The kitchen in our new house is odd. Decent amount of counter space, though not as much as I would like, decent sized sink, huge fridge space, TINY PANTRY CUPBOARD. Its about a foot wide, and has nowhere near enough shelves to make good use of the available space. Fortunately, theres a lot of other cupboards in the kitchen. A LOT. so the oddly tall one in the middle of one of the counters has been designated pantry#2.
Hubby took the doors off for me a couple days ago. So now, I can work on the counter in front of it without constantly having to move everything to get stuff out. BIG YAY.
However, because its open, I had to do some reorganising. Only relatively 'nice looking' things are in it now - my cansiters and old coffee jars full of herbs and spices. And my recipe box.
Alos, whoever lived here before was very clever. The bottom shelf is fixed, unlike the rest, and is quite high up. Underneath it they've affixed some hooks, which allow me to hang my measuring cups&spoons, AND oven mits, so they're always handy and I don't have to go searching for them! WOOT! Easy access to utensils most likely to be used over there, and plenty of room underneath for my canisters.
My computer is still borked, and hubby's isn't accepting the memory card from the camera at the moment, but as soon as I get it sorted, rest assured, you WILL be bombarded with before and after shots of my food storage.
I still can't believe how excited I am about this.
Sunday, 2 May 2010
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
The Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Adorable Shoes
Yesterday, we bought Gosling her first pair of shoes*. Gosling has only been walking for a few weeks** and athough she can make it from one end of the house to the other, she still often does so with frequent falling. If she's going down even the slightest slope, she buils up speed faster than she can figure out how to stop, and ends up smashing her face most spectacularly. She can walk, but she's still relatively unsteady on her feet.
The shoes aren't helping.
I wasn't insane enough to buy her 'proper' shoes, with hard soles and buckles and who knows what else - these are soft leather shoes with suede soles, harder than socks, certainly, but soft and flexible enough to move with her feet.
She hates them.
They are absolutely adorable, a soft pink, with embroidered flowers and just a touch of sparkle. The kind of shoes I would have loved when I was a little girl, but always had to put back in favour of sensible black that I could wear to school.***
She cries when I make her wear them.
Looking concerned about the shoe situation.
It breaks my heart. I put her shoes on, and she sits, and looks at them. She starts to stand up, then sits again, and her face falls. Tears well in her eyes, her lower lip juts out, and then her whole face starts to quiver. If I pull her up and hold her hand, she walks with no problems. This is how I know the shoes arent hurting her. If they hurt, she wouldnt be able to walk even with me holding her hand.
Obviously, something about the shoes is hindering her ability to walk on her own. Her fat little feet can't quite feel the ground, and the straps touch her ankles where she's never had pressure before.
This was never a problem we had with the Critterbug. When he started walking it was the beginning of the warm season. We couldn't find sandals the right size for him, but running barefoot in summer isn't an issue, so we let him. Even if we had found him shoes, however, he was such an enthusiatic walker he would have just dealt with it, Within days of figuring out walking, he was running, and he hasn't stopped running since. Gosling is a little more timid about the whole walking thing, but doesn't have the luxury of spending her first few walking months barefoot. It is fast and suddenly coming up for winter, and even if we never went outside, our house doesn't have heating.**** She simply has to have shoes.
And I simply have to steel my heart against her giant blue eyes and quivering lips, and ignore her lying on the floor crying, all because of a pair of adorable pink shoes.
*My sister will insist SHE bought Gosling's forst pair of shoes when the bub was a few months old, but since they are unwearable and ridiculous, they don't count.
**Its been about 5 weeks since she could take more than 2 steps without falling down, and about 3 since she could consistently walk any distance worth bothering with.
***Schools here have a uniform, usually involving black shoes. I hada pair of black school shoes, a pair of sneakers, and sandals for summer. I don't think I ever had sparkly pink shoes until I bought myself a pair at age 22.
****We now have a functional oven, but even if I were to bake all day, every day, the temperature in the house would only increase by so much.
