

Now, who's coming to the Nick Jonas concert with me?

Haiti, Caribbean Princess

2011-06-26T18:47:00.000-07:00

"Is Haiti a boy or a girl?"

This from Matthew on our way out to the car yesterday.

Ryan's sketch of a small wooden statue I brought back from Hait.

"Haiti is an island in the Caribbean near the USA and where Mommy and Daddy met, honey."

"Yes," obviously sensing - and trying to circumvent - another lecture on people less fortunate than ourselves and our obligation to love and respect them, "but is it a boy or a girl?"

Matthew didn't get his answer. Because I was seriously thinking about it and seriously not liking my conclusion.

You see, Haiti SHOULD be a man. I mean, all that violence and bloodshed, all the poverty and need. I don't want to dump this all on a woman.

Great, Haiti as a big welfare Momma. Her children on crack and smack, in gangs and in jail. That's what I need to be seeing in my mind's eye.

But this morning I woke up thinking about it again. And realised that, yes, Haiti truly is a woman.

Anacaona is also revered in the Dominican Republic, Haiti's neighbour on the shared island of Dominica.

She's a Native American princess. Ravaged by France. Wed to Africa, in a brutal forced marriage turned love affair. She gets her strength from a unique flavour of Africa blended with Caribbean-French and a memory, still cherished in story and song, of Anacaona, the last Taino Indian Princess, who met Columbus when he "discovered" the New World, and who fought for freedom from colonial oppression, who fought for the right of her people to survive.

And who lost.

1492, for those of you not from the New World, and the Native Americans in Haiti were wiped out by war and disease within two decades. Hence the need for slaves, and the brutal history of the Middle Passage, the trade of slaves from Africa to run sugar plantations in Haiti in order to make rum for Europe.

I like to think of Haiti as a "paper bag princess, " after a children's story by the same name written by Robert Munsch. In it the princess, whose kingdom has been leveled by a dragon who has also kidnapped her intended prince, uses her wit to outsmart the dragon and free her beloved. Dressed in a paper bag. When her prince - still carrying his tennis racket - snubs her for her poor attire, the princess doesn't end up marrying him after all.

She knows her true self worth comes from more than what she is wearing.

(Hmm. Might the dragon be France - or Europe - and the prince be the neglect of the modern world? Or should I be leaving you to draw that conclusion yourself?!)

Fairy tale endings are harder to find in real life than in childrens' books. Robert Munsch never did specify HOW the princess managed to circumnavigate the globe on her own, in a paper bag.

Haiti's unique blend of African, French and Caribbean.

But I like to think of Anacaona and her noble African prince. Even if he is only a figment of my imagination, a symbol of multiple proud African cultures treated with less worth than animals.

I imagine the two of them, looking down on their beloved island

Isn't it nice to imagine a fairy tale ending for Haiti, a modern-day, paper-bag, Caribbean princess?

Hands Off!

2011-05-28T00:01:00.000-07:00

What I REALLY wanted to write about was my afternoon at school on Thursday.

I am going to go in on Mondays and Thursdays from 2 - 3 PM to work with some children on special projects of interest. Which loosely translated means I got to say that I wanted kids who consistently behaved well and that I get to do some creative extension work with them. (The school already has a number of programs in place to deal with remedial help and behavioral issues. Plus, this is the fun part!)

The program is originally meant to be part of Lawnton's 'Gifted and Talented' program but Andrew's head is swelled enough already as it is. And on Mondays, I asked if I could work with some kids who might not be excelling academically but who were consistently trying and would benefit from some creative work. Which means I get to work with Ryan too.

Today the boys and I worked on the library computers on some Power Point presentations.

And, already, I have learned something.

(What?! You thought this was about the KIDS?!)

Now, in order to make a presentation you need: a topic, a refined manageable topic, an idea of the points in your topic, a plan to research your topic at home, in the library and on the internet, a first draft, a tighter second draft, then an idea of layout and photos and font. With key words and not your entire essay.

