What's your number?

A child arrived at my front door yesterday, he politely rang the bell and greeted me as "Mrs 28". I'm guessing he was around seven years old. We had a quick chat about the whereabouts of the little travelers and what number house he lived in. He had a gorgeous grin and impeccable manners. Please try to imagine the look on my face when I asked what his name was and he answered......"Asshole". As I stifled a giggle I asked again, the reply.... "Asshole". I then tried to help him out a little "did you say Attol?" he shot me a confused look as he hopped on his bike and replied "no, it's asshole".

When the little travelers arrived back from the playground I learnt that my little innocents are well aware of what the word asshole means as they all giggled hysterically with the question "do you have a friend called Asshole?" Number 3 then said, "I think I know who you mean, I think he's in 62". The little travelers knew his house number but his name was still unclear.

There are roughly 120 houses in our compound. Picture four perfectly manicured streets of identical tuscan coloured boxes with a clubhouse, gymnasium, playground and swimming pool. In the morning there is a flurry of activity with office staff heading downtown, busses collecting workers to take to the dessert and children going off to school. During the day it is like any suburban picture, stay at home parents go about their day, gardeners mow lawns and neigbours chat on the footpath.

We are number 28. We are friends with 12, been to a party at 29 and couldn't have survived without the mattress' (and bottle of vodka) from 30. All of our conversations work around numbers, "have you met 5? she's lovely, she has four children as well". Our children do the same thing, they ask if they can go and play at 13's, ride their bike with 68 or play at the playground with 62. I'm hoping that over time as we meet more people the number will disappear and be replaced by names. I can't wait to meet asshole's parents and find out theirs!

Mean Girls

I've never been much of a "forward planner" (which is probably how I ended up with four children in just under six years). I don't always have a good scope of the long term picture but I cant help but wonder if anyone really understands the repercussions when we decide to have a baby?

Does anyone really foresee how these tiny little people somehow become an extension of ourselves? That when they hurt, we hurt. That the urge to jump in and fight their fights or cure their ill's will potentially drive us crazy and be even harder than our own personal struggles.

When I held number 1 in my arms for the first time I can honestly say that I was not thinking about her potential braces, math tutoring or having to have "the chat". I just saw my gorgeous rosey cheeked cupie doll. In the first few years I could fix most of her problems with something to eat, a clean nappy/diaper, a cuddle or a band aid. At the worst it was baby panadol or motrin.

Fast forward nine years to day one at the new school. It was a success for two of the little travelers (the 3rd starts at the end of the week, the 4th is at nursery). 1 and 2 bounded out of the school with smiles and were full of information on new friends and new activities. Number 1 appeared to be speaking a different language, in just one day she had picked up a few new terms, she was "psyched" about everything. He was "psyched", she was "psyched", we were all "psyched". G and I both noted that Hannah Montana appeared to have joined our family.

On the second day of school I could see that something was up. Nothing was said but everything was different. Number 2 had the same positive stories but Number 1 was quiet, scary quiet. All answers were short and snappy. The other little travelers picked up on the signs and quickly found their distance. After a few hours of general unpleasantness the tears arrived as did the story. "I went to sit with my new friends in the cafeteria and they said there was no room for me". It is at this point as a mother that a little piece of your heart starts to burn and sting, it then makes it way up to your throat and you have to push it down so that it doesn't change the tone of your voice. All you want are the right words to show her that it's all okay, it's all good. You can make it better.

Over the weekend we work on how we'll work it out, what we'll do. But we both silently know, only one of us has to face the cafeteria when school resumes.

As we arrived back at the school gates this morning everything appears to be going well. The 2nd little traveler runs off to her class and the rest of us walk to number 1's class holding hands and talking. Then it starts. She says "I feel sick, I think I'm going to vomit". I look at her face and I immediately feel the same way. I keep it together and start my little mantra for the morning, "It'll be okay, I'll be here waiting for you at the end of the day, It'll be okay, I'll speak to the counsellor". She's now sobbing in to my shoulder "don't make me go in there, please Mummy, let me stay with you". At this stage, my eyes are burning but I know I have to keep it together, "lets go and see the counsellor together". As we sit with the counsellor and she say's all right things I can see my first little traveler slowly pulling herself together. The counsellor suggests I leave and she stay with her for awhile and she will call me later. She says as I walk out "I'm a mother....she'll be okay......are you okay?"