EXTRA extra notes:
1. Naturally, after I write this post, upon hearing awake noises from her room, I got Gosling up out of bed. I put her shoes on, determined that she would get used to them, and plopped her on the couch to take photos, because SO CUTE. There was some confusion and annoyance, because of the shoes, but then, she started smiling. And laughing. And climbing down and running around as if she was barefoot. This post is now meaningless and pointless and FALSE, but it was true when I started writing it, so its staying here. Also, the whole situation is just as likely to change back tomorrow, or even after her next nap.
Making me look like a liar.
2. Yes, I have a very pale couch and two kids, one of whom still smears food all over her entire body when she eats, and the other of whom is a 5yr old boy who does not understand the meaning of "walk, don't run!!!!", "stop jumping", or "stay out of the dirt". I obviously like to be frustrated.
Monday, 12 April 2010
Home, even in the cold.
It is mid April, and the weather has started to turn. The sky is bright and clear, amazingly blue today, and the sun is shining like crazy, but there is a definite chill in the air. Blankets have been put on beds (except Goslings - she still moves around so much that all it would accomplish is either a suffocated baby, or one who wakes all night crying because she is tangled), and I'm keeping my eye out for singlets (tanktops, wifebeaters, whatever you want to call them - sleeveless undershirts) for the kids every time go to the shops. Today is colder than yesterday, and summer clothes have been well and truly abandoned, even by the boy who runs so much I'm amazed he even notices the cold. Critter has tracksuit pants (his only pair) and long sleeves on, and Gosling is wearing tights that don't quite come up past her nappy. I would be sure to overheat if I were to wear a sweater, but I too have given in to long sleeves, and, for once, socks.
This might not seem that strange to anyone else, until you realise that I go barefoot most of the time - including outside in the middle of the night. I keep my feet bare if it is at all possible.
But my toes were slightly numb and looking a little oddly-coloured.
And we do not have a heat source in this house.
There are two gas outlets, one in each of the main rooms. The house however, did not come with gas heaters to go with the outlets, and they are rather expensive to buy. Oil column heaters are cheaper to buy, but they heat less efficiently, and are very expensive to run, especially as electricity prices are set to increase quite a bit.
Normally I would kill two birds with one stone at this time of year, and simply use the oven more. Roast dinners would become more frequent, providing us with good food, incidental heating, and abundant leftovers for quick dinners and lunches. Bread would be started in the morning so the heat from the oven would keep me warm while getting the rest of the day's work sorted. Cookies and muffins would appear on our menu with greater frequency.
But this year, our first cold season in our new very-own-all-ours house, our oven isn't working. The stovetop heats, though the temperature controls leave a lot to be desired (one burner appears to have two settings - veryextrasuperhot and lukewarm - and the other three will take upwards of half an hour to boil a small saucepan of water), and the grill (Americans may be unfamiliar with this term, I think my husband said it is referred to as a broiler?) seems to be in perfect working order (though with a never-stops-running 5 year old and a just-started-walking toddler in the house, I dislike the fact that the grill door has to be left open if it is on), but the heating element in the oven itself has decided to stop doing its job.
The fan and light are still functional, which tricked us the other morning and meant that our breakfast of biscuits and gravy was cooked at the last minute in the BBQ, after discovering that the oven, which should have been preheating for over 20minutes, was stone cold. I don't think we've ever used the BBQ before 10am before.
This house is less drafty than our previous residence, especially now my brilliant husband has boarded up the cracks in the floors of the children's rooms, but it is also only weatherboard and clad construction, not the hefty insulated double-brick of mum's house. The lower ceilings mean less space for hot air to disappear into, but the comparatively flowing openplan living areas, with only one door between front and back of house, mean it is harder to shut up a space and hold that heat where it is needed.
Tomorrow will be worse than today. Today, after a couple of days of slightly upset stomach on Gosling's part, I find I am almost out of nappies, and have tossed the clean, but unusably wet ones into the dryer (a practice I greatly dislike, but am terribly grateful for on days like today), instead of waiting for them to dry outside on the line. With only three left, and nappies taking at least a full day to dry on our line, the only other option was to let all hang loose and simply clean up messes - an option much better reserved for warm summer days, than chilly autumn ones.
