Circles

On the very same day last year, at almost the very same time, I was in exactly the same place. That place would be the Qantas International Lounge at Melbourne Airport, waiting to board a flight to Los Angeles.

Last time, I couldn't see where I was going because I was crying so hard. I needed the use of DH's strong arms just to keep myself upright, and moving in a forward direction. My eyes were literally burning from all the tears I'd cried in the intervening 24 hours. I sat in the lounge, and I called my sister, and I told her over and over, "I'm coming, I'm coming, we're on our way." It will probably be the hardest phone call I've ever made, and the hardest trip I've ever taken. And here I am, exactly a year later. I'm in the same lounge, but I haven't made any phone calls to anyone. I don't have DH here with me. I'm on my own, and I have a few minutes just to think about what the past twelve months have been like.

Truth be told I could probably write all about the 'process' of grief. How some days are just normal, okay, life-is-normal days and how others are I-can't-breathe sort of days where you are painfully reminded that your world is one person smaller. I could write about the many hours I've spent crying - either in the arms of my supportive husband, or by myself in the car as I drive to or from work or school or wherever. I could write about how horribly lonely this past year was, purely by virtue of being an ex-pat and not having anyone in Australia who knew my Dad well, or wants to talk about him, or who can even begin to allow me to wallow in my grief. I sat in the lounge last year and I headed to a world where everything had changed - my American family's daily lives are affected by my Dad's absence, while here in Australia nothing had changed for my immediate circle at all. I think some people think that should make it easier for me... but being alone in one's grief is perhaps the most alone one can really be.

So. I could keep writing about all of that, about how much it's just no fun at all to be alone and lonely and sad and trying to keep the "I'm a capable mother and business owner and over achiever and woman and wife and fabulous person" persona going. But I don't think my Dad would appreciate that. So instead, I'm going to write about all the new things I've learned in the past twelve months of life without my Dad. In no particular order...stuff my Dad's death has taught me:

1. Time does not heal all wounds, but it does provide perspective, and peace. I may never 'recover' from losing him, but I'll be at peace about it. Eventually.

2. Life is about seizing opportunities even if they are terrifying...and it really is true that with every closed door, another window opens. This is hard to appreciate when it seems (as it has lately) that everything is falling apart around you.

3. Nothing is worth fighting with your family about. State your piece, defend your honour...and then walk away and shut your mouth. Learn to move on because ultimately, your family is all you will ever have in this world. Long after boyfriends, jobs, houses, and money - your Mom, your siblings, your kids will all still be there.

4. Chocolate is not ever a good solution to sadness but it does make a reasonable band-aid, as long as you remember that band-aids are not meant to stay on forever. Eventually, you'll shower.

5. Exercise is the single best mood-improver there is...and going (to the gym or a walk or whatever) when you LEAST want to is the BEST time to do so.

6. Putting on a brave face doesn't make you strong. Being strong makes you able to put on a brave face, and sometimes you're doing it for yourself as much as for others. "Fake it till you make it" actually works.

7. I don't need to do the things my Dad did in order to remember him. I don't need to keep his traditions, I don't need to folllow his rules, I don't need to emulate his personality. The single best way to remember my Dad is to live by the life lessons he taught me and be the person he raised me to be. THAT person would never take on someone else's traits because they missed someone - that person would walk their own path, in their own way, doing their own thing. He often used to tell me he appreciated my intellect, my wit, my stubborn ability to do things MY way. The best way to keep his memory alive is to keep being that person, knowing that if he could see me now, he'd be as proud as ever. The question I've asked myself is not, "What would Dad do?"...the question I ask is, "What would Dad think about this if he could see it?" I am often surprised at how different the answers to those two questions are.

8. Sometimes choosing to be selfish is the best way you can be nice to someone else. This past year I've chosen to go on dates with my girlfriends, go to the gym, spend time on ME. I've felt selfish every single time I've done it... but I know that the free time I've had has made me far more able to be a good wife and mother.

...and I'm sure there are many more lessons I've learned, some of which will not become clear until much later. But for now, my flight is about to leave, and I've got to go back to my family and bask in their love and affection and good humour. Because it's what my Dad would expect of me, what my family needs, and because I know it's the single best thing I could be doing for myself.

Because After The Storm

...there are rainbows. And since I am trying very hard to be all positive and up beat and "rah rah sis boom bah, we'll pay our mortgage la la la" about things, here are 5 things which are making me smile this week (but scroll down and read the "things which are annoying me" post first):

1. DD had a shower and then decided to get onto the toilet... and when she was done, she stood up, grinned, and said, "I don't have any undies to pull up! Well, that's handy!" and then laughed..and her sibs and I (who were in the room next to her) heard it and started to laugh like hyenas. Such enthusiasm over such a small thing, and her comedic timing was just brilliant. So now we've been walking around for a couple of days saying, "Well, that's handy!" about nearly everything. "Kids, dinner is ready!" "Well, that's handy!" "Oh no, I shrunk my new shirt in the wash," "Well, that's handy!" and so on, ad infinitum.

2. DH's new haircut looks completely amazing, and the goatee he is growing to match it looks equally good. Never thought I'd think so, but fat Jewish men in their 50's can be totally smokin' hot. (And to be fair, he's lost a fair amount of weight so he's not really fat anymore.)

