At the Races... well, not actually

So what do you get when you take the elegance of the Kentucky Derby and the abundant fanfare of the Super Bowl, and you stir them together in Australia?

You get the Melbourne Cup — "the race that stops a nation."

On the day of the Melbourne Cup, it is tradition to gather with friends, get dressed to the nines, and watch the race at some posh luncheon. Many people take the day off from work, and some companies are only open in the morning, but then hire a bus to take their employees to a pub or a hotel (the Aussie word for "casino") for lunch, drinks and to watch the race. In the U.S. this kind of event would be scheduled for a weekend, but not in Australia! Aussies enjoy their holidays. And the more holidays they have, the happier they are.

The horse race itself dates back to 1861, and being fashionable at the race was always a priority. After the centennial celebration, however, the Victoria Racing Club decided that they needed a way to attract more women to the race. So in 1962, they created the Fashions on the Field competition, and gave away prizes every year to the best-dressed women and to the woman wearing the most elegant hat. The prizes were impressive (the first year's grand prize was a Ford Falcon), and the competition started a media frenzy over the fashions worn to the race.

Over time, more and more people began to put their most fashionable foot forward on Race Day, whether they were in Melbourne or not. Naturally, you can't just sit at home alone to watch the race if you're wearing your finest attire. So, restaurants and hotels began selling tickets (anywhere from $50 to $250 p/p in Brisbane) to Race Day luncheons, complete with champagne and opportunities to bet on the race.

For my first Melbourne Cup, I decided to start small. A friend and I bought tickets to a luncheon at our kids' school. The luncheon was to be catered by the school's very talented chef, the wait staff would be high school students, and there would be a fashion show from a local boutique, as well as Year 11 and Prep ("kindergarten") students modeling fascinators that they made themselves. There was also going to be betting on the race, a raffle and a silent auction, with all proceeds going to a charity.

If you aren't sure what a fascinator is... it's a hair ornament that can range in size from a single flower to a small hat. The most infamous of these was probably the one worn by Princess Beatrice to William and Kate's wedding...

Even though the school's luncheon was to have only 80 attendees, I was still quite stressed about what to wear. I've always enjoyed experimenting with fashion, but fashion needed to take a backseat to comfort once kids entered the picture. (Sitting on the floor to play is not much fun in a pencil skirt and heels!) Also, I'm just not as cosmopolitan as the other school mums, many of whom are on their second or third international relocation. I'll admit; I was nervous about looking amateurish and out-dated in a room full of fashionistas.

I started shopping for the hat/fascinator first. And while I found one very reasonably priced that I loved, I decided to take the frugal route and wear a dress out of my closet rather than buy a new one. I added some bright pink shoes for a pop of color, and I painted my nails and lips to match. At the very last moment, I found a rose pin in my drawer that was the same shade of pink. I really liked the retro look I pulled together, but everything I read online about trends for this year's race said that I was WAY off base. Oh well! I did my best, and I stayed true to my own tastes.

After a couple weeks of trying to decipher the culture here — not sure whether racing fashion is super important and my "outdated" outfit would be a joke OR whether this whole fashion thing was a bunch of media hype and I would be overdressed for a school luncheon — yesterday was finally Race Day. It was a crazy morning. We had no hot water in the house. I spent a chunk of the morning heating water on the stove for the tub (so I could shave without goosebumps!), while simultaneously making numerous phone calls to get someone to fix the water heater. By the time I got the water heater issue squared away, I was running late. Driving there was a challenge. I took my car seat as low as it would go, so that I could drive without knocking over the hat that was precariously pinned into my hair. I laughed the whole way there at the thought of myself "low-ridin'" in my 1950s finest!

Once there, everything was fine. The lunch was delightful, and we were seated with some other mums we knew. We also had a few new faces at the table, and they were a riot! The fashion shows were lovely, and the Prep students were beyond adorable as they modeled the fascinators they made out of paper plates and rainbow-colored feathers.

There was no way for me to be in a group shot with that hat! I was either blocking someone or my face was hidden — hence my weird slouched pose.

My horse was in third place for the first two minutes of the race — not a good sign. In the end, he finished 20th (out of 22). At the end of the luncheon, they raffled off some lovely prizes, but I barely paid attention to the ticket numbers they called out. If there's such a thing as a person having more luck or less luck than another person, then I would be one of those with less luck. (Or all my luck went towards finding an amazing husband... and that's alright by me!!)