A welcome side effect is the hot air being blasted into the house from the dryer - an experience we will have to do without, tomorrow. Tomorrow, everyone will be in long sleeves and wellcovered legs again, and I may even have to pull out a blanket to keep cosy on the couch as night falls and the chill deepens.
Our house is still lacking in many things that help to make a home. Heaters and a functional oven are the most obvious at the moment, but there are many other little things missing. Placemats for the table, paintings for the walls, shelves for Goslings room, shoe-racks for ours. A desk in a corner where I can keep my sewing things (instead of taking up half the dining table). Some sort of cupboard for the laundry-linen-closet, a coffee table and rug for the living room.
But even without these things, even without heat, and even with the curtains that grate on my nerves and sickly-lemon-yellow walls, with drab boring kitchen cupboards and bare lightbulbs, with leaking gutters and taps that only recognise the three annoying temperatures 'cold' 'lukewarm' and 'lava', I'm beginning to really like it here, in my white clad house with the green roof and rosebushes.
I'm beginning to feel at home.
This might not seem that strange to anyone else, until you realise that I go barefoot most of the time - including outside in the middle of the night. I keep my feet bare if it is at all possible.
But my toes were slightly numb and looking a little oddly-coloured.
And we do not have a heat source in this house.
There are two gas outlets, one in each of the main rooms. The house however, did not come with gas heaters to go with the outlets, and they are rather expensive to buy. Oil column heaters are cheaper to buy, but they heat less efficiently, and are very expensive to run, especially as electricity prices are set to increase quite a bit.
Normally I would kill two birds with one stone at this time of year, and simply use the oven more. Roast dinners would become more frequent, providing us with good food, incidental heating, and abundant leftovers for quick dinners and lunches. Bread would be started in the morning so the heat from the oven would keep me warm while getting the rest of the day's work sorted. Cookies and muffins would appear on our menu with greater frequency.
But this year, our first cold season in our new very-own-all-ours house, our oven isn't working. The stovetop heats, though the temperature controls leave a lot to be desired (one burner appears to have two settings - veryextrasuperhot and lukewarm - and the other three will take upwards of half an hour to boil a small saucepan of water), and the grill (Americans may be unfamiliar with this term, I think my husband said it is referred to as a broiler?) seems to be in perfect working order (though with a never-stops-running 5 year old and a just-started-walking toddler in the house, I dislike the fact that the grill door has to be left open if it is on), but the heating element in the oven itself has decided to stop doing its job.
The fan and light are still functional, which tricked us the other morning and meant that our breakfast of biscuits and gravy was cooked at the last minute in the BBQ, after discovering that the oven, which should have been preheating for over 20minutes, was stone cold. I don't think we've ever used the BBQ before 10am before.
This house is less drafty than our previous residence, especially now my brilliant husband has boarded up the cracks in the floors of the children's rooms, but it is also only weatherboard and clad construction, not the hefty insulated double-brick of mum's house. The lower ceilings mean less space for hot air to disappear into, but the comparatively flowing openplan living areas, with only one door between front and back of house, mean it is harder to shut up a space and hold that heat where it is needed.
Tomorrow will be worse than today. Today, after a couple of days of slightly upset stomach on Gosling's part, I find I am almost out of nappies, and have tossed the clean, but unusably wet ones into the dryer (a practice I greatly dislike, but am terribly grateful for on days like today), instead of waiting for them to dry outside on the line. With only three left, and nappies taking at least a full day to dry on our line, the only other option was to let all hang loose and simply clean up messes - an option much better reserved for warm summer days, than chilly autumn ones.
A welcome side effect is the hot air being blasted into the house from the dryer - an experience we will have to do without, tomorrow. Tomorrow, everyone will be in long sleeves and wellcovered legs again, and I may even have to pull out a blanket to keep cosy on the couch as night falls and the chill deepens.
Our house is still lacking in many things that help to make a home. Heaters and a functional oven are the most obvious at the moment, but there are many other little things missing. Placemats for the table, paintings for the walls, shelves for Goslings room, shoe-racks for ours. A desk in a corner where I can keep my sewing things (instead of taking up half the dining table). Some sort of cupboard for the laundry-linen-closet, a coffee table and rug for the living room.