3. I finally, finally worked out the right combination of doors closed and open to heat our house. It's freezing cold in Melbourne, and while our house is heated, it's an open-plan style of home. Which means that some parts are always hot, and some parts are arctic. I finally worked out how to close the right doors so that it's just toasty warm in almost every part of the downstairs (other than the toilets...damn.) Doesn't sound like a big deal but I am ALWAYS cold, so for me to say, "Gee, it's kinda hot in here, we need to turn the heat down!" is unusual and cause for celebration.

4. I'm going to the US in 3 weeks - and while we don't have the money, and I can't afford the time off of work, and I'm not happy about the reason for my trip - I am so excited just to get a hug from my Mom, and have a coffee with my sister, and lay on my niece's bed and listen to her teenage stories, and read my other niece a story, and have my nephew teach me some game on his iTouch which we will then become obsessed about, and go on a mini-vay kay trip with my childhood bestie..and and and and! OMG OMG, I'm like, totally, going to Elllll- Aaaayyyy, dudes!

5. My new favourite snack: Some thin rice crackers spread with a bit of cream cheese and a scrape of sundried tomato pesto. If I close my eyes I can even pretend it's mildly healthy. And while something like food shouldn't be making me happy, I've been trying to find a quick, scrummy, mostly healthy and easy snack for ages and ages. So YAY for easily prepared and easily eaten snacks.

Rainbows, people, rainbows. I keep looking for them, and mostly finding them..but I know that will get harder as time goes on.

Things Which Are Annoying Me

A short list of things which are irritating me this week, for your reading pleasure:

1. I went to the interview, I got the job, then they didn't call to tell me when to come in and start working as they were meant to. What part of, 'If I don't start raking in some money soon, we will all be sleeping in our car and eating Vegemite on saltines" did they not understand? (But, on the plus side: my 2nd application netted me an interview tomorrow. So if that one comes up good, we'll be saved from the Vegemite, thank god, because Vegemite is just gross.)

2. Having a boy look. DH needs to complete some paperwork in order to shove a giant rocket up the ass of his former employer, because they treated him like crap and they need to be brought to justice. Said paperwork has a time limit by which he can complete it...a time limit which ends tomorrow. He needed a specific document in order to complete the paperwork. He spent THREE days looking for said piece of paper, tearing the house apart and supposedly turning over every rock. I walked in the house, looked in a box sitting at the front door, and found it inside of 10 seconds. The very SAME box he says he emptied out. What is it about men having a 'boy look' for things?!

3. I had a 2 week break from the gym and training since the kids were home, and I just find it very hard to get it done while they are underfoot. I went back to the gym this week, but then at training felt as though I was wading through molasses, very low energy and finding it hard to keep up. Losing fitness that quickly just sucks, because it makes me feel horrible about myself. Argh. Plus I don't think we can actually afford training any more, but the idea of having to give it up for financial reasons makes me want to cry. (Does crying burn calories?)

4. I am incapable of making decent pop overs. I'm going to try AGAIN this week, but geez! I'm a pastry chef, this should totally be easy for me to do. What IS it about those damn things? I saw a packet of frozen ones at ALDI this week... and considered buying them and passing them off as my own. Yes, I've stooped that low. (For my Aus friends: popovers=Yorkshire puds.)

5. I got stiffed on a cake this week. The client was frustrating from the get-go (last count of emails: 37 and counting). Her deposit bounced back, she kept changing her mind, and I had to make the decision to tell her I wasn't going to make her cake for her...by 2pm Friday I had no money, no confirmation of anything, and she was not contactable. From a business point of view, it was absolutely the right decision. Personally, though, it kinda made me feel like shit. I hate having to disappoint people, even when they disappoint me first.

Go on, make me feel better - what's annoying YOU this week?

Pwffht! Pwffht! Pwffht!

(the sound of the chopper blades... or the sound which heralds a new post about Helicopter Mum.)

Earlier this week my trio went off to school camp for 3 days. I don't remember my American childhood being punctuated by these events, so for explanation purposes: it's a field trip, usually 2-3 days, which kids at Australian schools go to. Usually it's related to their field of study for that term. So in the case of my kids, because "gold" was the topic - they and the Grade 4's headed off for 3 days to Ballarat, a town famous for being a major destination during the Victorian Gold Rush and Sovereign Hill (replica gold rush town).

Helicopter Mum was in full flight over this trip - a trip which has been in the planning for several months. A trip which involved plenty of capable teachers acting as chaperones. A trip which every kid was counting the days to, a trip which was just bursting with excitement and adventure. So first it was the complaint that we didn't get given the phone number of their accommodation (no idea why we would need to call in the first place... but that's me). Then it was the declaration that HM's other daughter was having 'separation anxiety issues' about her sister going away for 2 nights. Uuum, hello, didn't ALL of us want to be only children at some point? I'm thinking separation anxiety is a euphemism for "bloody thrilled about it." Then it was the assertion that said little sister had nightmares the night before camp, due to earlier separation anxiety issues... which is just too ridiculous for me to comment on. Then there were the myriad little worries - will she eat enough? be warm enough? be cold enough? remember to tie her shoes? be able to sleep in a bunk bed? remember she left behind a neurotic mother?

And on and on and on and on and on and on it went. I understand that there are parents out there who are more protective of their kids - who want to wrap them in cotton wool and store them under glass rather than allow them some freedom. I would even understand the endless worrying if this kid was heading off on some youth group camp staffed by pimple-faced sixteen year olds. (Okay, I lied. I can't think of ANY time that amount of worry is warranted.) But this was a school activity, in a totally closed environment, supervised by teachers. Every single child on every single minute of every single day was accounted for. Helicopter Mum really just suffers from extreme anxiety - which I truly think is a mental health issue for her - but it's the kids who are dealing with the fallout of her own issues. Her kids can barely walk two feet without her hovering, questioning, worrying, nagging, or just plain robbing them of the joy of being children. At least one of her kids has already started to exhibit the same behaviours - which to me is worth a lot more worry time.