After the prizes were handed out, they announced it was time for the fashion awards. Huh?? No one said there would be fashion awards here too! I couldn't wait to see who would win. I enjoyed the luncheon and the lovely company immensely, and I want to attend again next year. A fashion competition sounds fun, so I needed to take mental notes about what it takes to win!

There were four prizes awarded — Best Male Attire, Most Elegant Fascinator, Most Creative Fascinator, and Best Overall Outfit. My friend Catherine (pictured above, third from the left) won Most Elegant Fascinator, for her beautiful fascinator made by a local milliner using pheasant feathers. I was so happy for her! I was also quite happy for the winner of Best Overall Outfit... she was awarded a lovely bottle of sparkling wine!

Do I? Or Don't I?

I'm not sure how much of a melting pot the US is anymore. Living in Ohio my whole life, it wasn't often that I'd run into people who had just arrived from another country. Sure, there were certain places around town where I would hear people with thick, new-to-America accents. But it was usually just the same 2 or 3 accents. My guess is that large coastal cities like New York, LA and Miami are still rich with a renewing supply of the world's citizens, but those places (for other reasons) have never enticed me to visit them. (Can you believe that I have been in 41 of the 50 states, but I've never even stepped foot in Florida?)

Anyway, our experience is that Australia is quite the melting pot. (For a short read on Australian population growth from immigration, follow this link.) Here in Brisbane, it is very difficult to find a person who was born and raised in Brisbane. Relatively speaking, even meeting a native Queenslander is a tad on the rare side. Although I have to admit that my experience is skewed because my kids go to a school that caters to expat children, and I attend a monthly luncheon for women who've recently relocated to Queensland. (Around the table are women from France, Germany, England, India, New Zealand, Denmark, Korea, South Africa — it's all so fascinating to me!) Still, when I'm out and about, if I hear an accent that I don't recognize, I love to ask where the person is from.

Some of the accents are immediately apparent to me, and there is no reason to ask from where the person originates. For example, there is a mother at school whose Scottish brogue is as lovely as her long, strawberry-blonde hair.

But there are other accents, more complicated accents, that drive me a bit bonkers. I'll listen closely and hear familiar tones, but I can't make it fit into just one country. Taking another example from school, there is one mom where I have tried for three months now to figure out her accent. Finally, I gave in and asked her this week. She was born in South Africa to parents who were newly moved there from Greece. They spoke Greek at home. But then she spent nearly 20 years living in England. She also admitted to me that she actually works on her accent when she moves, trying to adapt it to her new country.

Hybrid accents like that school mom's are something that we encounter quite often. There are Indian people who attended university in England. There are Japanese people who've lived and worked in Germany. I get to hear so many fascinating life stories with just six little words: "That accent... where are you from?"

One thing that surprised us when we moved here was the large variety of accents from Aussies. Which when you think about it, it shouldn't have been surprising at all. Australia is almost the same size as the US, and just think of all the different accents there — New York, Boston, New Orleans, Texas, South Carolina, Chicago, Minnesota, So Cal, etc.

The purple overlay is Australia. It usually looks smaller on a map, don't you think?

I'm not the only person here who's striking up conversations with strangers over their accents. I often get asked about my own accent. Half the time, however, people will take a guess as to where I'm from. And of those guesses, 9 out of 10 times the person will say, "Are you from Canada?"

Truth be told, this is not the first time in my life I've been mistaken for a Canadian. The first time was back in high school. A friend's mother was driving a group of us girls to a football game. This was to be the first of many football games that she chauffeured a van full of us girls to. She interrupted the teen-girl banter (which I'm sure was loud, giggly, and with everyone talking at once) to ask if I was from Canada. Canada? Me? Really? I was born and raised in the same city as she was, but to her I sounded Canadian.

This question puzzled me a great deal, until I realized that it was quite possible that I did sound Canadian. I watched A LOT of TV as a kid. Our neighborhood was a bit rough, so we didn't venture out often. One of my favorite shows, and I mean FAVORITE shows, was a ridiculous program on Nickelodeon called "You Can't Do That On Television." It was like Laugh-In for kids and pre-teens, it was purely stupid, and I sat and watched it every single time it was on. The show was produced in Canada, and all the actors had Canadian accents...