But even without these things, even without heat, and even with the curtains that grate on my nerves and sickly-lemon-yellow walls, with drab boring kitchen cupboards and bare lightbulbs, with leaking gutters and taps that only recognise the three annoying temperatures 'cold' 'lukewarm' and 'lava', I'm beginning to really like it here, in my white clad house with the green roof and rosebushes.
I'm beginning to feel at home.
Monday, 29 March 2010
Since Last We Spoke...
- We moved in to the holiday house. Which, by the way, was about 1 block from the beach. It took a few nights for me to get used to the sound of the ocean.
- Critter started school. (How can my baby be so big?)
- Gosling turned one. (Seriously! How can my babies be SO BIG!!!)
- We moved in to OUR HOUSE!!! Our very own house with ROSE BUSHES!!!
- Gosling's vocabulary consists of the usual baby babble, plus her brother's name, "hello", "nigh-nigh" (very occasionally), "dadadadad", and a brrrrrrrrrrrrrrm car noise, predominantly made when playing with a toy car.
- Critter can read. Not just "cat", "dad", "hit", but "where is my hat? this is my red shoe", and "the buffalo jumps in. let's have a swim". SMARTY PANTS!
- Gosling started to walk, and can now get herself halfway across the room without falling down.
- She is more likely to get up and walk if there is music playing.
- She is extraordinarily fast when she crab-crawls, and will do this if she REALLY wants to get somewhere fast.
- We somehow managed a 1.5hr drive with a 5yr old, a hungry 1yr old, and a terrified, blind, bigger-than-the-baby 13yr old cat, without anyone being injured or yelling.
- The cat has settled in fairly well. He didn't eat or drink for the first couple of days, but oddly, his blindness seems to have been a blessing. He can't SEE that everything is different, so because it all still smells like his people, he's just accepted that we've moved some things around and it's all fine.
- We bought a very expensive couch, which is balanced by the fact that we got another couch for the kid's area, AND a TV unit for less than $250. YAY SALVO'S!!!
- Our bedroom has a REMOTE CONTROL FAN AND LIGHT.
- There is one light in the house with NO off switch that we can find, so we're leaving it bulb-less.
- The walls of the house are all yellow, except the kid's area which is hideous 70s wood panelling.
- We can't afford paint at the moment, and don't have time to paint even if we could afford it, so I'm learning to live with yellow. I'm never going to love it though.
- We bought a wardrobe and toybox for critter's room, splashing out on custom stuff so it would match and he would have a decent looking room instead of the jumble he's been living with, and after getting the truck loaded up and driving for over an hour to get it home, getting it down the sloping front yard and into the house, miraculously without scratching the hardwood floors, WE DISCOVERED THEY'VE MESSED UP AND STAINED IT THE WRONG COLOUR. Yes, it looked paler than we were expecting when we picked it up, but we assumed it was to do with being in sunlight rather than a dark bedroom. So we took it back and it's being fixed.
- I have to learn to cook with a small oven. My cookie tray keeps the door open.
- We are also learning creative pantry-ing, as although we have a decent amount of counter and otherwise-cupboard space, the 'pantry' area is about 1/3 what I've previously lived with. Some of the other cupboards have been taken over.
- There is NO LINEN CLOSET. The enormous laundry is going to have cupboards installed, and part of our wardrobe is being taken over, because at the moment, there's no-where to put towels, sheets, or even toilet paper.
- I've discovered a laneway that turns the 5minute walk to Critter's school into a 2minute walk. Unfortunately this makes it tempting to leave Gosling asleep when I leave to pick him up at 2:40, and she's been asleep for less than half an hour after being awake since before 7am. I DIDN'T leave her, and never would, but the temptation is there, and I don't like it.
And lastly,
- My computer is borked. The battery life is approximately 7minutes, and the power cord has to be held at just the right angle and pressure or the machine thinks it isn't plugged in and turns off, so I've been using hubby's machine. THIS IS VERY ANNOYING, and means that I won't be around much, even though we actually have a decently working internet connection here, unlike the holiday house which had little to no reception and would cut out for no reason intermittently.