The rest of us parents just hang around and observe this, with as much internal eye-rolling and "is she for real?" as we can get away with...and to her face we just try and alleviate her worries and be comforting. Secretly, though, we're all taking bets on how long it is before her hen-pecked, suffocated, cloistered children take up with the wrong crowd and end up pregnant at age 15 because their Mum was too stressed out to explain to them about what sex is.

*eye roll*

You Reaps What You Sows

This past week DH and I were empty nesters for three days as the trio went on school camp. Three days and two nights with no kids in the house... the first time that has ever happened since they were born 9 years ago. The house was so quiet, and so clean..and so terribly, terribly boring. Originally DH and I had planned to take ourselves away for those 3 days, but finance and life meant that we nixed that idea a while ago. Plan B was to go away just overnight, but then in light of recent events that too got nixed.

On Monday, while I prepared for my job interview and he sent out job applications (what an exciting life we lead...) I had the brilliant plan to take my own advice. One of my favourite coping mechanisms (as previously blogged about) is to take a micro-mini vacation. I decided it ws high time I took my own advice on what to do when life just gets to be too much. Thus decided, DH and I used the lovely wotif.com to book an el cheapo night at a CBD hotel and we headed off a few hours later.

It ended up being one of the best decisions we've made - because we decided that, for 24 hours, we were not going to worry. We were not going to fret about money, about jobs, about kids, about anything. We were just going to have fun and be indulgent and worry about NOTHING...other than the very important task of giving DH a make-over, one which he needed in both a physical and mental sense.

So we started at the barber shop, where he shaved off his 50 year old comb-over. A HUGE event as he was very, um, attached to that thing. And it's the same barber shop who gave him his first haircut at 6 months old, so there's a certain cosmic fabulousness to it. When then ate copius amounts of lollies from a newly-discovered lolly shop, had a completely delicious meal at Sahara (which neither of us has heard of, we stumbled upon it) and then saw a stupid movie at the Halfpipe cinema. The next day we indulged in retail therapy, which was a necessity, having thrown out a vast majority of the contents of DH's closet only moments before leaving the house. So we got him new jeans, boots, business shirts, polo shirts...and so on. Basically we made him a new man from top to bottom.

We ended our day with a trip to IKEA (because who doesn't love all things cheap and colourful?) and a stop at the mall (to pick up some bits not found in the CBD) and then the totally necessary ice cream stop. A very full, fun, thrilling and mildly naughty 24 hours. We ended our day poorer, but with both of us feeling exceptionally cheerful and excited about all the new things which are sure to come our way. We came home to the same troubles, the same worries... but somehow, DH is walking taller (and it's not just the new boots), I am succeeding at smiling a bit more than I was, and we are determined that we'll get through this.

Truth is I have no idea what is coming around the corner for us - but I do know that our little escape from our lives reminded us that we can get through this, as a couple, and we will survive. I am of course hoping that good things and new jobs are around the corner (as is DH)... so keep the prayers and good wishes and whatever else coming our way. In the meantime, hands up for all those who believe in the healing power of lollies and love.

There Shall Be Rainbows

...because rainbows are what you get after a storm, and this has been one heck of a stormy year.

This past Monday, my DH lost his job. Those who know me in real life would know that this isn't the first time it's happened. The last time, it very nearly destroyed my marriage and my home and my sanity. This time, he didn't see it coming... and this time, things will be different. Rather than sit around and wait for miracles, we've already started to put into place things which will make this round of financial and emotional hell a lot more manageable.

To that end, I've started to apply for some part-time jobs, and exactly 48 hours after starting this process, I've got an interview lined up. There is a part of me which feels kinda guilty about how seemingly easy it was - compared to what I know won't be nearly as easy for DH... but there's another part of me which feels vindicated. A very long time ago, I said one of my main purposes in re-training as a chef was that I'd always be able to find a job opportunity. The world will always need cooks - and with my training, I'll always be able to be one. I'll always have the security of knowing that no matter what, I have the skills to provide for my family...and that in itself is priceless. So it turns out that all the people who told me I was silly to be leaving a middle-management style of admin job... suck it. I was right. Eat that rainbow for breakfast, sweetheart.

My Dad told me that my job choice would eventually kill me - because let's face it, being an obese person around food all day is NOT exactly a great recipe (pun completely intended although not terribly witty of me). He was partially right, in that as soon as I became a chef I started to gain a lot of weight (hello butter and salt, how lovely to know you.) However, in the past 10 months I've lost somewhere in the region of 75 pounds. So...you know... rainbows. Thinner ones - but no less fabulous.

DH, for that matter, was smiling today - and he told me he is feeling positive about his prospects. He gave himself a day to be upset, woke up the next morning...and decided he needed to move forward and not dwell. Now he IS human (or at least, I think so...? But maybe all that sci-fi he's into has rubbed off) and so I think he has his dark moments, and maybe in a tiny little corner of his brain he's upset....but for his sake and mine, he's decided to channel that energy into finding a new position. He's working damn hard to find a new rainbow for himself - and let's face it, his wife needs the pot of gold at the end of it to pay the bills..

