Guest Post from Heather

Somewhere in America, a stranger stumbled across my blog, and has seen me as a channel - a means to share her story.  She contacted me via email, to share with me her story of survival and hope.  Her situation and circumstance draws no apparent parallels to my life, she has fought battles I can not even fathom.  However her story is one that will touch you deeply - bring tears to your eyes - send a shiver down your spine.  It will also remind you of the reasons we hold on to hope, and that we should never take life for granted.

This "guest post" is a short blip from Heather, telling of her journey thus far.  At the end of the blog, I will post the link to her website where you can read further - and hopefully share it on to your loved ones, because its nice to hear of a happy ending once in a while...

Learning Not to Take Anything for Granted
Everyone fears the unexpected. However, it is a lot harder to expect it, especially three and a half months after giving birth to a beautiful baby girl. I did not expect the worst. The worst came anyway in the form of malignant pleural mesothelioma. The diagnosis came on November 21, 2005. I was scared and looking my own mortality in the face. I was also realizing a toughness I never knew existed in me.
Soon after I was diagnosed, I got a referral for Dr. David Sugarbaker at the Boston Brigham and Women's Hospital. Dr. Sugarbaker was honest. My disease has a grim prognosis. However, he still managed to give me hope. In my research, I learned that my chances of living more than five years from that time were only two percent. I knew I could be in that two percent. I needed determination and that was growing inside of me.
It was not easy to stay determined. My first step on the road to beating mesothelioma was a surgery. The surgery involved the removal of the tumor that was ruining my life and my entire left lung. Obviously, I could not take care of my baby at that time. Lily stayed with my parents about 2,000 miles away from me while I had surgery under the care of the wonderful doctors in Boston, Massachusetts.
Despite so much of me being taken out during surgery, it was necessary to undergo chemotherapy and radiation for the months following my surgery. I was involved with the care of my daughter. Nonetheless, I needed help. I was still very sick. I was lucky to have friends and family to help me all the way to the end of mymesothelioma treatment, which was around my daughter's first birthday.
The lessons I learned from battling cancer I am not sure I could have learned through anything less trying. I learned that taking anything for granted is a mistake. Cancer helped me realize that appreciating all the little things in life is the best way to live life to its fullest. Life is not about the things that upset you. It is about the things that make life worth living. My daughter’s laugh and smile is something I will never take for granted. I will cherish every moment of her life to which I am privy.
Among the most important of my discoveries since my cancer diagnosis is that the people fighting with me were warriors. I met sufferers and family members whose journeys continued with mine or sadly ended. Each of them will have a place in my heart forever. They are the reason that I am striving to improve mesothelioma awareness. One of the best ways to do this is for me just to keep on living and living life to the fullest. No matter how bad things get, I have every reason to be grateful that I am alive and able to experience everything -- the good and the bad.

Read more:

www.mesothelioma.com/blog/authors/heather

The Honeymoon: Dirty Details....

Nathan and I got married last month.  What a wonderful day it was; I’m not lying when I say it was like a fairy tale – it was magic.  The setting, the vows, the dress, the catering, the decorations – it all went off without a hitch and was more than I ever could have hoped for.  But the best part of it all, the main feature, were the people.  So many of our friends and family showed up from around the globe – literally – and it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to have such a gathering of both sides of our family.

Now, we couldn’t let the Canadians come over without showing them the best bits of NZ, so after the wedding we embarked on a 2 week road trip around the South Island to see the country in all its glory.  Let me tell you about the logistics of organizing a honeymoon with 20 people.

2 vans,  2 weeks, 3500 km, 2 babies, 1 pregnant lady, 5 kiwis, 15 Canadians, 6 accommodation stops,  1 ferry crossing, a dozen or more one way bridges, countless oohs and aahs.

In hindsight, I think my most prominent shortcoming as trip planner was not accounting for snoring tendancies.  We had the best of intentions to bed down together in lodge  and cabin style accommodation, in some cases with bunk rooms, and this was definitely what made the trip economical for everyone.  But when it comes down to it, everyone should have had their own sound-proof pod for sleeping because the snoring penetrated walls and windows and made the floors vibrate and the windows shudder.  It was phenomenal.  And it wasn’t just 1 or 2; there were at least half a dozen grizzly bears in this group, and people who were unaware they were snorers quickly had it pointed out to them. 