Monday, 18 January 2010
I Don't Know How to Use a Dishwasher
In about August my husband got a promotion. His company opened a new branch, and he applied for, and won, the position of branch manager at the new branch. This is Awesome (and the extra money is nice), but it does present a few difficulties.
The new branch is over an hour's drive south of where we currently live, and with hubby working 7am to 5pm, we don't get to see him much. He gets up at about 5am and leaves before 6am every morning, and he doesn't get home till well after 6pm. Some days he doesn't get home until nearly 8pm, if he's had to stay back for some reason and the traffic gets bad. He's also "on call" 24-7, meaning that if someone calls in the middle of the night and needs something, he has to go in and open the store to sell them stuff - not fun when the store is so far away.
Because of this, we decided to move down the coast. He's been desperate to get out of Sydney since we moved here, and this is the perfect opportunity. After a few setbacks we've found a house and the bank has agreed to throw money at us (contracts are exchanged, just waiting for the tenants to vacate in March and then we settle), and Critter is enrolled in school - which presents the other difficulty.
The house is due to settle mid-late March. Critter starts school at the beginning of February. That gives us about 6 weeks where we are living over an hour away from his school, and I don't even drive. Things were looking tricky. Hubby could take Critter down with him every morning, let him play in the warehouse for a couple hours, take him to school, pick him up after school, let him play in the warehouse for another couple hours and then come home. Except that I don't relish the idea of waking a 5year old at 5am every morning to get ready for school, and its hard enough spending 12 hours a day away from my husband. I don't think I could handle having the boy away for so long too.
So hubby came up with a good, if expensive, idea. We are renting a "holiday home" for 8 weeks. Its in the suburb we will be living in. Its 4 houses away from the beach. Its fully furnished, so all we need to take is clothes, food, and Gosling's cot. And we're moving next Sunday.
My parents bought this house in 1987. Other than 8 months up the coast when I was 5, and my not-quite-2-years in California, I've lived here since then. My husband has lived here since coming to Australia, my children have never lived anywhere else. I have 5 days left in this house.
I'm very excited, and I'll admit to being a little nervous. We only bought the very very basics in groceries this week, in order to use up as much of whats in the cupboards as possible. I'm trying to remember where our suitcases are, so I can pack up all our clothes. I'm also trying to figure out the best way to transport 2 pot plants, and how to take 2 cars down, when we only have one driver. But my biggest concern? I think the new house has a dishwasher, and I don't know how to use one.
The new branch is over an hour's drive south of where we currently live, and with hubby working 7am to 5pm, we don't get to see him much. He gets up at about 5am and leaves before 6am every morning, and he doesn't get home till well after 6pm. Some days he doesn't get home until nearly 8pm, if he's had to stay back for some reason and the traffic gets bad. He's also "on call" 24-7, meaning that if someone calls in the middle of the night and needs something, he has to go in and open the store to sell them stuff - not fun when the store is so far away.
Because of this, we decided to move down the coast. He's been desperate to get out of Sydney since we moved here, and this is the perfect opportunity. After a few setbacks we've found a house and the bank has agreed to throw money at us (contracts are exchanged, just waiting for the tenants to vacate in March and then we settle), and Critter is enrolled in school - which presents the other difficulty.
The house is due to settle mid-late March. Critter starts school at the beginning of February. That gives us about 6 weeks where we are living over an hour away from his school, and I don't even drive. Things were looking tricky. Hubby could take Critter down with him every morning, let him play in the warehouse for a couple hours, take him to school, pick him up after school, let him play in the warehouse for another couple hours and then come home. Except that I don't relish the idea of waking a 5year old at 5am every morning to get ready for school, and its hard enough spending 12 hours a day away from my husband. I don't think I could handle having the boy away for so long too.
So hubby came up with a good, if expensive, idea. We are renting a "holiday home" for 8 weeks. Its in the suburb we will be living in. Its 4 houses away from the beach. Its fully furnished, so all we need to take is clothes, food, and Gosling's cot. And we're moving next Sunday.
My parents bought this house in 1987. Other than 8 months up the coast when I was 5, and my not-quite-2-years in California, I've lived here since then. My husband has lived here since coming to Australia, my children have never lived anywhere else. I have 5 days left in this house.
