Welcome to the family

Pet

I took princess to her speech therapy session this morning.  We have been working hard on trying to get rid of a slight stutter, so have been attending sessions every month or so to try and control it before she starts school next year.  We refer to the stutter as bumps.  On the way to her session, I am told “I can’t wait to get some bumps today mummy!”  After trying to explain that we are off to get rid of the bumps not to get them, my daughter replies, “Oh, well if I can’t get some bumps, can I get a pet.”  Hmmmmm.

The next 5 minutes is spent explaining rental agreements including a no pet clause; I observe my daughter picking her nose in the rear view mirror and take an educated guess that she is not 100% interested in restrictions of any sort. I am interrupted mid-sentence, “I know, I know, I know, not that sort of pet, it can’t have claws.”  (That is not her stutter by the way, I checked with the therapist, apparently that is the teenage attitude rearing in my 4 year old.  Marvellous.  Good times ahead!)

“I would like a bunny, does it have claws?”

“Oh yes darling, very, very sharp claws, ouch. I think bunnies  are illegal as pets in Western Australia.  I think you can have them in Queensland where Nana and Pa live?  Maybe you should ask them to get one that you can play with when you visit?  I am sure Nana and Pa would LOVE a pet rabbit!”

I look in the rear view mirror again to see princess staring out the car window tracing the raindrops with her finger.  Phew, close call.  Obviously this conversation is over.

“What pets don’t have claws, I don’t want to get scratch and hurt.” DAMN!!!!  I know sarcasm, children really love sarcasm!?!

“Whales.  Giraffes.  Maybe we should get an elephant.  What about a meerkat?  Daddy would love a meerkat!?!”

Response.  “No mummy, they are wild animals, not pets!”  Seriously.  I did not teach her that, is it wrong to be upset at the effectiveness of the state education system.

“We cannot get a pet that needs room to run, we do not have the room so it is not fair on the animal.”

“What pets do not run.”

“A fish.”

“Alright.”

End of conversation.

We had a fabulous therapy session, going back in 6 weeks to check articulation, (ching, ching, goes the monetary sound of our therapists holiday fund), but she has improved immensely and we are all very proud.  “You did a great job, hardly any bumps, mummy is so proud of you!  Do you want to do something special before we go to get your brother?”

“We can get a fish now.”  Hmmmmmmm.  What just happened?  Did I agree to this?

We now have a fighter fish.  (Because they live alone and it is less responsibility for life?) It is purple.  It lives in the kitchen.  The tank has purple rocks. And we are going to the bed to think about the name.  It has to have a name, but apparently we need to think about it.  Choices; Arial, Violet, Flappy, Anita, Tinkerbelle, Bubbles, Splash and Fishy.  Before bed I catch her saying her farewells.

“Goodnight fish.  I love you soooo much, welcome to my family.  I will love you forever.  See you in the morning.  What’s that mummy?”  She says as she points towards the defrosting food sitting next to the fish tank. 

“That is mummy and daddy’s dinner.”

“What is it?”

Hmmmmmmm.

“What is it?”

“It is fish…..”  I whisper.

“No!!!!!!!  Don’t eat our pet!  He has a new home!”

Thank goodness I did not buy a duck!  They don’t have claws, and I love to eat duck…. Awkward!

NOTE: Bunnies are actually legal in WA and illegal in QLD.  I’m glad my 4 year old can’t Google.

Feeling out of place

My little princess had her first day of school today.  Not really school, but Kindy.  Two and a half days a week at the off campus community Kindy associated with South Perth Primary school.  I am feeling like a failure of a mother.  I left it too late to organise a uniform, (yes she wears a uniform, how very grown up), and the uniform shop is all out of clothing her size and will not be available for a few weeks.  I really did not want her to start on her first day feeling out of place. I had been advertising the fact she would get to wear a uniform for weeks and now she has nothing to wear, and would feel out of place.  My compensation, I bought her new underpants from Target and told her they were special uniform underpants.  She seemed happy enough with that.  (Please keep in mind that she also wore other clothing, not just pretend uniform undies!)

She was pretty excited to go and spent an hour before departure walking the hallways dragging her bag behind her. She then alerts me to the fact, (5 minutes before we leave) that she needs to rest now as she is soooooo tired from waiting for ever and ever for school to start.  Oh the drama that a 4 year old girl must endure!