Missing / forgotten / misplaced articles.  I have lost count, but to name a few: Bose  headset.  Reading glasses.  Cell phones (x2).   A hair dryer.  Power converter.  Adapter.  A slipper, a jacket, a room key, a porta-cot mattress, a frying pan, and the list goes on. 

I, personally, went on a wild goose chase around Twizel one morning in search of my credit card- only to discover it was in fact in my wallet all along.  I also forgot my brother at a hotel in Christchurch for a good 2 hours after check-out,  left my marriage licence documents behind, left all 3 of my families passports on the plane when we first arrived in NZ, and lost my wedding rings on the floor of a bar in Queenstown – until they stopped the music, turned on the lights, and made all the patrons get down on their knees to look for them.   Then I forgot my wedding rings in Christchurch and went back to Australia without them.  So, just the little things, really.

Ailments and Illnesses.   Both babies caught colds, and both suffered bouts of teething (including a temperature). Jack had the most heinous allergic reaction / eczema / rash of his life that started the day our holiday started and mysteriously subsided the day we returned to Australia.  There was strep throat. Double vision.  A case of leg swelling to which the cause and cure is still unknown, and the patient, my cousin, was reduced to crutches for a big part of the trip.  There was a stomach bug that methodically struck down individuals 1 by 1, starting in Pohangina and finishing in Wanaka.  There were hangovers, caffeine & nicotine withdrawls, coldsores, PMS, blisters, motion sickness, indigestion, back problems, oh and cuts and bruises –mainly from drunken shenanigans like falling out of bunk beds and trying to do clap-push ups in sauna like conditions while chugging beers.

One of the more amusing aspects of the trip was the language barrier.  You would think that because we all speak English that such a barrier would not exist.  Not so. 

Not only do we pronounce things differently, we have different words, phrases, expressions, and figures of speech.  As it turned out, the hardest people to understand were the ones with the thick Newfie accents who sounded like they had a mouth full of marbles while speaking.  My Uncle Doug was, hands down, the hardest person to decipher.  I’m pretty sure that when he spoke, most kiwis would nod, then take 4 or 5 minutes to contemplate or discuss with others what he may have said.   I recall one instance when my sister-in-law was speaking to him in the kitchen, (let me point out she is from England), and he repeated a question 3 times (all 3 times were just as mumbled and unclear as eachother, albeit) and she just broke out into laughter, shook her head and walked away in bewilderment because there was no way she could be clear about what he wanted.  In Dunedin one night, my uncle said he had to ring Air NZ to ask them about something he lost on the flight (aforementioned Bose headset) – and I quickly took his phone and gave it to Auntie to save all parties involved a lot of frustration and confusion.  An old newfie coming up against an Indian call-centre respondent was not going to be pretty.   And there were more than a couple occasions where Canadians were left scratching their heads with the loose kiwi slang being thrown about by my mother and father-in-law and their mates who accompanied us.  The best we could do was laugh, really, and make fun of each other.  One amusing game was trying to get Canucks to pronounce Maori place names.  Speaking of games, as the driver of my van I felt it my right to start a driving game whenever my brain needed some stimulation, so we played a lot of “20 questions” or “who am I”, to the point where I think my cousin and possibly a few others wanted to jump out the window.  Apparently they no longer cared if I was the pope, or Ronald McDonald, or Kelly Ripa.  But it was such a fun game!

Language barriers aside, I think each person got what they came for.  The fishing enthusiasts got to fish.  The wanderers got to people-watch and take photos.  The hunters got their deer.  The babies got to run and play and learn and discover.  The young people got to have a few big nights out kiwi style, and the women got to do a bit of shopping.  The Canadians and the North Islanders that came along were gobsmacked with the beauty that lay around every corner of the road as we travelled, and the well-known landmarks that make NZ famous did not disappoint.  Lake Pukaki, Punakaiki, the rugged west coast, Christchurch CBD, the heart of Dunedin, Otago Peninsula, Golden Bay…. It was a stunning and memorable trip of a lifetime for everyone.  Unfortunately, the beauty of New Zealand and the good times that were shared cannot be expressed in words or photographs.  I could try and explain to you in great detail the freshness of the air, the undisturbed, unexploited rainforest and seaside we encountered, or the friendliness of the people.  I could try and describe the beauty we witnessed in the contrasting colours of the Lakes District in the Autumn - the blue lakes against the varying green countryside against the sharp, intimidating and awe inspiring mountain range that is the Remarkables.  The compact, condensed city centre of Dunedin which wraps around a bay and has the charm and character of something out of old Scotland - which is befitting granted it was NZ's first established city and the buildings have the stories to go with the history.  Alas, words do not do justice to a land that is possibly one of the most picturesque and breathtaking places on the planet.  It is something that must be witnessed first hand.