I'm very excited, and I'll admit to being a little nervous. We only bought the very very basics in groceries this week, in order to use up as much of whats in the cupboards as possible. I'm trying to remember where our suitcases are, so I can pack up all our clothes. I'm also trying to figure out the best way to transport 2 pot plants, and how to take 2 cars down, when we only have one driver. But my biggest concern? I think the new house has a dishwasher, and I don't know how to use one.
Saturday, 9 January 2010
Of Roots and Proper Pronunciation
I've noticed that I refer to my father as 'my father' and my mother as 'mum' throughout this post, and I find that rather interesting. I was brought up to call them Daddy and Mummy respectively, and seeing as they each referred to their own parents thus until their passing, it would be acceptable, and possibly, to them, even preferable for me to continue to do so. While I love my parents, I do not get on with my father particularly well, and my mum less well than I would like, and the terms 'my father' and 'mum' reflect this.
My father was born in England at the tail end of WWII. His father had served in the British navy during the war and became a politician, and later a door-to-door salesman, his mother could best be described as a socialite. She claimed to have had tea with the Queen, been kidnapped by a sultan, and run off to join a circus at 16. I'm serious. His family lived in Jamaica when he was very young, and when they moved back to England and he started school, he was sent to boarding school. He went to Clifton College, and upon watching Monty Python movies, noted which teachers John Cleese based the characters on - he was a year ahead of my father. My father moved to Australia with his first wife when he was in his early 20s, moved back to England a few years later, moved back to Australia after marrying my mother, and is a LAWYER.
Mum was born 362 days later, in the U.S.A. Her father was a farmer who had served in the U.S. army in Britain, opting to stay at desk work instead of taking the better paying job as a sniper, because he couldn't bear to take a human life. Her mother was a "war bride", a British girl who fell in love with an American soldier, and went back to the states with him. She had what the doctors called "muscular dystrophy", but still went out every day to fetch water from the well at the log house my grandfather built, when she had two young children. When mum was 15 they moved back to England, for better medical care for her mother, and mum left school, not being able to stand being in the 'babies' french class - she hadn't learned french in the U.S.A. She had various jobs, among which was taking tours in Spain and teaching rudimentary English. She married my father when she was a secretary at the same law firm he was at, and they moved to Australia. Some 20 years ago she started work as an ENGLISH TEACHER (teaching the language to overseas students) and is now head of department at an English Language school for overseas students. She re-started her education at the age of 50 when she went to University in order to earn more.
What was the point of all that? Well, there are a few main things to take note of:
I was born in, and have lived most of my life in, a country where Steve Irwin's accent, while ridiculed, is actually quite normal, the 8th letter of the alphabet is habitually pronounced HAITCH, the c-word is a far too common nickname/greeting/insult, and when an ad on the TV got complaints for using the word "bugger", they issued an apology ad, using the word about sixty-gazillion more times. Despite this, I somehow ended up with an almost-English accent, and often say/pronounce things in a way that makes my American raised (British-born, but he claims it doesn't count) husband walk around with his chin tucked under and his teeth sticking out, being "British".
I distinctly remember my father teaching us that the 'h' in any 'wh' should always be pronounced, before the 'w'. Thus:
My father was born in England at the tail end of WWII. His father had served in the British navy during the war and became a politician, and later a door-to-door salesman, his mother could best be described as a socialite. She claimed to have had tea with the Queen, been kidnapped by a sultan, and run off to join a circus at 16. I'm serious. His family lived in Jamaica when he was very young, and when they moved back to England and he started school, he was sent to boarding school. He went to Clifton College, and upon watching Monty Python movies, noted which teachers John Cleese based the characters on - he was a year ahead of my father. My father moved to Australia with his first wife when he was in his early 20s, moved back to England a few years later, moved back to Australia after marrying my mother, and is a LAWYER.