As Adrian can attest, I'm one who adopts an accent quickly. A dear friend of mine has a Minnesotan accent. She's not from Minnesota, but the accent became a part of her during college. She and I are like accent sponges — one of the many things that we have in common and that make me love her dearly. Well, Adrian knows, knows without asking, if I have spoken on the phone to this friend. The "you betcha" and the looong long-o's that escape my mouth for the rest of the evening are a dead giveaway.

So... do I sound Canadian or don't I? If this friend has kept her accent since college, perhaps my TV-induced Canadian accent has remained with me since the '80s. It's possible. And I've had so many people here ask me if I hail from Canada. Heck, I've even had a Canadian ask me if I'm Canadian!! I figured that's pretty conclusive evidence right there. I must still have a Canadian accent, eh?

Or... maybe not. This week I was having a conversation with a repair man at the house (Aussies would call him a "tradesman"), and he asked if I was Canadian. I explained that I'm from the States but that I get asked a lot if I'm Canadian. Rather than recount my childhood television-watching habits, I started to explain that I grew up right across the lake from Canada. Being British, he cut me off before I could finish my sentence — Brits have no tolerance for people rambling on about themselves. He interrupted me to say that he was pretty certain I was from the US, but didn't want to risk offending me because "Canadians get so offended when you ask if they're from the States."

Huh? Offended? Interesting... I'm going to have to pick the brains of the next Canadians I meet. I want to learn more about this.

Spring Break and Bluebottles

The kids have been on Spring Break for nearly three weeks, but to say they're "on vacation" might be stretching it a bit. During most of their school holiday, the kids have been cooped up at home, trying to keep themselves entertained while I cleaned, unpacked, and cleaned some more.

Being reunited with all of their toys and books has certainly helped to occupy them. The plethora of large cardboard boxes alone provided four solid days of imaginative play. But they were starting to get antsy and get on each others' nerves, so last Sunday we packed up our towels, books, sunscreen, and snacks and headed to the beach.

It's hard to believe that we have lived in Brisbane for over 3 months and we only just went to the beach. (Although to be fair, it was winter when we moved here.) As soon as we arrived, the kids immediately jumped into their standard beach routines: 1) squirm and whine when sunscreen is applied; 2) run around, getting a lot of sand on the blanket that we just spread out; and then 3) Tru digs a big hole while Oo heads for the water.

There are SO MANY amazing beaches to choose from around here. We have the Sunshine Coast one hour to the north of us, and the Gold Coast just one hour south. Ask a dozen people around here for the name of their favorite beach, and you're sure to get a dozen different answers. Rather than spending several hours online researching our best options (as I am apt to do), we decided to head to a beach Adrian visited before our move here: Surfers Paradise.

As you can guess from the name (and see in the pictures above), Surfers Paradise is rough and not easy to swim in. But that didn't matter, we didn't really go there to swim. Oo wanted to ride some waves, and Tru mostly just wanted to dig, cool off when he got hot, then dig some more. This works out well for Adrian and I — he enjoys spending time in the waves, while I prefer to lie on the blanket, reading a magazine. When Adrian wants to take a break, Oo enjoys playing in the sand... for a little while... until she gets bored and wants to go back in the water.

The weather was perfect! We stayed until the tide went out, and then we combed the beach for interesting seashells. Oo and a new friend (she makes friends wherever she goes!) found a live mussel on the beach, which Oo named Doris.

Doris wasn't the only sea critter to be found that day. I happened upon this:

An Aussie gentleman informed me that this is a bluebottle and that it has a nasty sting. And then he laughed heartily as he said that everything in Australia is out to kill us humans. (A bluebottle, by the way, is probably better known to Americans by its other name: Portuguese man o' war.) Truth be told, a sting from this little guy would not have killed us. Deaths from bluebottles are extremely rare and usually the result of an allergic reaction. Also interesting to note: a bluebottle is not a jellyfish. And where jellyfish stings are eased by applying vinegar, vinegar makes a bluebottle's venom more toxic and a little sting can turn into a big problem.

Does swimming with bluebottles nearby worry me? A little. However, the Aussie I spoke to on the beach changed his tune and said that the pain from a bluebottle sting is really not much different than that from a bee. Do I enjoy bee stings? No, but that doesn't keep me from gardening. I figure that as long as we always swim within sight of a lifeguard, we'll be fine. Australian lifeguards are the best in the world!

As for Doris the Mussel...not a lifeguard in the world could've saved her.