As I walk to the carpark with little travelers 3 and 4 I'm biting my lip but continuing on with the chatter of Starwars and if number 3 can ever become a true Jedi, he seems oblivious to the drama, but then out of nowhere he say's "Mum, she's going to be fine". I know he's right but I've never been good at seeing the long term picture.

Back to School

On the eve of the the little travelers first day at their new school, I am awake at midnight with a tightness in my stomach. I'm nervous for them. The first day at a new school is more than tough and as much as number 1 can't wait to get there I know the bravado will curtail as the reality sinks in. Number 2 doesn't provide any facade, she has made it clear she's not happy with the situation. She said tonight "I hate the bit where I have to say my name".

When we moved from the south side of Australia to the west I was constantly introduced as being from "over east". Everyone who is not from Perth is from over east. I imagine if you're from Iceland you're probably from "over east". When our first child started to gain a social life we discovered what all parents discover, you become "someone's Mum or Dad". We do it to ourselves. I have started many conversations with a stranger that begin with "Hi, are you Billy's Mum? I'm Annie's Mum". Children are a great icebreaker.

Socializing for number 1 began with baby group. My first baby group in Jakarta consisted of about 10 babies who were born within a four month period of each other. Each week we would gather over cake and coffee and commiserate over our lack of sleep or laugh at how unglamorous our lives had become, leaking boobs in the supermarket, cleaning up poo that had exploded out of a nappy (a poonami). We would meet in a villa on a Jakarta backstreet where a saint of a woman who was a British nurse had set up a Baby clinic each Wednesday in her front room. She and her volunteer friends would record the weight of our precious little people and listen to our woes of cracked nipples and nappy/diaper rash. It was at the baby clinic one morning where I first spotted a woman with a baby the same age as mine. She had a beautiful Scottish accent and was telling a story of how she wanted to call her son "Luuuuuuuuuuuuuke" (Luke) but her name was Leah and her husband thought it was just a little too Star Wars for one household. I instantly wanted to be her friend. Nearly 10 years later I am the godmother of her second child, her husband is the godfather of mine and we speak almost daily via email or messenger.

In Kuala Lumpur when I threw up continuously throughout my pregnancy with number 2 it was another group of girlfriends/mothers that came with flowers, coffee and anything they could do to help. When 2 was finally born they were there with gifts for everyone and when I told them we'd just found out we were moving in two weeks to Libya they were all there to help pack.

Six months later I found myself at a table in Libya with a new group of friends from across the globe. I imagine because of the hardship of the location and the similarities of our lives we had bonded quickly and were all very tight. In a terrified and shaky voice I gave the news that I was about 3 months pregnant with number 3. There was a moment of stunned silence at the table. They were right to be stunned, we were stunned ourselves! G and I had no idea where I would give birth or how we were logistically going to travel with three under 3. I was terrified. Somehow though, for the next hour or so my new friends made the situation hysterically funny and manageable. As I drove home later that day with number 1 overtired and on the verge of catatonic and number 2 screaming for a feed my reality set in again and I joined in and cried with them all the way home. When I arrived at my front door there was a simple flower in a pot on the door step with a note from a girlfriend that read "you're a fantastic mother, not to worry you'll do this easily".

I have stood in many a school parking lot discussing anything from politics, working, sex, American girl dolls and where to buy the stuff that makes the hair curls stay curly for your six year olds dance recital this weekend. I have tried (and failed) to keep it together when friends have discussed their cancer, marriage break ups or child's illness and giggled with others over how and when they will get their "new" nipples, "I hear they're using labia to make nipples now....I've got tons of it maybe I could donate" (that story still makes me laugh). When I think of a book group in Canada or a Wednesday morning coffee in Houston familiar faces come to mind and it's hard not to get melancholy for times gone by.

So tomorrow when we hit the school yard for the first time I will be once again holding the hands of the little travelers very securely. Not only for them but also for me. We will all be new and we will all be friendless, but not for long. Like number 2 I don't really like that bit when you have to say your name but I know I will have to approach a bunch of strangers and say "Hi, I'm Annie's Mum". I'll let you know how it goes.