Mum was born 362 days later, in the U.S.A. Her father was a farmer who had served in the U.S. army in Britain, opting to stay at desk work instead of taking the better paying job as a sniper, because he couldn't bear to take a human life. Her mother was a "war bride", a British girl who fell in love with an American soldier, and went back to the states with him. She had what the doctors called "muscular dystrophy", but still went out every day to fetch water from the well at the log house my grandfather built, when she had two young children. When mum was 15 they moved back to England, for better medical care for her mother, and mum left school, not being able to stand being in the 'babies' french class - she hadn't learned french in the U.S.A. She had various jobs, among which was taking tours in Spain and teaching rudimentary English. She married my father when she was a secretary at the same law firm he was at, and they moved to Australia. Some 20 years ago she started work as an ENGLISH TEACHER (teaching the language to overseas students) and is now head of department at an English Language school for overseas students. She re-started her education at the age of 50 when she went to University in order to earn more.
What was the point of all that? Well, there are a few main things to take note of:
- My father is ENGLISH, and was raised fairly upper-class.
- He is a LAWYER.
- My mum is an ENGLISH TEACHER.
- She was raised in the U.S. by an English mother, who wanted to make sure she spoke properly.
- She has a masters degree.
I was born in, and have lived most of my life in, a country where Steve Irwin's accent, while ridiculed, is actually quite normal, the 8th letter of the alphabet is habitually pronounced HAITCH, the c-word is a far too common nickname/greeting/insult, and when an ad on the TV got complaints for using the word "bugger", they issued an apology ad, using the word about sixty-gazillion more times. Despite this, I somehow ended up with an almost-English accent, and often say/pronounce things in a way that makes my American raised (British-born, but he claims it doesn't count) husband walk around with his chin tucked under and his teeth sticking out, being "British".
I distinctly remember my father teaching us that the 'h' in any 'wh' should always be pronounced, before the 'w'. Thus:
- Hwale
- Hwether
- Hwip
- Hwat
Wednesday, 6 January 2010
Gallows Humour
At the very beginning of December, I found out a good friend was pregnant. She comes over most weeks, we lets the kids run riot and enjoy what is sometimes the only adult conversation we have all week, other than our husbands. (And seriously, do boys necessarily count as adult conversation? I'm not sure the merits of one wrestler over another, and just exactly why golf is so wonderful really count.) That week, she had been feeling 'odd', and while she wasn't *ahem* late, she decided it would be worth a test anyway, so she bought one on her way over.
Due to not being late, the line took a looooooooong time to come up, and was very faint. So she used the one I had left over from last July with Gosling, just to be sure. We looked at those tests, and while those lines took a while, both of them were definitely there. By August, we would have 4 kids between us.
We've joked in the last couple of years that she's been stalking and copying me, trying to imitate my life. Her little girl is almost exactly 18months younger than Critter, and people often think they're siblings when we're out. (Her husband is half-greek and mine's mostly-half-italian, so the kids have ended up with olive skin, but somehow they've also both ended up with blondish hair and super-dark eyes. Gosling is the only one who's blue. I'm sure people think all three are mine, since she is a tiny blue eyed brunnette.) The new one was going to be 18months younger than Gosling - the same 4.5yr age gap as mine have. We laughed and joked, she took my leftover pregnancy vitamins, and we made plans for her to borrow our cradle, and to swap strollers once her bub was born, so she could have the baby one, and I'd have one better for a toddler.
When she came round a couple weeks later, she mentioned that she hadn't been feeling sick yet. At all. Morning-noon-and-night sickness had hit early with her daughter, but so far, all she'd had was tiredness, and she was beginning to wonder. She wasn't worried yet, but she was wary.
Then, that weekend, the weekend before Christmas, the facebook posts started. "K is having an exceptionally ***** day." "K is planning on getting very sozzled this silly season." "Super strong pain killers+couch+tea+chocolate = my day." I didn't want to believe it, but when she rang me in tears there could be no doubt. The bleeding had started on saturday, and an ultrasound had confirmed there was no heartbeat.
We talked. We cried. We agreed that all those stupid things people say really don't make you feel any better, they only make you want to scream. "There must have been something seriously wrong with it." Well thankyou, now I have an image of a badly deformed baby in my head and I'm already upset. "At least it happened now. Think about how much worse it would be if you'd been further along." My baby died and I feel like my heart has been ripped out. I do NOT want to think about how much more it could hurt, and quite honestly I'm not sure I believe you at the moment anyway. "Well your baby is in a better place now." I DON'T CARE I WANT IT HERE WITH ME IN MY ARMS!!! And perhaps the worst, "Theres nothing you could have done." I KNOW that, but you just aren't helping.