We really are blessed to have had that opportunity to show off this beautiful country that we can now proudly call our home (again), and it is a relief that my family now has an understanding for why I stay here.  They got to see where I have lived, meet my friends, see my work projects, meet my new family, and partake in the NZ lifestyle that is renowned for its relaxed and laid back approach.  It was wonderful to see friendships forged that span the pacific ocean – and its funny now to see my family and Nathans family converging on facebook, sharing inside jokes and fond memories!  It was simply splendid, so thank you all.

It seemed a good idea at the time.....

It’s a rainy weekend in Brisbane.  Saturday afternoon we decide to take Jack to Lollipops – what a great idea; get everyone out of the house, ensure Jack has a run-around and tires himself out so he sleeps well in this god awful humidity.

Lollipops is an indoor playland – you know, the sort with tunnels and slides and ball pits and bouncy castles etc. 

Somehow I didn’t factor in that every other family with small children in Eastern Brisbane had this idea as well.  Mayhem pretty well describes what it was like there.  Upon arrival, I witnessed a child just open his mouth and blatantly scream, before proceeding to dash around the place not unlike someone on speed or some other adrenaline-fuelling drug. 

I’m not a claustraphobic person, but somehow managed to experience this panicked feeling when trapped in the “under 4’s” play area with a handful of other parents all trying to stay within arm’s reach of their own wobbly toddler, ready and braced to body-check any obstacle who may happen to come between said parent and its child – should that child appear to lose footing. 

I wasn’t so much worried about Jack falling (in his case, head-over heels down the slide in his attempt to run down it on two feet), but more about him tossing other children to the side, stealing their dummies, or pulling hair as he seems to enjoy doing these days.  I let Nathan do the arm’s length monitoring while I sat back in a miniature chair and tried to take deep breaths.  That is, until 2 obnoxious and sugar-hyped 6 year olds bashed their way up the slide, past the toddlers and through the jungle gym that is for BABIES.  My heart rate immediately increased.  I scrambled into the jungle gym with Jack and started lecturing someone else’s little terror of a child, as he attempted to feed my baby a potato chip.  “There’s no food in here.  OUT”.  He shot me an evil stare and turned to crawl away from me.  I tried to grab his chip bag - my justification being he tried to feed one to my child, should his parent be offended – but he was too quick and climbed out of the gym and went to sit in the corner and eat his chips (not before screaming “YOU”RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME” and spitting in my face as he blew his tongue at me in true brat-fashion.

I got the last laugh, though, when I watched him leave his chip bag and crumbs on the floor – which I didn’t hesitate to pick up and bring to his father, sweetly explaining there is no food allowed in the “under 4” areas and that he was trying to feed chips to the babies.  I was sure to give that little shit my best “HA-HA” smirk as I walked away.  That was the last we saw of him!

Then it was back to watch Jack crawl back and forth through this tunnel, competing with other babies to climb over and through the obstacles, up the stairs, down the slide, again and again and again.  I felt a little bit bad letting Nathan do all the monitoring as I just sat on my ass and watched from afar.  But I just didn’t have the energy, or the care, to get in there amongst strangers children and try and pretend that I cared about them as much as my own son – cause I really don’t.  Jack is an only child and I parent him as such – I just want to watch him explore, discover, do new things and laugh – even if it means he’s spending more than his fair share of time on the steps and not making room for the little girl behind him.  I’m thinking “just push him if you want to get past.  That’s what he would do to you.  Geez.”

Although, I like to think that if my child ever did anything that disrespected another adult like that 6 year old brat did to me, he would be in the car with a smack on the ass faster than you can say “grounded”.  I like to compare my own child against others and be delusional about how perfect Jack is going to be as he grows up.