My kids... oh, my dear, sweet, understanding, fabulous kids. They knew that something was wrong when DH walked in the door only a few hours after he left for work. I had no choice but to explain (in kid friendly terms) what was happening - and I told them that DH would need loads and loads of love and affection. I even told them it was their official job to be sure that he had enough of it - and true to form, they're doing their best to ensure he never forgets that we are working through this together, as a family. They themselves are each a rainbow.

Truth be told, it's me who is having the hardest time making any rainbows... I'd really much rather scrunch myself into a little ball under my duvet and cry, and complain, and scream, and admit my worries, which are large and plentiful. But I don't have that luxury. There are cakes to be baked, husbands to hug, children to love, and a life to lead. And so, I will get up tomorrow..and the next day...and the next... and I'll make some rainbows.

It's been one heck of a crazy year. I lost my Dad, my son went haywire for a few months, the business has been in a major state of flux, and life has only really been smooth sailing for the past few weeks. And now, this bombshell has landed smack dab in the middle of my contented happiness. It sucks. HUGELY.

So while I am busy trying to make some rainbows, I'd like to ask only one thing: whoever or whatever it is up there that is in charge of storms? I'd really appreciate it if the storm passes quicker this time. Because the sooner we get to making rainbows, the better...and I don't know about you, but I'm not all that patient.

Hair Today

I got a haircut last week, and now I am in emotional turmoil. Not because the haircut was bad, but because it was the haircut-before-the-haircut and this means I have only five weeks to come to terms with my hair decision. A decision which includes getting rid of most of my existing hair, and changing it's colour in a somewhat dramatic fashion. Those who are in the know, let me just say that my next haircut and colour will involve a product called fudge. I'm not sure but I think I'm about 20 years too old to be using it, but what the hell, right?

A brief history of me and my hair is as follows: my Mom has a "thing" about hair, and short hair in general. She just doesn't like long hair, and so it took until I was an adult (okay, a teenager) before I was allowed to grow it anywhere past my shoulders or even below my ears. I have some seriously horrendous school photos. Once I got old enough to grow my own hair, I grew it and grew it and grew it until I realised that long hair requires some serious maintenance. And then I cut it, and cut it, and cut it, and then lost enough weight so that a pixie haircut was actually flattering. And then I gained the weight back and the hair came back, too. (Fat people + short hair = mushrooms. Just sayin'.)

I have very odd hair in that it cannot decide if it is curly or straight, mousy or highlighted, oily or dry. It somehow manages to be all of those things at the same time. I also have a love/hate relationship with hair products - love to buy them, hate to use them. The same is true for hair appliances like straighteners and whatnot. Love to say I own them, hate to have to take the time to use them. Anything more than 2 minutes hair prep in the morning is officially too long for me. It took until my late 20's before I realised haircuts need to happen more than once a year in order to actually be effective. (Okay, I lied. More like my early 30's.)

Last year I had to divorce my hairdresser. She had looked after me from the very first minute I landed on Australian shores, but 12 years later she had to go. Our relationship had lost it's shine, it's bounce, it's spin-around-in-slow-motion gloriousness and it was time to move on. It took a year but I finally found someone ... and now I'm about to let her cut all my hair off. It's time. I'm bored with the soccer Mom look, particularly since none of my kids play soccer and I can't justify the haircut. Plus after 10 months of actual effort on my part, I'm mostly thin enough in the face to justify fun, flirty, short hair again. The deed is also going to be done about a week before I see my Mom, so I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a certain amount of brownie points getting to be done. (Not that my Mom would love me any less with longer hair...it's just that she's a Jewish Mother and all Jewish Mothers love being able to tell you that you did exactly what they wanted, and it looks amazing, and if it weren't for them we'd all be up a creek, and why didn't we listen to them earlier?)

So. It's 5 weeks to hair-chop-and-fudge day and I'm vacillating between a) terrified and b) thrilled and c) what-the-hell-am-I-thinking type of thinking? (can you vacillate between 3 things? Or does it have to be only 2?) All of these are odd thoughts, since it's certainly not the first time I've gone to the hairdressers and had a complete and total change. I've had my hair coloured everything from blond to black, had lengths from total pixie to below my bra line. Hair grows back, and that's what's so fun about it. This time, though, I'm putting my trust in someone whose own hair is at several different lengths, colours and shapes all at the same time.

At this point I would normally end with something snappy like, "Don't worry, I'll post pictures." ... but since my faith is wavering, let me just say: Don't worry, I'm not getting my personality cut and coloured. That's already beyond change.

Report Cards

This weeks marks the end of Term Two - here in Australia the school year is broken into 4 terms, or 2 semesters of 2 terms each. At the end of this term we get school report cards as well as parent/teacher interviews.

Suffice it to say I really kinda hate both of those...

A long time ago my sister (herself a veteran primary school teacher) told me that if you read you kid's school report, and you're surprised by anything in it, your teacher isn't doing their job. So each time I get a report, I read it hoping that there are no hidden surprises in there - which thus far there have never been. We've been pretty lucky.

But here's the part which annoys me. My kids go to a private school. A very small private school. There aren't that many kids who go there, less than 100. I know teachers are human, and I know they're busy, and I know they often write school reports in their personal time.... but, really, the cut-and-paste is pissing me off. I know it's hard to come up with 100 original ways to say "X child is enjoying math this year" ... but, people? I read THREE reports. In a row. And when they all say the same thing, verbatim, I begin to think these reports actually have very little value. I have begun to think of reports as the stack of paper the school gives you to prove your kid is learning something, should you wish to sue them on the grounds of them NOT teaching your kid anything. The bits of paper are their bona fides... and that's it.

