Gone Fishing

If the blog had a door that you had to open to enter,  it's possible if you've walked past that door in the last few weeks, you may have seen a sign that said something like the one above.

It's been nearly three weeks since we left Qatar. Three weeks of constant eating, reunions with old friends, late nights, wine and giggles. Lots of hugs, lots of "awwwwww look at you!" And lots of "I really should write a blog...oh look, is that a bottle of wine?"

I don't think we've wasted one minute of our past few weeks. Every day has involved catching up with a friend or ticking something off the list of "must do's" while we were home. We hit the Tarmac running, on our race to soak up as much of Australia as possible.

Within the first forty eight hours we were sitting at the MCG with a beer, grins from ear to ear, watching the Cats play Hawthorn. We found our way to our seats, the one's we'd booked online months ago, G at one end, me at the other, the Little Travelers in between us. Every now and then we'd glance at each other with a knowing smile. After months, then weeks and then finally days of counting down, we'd made it. We were home.

We caught a tram, ate a pie, walked the Mall and made the compulsory emergency doctors visit (there's always the emergency Doctors visit). We've been to Parliament House and The War Memorial. We watched Question Time. When Peter Garrett waved at the Little Travelers I become over excited "HE USED TO BE A ROCK STAR" I said. "The old bald guy?" they asked. They didn't believe me.

For me, it's all about The Little Travelers understanding Australia, experiencing its nuances, its pop culture. We drown ourselves in Masterchef, footballs are kicked and netballs are thrown. We eat fish and chips on the beach and smell the gum trees along the river. I become a tour guide and give over zealous recollections of "when I grew up."

I realized I was just a little bit too excited about being home when I was standing at the bakery counter with one of the Little Travelers. I sounded like something out of Australian movie, "See that honey, now that's what you call a Lamington". I really wanted her to appreciate that Lamington. "Mum, you've really lost it". Maybe I had.

I love the first few weeks of being home, but it's not just the excitement of old friends and familiarity. It's that G is with us as well, it's a family holiday. The next part, the part when he goes back to work, is always a little disjointed and unfamiliar.

I have four more days. Four more days of dual parenting, four more days of being a couple, four more days of my gorgeous G.

He will head back to Doha on Sunday and The Little Travelers and I will slowly settle in to life in Australia without him for seven weeks. We'll slow down on the catch ups and settle in to the routine. We'll still be on holidays but it'll be different. It's never the same without G.

Next week it's back to business, more blogging, more writing, more vegetables, less wine.

The sign will come down.

See you on Monday.

Kirstyxx

Outwit, Outlast, Outplane

Travelling with children, like most activities involving children, comes in progressive stages.

Flying with a toddler or new baby falls in to the “extreme” parenting category. It's like a game of Survivor, you are constantly trying to outwit, outlast, outplay.

The early years are all about packing the right amount of nappies, food or formula. Strollers are left at special gates and breastfeeding is perfectly timed for take off and decent to protect little ears. Everybody has at least two changes of clothes, including the parents. Seating arrangements are carefully discussed to allow for aisle walking with toddlers and bags are checked and rechecked for the extra dummy, the blanky that 'has' to be there at nap time and the favourite non leak sippy cup.

Unfortunately, the reality usually looks a little different. After spending a week packing everything required for a 15 hour flight, you will board the plane and discover your bulging baby bag has been included in your stow away luggage. Everything you need is now underneath the plane.

You'll ask yourself you how this has happened? Perhaps you'll think back to that crazed moment when you were trying to fold the stroller with one hand with six passports between your teeth whilst wearing your sleeping baby in its sling/baby bjorn. You'll cringe as you recall the haunting gasp from woman at the check-in counter that coincided with your baby slipping out like a sausage on to the rollers of the xray machine. Yes, it may have been then that you lost concentration for a moment.

In a desperate search for replacement nappies, you will sprint from gate 3 to 47 to find the airport pharmacy and in a moment of unexplainable insanity you'll pay $32 for a jar of vaseline and a panty liner, desperately hoping that you can whip something together that will resemble a nappy. 

It may appear that your troubles are over when the airline staff tell you they have supplies onboard. Shortly after you will find yourself in an airplane toilet, with a roll of sticky tape and an adult sized nappy. The sticky tape will be helpful with both keeping the nappy on and ensuring your baby no longer slips on to the floor.  Later, in a breast feeding mishap, you look down and realize you have two lines of tape running from each nipple. The crinkling sound your baby makes as it rolls over is cute, for the first hour, the next fourteen are a little tiring.