What we did was write whatever we felt like and play around with fonts a bit.

Which at first made me SLIGHTLY nervous since I feel I owe it to the teachers to come up with SOMETHING tangible out of this experiment.

But I remembered the kids I was working with were nine years old. They (there were only two today, Andrew and another classmate) had never been told just to sit and write about ANYTHING they wanted. They had never played with layout and font and clip art. And so I let them experiment. Andrew's buddy seemed to focus immediately. On the NFL. But then also showed an interest in tattoos - when he found the clip art. And on Indian hip-hop. Which I personally REALLY wanted to learn more about but.....remembered it was NOT about me! He spent a LOT of time on font and layout.

Andrew, in the meantime was writing about Sports. All about sports and its health benefits and about hand sports and leg sports and then the rules of baseball and.....he was vomiting it out faster than his mother! I was DYING to reign that boy in. I mean, there was no TOPIC. He was EVERYWHERE!

Good thing he gave me attitude and I backed off.

I DID try to end the session with a brief remind to pick ONE topic for next week and to think about what points we wanted to mention with regards to that topic. (Next week I get six kids!)

Andrew's buddy was so thrilled to just have been allowed to let his mind roam. "Can we do this on other days than Thursdays?" he asked. Mind you, he wasn't playing computer games. He was writing about his favourite things. My hope is that just letting them write a bit - without immediate requirements and editing - will allow them to FIND their own topic. And, really most importantly, to learn to love writing, a skill that most people have been taught to despise.

Andrew came home and spent the two hours I was still up at the school talking to Ryan's teacher and watching Aidan and Matthew's sports program on the computer working on his presentation. And you knowwhat, it is actually coming together on its own.

So that lesson one for me is : HANDS OFF!

Trust that the kids will find their way. (And remember, I am lucky enough to be working with kids I can do this with!) Let them find their way first, before guiding them all over it.

I'm scared. Like I said, I do have to answer to their teachers at some point.

But I feel lucky - and I think the kids are lucky - to be trusted enough to try this out.

Let's face it. I'm just there.

You let kids loose and I have no doubt they will amaze us!

Nicht alle Kinder koennen ins GYMNASIUM, Frau Connor!

2011-05-27T00:01:00.000-07:00

Refugees from the German school system. For we are young and free!

Even though I dislike writing the rants almost as much as you must dislike reading them....again....I am reminded of why I have to.

It serves to clear my head. And while I don't HAVE to PUBLISH all the first-draft nonsense that comes into my head, well you aren't OBLIGATED to READ it either when I do! (Believe it or not, there is stuff I DON"T put up here - imagine what THAT must be!)

It also serves to remind me of how good I have it here.

Because the truth is that I am forgetting already. Forgetting that the quote wasn't about all kids not getting into university but about all kids not being able to go to GYMNASIUM.

This, friends, is much much worse.

Because, you see, GYMNASIUM, despite what it sounds like to English-speakers (what, you're sending the kids to gym-class?!), is where the Germans send their 'smart kids' in fifth grade.

So that the SYSTEM doesn't even TRY to get the majority of students into the top track. They believe that as early as the age of ten (and let's face it you know much earlier than that) you can already decide who is going to do what with their lives.

It is just assumed that most kids will be too dumb for it and the best thing to do is to sort the smart from the dumb as soon as possible and teach them different things.

Germans hate it when you use the words 'smart' and 'dumb' though. I guess they think it makes them look bad.

But what else are you telling a kid when you discuss with him at the age of ten what his opportunities are for a future career - bank teller, store clerk - since he didn't make the cut for Gymasium?

The reality is, funny enough more so here and in the USA than in Germany, that socio-economic differences will make a difference into whether or not a child does well in school or not. But that doesn't mean that we should sanction this and make it policy.

These kids should be reaching for the stars. Not being told what they can't do.