So she rests on the couch playing my ipad when I am then notified that she should take mummies computer to school in case she needs to use it there.  What's going on here?  Is my four year old expecting an important email?  I inform her that you are not allowed to take toys to school, it is one of the rules.  To which she replies, "But it is not a toy mummy, that is what you yelled at me yesterday when I put it on the couch."  Firstly, yelled?  Is that we are calling a firm tone of voice nowadays?  And secondly, pretty sure you 'threw' it, you did not 'put' it on the couch.  Thirdly, you are getting a bit too smart for me, best get you off to school to challenge your teachers.

Did not want to be late.  Did not want my daughter to feel out of place. Did not want to be known as the late mum who did not provide a uniform.  So we arrive 10 minutes early and wait outside for the doors to open.  I breath a sigh of relief as there are only two children in uniform.  Poor kids, can not believe their parents made them wear a uniform on their first day of kindy, they look so out of place.

It is a lovely old centre, with an extremely warm and inviting feeling.  The staff are of mature age and they all talk as though they are filming an episode of Playschool.  The back yard is amazing with large fallen trees for climbing, wooden climbing frames, water troughs and even an old petrol bouser!  I am impressed. As is my daughter and she leaves my side and starts to play straight away.  I speak to the teacher briefly, say my goodbyes to my precious one and leave the centre extremely light hearted.  I was actually singing "If your happy and you know it" in my head all the way home. (Substituting the "clap your hands" with "drive the car", "stop at the lights", "get out of the car".)

First day only goes for one and a half hours.  Extended to three hours next week and then full days the week after.  It is all part of the orientation process to help with adjustment.  Unsure if this is for the benefit of the children or the teachers?  My daughter waved goodbye so happily.  I doubt there will be any adjustment issues.

One and a half hours is just long enough to do a quick grocery shop, put away the groceries then return.  Right?  Wrong?  I only live 5 minutes from the shop, and 2 minutes from the school.  How could I get it wrong?  I was watching the clock, then some sort of time warp happened and I was stripped of ten minutes of my life...(think it was somewhere between throwing out an old yoghurt from the fridge and emptying a packet of biscuits into a jar).  Anyway, now I am becoming hysterical.  I do not want to pick her up late.  I do not want her to feel out of place.  The thing is, I don't even have a good excuse.

According to the clock on the wall I am 10 minutes late, but am pretty sure I have set this 10 minutes early so I am on time for things, (apart from picking my daughter up on time on her first day of kindy).  My mobile phone is telling me I should of been there 2 minutes ago.  Oh dear!  I sprint to the car.  According to the car clock I am pulling into the school driveway 4 minutes late.  Not too bad.  Anyway I walk fast from the car, and get a glare from a teacher from the kitchen window.  I have a sneaking suspicion she wants me to run? As I enter the room my princess is sitting on the floor, all by herself with her bag on her back, ready to go home.  My heart dripped all the way down my body and out my toes.  I had single handedly made my daughter feel out of place! And to make matters worse, the extra large clock on the wall behind her read 15 minutes late.  I decide that now is not an appropriate time to point out to the teachers that there clock is running 10 minutes fast.  I apologise profusely and make a quick exit, now known as "the mother that picked up her daughter late on the first day of school".  I felt so out of place.

I tell my daughter how proud I am of her going to big girl school, to which she replies, "I am not proud of you not coming to get me mummy".  (It would of felt like a stab to the heart, if my heart had not dropped from my body earlier.)  Luckily her statement was followed quickly by how much fun she had, and asking if she can go again tomorrow.  I tell her she needs to wait until next week, and next week mummy will be the first one there doing blow fish on the window when it is time to pick you up.  Promise. 

Santa did it!

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, only a daddy downing Santa's whiskey, a mummy eating the reindeer's carrots and sultanas and the sneak, sneak sound of parents keeping the 'big lie' alive.

Santa is a good guy. Isn't he?  Then why have I used him to threaten and bribe my children over the last month?  "Santa is watching you!  Would Santa think that is naughty or nice behaviour?  Really; do you think Santa would think it is okay to wear a pink striped shirt with a red spotted skirt?  Husband, I do not think Santa would approve of you having another piece of chocolate slice!"  Perhaps the worst accusation that I have thrown at Santa thus far is that he is the dummy stealer. 