Unbeknownst to us, Miss Oo smuggled the poor creature home in the bag of seashells. Spending the day in the sun tends to make a person sleepy, so by the time we were back home, Oo was too wiped out to remember her new pet. In that bag is where Doris remained... for four days. It wasn't until Thursday, during a Skype call with my mom, that Doris was discovered. Oo was happily showing off her seashells, when she let the cat (and Doris) out of the bag.

I was miffed about Oo's covert attempt to have a new pet, but thankful that the house hadn't begun to stink from Doris's demise. Oo insisted that Doris was still alive, and so she dropped her into a clear plastic cup filled with tap water and a sprinkle of table salt. I watched Doris for a while, but I never saw her budge. Still, Oo was adamant that was Doris was alive, and so she proudly placed her new pet on the desk of her bedroom.

Oo was right. Doris was still alive. This wasn't confirmed, however, until the next morning... when Doris was dead. Officially dead. Her body was pale, and it was poking straight out of her shell like the tongue of a bratty kid. Poor Doris. She's fertilizer in the garden now.

When There's No Place Like Home

I would apologize for not writing in a while, but that would be silly.

It's not like I'm slacking in my duties. As much as I enjoy sharing the nifty stuff we see and do here in Australia, my job is to build a life and home for my family so that we can settle in and enjoy our time here. And yet, as the days have turned into weeks and the weeks into a month, the guilt I have felt for not blogging (and for not returning many of your emails) has been eating away at me.

My plan was to blog in the evenings. Not every night, of course, but every few nights I would sit down and fire off a few words and pictures. I figured it would be a great way to keep a record of our adventure here, as well as keep friends and family close to us. I also intended to email friends and family either in the evening or in the morning while I had my coffee. When the kids were in school I would finally begin a regular exercise routine, keep the house clean and stocked, and explore the cafes and fun spots in the city.

But I failed to take into account the words of wisdom you see up there in my profile picture:

What screws us up most in life is the picture in our head of how it is supposed to be.

Before the move, I was too consumed with all the details of moving. I didn't have a moment to read up on how to live life as an expat or how to help my kids adjust to all the changes. Nope, instead I boarded that plane pretty sure that life would be a breeze from that moment on... because nothing, absolutely nothing, could be as exhausting as trying to empty a house that I've lived in for 13 years as a pack rat.

If I had to offer an apology for not blogging, if I had to explain my spotty online presence (sometimes posting a quick photo on Facebook, and yet taking forever to respond to my email), it would be, ironically: I'm exhausted. So those evenings when I was going to be doing all that blogging... yeah, I'm in bed sleeping... usually by 9:00.

That picture in my head of how I'd spend my days and evenings... a lovely picture, but a bit naive. Adjusting to life in a different country — even when the cultural and language differences are very subtle — can be very challenging at times.

When you're driving down the street, all the store names are unfamiliar. What do they sell at Harvey Norman or David Jones or Bob Jane? Bob Jane?!? When you ask a clerk for bathroom caulk or banana peppers, why do they look at you like you have two heads? Because here, peppers are called "capsicum" and caulk is called "sealant." (Plus, if you say "caulk" to a Brit or Aussie, it sounds to them like you're asking for a certain part of the male anatomy... you know, the one that rhymes with "clock.") And how are you supposed to help your child with their homework when you had no idea that "horse" really and truly rhymes with "sauce?"

It's those little things that make life here interesting, and it's those little things that I really want to share with all of you. But those little things can weigh heavy like big things when they come in large numbers. And rather than being funny, they can be like the straw that broke the camel's back when they come on the heels of a true challenge.

I promised myself that I wouldn't blog about the big challenges I/we have faced in the past two months. And so I won't. I don't want to dwell on the negative, and I don't want to record the tough spots so that I can reread and relive them again and again. Yet, I also feel like I can't suddenly resume blogging about the fun stuff without feeling a bit phony. I guess the purpose of this blog post is to acknowledge, without going into detail, that it has not been easy. And perhaps I can use this as an opportunity to answer, briefly but honestly, some of the questions you have been asking:

Are we settling in?
We have a routine, but the house doesn't feel like home. It's empty and echo-y and the bare floors are cold. Things are expensive here, so rather than shop, we prefer to wait for our furniture. We found out this week, that our shipping container left a port in Taiwan on Aug. 17 and should land in Australia on Sept. 5. Whew! It's good to know it's finally on its way after spending two months somewhere in the States.