Nathan sometimes says to me, if it’s a rainy day during the week while hes working, “why don’t you take Jack to Lollipops”.  I know he has great intentions for Jack and I that we can just go and have a play and get out of the house, but really, if I am going to spend $15 to get into that place for just an hour of play, Im going to do it when we can make it family time – on the weekend – and any less than a 2:1 parent-child ratio just means its going to be exhausting hard work.  At least with two parents you can tag eachother out.  Which happened when Jack wanted to go to the big kids tunnels and slides.  I also made children here be cautious of my wee baby, even though my wee baby wasn’t meant to be in there, and it was true rowdy-kids domain.  At any rate, Jack wanted to explore and I never hinder this desire of his if I can help it, so off we went.  Nathan was quick to point out I am smaller than him and therefore I had to tail Jack through the maze.  Fair enough.  So off we went, crawling through the smelly, muggy tunnels – getting whiffs of 13-year old boys who haven’t yet been told to wear deodorant, and tossing aside odd socks here and there that children have carelessly disposed of.  I’m trying not to hyperventilate as Jack sets his foot in some unknown puddle of liquid, or puts his hands to his face to rub his eyes.  In my head I can hear a slow-motion deep voice saying “NoOoOoOoOoooo… don’t dooooo ittttttttt…..”    and I longingly eye the hand sanitizer mounted on the wall at various points around the joint. 

Jack feels it necessary to carry a single ball through the maze with him, as if its his newfound treasure, managing to amble through with one hand where possible, and tossing the ball ahead and retrieving it if he needs two hands to climb over something.  And every time he picks the ball up, he has to try and shove it in his mouth.  I tell myself its all an immunity building exercise.  I tell myself this often.  But for the love of Pete, Jack, please please do not get sick from this play excursion, cause we have far too much to do in the coming weeks to be sleep deprived from some nasty cootie-related illness.

Anyway, after rubbing his eyes a couple of times and starting to get wobbly on his feet, I jumped on the opportunity to say “ok time to go.  Have to get dinner cooked”.  Nathan didn’t protest.  He already had my purse slung over his shoulder and we were off. 

All in all a great day, I mean Jack had a blast and its amazing watching him work out how to get himself up, over, under, around.  Just wondering how many trips it will take for me to become numb to the madness of it all.  Lets just say I hope this rainy weather doesn’t happen too often.

Fears

In the past few months, there have been a number of break-ins on our street.  Probably not forced entry, more “opportunists” checking for unlocked doors and windows in the middle of the night, and taking whatever they can carry on foot – probably teenagers, taking ipads and game consoles, televisions and the like.  This has made me change my attitude a little bit – but only a little.

You see, I have this mentality that if you don’t think something is going to happen to you, it won’t.  So I never live with a fear that someone is going to break into my house – I don’t really believe random acts of violence are a fear worth wasting too much energy on.    Well, I have started to check the doors are locked at night.  But I don’t lock my doors when I am home during the day, in fact, I leave every door wide open as much as possible, because I believe noone would enter and rob us / harm us in broad daylight.  

When you become a parent, I think your fears change.  It used to be things like.. spiders, creepy old men at the bar, or, hm.. I cant remember the things I used to be afraid of.  Then there was the set of fears I anticipated I would have once having a baby – things such as germs, dirt, unprotected ledges, stairs, small objects, bleach, and the like.  But now that I have Jack, I can lay claim to a plethora of new fears  - seemingly silly ones, perhaps - that have bombarded my conscience as Jacks Mother.

Naturally, the most substantial medical claims always burn themselves into my brain thus propelling my fears of seemingly harmless things.

For instance, the sun.  “3 significant sunburns in a lifetime is all it takes to increase your chance of skin cancer by 65%”  Or something along those lines.  But Jack needs the sun, and needs fresh air.  Put sunscreen on him.  Sunscreen!  That bottle of chemicals laden with cell-killing ingredients and free radicals!  Oh dear.   Even hours of extensive research on “best for baby” products doesn’t completely eliminate these fears. 

Crocs.  Yes – those seemingly harmless, yet hideous foot coverings that have become all the rage.  All you need to do is watch the youtube videos to see that croc+escalator = mangled childrens feet. 

