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.