Twas the night before Christmas and in my house a reluctant child gave his dummies away quieter than a mouse...

We placed the 5 pacifiers we could find in our sons Christmas stocking.  "Santa will take them away and give them to the babies that really need them.   In the morning, your Christmas stocking will be filled with all of those special things you have been dreaming about.  Santa is doing this.  Santa.  Not mummy or daddy; because mummy and daddy love you very much.  It was Santa!"

I have to say that Christmas day was fantastic. We had friends join us and it felt like we were surrounded by family. We gorged on ham, turkey, prawns and oysters.  This was accompanied by music, conversation, a few drinks, but more importantly, children laughing, swimming, and playing games.

Do you know what my best memory of the day was?  No it wasn't the white chocolate ripples on the citrus cheesecake.  Nor was it laughing at my guest that came wearing a shirt with his laundromat tag still attached to his collar.  It was my sons response to his Santa sack at 6am in the morning.

Tap, tap, tap ... tap, tap, tap ...slap, slap, slap ... "Good morning son, Merry Christmas!"  said through bleary eyes.  "Up, up, up daddy up!" said by son with arms flapping like a seagull with palms facing the heavens.  He pointed towards his room with urgency, silent hand signals are given similar to leading a platoon through battle in Vietnam.  We silently follow our mini Sargent down the hall to his room where he points to his filled Santa sack in astonishment.  We had (I mean Santa had), double knotted the top so he could not open without our help.

"Oh my goodness!  Santa came! You must of been a good boy this year!  The sack is full, what do you think he bought you?"

My son obviously contemplates his donation of his most worldly possessions the night before, (pacifiers), he looks so proud the sack is full and ecstatic about getting inside.  "Wow, what do you think Santa put in your sack?"  He smiles, "Dummies!" he squeals in excitement.  Apparently he was so good this year that Santa turned his 5 dummies into 1000!  Classic.  I love Christmas.

I've been busy doing stuff

It has been such a long time since I have 'recorded memories', to be honest I do not know where time has gone.  How many times have you driven to work, arrived and then thought, "I don't remember getting here, gee I hope I didn't run a red light?!?"  This is how I feel. I have been living life on auto pilot if you will, (and hopefully not running too many red lights). Now would be a good time to recap the Hollywood glamour that is my life.

We found an apartment, fantastic location, we are all very happy and the carpets were stained before we came. Every wall is marked or scuffed like it has been attacked by a gang of Parkour specialists, and the vertical blinds in my sons room smell and flake like rotten hay. You would think that these conditions would bother me, but I welcome with open arms an opportunity to blend my children's 'lasting impression' on a rental property, with its original poor state.  I was granted permission to remove the rotting hay bale from my sons room, only if it was done by a paid professional.  So I paid somebody from Kresta blinds to come and unclip 10 single Venetian blinds, wink, wink, I wrapped them in plastic, air tight, duct tape, then forced behind blankets in the top of the cupboard.  I think I can still smell the hay; but I plan for them to return to their rotten noose at the end of our lease, so unfortunately they can not be disposed of permanently.  "Wow", I hear you say, "rotting blinds, you know where to find the excitement in Perth!"

Anyhow...our storage arrived from Newcastle NSW.  We have not seen these things in 2 years and it was like an early Christmas.  Every box opened  was greeted with either  "Why did we keep this?" or "Is this ours?"  It is funny how tastes change over the years, I'm not talking about a tolerance for brussel sprouts or acceptance of spam, I am talking about a love for nick knacks turning into a love for minimal.  Now I have stuff to hide.

One month later... more stuff to hide. Even though we were in a fully furnished apartment in Milan, it was very basic, so we picked up a few necessities on the way.  83 boxes worth actually.  Oh dear.  Minimalistic, in my dreams, almost inconceivably. 83 does sound like alot, but to my defence, 1/3 were toys just returning to their home land, the next 1/3 was clothing but winter jackets take up a lot of room and I am well prepared next time we move to Antarctica.  Last 1/3, my husband will tell you consists of Ikea white pot plants, and Ikea white shelving units.