Wheat.  To be or not to be Gluten free…. Well with latest claims from doctors that more than 95% of wheat worldwide is GM, how do I NOT feel a rising sense of panic when I buy a loaf of bread for Jack.

Sugar.  I’m not even going to go there, you all know. Be afraid.. be very afraid!

The colour red.  That is, in foods or candies.  Eek… in fact, most colours in foods can be blamed for some sort of behavioural issues in children.  This along with any additive or preservative.  Again, rising sense of panic at the supermarket.

Plastic. 

Cartoons. 

Media.

Air fresheners.

Religion.

The list goes on.  You get the idea.  Seemingly harmless things come under a new light once you have a child.  It can be exhausting.

So Nathan and I make the best decisions we can, given the information we have, in the circumstances we face, while trying not to be pedantic or unreasonable.  (Nathan is better at the latter than I). 

But one thing I don’t believe in being afraid of is “random acts of violence”.  Going back to the break-ins, I have had neighbours express concern that Jack and I spend all day with the doors open and the garage door up – open to anyone to come in.  My closest neighbour, a lady I am deeply fond of and who I share a mutual respect with, has said we should lock our doors while at home.  And I know people that do this.  But I simply can’t.  Maybe I have another underlying fear of being locked IN….. whatever it is, I will not live as a prisoner in my own house.  I will not live with a fear that something or someone bad could enter my house at any moment – thus prompting me to apply deadbolts and close my blinds.  I simply don’t believe this is an effective use of energy – to live with this sort of fear.  Sure, common sense should play a part – hence my diligence at locking doors at nighttime (although admittedly I never checked them before the break-ins started).  My loving neighbour said “what if someone took Jack”.  Well.  Once I informed them how much money he costs to run, how he runs in turbo-mode from morning until night – with batteries that never wear out, sort of like a cyclone leaving a disaster in his every wake -  and that he requires almost all of your attention almost all of the time, I’m certain they would reconsider their decision to steal him.  Half the time he’s covered in food / dirt and doesn’t smell very good, and spends a lot of time banging hard things against other hard things while chanting or just blatantly yelling – anyone that wasn’t his mother would see there are simply more appealing things to steal.

This wraps up my “fears” rant.  I suppose with time these will change; some may fade off my radar, and new ones will pop up.  I better not think about it too much and rather just take it all as it comes! 

In all fairness though, given my heightened sense of alertness all of the time – which I now know is a permanent state of being in my life as a parent – I wouldn’t trade it for the world.  Jack is worth every inkling of worry I will ever shed my energy on!

Aotearoa - A love affair

In Small town New Zealand, you probably…

Still have a fireplace to heat your home.  Call into the pub on a Friday arvo for a few pints after a weeks worth of honest hard work.  Know your postie’s name.  Know your neighbours.

In Small Town New Zealand, you’re likely to…

See the truckies and the farmers up at the break of dawn with their stubbie shorts and high-vis vests (even in the dead of winter).  See the stars at night, with no light and sound pollution to tarnish the serenity that comes with the brilliance of the constellations.  Leave your doors unlocked, to your house and your car.

In Small town NZ, you can generally count on…..

A local volunteer chapter of the NZ fire service and St. Johns Ambulance.  A local RSA.  A safe and trusted midwife, plunket and crèche who will be a part of the community that raises your children.  A bowls club, with immaculate greens and elderly folk in their white duds and sunhats.  A fish and chips shop.  A four square.  The bogans cruising the strip on a Friday night in their Holdens.

In Small Town NZ, you will never see…

“Midnight madness” sales at the town shops. A plethora of neon signs and a bombardment of advertising.  A traffic jam at rush hour.. unless a farmer is moving his stock.

Small town NZ may sometimes make your feet itch, but it always calls you back – always feels like home – even if you’re not a kiwi, as I have discovered.  The significance of these findings and observations is that the majority of NZ is made up of these “small towns”.  Just so many down-to-earth, honest, hard working people who generally work to live instead of living to work.  There isn’t a necessity to live excessively, and value is placed in things that money CAN’T buy.  Twizel. Roxburgh. Westport. Alexandra. Te Anau. Foxton. Taihape. The country is riddled with charming little places filled with people who give New Zealand its wonderful reputation.  This is why I keep coming back…. And why I consider it home - it holds a very big place in my heart.