In one case, DD2 was referred to by DD1's name. So maybe proof reading is not that teacher's strong point...but... this just makes my opinion of school reports even lower than they were in the first place. Even sorrier is that all these teachers believe (probably rightly) that all parents want to hear is the good stuff ... and so even "your child is a narcissistic pain in the ass who will grow up to be a serial killer" can be sugar coated to "your child is extremely confident and will find a rewarding, long term career in people management." *sigh* What are these reports actually worth, other than the value of the paper on which they are written?

And then there are the parent/teacher interviews, where they show you stacks and stacks and stacks of papers done through the year so far. Your role as a parent is to sit in the too-small chair and nod your head politely. Maybe ask a question or two (if you're feeling game) but basically, you sit and listen and pray like hell that they don't tell you anything you don't already know. In our case it's often a matter of "count how many times they refer to one kid by the other kids' name"... its most entertaining!

This year the kids decided that it wasn't fair that teachers get to write reports about kids, but that kids don't get to write reports about teachers. The kids' teacher is a brave (possibly insane) person, so she let them write reports about her... but, being a tit-for-tat classroom, they also had to write reports about themselves. Genius. Pure genius. When I went to the parent/teacher interview, she let me read the reports they wrote about themselves, and it was absolutely fascinating. Kids don't sugar coat, they don't cut-and-paste, they just put it all out there for the world to see. I actually learned a LOT more about how my kids are coping academically from their own reports... rather than the crap their teachers sent home.

So I think it's only fair that kids get to rule the world... because chances are they'll actually tell you a lot more useful information than you'll get out of the grown ups, and as an added bonus: there will be pretty pictures to look at!

Splish Splash

One of the things which commenters on this blog (and other parents I know in real life) llooovveee to harass me about is the whole "bath night" thing. For some reason they all find it offensive and weird and gross and dirty that my kids have specific bath nights. "Don't they get dirty on other days?" "It's disgusting not to shower every day!" and "You seriously only let your kids shower on certain days? Don't they smell?" are pretty common comments - although some have been far more rude than that... I'll just address this by answering WHY we have bath nights (as in more than one.)

Firstly, let me just say that if my kids wanted to shower EVERY night, they would be more than welcome to. It's not like we build a barricade around the showers or charge an entry fee. Secondly, if we all went rolling in mud but it was not a bath night, its not as though I'd say, "Whoah there kiddos! No washing today! It's not bath night! Much better to get in your beds covered in animal shit!" And thirdly, I'm fairly certain that a majority of the free world does not shower every single day, and there are several reasons not to (not great for your hair, skin, or the drought.) So not showing every day does not make ANY of us freaks of nature or society.

Seriously, people. Give me a little bit of credit here.

Imagine, if you will, what life with three babies is like. Three screaming, shitting, crying, eating, spitting, yelling, not sleeping babies. Babies who, while adorable, are very loud and very demanding. Then add a BIG MASSIVE incision right above your hoo-haa, and pack it with gauze and stuff and forget about taking any pain medication. I also want you to attach mechanical nipple-stretchers to your boobs several times a day. Then I want you to imagine you're just falling asleep when WWAAAAHHHH you get woken up by one or more of said babies. Hmmm. Now imagine trying to keep track of all those babies eating, sleeping, shitting, and bathing habits...especially when all those damn babies kinda look alike in the dark and you have no idea if today is Tuesday or not, or when the last time you ate anything was.

Not so easy.

The best advice we ever got from other parents of multiples was to put our kids into a routine from the minute they were born. It was advice that we clung to like Titanic survivors on a life raft as we negotiated our kids' early babyhood - and advice that we still follow even today. Having a routine makes your life and their life much easier to handle - everyone knows what's coming next, there are no battles over routine activities, and in general you end up with a happier and healthier family all around. So that's what we did - we developed a routine, and this routine includes specific Bath Nights. Not because we think you only get dirty on Mondays, but because that way, we KNEW that if we had built in 3 baths a week to the routine, there was no chance of anyone forgetting to do it. We had (and have) bath nights for one reason and one reason only: it saved us our sanity. Literally, DH and I were falling through those days and nights of babyhood - I'm talking thousands of diapers, hundreds of bottles in any given week. So if we knew certain things had to get done on certain days, well, it made everything a lot simpler.

Some of you reading this will wonder why, at 9 years old, we still have the bath night routine built in. Surely they are older and our life is more organised now? Here's why: I have no desire to get into a power struggle with my kids. I feel no need to beg, plead, cajole, demand, or even ASK NICELY 4 times for them to get washed. They just know it needs to get done, and they do it without ever being asked. This is a very far cry from a vast majority of my friends, many of whom need to remind, nag, beg, plead, and bribe their kids to take a shower. In our house, it's just a given.

There are plenty of times when I will ask one or more of them to take extra showers or baths, and generally speaking they don't argue about that either. With bath night, they know and I know what is expected and what's going to happen. We all maintain our standards and then some as needed. Simple. No arguing. I'm not sweating the small stuff, and neither are they. It's why we maintain the routine - so that everyone is always on the same page, and I can spend my life as a Mum enjoying my kids rather than having to feel like the fishwife.

The routine is also the reason why my kids don't watch heaps of TV, have (and complete) chores every single day, love to do non-screen time activities, and take responsibility for their pet, their home, their belongings and their lives in general. I'd gladly take ALL of that in exchange for one less shower a week.