I am sure you are all aware that our experience in Italy was one of an eye opener as far as bureaucracy and paper work is concerned.  So it was no surprise to us that it took 3 months for our belongings to reach us from the Italian shores.  Slow boat?  Big queue at the gas station for tankers? Quick go back I forgot my pasta and espresso machines?  Once again, opening the boxes felt like it was Christmas.  My princess slept with 5 barbie dolls like she had been reacquainted with a lost love.  My prince had trains set up next to his bed ready for attack choo choo first thing in the morning.  And that evening, my husband was not concerned that I was hugging my returned pillow; after all he was spooning his espresso machine.  Is that wrong?

We have had a Toyota Klugar, (to be read with a manly grunt, similar to Tim Allen in Home Improvement), which has now been returned to the hire car stealer's, boo hoo, but one month later than anticipated, yee hah! I've gone from driving a Fiat in Milan wearing high heels everyday, to a big 4WD and a concerning urge to tattoo "out of my way" on my forehead.  (Perhaps a little to permanent in hindsight.)  Now the rental is gone and we have taken on a lease. It took awhile for persuasion on this matter, but now I tell myself I am chartering a vehicle, (just sound fancy), and considering I have agreed to live the life of a gypsy until the children reach high school, this was perhaps the best option. So now I have a Mitsubishi Outlander, (which I love), and I think it is a satisfying compromise between mini and giant vehicle.  Picture if you will, a tattooed forehead in a lovely pair of red pumps.  Oh yeh, soooo Perth, welcome to the west side!  My soul mate has been given his work car, Toyota Camry, very reliable.  It is nice. My description of this car is similar to a real estate agent promoting a rotten fibro house as a cute and cozy cottage. It is a car, it works when you turn the key, good enough for me. Up to date now?  I am living it up.  I really need to start doing things; but I am too busy doing stuff, so not right now, maybe later????

Green tea, dirty magazines and a Wiggle

It has been 3 and ½ weeks stay in the ‘helltell’ and finally the time has arrived to move into our rented apartment.  I love hotels.  I love that someone else comes to make my bed. I love that I get a fresh towel every day and I love the lemongrass scent of the free shampoo and conditioner, (it is free isn’t it)?

Our ‘helltell’ is  … “designed to ensure your stay is comfortable in an atmosphere that makes you feel at home by providing a level of professional and genuine service to their guest”…

1.       A homely atmosphere refers to the pornographic magazines that were provided, (I think by accident)?

2.       Genuine service refers to the full boxes of green tea left on my kitchen bench every day, (I think room service was concerned with the empty bottles of wine awaiting rubbish collection every day in the first week, I am sure my ‘Spanish Lynda’ thinks she is providing a leading role in some sort of unspoken AA program)?

3.       By professional service, they must be referring to their skill of mind reading.  My husband and I were discussing guilt for not taking son to Wiggles production down the road; within an hour of our conversation, we receive a personal meet and greet with a blue Wiggle.  Now that is service.

Perhaps I should explain a few of the above points?

1.       I am not an overly religious person myself, but I am sentimental in the fact that nowadays, in a world  of robot discs that clean floors and cars that reverse parallel park themselves, that you can still find a bible in the top draw next to your bed.  To be honest I am surprised that it is still on offer in paperback, not offered via the cable television station or electronic notebook.  You know what else my ‘helltell’ offers in paperback? Porn.  Yup. Dirty magazines.  Three in fact.  I found them at the top of my cupboard when I decided to store the bible up there to make room for my underwear in the draw.  So for the last three weeks, the bible has been sleeping on top of the pornography.  Is that wrong?  I have been so busy with the move I have not even had any time to read the articles.

2.       My husband and I decided, (or shall I say I made an executive decision), to do a 15 day detox during our time in the ‘helltell’.  Our stay in Milan had us relishing in a diet of white bread and wine, so to kick start our life in Perth I thought a detox was called for.  No alcohol, caffeine, or delicious food, if our love can withstand this then we can conquer the world, (insert evil laugh here) “bwa ha ha ha ha”.  Long story short, (it is not really how I do things but I will give it a go).  At the moment green tea is our saviour.  Staying in a hotel long term has us all accustomed to the luxury of room service.   All you do is put a sign on your door every morning and you get your bed made, fresh towels, the fluff cleared out of the clothes dryer and a box of green tea.  I have enough green tea to fund a coffee shop in China.