Are the kids enjoying school?
Yes, and no. They are starting to make friends, but the new friendships are not yet comforting. There are areas in the curriculum that are too easy for them, and others that are providing them with a manageable challenge. Thankfully, there is pressure on them both to improve their handwriting as well as their reading aloud with emphasis and clarity.

What are we enjoying the most?
The animals! We love finding little lizards in our yard and big lizards in the parks. We love the birds — even if they can be a bit too noisy at times — they come in so many different colors and sizes. And we love the different bugs, just as long as they are not inside the house!

Am I meeting people?
I've made friends with a few moms from school, but the friendships are still in that courting stage when they feel really fragile and you're not sure what's acceptable. One thing that can be an issue with making friends with school moms is that you have to be sure that everyone's kids get along. Since I usually see these friends on school grounds at the end of the day, the suggestion comes up to go to a park. The mums can have a chat, and the kids can play. But if the kids' personalities clash, I spend more time settling disagreements and calming hot tempers than I spend actually having an adult conversation. Annoying, awkward and no fun.

What do we miss the most?
Adrian and I miss satellite radio in our cars (they don't have satellite radio in Australia), and we all miss having a couch to sit/sleep on in front of the TV. But most of all, we miss our friends. I especially miss the ones that I can say absolutely anything to, the ones that I can laugh with until I snort and then laugh with some more until my face hurts and I'm crossing my legs, trying not to pee my pants. Yes, that's what I miss the most.

Out to Lunch

The kids and I have been feeling incredibly cooped up in the house. Every day this week, there has been at least one of us who has felt too icky to do anything. We spent the entire week at home in pajamas. We played Legos, hangman, Spot It and everything else we brought with us. The kids were bored, and despite Oo feeling the sickest out of all us on Friday, it didn't stop her from picking on Tru. And it didn't cause Tru to take pity and not fight back.

All the bickering was driving me batty, so I made up my mind to take us out for lunch. I found a restaurant nearby that offers vegan options (which means dairy-free choices for Oo and I) and told the kids the plan. Both whined about going anywhere, but I stood my ground. Sure, we all felt like laying low at home, but getting out would do us a world of good. To stop the whining, I let the kids choose how we got to the restaurant: take the bus or the rental car.

They both chose the bus. And they don't like riding the bus.

They don't have any confidence in my driving here. But their hesitation does not come from experience. I've never driven in Australia with them in the car. Maybe they've picked up my extreme nervousness about driving in this city.

To help me get over my fears, we had a driving instructor take me driving last Saturday. It was fantastic! I did WAY better on the left side of the road (and the right side of the car) than I thought I would. And I only drove on the wrong side of the road ONCE. (Yikes!) The decision to hire an instructor came from a recommendation by our relocation agent. Even though I had seen the roads here during my visit in April, I had forgotten how hilly and winding they are. It's like being on a roller coaster! Up steep hills, then back down again. Sharp turns and lots of roundabouts. In our part of town there's nary a flat, straight stretch of road to be found.

The driving lesson gave me a lot of confidence, and so on Sunday we picked up a rental car for me. Here I am driving home from the rental shop. (Don't panic; I took the pic at a red light.) My two most common mistakes I make in Oz are 1) reaching over the wrong shoulder when I go to put my seat belt on, and 2) turning on my wiper blades when I mean to use the turn signal.

Despite my new confidence, the kids still insisted on taking the bus on Friday. We walked to the bus stop near our house and waited a few minutes. The bus we needed stops there every 15 minutes. A bus came by, but we didn't get on. The number on the bus wasn't the number that I was looking for. But as the bus pulled away, I realized that on this particular bus route, the numbers on the bus don't matter. All that matters is that the bus is maroon-colored. Ugh!

Not in the mood for more whining from the kids (I took us to the wrong bus stop last week and they're still talking about it), I walked us home, piled us all into the car, and drove to the restaurant.

The restaurant is less than a mile and a half from our house, so I wasn't too nervous about driving. I reminded the kids to keep quiet (so that I could maintain focus), plugged the address into the GPS, and off we went. All was going smoothly until I took a wrong turn. The GPS gives distance in terms of meters, and my brain just doesn't think in metrics yet. So when the GPS told me to "turn right in 100 meters," I sailed right past the street I needed. The GPS recalculated our route, but now the new route involved driving up a long, narrow street... that was a very steep grade... with cars parked on both sides. Oy! As I slalomed my way up the hill, zigzagging to avoid the parked cars while the car's engine strained with the climb, I could practically feel the kids stiffen with fear.