And to those of you who, for whatever reason, still think our way of life is disgusting... tell me, how did you manage it with YOUR triplets?

One, Two, Three, Four...

Five, Six, Seven, Eight...and now you are nine. How, exactly, did all those years pass by so quickly? Supposedly time passes quicker the older you get... and I'm sure that's true since it feels like it was only yesterday I was planning your first birthday party. This year (like in that first year), there were balloons and cakes and tears... only this time the tears are mine as I think about how much my children have grown and how priveleged I am to have been a part of it. Each year your birthday is bittersweet, as I am so thrilled to watch you change and mature, and yet I can't help but wish I could keep you as my babies.

This past year has been one of changes for our family. Changes to our house; as we finally do some cleaning up and sorting out and upgrading... since you're 9 now we thought we could finally get our breakables out of storage, only to discover that they are called 'breakable' for a very good reason. Changes to our little family; as Julian moved into his own room and the girls compete to see who can make the biggest mess in a room at any given time. Changes to our bigger family; as we learn to deal with the sadness which comes with losing your Saba and the discovery that your parents are people, too. It's been a year of adventures - yet again we took you overseas (an expensive habit you all enjoy), and your Dad and I continue to try and give you the very best, full lives we can. He and I were very lucky to ourselves be born to adventurers, and so we make it our goal in life to give you your own set of crazy life experiences. I like to think that someday you will make those same memories with your own kids.

Most years my birthday post is written to you as individuals - but this year I'm going to address you all as a group because I think it's your togetherness, and our family teamwork, which has been a theme throughout this past year of your lives.

You always say, "Yes, Mum, we KNOW!" in a very bored voice when I remind you that nothing in life is more important than living by the golden rule - do unto others what you would have done unto you. I am forever reminding you to "just be KIND to one another" and to help one another - because you are so incredibly lucky to HAVE one another in the first place. At this age you think it's just another dorky thing that your Mum says ... but the reality of it is, I bear witness to you helping one another, loving one another, and being one another's support group. That's not to say it's all wine and roses - you are quite capable of annoying one another, yelling at one another, and giving one another a real dose of where-for. I often hear "she kicked me" "he snatched it from me" "she's not being nice"... but then I watch you snuggle together on the couch, or cheer your brother on at a basketball game, or say "good job" when someone has done something right. I think you'll find you love each other no matter how much you make each other crazy - and as a sibling myself, I can promise you that it's true even when you're grown ups.

Your Dad and I have also had a lot to deal with this year, and I'm both proud and embarrassed to say we've needed to lean on the three of you for support. Embarrassed because it's hard to believe that responsible adults need the support of a group of children, and proud because the three of you rise to the occasion each and every time. I've lost count of the times I've just told you that I really could use a hug - and I get crushed in the stampede of arms heading my way. The number of times you don't complain when Dad or I have to work instead of play, the number of times we've just needed some time to ourselves and you've done your best to respect that. Yes, your Dad and I are very fortunate to have the three of you on our team.

This year your household chores have increased, our demands on your behaviour have increased, and your demands on yourself have increased as well. Claire is now dancing twice a week, Julian is now a basketball player and Cub scout, and Alexis is still the bendy-est, flexie-ist gymnast I know. Your school requirements have extended to learning instruments (much to my chagrin but your delight), your responsibilities to our house and pet continue, and in general you've had to become far more involved in your own communities of school, home and shul. It makes me very proud to know that you've taken all of these responsibilities in your stride (and I'll forgive you the complaining.)

I think I'll end this post by telling you about a typical triplet moment in our lives. This morning on the way to school you asked me to tell me the story about the day you were born (a story which you all know verbatim, but clearly it hasn't lost anything in the constant re-telling.) I began my story like this, "The day you three were born was the happiest and most frightening day of my life." Before I could continue, I was interrupted - a frequent occurrence for me. Alexis wanted to know, "But then once we were born you were just happy, right?" Not scared any more?" and before she could finish Claire interrupted and said, "Of COURSE she was happy because we were the most fabulous amazing babies EVER in the UNIVERSE!" and then came Julian, saying, "Wait, wait, wait - Mum! That's not the beginning of the story! The beginning of the story is when you went to the hospital. Did you forget the story? You forgot the story of your own babies being born?!"

I could only smile... because that's pretty much how all our conversations are - with interruptions and questions and debate and endless chatter. In our family you need patience, because it takes us a while just to finish a sentence.

It then took several minutes to answer all the questions and protestations and carrying on... and eventually I started again with saying, "The day you were born was the happiest and most frightening day of my life... but I was only frightened for a while because then you were born, and you were happy and healthy and strong and therefore the most fabulous amazing babies in the universe. But really, I should start this story from the moment I walked into that hospital..." and I continued, all the way until we got to school...at which point you all stayed in the car for several minutes to ask yet more questions and interject with your own versions of this story. You all then tumbled out of the car in a flurry of tangled jumpers and unzipped backpacks and boxes of birthday cupcakes, and you made your way through the school gate.

Julian was the last to leave the car, and before walking away he stuck his head in the open window, smiled and said, "Mum? Did it REALLY happen like that? Or were you just telling a good story?"

Well, Jules, it's like this. Yes, it really happened like that... and yes, it's a good story. Truth is, I love being your Mum because the three of you not only make me a better storyteller, but you make all of our lives a story worth telling in the first place.

Happy Birthday.