3.       We have had such a busy weekend ahead with signing the lease, removalist trucks, packing, unpacking, haircuts, trying to wash and dry linen that has been in storage and all battling with ill health.  In the midst of it all, there is a Wiggles concert happening a block away from the helltell.  I had decided against going since we had so much to do, and besides, it would have been cheaper to take a helicopter ride down the Swan River.  No wonder the Wiggles are still performing, they must be making an absolute mint! Over dinner on the night before we moved, my husband and I discussed feeling guilty that the weekend was going to be revolving around moving, and no doubt quite disruptive for the kids.  Maybe we should take them to the Wiggles show? Crossing the road back to the hellltell, my son declares “Wiggle”.  Good spotting son!  I became immediately star struck.  “Excuse me, Mr Wiggle!”  I called. (Yeh, pretty sure that is not his name.) Now that I have his attention, where do I go from here?  Should I ask him why he is not wearing his blue skivvy? We managed a photo and a nice little chat, he even asked us about where we were from and our travels. You will be happy to know that Wiggles are people too.  Mr Anthony Wiggle even has a tattoo and a gold tooth!  He has 3 children, none of which request Wiggles songs to be sung, he doesn’t like the red eye flight out of Perth, and he enjoys relaxing walks along the beach at sunset.  (It is amazing what you can find out in a short ride in a lift.)  Oh, and not totally stalking, but he is staying two floors above us in the hotel.  My son was in awe, so I think we just managed one better than taking him to the show.

House hunting the humane way

The idea of house or apartment hunting interests me for a couple of reasons;

·         I really like the idea that I am hunting something, but in a humane way, it makes me want to put on a beige safari suit and buy myself a pair of binoculars

·         This is my chance to make a decision on what is best for my family that is more in depth then deciding what vegetables go on their plate at night.

·         I am an extremely nosey person and I like to see how others live.  This is an opportunity to explore homes without binoculars (or safari suit) from across the street or being caught trespassing.

We have been fortunate enough to have the assistance of a relocation consultant who has organised our viewings and guided us into the right direction as far as good locations, proximity to schools, parks, shops, etc.  Before arrival in Perth, I had been corresponding with our consultant so she was aware of our needs while in Perth, and she even appeared in a few of my dreams.  One as Kerry-Anne Kennelly trying to convince me that the Love Boat, (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Love_Boat) was to be the ideal residence for me and my family.  Apart from this particular dream, I trust her opinion.

After several viewings, our children decide to fall asleep in the car and are happily baby sat by our tour guide as we dash in and out of properties.  We have decided we like two properties in South Perth.  An apartment and a villa.  The apartment has views of the city and 3 bedrooms.  The villa is more like a large home, with a lot of space and direct access to a pool shared with  5 other villas.  We decide that the apartment would better suit our needs and convince ourselves that the mouldy carpet, mangy curtains and urine stenches from the  back room can all be solved (or dissolved) with a good professional clean, 3 cans of Glenn 20 and a good blessing with the burning scent of fresh sage.

As luck would have it, we find out that the apartment has just been sold, the keys have not been handed over yet, and there is no possibility of attaining the keys for another two weeks.  So I guess for now, we cross our fingers, hope our application is accepted and continue to call the ‘helltell’ home for now.

Helltell

We are greeted by rain, but also greeted by all of our luggage so things must be looking up. Thank goodness for our larger hire car.  Six suitcases, four  cabin bags, a car seat, a booster seat, a pram, two long surfboards, two children, one  husband and a cranky wife.  Do not think we were going to be squeezing comfortably into a small car or a Fiat. 



I felt relief when I saw our 4WD hire car

Two trips to the car and we finally manage to mould all the bags and bodies into the car.  Our daughter quickly declares, “I want to go to our helltell now.  I want to go for a swim, then we can go and see Nana and Pa, okay?” (Helltell is how my daughter pronounces hotel; this is hopefully not a premonition of our accommodation for the next 4 weeks.)  I briefly explain that we will be living in Perth now, and that after the aeroplane experience mummy just had, we may never travel by air again.  If she wanted to visit Nana and Pa, she needed to put on her walking shoes and head for the Nullabour, (or she could wait until tomorrow and just see them on Skype via computer).  I am greeted with a look of confusion, then a simple, “I want to go to the pool now please.”

 

"Bye bye then, I will tell Nana and Pa you are on the way.  Oh, and don't talk to strangers!"