For me, now, some two and a half years later, some of those idiotic things people say are a comfort. To know that if my baby had survived it might have been in constant pain, but now it is safe, and will never know pain or fear, that is a comfort. To know that it wasn't something I did, that I do not have to live with guilt that somehow I caused it, that is a comfort. To know that my baby is resting in the eternal circle of God's loving arms, safe and waiting for me, that is a comfort. But in the beginning, none of that helps. All you want is to cry, and scream. To be angry. To blame yourself. Odd as it sounds, believing that I could have stopped it helped sometimes. To come to terms with the fact that it was out of my hands was hard. And all I wanted anyone to say was "I'm so sorry. Can I do anything for you? I'm here if you need me."
For her, one thing seemed to help. "Well, I see you haven't given up copying me, but you're running a bit late you know."
We laughed until we couldn't breathe, and then everything was just a tiny bit better.
Due to not being late, the line took a looooooooong time to come up, and was very faint. So she used the one I had left over from last July with Gosling, just to be sure. We looked at those tests, and while those lines took a while, both of them were definitely there. By August, we would have 4 kids between us.
We've joked in the last couple of years that she's been stalking and copying me, trying to imitate my life. Her little girl is almost exactly 18months younger than Critter, and people often think they're siblings when we're out. (Her husband is half-greek and mine's mostly-half-italian, so the kids have ended up with olive skin, but somehow they've also both ended up with blondish hair and super-dark eyes. Gosling is the only one who's blue. I'm sure people think all three are mine, since she is a tiny blue eyed brunnette.) The new one was going to be 18months younger than Gosling - the same 4.5yr age gap as mine have. We laughed and joked, she took my leftover pregnancy vitamins, and we made plans for her to borrow our cradle, and to swap strollers once her bub was born, so she could have the baby one, and I'd have one better for a toddler.
When she came round a couple weeks later, she mentioned that she hadn't been feeling sick yet. At all. Morning-noon-and-night sickness had hit early with her daughter, but so far, all she'd had was tiredness, and she was beginning to wonder. She wasn't worried yet, but she was wary.
Then, that weekend, the weekend before Christmas, the facebook posts started. "K is having an exceptionally ***** day." "K is planning on getting very sozzled this silly season." "Super strong pain killers+couch+tea+chocolate = my day." I didn't want to believe it, but when she rang me in tears there could be no doubt. The bleeding had started on saturday, and an ultrasound had confirmed there was no heartbeat.
We talked. We cried. We agreed that all those stupid things people say really don't make you feel any better, they only make you want to scream. "There must have been something seriously wrong with it." Well thankyou, now I have an image of a badly deformed baby in my head and I'm already upset. "At least it happened now. Think about how much worse it would be if you'd been further along." My baby died and I feel like my heart has been ripped out. I do NOT want to think about how much more it could hurt, and quite honestly I'm not sure I believe you at the moment anyway. "Well your baby is in a better place now." I DON'T CARE I WANT IT HERE WITH ME IN MY ARMS!!! And perhaps the worst, "Theres nothing you could have done." I KNOW that, but you just aren't helping.
For me, now, some two and a half years later, some of those idiotic things people say are a comfort. To know that if my baby had survived it might have been in constant pain, but now it is safe, and will never know pain or fear, that is a comfort. To know that it wasn't something I did, that I do not have to live with guilt that somehow I caused it, that is a comfort. To know that my baby is resting in the eternal circle of God's loving arms, safe and waiting for me, that is a comfort. But in the beginning, none of that helps. All you want is to cry, and scream. To be angry. To blame yourself. Odd as it sounds, believing that I could have stopped it helped sometimes. To come to terms with the fact that it was out of my hands was hard. And all I wanted anyone to say was "I'm so sorry. Can I do anything for you? I'm here if you need me."
For her, one thing seemed to help. "Well, I see you haven't given up copying me, but you're running a bit late you know."
We laughed until we couldn't breathe, and then everything was just a tiny bit better.
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