Ignorance is Bliss

Since school is the topic of the day, I thought I would post a follow-up to my post about Being Revolutionary. I'm actually quite frustrated with the situation. A parent in the group - a parent who participated in the letter writing - apparently took it upon themselves to complain verbally to the principal about the meeting. The principal, in turn, approached a parent also in attendance at that meeting, and they had an informal discussion about what ensued. And that, my friends, was the end of that.

The letter never got sent (although I suggested it should.) Nobody stood up and said anything, no big revelation happened. It's all ... just... the same. Given that I am pro-revolution, I'm actually disappointed that things never actually got any further. Nobody is any happier about the issues there, and yet, whatever wave of action we were riding has hit the shore and ended up as foam.

So here's what I discovered. It's lonely being revolutionary. I could have taken that letter, and sent it myself, with only my name at the bottom. Except that I know that one person standing alone is going to have very little impact - especially since not all of the things listed there are things which have happened to me personally. So it would be difficult to send a letter of concern when only one or two of those items are of concern to me personally. I needed the support of the group (and felt we would be much more effective) to move this situation forward.

I am in a quandary here, as the parents who were unhappy then are still unhappy now. The situations outlined in our letter have not improved. Nothing, actually, has changed even one iota.

I want, and need, to be revolutionary. I'm just not sure entirely how to best go about it.

Sacrifice

Of recent topical interest to my friends and I is the whole private school versus public school debate... or more specifically, if private school is really worth the kidney you need to sell to afford it. DH and I chose to send our kids to a private school for primary school - mostly because we had some financial assistance which enabled us to do so, and also because it was important to us that they get a religious education from a young age. It's entirely possible to get that religious education through other means, but at the time we were making the decision, that was certainly a factor. The reality is, unless we get some extreme form of financial aid (or grow a few more kidneys), there is no way we will be able to afford to privately educate our kids through the end of high school. It's actually highly probable that their only private education will be to Grade 6 - because after that it becomes close to 60K per year and, call me crazy, I quite like being able to eat and have a roof over my head.

That being said, here's my official opinion on private school. I think there is a very small group of children for whom the opportunities private school offers will truly be the difference between living a average life, and living a highly successful life. I believe that the vast majority of children will fail or succeed regardless of the uniform they wear (here in Australia all children wear uniforms, both public and private). Simply paying enormous school fees guarantees nothing at all. In fact, conversations with The Neighbour's Wife about her teaching experiences have just reinforced my feeling that losers, nobodies, ignorants and total drop-kicks can be found even in a expensive blazer and school tie. Similarly, brilliant kids can be found at our local public schools. I think the parents who believe that private school will guarantee their child success in life are just fooling themselves... money does not buy success.

Success, to me, is something which is shaped in part by formal education - but it's also very much shaped by the education which occurs outside of school hours. Do you fill your home with books? Expose your children to cultural activities? Eat dinner together and chat about your day? What are you doing at home to ensure your child grows up to be a confident, contributing member of society? Why are you expecting that your school will do the work for you? Sure, your child might graduate speaking fluent French, having spent 4 weeks in Paris... but will you actually LIKE the person they are?

Let's suppose for a minute that someone offered me free tuition to a fabulous private school for all 3 of my kids. In all honesty, I'd have to consider the offer... but it's highly likely I'd reject that offer, too - for one or all of them. I firmly believe that as parents our responsibility is to our children - and to that end, we're responsible for finding the school which we believe will fit them best - not the one with the indoor pool and Olympic squash courts. If it turned out the best school for my kid was the one I couldn't afford.. well, then I'd have to consider what's best for us as a family - because I believe children can succeed in the right environment, and that environment is the one both in and out of the classroom. A friend recently said that they won't be able to afford family holidays and other luxuries while their child is in private school. I understand how important that decision is to her, but it's not one I could comfortably make myself. I simply couldn't sacrifice our family's general quality of life in that way, and I would worry about becoming resentful about it. I suppose this makes me selfish, and I'm okay with that. I also worry about the pressure on my child... knowing that his or her education was the reason we couldn't holiday, or enjoy life's luxuries - that's a lot of pressure to put on a kid.

Among my friends, the private school debate rages as we all consider what we want for our kids versus what we can afford, and in some part what we feel those schools can do for our kids. I'd be lying if I said there was not some element of societal acceptance as well - frankly, among many of my peers, a private school is considered the only option. To be heard to be considering a non-private school...is, well, akin to social suicide. Nowhere was this more true than on Cubs camp (a post I have yet to write... clearly my lack of private schooling has left me a slacker)... but that's another story for another day.

In the meantime, riddle me this - how much, really, is that private school education worth?

Mocho-Choco-Latta-Yah-Yah

I recently read a book which made me think about a number of my food choices. Not of the "should I eat more ice cream?" choices (to which there is only one correct answer) but of the "should I go organic?" choices - and since I read this book, food and it's origin has been on my mind. So I was pleasantly surprised to hear that even chocolate can have a conscience. Green and Black's chocolate, which is organic, is now certified FreeTrade. So theoretically you can eat as much of it as you like and not feel guilty about what you might be doing to the world.... although if you eat enough of it you might feel a smidge of guilt about what you might be doing to your thighs!

The Green and Black's company were nice enough to send me a number of products to try - milk chocolate, dark chocolate, Maya Gold (dark infused with orange) and white chocolate (infused with vanilla). I'd be lying if I said I didn't crack open the milk chocolate packet within seconds of getting it in my hot little hands. I ripped it open, broke off a piece, put it in my mouth...and was sorely disappointed. Admittedly I have a very SWEET tooth - meaning the more sugar is in something, the happier I am. So I had a look and it turns out that their milk chocolate is actually 34% cocoa - which is pretty high compared to most milk chocolates I've tried and perhaps it was the extreme sweetness I was missing.