The apartment is comfortable, we have a large living area, self-contained kitchen and the bedrooms are conveniently located at opposite ends of the apartment.  After exploring the helltell pool, we take a family vote and agree that it may be best to wait a couple of days before going for a swim.  Considering that the pool is totally emptied of any form of liquid due to restoration, the attempt of the rocket ship diving we had been practising 2 weeks prior, does not seem like the best idea.  Welcome home Gonzalez family.

An empty pool was the cherry on top of our travelling nightmare cupcake!

East to West

We are definitely not strangers to flying.  Our travels and life’s transitions has taken us to Europe and beyond over the last 15 months.  My 3 year old daughter confidently wheels her pink floral carry-on bag thru the airport; my 2 year old son climbs atop of his ‘trunki’ wheeled luggage and is happily pulled through the crowds giving the royal wave like a gold medallist returning from the Olympics; and my husband has habitually removed his belt, loose coins and watch about 5km before reaching the security check.  I guess you could say we are seasoned travellers, which is just another polite way of saying we lead a life similar to that of a gypsy.

Anyhow… a move from Brisbane to Perth, East Coast to West Coast of Australia.  It is only a six hour flight, easy.  Right?  After all, I did just refer to my family as ‘seasoned travellers’.  I was wrong.  Very wrong.  Our easy 6 hour flight involved about 3 hours of sheer agony, (mainly emotional) for the entire fleet of passenger and crew.  Usually, when my spawn has a tantrum at home, I am able to ignore it.  I have a knack of switching off and to be totally honest, I do not hear a thing, I go into a special place of flowered meadows and lolly pops, (mentally that is).  Even when my toddler has a tantrum in a shopping centre, I merely step over him and place a post-it-note on his back, “please return to sender”.  So what do you do when the tantrum occurs on an enclosed aeroplane?  Firstly panic, then get anxious, then get angry, then get sad, then just plain exhausted, it makes you feel as though it is the 12 steps for a recovering alcoholic.  It is difficult to ignore the banshee screams when I can feel the burning eyes of fellow passengers attacking my soul/ parenting skills.  The pleasant grandma hippy in front of us requested that the gentle tapping on the back of her seat cease within the first 5 minutes of the flight, "so how are you liking my son now Nana, he was better as a gentle tapper wasn’t he?"  I am sure I have seen her grab for her high blood pressure medication.  Twice.

My brave husband takes the offender to the back of the plane in hope that a change of scenery may calm the pterodactyl screech, or at least muffle it if hidden behind the toilets.  “Happy anniversary babe.”  Unfortunately for all, the volume of protest did not mellow, and was only heightened when the seat belt sign binged on and we had to return to our seats.  With my son in a WWF wrestling hold, he was restrained on my lap, until he informed me “pee pee”.  So I informed the air hostess and the entire travelling fleet, “He is going to wet his pants.”  (In reflection, pretty sure this was screamed in a voice that was a mixture between pure panic and a lady possessed.)  I agreed that I was leaving my seat at my own risk, blah blah blah, the airline would not be held responsible for incident, blah blah blah.  Well now isn’t this calming? “Happy anniversary babe.” As I reach the bathroom, my son arches his back, refuses to sit or stand at the toilet and practices his best ‘woe is me’ face in the mirror as though in contention for an Oscar.  I on the other hand, utilise this time out of the public eye to take a deep breath, and to see whether I could possibly sneak out via the toilet hole.  The toilet option is obviously not an option for either of us, so I reapply my WWF hold and return to my seat.  Yay is me, it appears the excitement was all too much, so my son wets his pants and my jeans. (Come on hippy grandma, you just complain about the noise now; I dare you!)  My son screams as he is changed and then decides all the screaming is not enough pressure on our relationship, so he vomits on my lap, in my hand and then when my hand is full, on my shoe.  Yay is me, I am living the dream.  “Happy anniversary babe.”

Just as the airhostess offers my surrounding travellers head sets and alerts them to the loudest music station they have on offer, my son decides to give up.  Exhausted he falls to sleep in my arms, about one hour before landing.  Did I mention today is our anniversary? Five years. “Happy anniversary babe.”  This was whispered between my husband for the entire flight.  I am pretty sure that this is the only thing that got me through the ordeal that was from East to West.