As we drove to the airport last week, it occurred to me that this was our first flight in eleven years without a stroller. We have passed the extreme parenting stage of flying. Our first child was eleven days old when we made our first flight as parents. She is now on her third passport and can recite the safety video of roughly 10 different airlines. We've spent a lot of time in parenting rooms in airports and have eaten way to many meals in compartmentalized trays with al-foil tops.

As we made our way through Customs and Immigration in Doha, I walked behind my Four Little Travelers, they had packed their own carry on bags, two tracksuits, two sets of pajamas, two pairs of knickers/jocks, one toothbrush, one hairbrush, their favourite book, pencils and a notepad. They each had the stuffy/teddy that has been there for every flight, with it's head sticking from the top of their bags. 

Our days of walking the isles with a toddler, comforting a screaming baby and begging a flight attendant for a jar of baby food are over. 

We've made it. 

Although, we were short a pair of jocks and hairbrush when we arrived....

6 suitcases and a Christmas Tree

We made it.

You may have seen us? We were the family at the airport at 1 a.m. with 6 suitcases (2 of them with a Christmas Tree inside...it's complicated) 6 carry-ons and four excited pajama clad little travelers enquiring "how much longer" as we were boarding the flight.

I'll be back tomorrow but I just thought I'd quickly say Hi.

Hi. I've missed you!

There's been a lot of catching up, some Granny and Gramps cuddles and a few too many late nights, which is scary as I think we've been in Australia for about 5 days (somehow I've been awake for 10).

See you tomorrow,

Kirsty xx

The Head Prefect

The Head Prefect in my final year of school appeared to be perfect. She had a soft sweet voice, she was very bright and it was impossible not to like her. She had one of those swept across Lady Diana fringes with a similar set of big blue eyes. You could imagine her comforting orphans.

She finished school with enviable grades and a place in Law School. I'm not sure of the details but I believe she married another Lawyer and they moved to a town where they had their own practice.

At our 10 year school re-union a few of us were standing around drinking and catching up, she was in the group. I asked what she'd been up to - and as she was chronologically going through the years she hesitated for a moment and said "it all sounds a bit boring - maybe I peaked in year 12?"

It was a joke and we all laughed but I couldn't help but wonder if she was right.

I was naughty at school. I did the opposite of peak. I did as little as I possibly could to get by. When I stumbled out of the school gates, it wasn't to university. I think the polite term for my twenties is a misspent youth.

I met a lot of people in those years, what I affectionally refer to as the "pub/club years" as that's where I spent most of my time. I imagine if Facebook had been around, I would have been one of those people with 1500 friends and 3000 pictures of me with duck lips.

A shiver just ran down my spine.

Those were the years when my mother would stop me mid sentence as I told her about what I'd got up to the night before and say "please don't tell me that dear, there are some things a mother shouldn't know".

I don't think I really started to grow up until I was about twenty seven, between seventeen and twenty seven there were a lot of unpaid bills, shitty boyfriends, drinking and bad decisions. I was just very lucky that I was reasonably street smart and people kept employing me. I also had fantastic parents and the best girlfriends you could ask for. Somehow I managed to pull it all together, find a job that I loved, and a career that didn't feel like work. I think the expression is 'but there for the grace of God, go I". I was very lucky.

When I look at the Little Travelers I wonder who they will be, and which path they will choose to get there. Naturally, I don't want there to be bruising and scars - but I also don't want it to be boring. There should always be things a mother shouldn't know.

A few months ago I stumbled across a brutully and beautifully honest blog written by a woman called Eden. She's had her issues, her grief and enough drama for a bad reality TV series and I LOVE HER.

I don't think Eden was a Head Prefect.


"I'm so glad I'm not married to myself"

"I believe the broken people are the best kinds of people"

"I believe I was going to try really hard not to swear...but I can't help it"






The Little Travelers haven't listened to what Eden has said, but they have watched her dance about 350,000 times, I know this as I'm the one who has to find the exact point (4:55) so I can press play.

When we drive home from school now I am asked to play the "Eden" song.

There have been many plans to do a dance like Edens, but somehow the four Little Travelers can never quite agree on who is going to do what when. Last night as they sat around working on a puzzle, I turned on the stereo, opened the laptop, and watched while they all discovered it was recording. I had to mute the sound as there was a little bit of screaming going on. Here it is.





Oh, and a note to The Little Travelers incase you even happen to read this and think you've just found the perfect excuse to slack off. Everything I just said about me, well, your Father is the opposite. He doesn't do irresponsible, it's not in his repertoire.