The white chocolate was pretty okay, but for me the other 3 flavours had a unpleasant after taste. I'm not even sure how to describe it other than just "yucky" ... it had a strange, strong after-taste and just wasn't all that fabulous to eat in the first place with a very 'flat' flavour. Since I'm not a huge dark chocolate fan I had DH and DD2 taste it since they are both dark choc addicts (of the "If it's not 70% or higher I'm not interested" types). DH agreed it had a very strange taste and then after-taste, and DD2 thought it was the nicest chocolate she'd every eaten. Hmmm. Inconclusive.

So I took it to the next level and decided to bake with it. I used the dark chocolate to make an amazing Mocha self-saucing pudding, which got rave reviews from the various people lucky enough to get a piece.

I still wasn't convinced, though... so I tried a chocolate self-saucing pudding (so the coffee could not mask the chocolate taste.) The pudding was okay and there was no evidence of either the odd chocolate taste or after-taste. I'd happy use the G&B for cooking purposes... but I still wasn't convinced we'd reached any real consensus about if this chocolate was any good to eat. Ethically, it was great...but I can't eat ethics. So we brought out what was left at a recent family dinner and had everyone taste the milk, dark, and Maya.

Hmm.

Half the table spit it out and said, "What IS this stuff? It's terrible!" and the other half said, "Yum! Can I have another piece?" and then gobbled the rest up, offering to take home any spare blocks. I'm not sure exactly what it is about Green & Black's which causes such a divergence in tastes - certainly I've seen and heard many a Melbourne foodie really enjoy it and refer to it as their go-to chocolate, but my personal experience is not the same. For me, I love that even luxury items like chocolate are being produced with social responsibility, and I applaud their efforts to be organic and free-trade. Now if only they'll go certified sweet, we'll all be happy.

Beautiful Poverty

I've neglected emzeegee & the hungry three for a couple of weeks because we all headed off on a tropical adventure, and since we've come home I've been stuck with the head cold from hell. DH thinks I'm attempting weight loss by mucus, since it's surely impossible that one person can blow their nose as often as I am and not lose something. While the idea of fat morphing into snot and then disappearing sounds appealing, let me assure you that going to the gym is far more successful and kinder on one's nose.

We spent 11 days in and around the islands of Hawaii - first on a 7 day cruise through the islands and then a scant 2 days in Honolulu. Yes, I know that equals 9, and I said 11... but since I live at the ends of the earth, it takes a day to actually get anywhere and another day to get back.

What struck me about our time in Hawaii is the incongruity of it all. We took a number of different tours and saw all sorts of amazing things... and yet what stuck with me was how many times we saw poor people, saw homeless people, and heard stories of people with 2 or 3 jobs who are struggling just to get by. I took some time to chat to our various tour leaders, bus drivers and locals we met, and for everyone the story was the same. Hawaii is hurting. I found myself quite shocked at the state of some of the housing there - ramshackle houses which look as though they would not survive the summer breeze let alone the hurricanes that come to that area. Of particular shock was the homes we saw around the big island.

On the one hand, people are clearly struggling. On the other, I could not believe how inexpensive everything there was. Food. Drinks. Clothing. Souvenirs. Absolutely everything we came across was ridiculously inexpensive. Even tours - whole day tours for $75! Of the most shock - and joy - was the cost of clothing. I literally bought massive bags of stuff for my kids- pants, shirts, jeans, shoes, belts, sweatshirts... and the bill came to something like $130. School uniform pants for my son, for which here I'd pay upwards of $50, were $12.50. The shoes he loves (Keen's) are $200 here and less than $100 there. The exact same tennis shoes I bought for myself the day BEFORE we left Australia for a bargain of $80 (normally over $100, hence I thought I was the most fab shopper ever) were on sale at Nordstroms for $31.

$31. Less than a third of what I'd normally pay retail.

So in a country where everything appears ridiculously cheap.. why are people struggling so much? Is it the cost of housing? The cost of insurance? What? I just found it so difficult to marry the image of all those sad houses, and all those people sharing their stories of struggling - with the fact that I took my daughter out to lunch and both of us (with drinks) paid less than $10... and had plenty of leftovers. Why are these people not affording to live to a good standard? What is wrong with America? Why are Hawaiian pineapples now bearing a "grown in Costa Rica" sticker?

Hawaii, like Australia, suffers a little bit from being an island. So most things are going to be more expensive than on the mainland purely on account of transport. Not a whole lot is actually produced on the island, so most of it has to come from somewhere, and getting it there costs a heck of a lot. Australia has the same issue - so a lot of things here are crazy expensive simply because they are imported. Even accounting for "island living tax" - things were just crazy, crazy cheap. I bought my girls a hoodie at Gap for $11. I couldn't even get a hoodie for $11 here if I was at K-Mart AND it was on clearance.

Of course, not everyone is struggling - certainly as we left the tourist areas of Waikiki we saw some amazing properties. Huge, stunning, amazing villas. And we met people who are leading perfectly middle class lives and doing just fine... so it's not as though the entire place is falling apart or anything. It just seemed like there was this veneer of beauty and underneath was a struggling state. I have heard many stories from friends and relatives about the state of the American economy in recent months (years...) but Hawaii was truly an eye-opener for me.