Perth, it could be worse.

These above words were said to me by a close friend, when I was unsure how to react to the news that Perth was soon to be called home.  To be totally honest my first reaction was “Oh okay……..” (long pause).  Actually in all honesty, there was a definite obscenity muttered out of shock.

Please do not take this as a negative statement.  Perth.  I have been there on holidays for a wedding about 7 years ago.  Great place.  I lost a full suitcase of luggage, (how does that just disappear?)  Anyhow, it was pleasant.  But to be totally honest, I never thought, “Ahhh, 3 million win on lotto, bye bye, I am off to Perth!”

At this point, it may be important for me to keep in mind that I had a brief holiday drive via Newcastle and then ended up moving there for 4 years.  I loved it there, it is where we bought our first house, I gave birth to my 2 children and I made eternal friendships and memories that will never be replaced.  I am now rather hesitant as to where my husband suggests we ‘stop over’ or take a little ‘break’. 

Two and a half years ago we had a holiday in Italy, then soon after we moved to Milan for 14 months.  I am not complaining, but I must admit, I am now hesitant and extremely observant when my husband suggests that we “take a little trip”.  “Come on darling, a little trip to Afghanistan  you may just like it?”  These may be the famous last words before I am looking for schooling in Kabul or buying spinach and turnips to eat from the local villagers.

Okay so it sounds bad “Perth, it could be worse”.  But it could of said, “Perth, it could be better…” than a poke in the eye, lemon juice on a paper cut, or a Bon Jovi album caught in your CD player during a traffic jam.  So yes, I am being positive.  My cup is definitely half full.  But I have to be honest Perth, we have just moved from Milan.  I am expecting food, culture, and a definite shock to my mental bubble of reality.  I have no doubt I will be happy.  But I do doubt whether Perth will offer me the day trip and variety of experiences I can use to educate and pleasure myself, my husband and my 2 sponge worthy children.  Prove me wrong Perth.  “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, OY, OY, OY!”

We will explore all that you have to offer; make me proud and I will try not to embarrass myself and my family too much in our next chapter.  Enjoy our adventures. Milan was Gonzosabroad.  Welcome to Gonzosnearby.

Home sweet home

“Where ever I lay my hat is my home”, but I do not often wear hats, so maybe it should be “where ever I lay my bra from the lamp shade is my home”?  Have you ever considered where you consider home to be before?  Home being somewhere that;

·         You have your own key for

·         At the local supermarket you know which aisle and shelf desired food is located

·         You know which window in the house allows for best clothes drying.

My list starts off blurry as far as responsible key membership and domestic competencies – but is filled with treasured and chaptered memories; it goes like this…

1.       Brisbane, QLD, Australia

2.       Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea

3.       Chinchilla, QLD, Australia

4.       Rochedale South, QLD, Australia
5.       Shailer Park, QLD, Australia

6.       New Farm, QLD, Australia

7.       Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

8.       Stockholme, Sweden
9.       Fortitude Valley, QLD, Australia

10.       Camphill, QLD, Australia

11.   Newcastle, NSW, Australia

12.   Milano, Italia ….. and now…..

13.   Perth, WA, Australia

No…. My father was not ‘a man running from the law’, (the only addiction or bad habit I have known him to have was to hide chocolate and jube lollies behind the bar so others could not relish in his craving).  In the first 18 years, only 5 moves were experienced, most of which I was too juvenile to recall or too selfish to feel affected by.  So, to my parents relief, they can be rest assured  that my psychological instability was not caused by the transition of moving, or by any subconscious effort to ‘run from home’.  I was actually fortunate enough to live in the same residence for my entire primary and senior school education.  I am also pretty certain that the new occupancies to this particular address, have had to chisel out the engraved height chart that has been progressing over 12 years and 3 children, under the staircase.  That was a lot of 6 month measurement markings.  My bet is that the under stair storage area is now a perfect wine cellar?

The point of my rant?  I have been married for 5 years.  I have been madly, and insanely in love for 8 years.  I have moved 7 times since I have been madly in love.  I placed a ring on my finger and received 2 beautiful children, (no, not immaculate conception, use your imagination).  It just goes to show, love may take you  anywhere, and it will make you do crazy things, (things that you would not usually attempt alone). 

This is my next journey….. “Perth…it could be worse.”