But we made it to the restaurant! As I backed in to the parking spot, I turned all the way around to get a better view of the back end of my car. That's when I saw Oo clutching onto the car door with both hands. Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, kid.

The restaurant was a converted old house. The decor was kitschy and fun. I told the kids to find a seat on the patio while I ordered at the counter. They walked through the restaurant, but soon came back and stood beside me. Apparently the patio had a sign that said, "Unattended children will be given espresso and a free kitten." (I'm so glad my kids can read!) A moment later, I saw a lightbulb go off over Oo's head, and she tried to sneak back to the patio. Nice try!

One thing we've found is that we're not always going to get what we're picturing when ordering food in Australia. There are minor differences that can really throw you for a loop — especially when your kids are fussy eaters. Take for instance, lemonade. Lemonade in Australia is usually a carbonated beverage. Oo LOVES the carbonated version. Tru, on the other hand, thinks that carbonated drinks are "spicy," so he refuses to try even a sip.

With Oo's tummy all topsy-turvy, I let her order whatever sounded good to her. She chose the waffles with strawberries and honey. I had an amazing roast beef sandwich with watercress and pesto mustard, and we ordered melted cheesy toast from the kids menu for Tru. When you see "melted cheesy toast" you're probably thinking what we were thinking: grilled cheese, right? Not exactly. He was served strips of open-face grilled cheese, but there was an unexpected extra ingredient. An ingredient that perhaps Australians assume will be included, but for us it was a total shocker: Vegemite!!

Tru took one look at the dark spread under the melted cheese, and asked with a subtle hint of disgust, "Uh, what's that brown stuff?" Hoping it was Nutella but pretty sure it wasn't, I took a little taste. It wasn't as bitter as I had heard; instead it was very salty. I definitely couldn't pass it off to him as Nutella. Knowing my picky eater, I needed to put a creative spin on this. I used my college degree (marketing), carefully considered my target audience (picky eater), and then I took a totally different route: I out-and-out lied. I told him it was brown cheese.

I could see the wheels spinning in his mind. He likes cheese. Sure "brown cheese" sounds weird, but it's cheese, right? If it's cheese, it can't be too bad. He took a bite. And then another. I was in total disbelief. If he proceeded to consume these Vegemite sandwiches, this may be my greatest achievement yet in Creative Food Renaming for Fussy Eaters, even better than the three years I was able to get Oo to eat potato soup simply by calling it "White Square Soup."

And then the taste of Vegemite grew stronger in his mouth. He whimpered in disappointment and squirmed around in his chair, probably contemplating whether or not to skip lunch and go hungry. After a few minutes he picked off all the cheese and just ate that. Ha! Even though the Vegemite taste wasn't so bad, it is strong. I can't say that I wouldn't have done the same.

A New Home, A New Blog

I'm so happy to finally kick off this blog that I've been talking about for MONTHS! This blog will be my main format for sharing my family's Australian experiences and for keeping our family and friends informed of our well-being.

For this first post, I want to explain the blog's name: The Land of Double O.

When Adrian and I first learned that moving to Australia was a possibility for us, I turned to the Internet and began Googling anything I could to learn about the place. One thing that struck me almost immediately was the number of cities/suburbs in the area that contained a double o. You see, I'm kind of partial to double o's. It's what drew me to choosing Oo's unique name. And perhaps it's that "oo" sound that led me to choosing Tru's name as well.

Look at a map of the Brisbane area, and you will find places like Toowong, Mt. Coot-tha, Kangaroo Point, and Coopers Plains. But what will most likely catch your eye are the places with DOUBLE-double-o's, like Indooroopilly, Coorparoo, Wooloowin, and Woolloongabba. They're all so much fun to say, even if I am pronouncing them incorrectly most of the time. For example, the Aussies pronounce Indooroopilly as "IN-droh-pill-eh," which is no where near as fun as saying "in-door-OO-pill-EE."

In part of our sales pitch to the kids about moving here, I told Oo about how we were moving to "the land of double o's." Naturally, she's kind of partial to double o's herself. When I seriously thought about that as the name for this blog, I did a quick search online to see if there were other blogs out there with the same name. I also did what any paranoid, out-of-touch-with-pop-culture mom would do: I checked the Urban Dictionary to make sure it didn't have some filthy meaning that I wasn't aware of. To my surprise and delight, this is what the Urban Dictionary had to say:

So there you have it. And a new blog is born.