Thank you New Zealand, for making me fall in love with you. There is a certain contentment that resides within me, knowing you are the place we call home and the place my child will be lucky enough to grow up in.  

In a few months we will have my Canadian family here for 3 weeks to attend our wedding and do a bit of touring around the country.  After years of living away, indifference can often be given a chance to flourish.  Common ground runs out, and familiarity can run dry between us and the ones we "once knew".  Leaving home can be hard when you feel like you are leaving people behind, and so a big part of me is thankful for this once-in-a-lifetime "reunion" we will have here in February, as it's going to allow for a sense of understanding as to why it is I keep coming back and want NZ to be my true home.  Its not just the beautiful scenery and picturesque countryside, but also the lifestyle, the lovely people and the not-so-fast-paced society. 

Selfishly, I want to be released of the guilt I carry for being able to find happiness on the opposite side of the world from my loved ones.  There's honesty if you ever did hear it.  So my excitement for my wedding is matched by my excitement for the opportunity for that release, and that it will happen in the name of Jack - his happiness and his future - and all that is promised to him here in this wonderful land of Aotearoa.

Encounters

Warning… if creepy crawlies give you the heebie geebies, this blog may not be for you.  But I know it will be tempting to read on – so don’t say I didn’t warn you!

We’ve been in Australia nearly 18 months now, and I must say its been enjoyable.  The best thing about Queensland is probably the climate.  We absolutely love the long warm days with clear blue skies which seem to be the norm for the majority of the year.  Do you know who else likes the climate?  Rodents, amphibians, reptiles and large bugs.  

You know, I don’t mind that we share our property with multiple lizards (one in the front garden, one in the back, and one that lives in a hole under the concrete pad for the clothes line).

A lizard under our picnic table at the Koala Sanctuary.. the ones in our garden are smaller than this..

The dozens of geckos that emerge when darkness falls, sticking to windows and the back porch ceiling, don’t bother me – I learned to adjust to that when I lived in Lao.  They are harmless.  So much so, in fact, that when one or two get in the house I can live harmoniously with them for days on end, and wait for them to find an open door to let themselves out instead of trying to chase them. 

I don’t mind the vivid green tree frogs – they are much more pleasant to come across than the giant, wart-covered, slimy, insanely stupid cane toads. 

Green Tree Frog

I also don’t mind the possum family that skitters across my back fence at night, illuminated by the moon and looking very rat-like with its thick long tail and beefy haunches.  Poor possums…. First time I saw them I swore up and down they were large rats (not my fault – they look very different to the New Zealand possum).  The gardener came around and laid rat poison on the fence for me…. After an informative visit to the Queensland Museum, I learned that there are rat-like possums here, oh and they are a protected species!  Ooops…

Anyway.  These are the critters who share our property all or some of the time, and that’s fine.  I’ll tell you who I DON’T like.  Firstly, the Huntsman spider. (see photo).  What a traumatizing experience it was to come face-to-face with one on the wall in the hallway when Jack was a brand new little bubba.  It was the size of a dinner plate with its leg span, and Nathan had a ten minute battle with it using a can of fly spray under the bed in the spare room.  I was scarred for weeks… everytime I got up in the middle of the night, my heart would stop with every shadow I spotted – or doorknob I sighted – and I would jump – thinking it was another monster spider.  I believe it is the same species Nathan’s cousin spotted on her baby’s face when she went in to check on him in his crib one night.  (she lives in Sydney).  She also had one drop from the visor in her car one day……. This is bound to happen to me sooner or later since we always leave the windows down in the car while its parked in the garage. 

The huntsman on its way to Jacks bedroom

Orb Web spider at our local 7Eleven

Apparently the Huntsman isn’t aggressive, but holy heck it is fast, and a spider that sprints at about 100km/h is going to make you scream just as much as one that lunges for you (like the trapdoor will do, apparently)…  The other very large spider we have seen a lot of is the Orb Web Spider (pictured below).  But they don’t move from their webs much – the biggest risk they pose is giving old people heart attacks when they walk into the web in the dark, and the spider consequently ends up in their hair or something.  I’m not old but I’m pretty sure that would send me into cardiac arrest, as well.

So I’m really not a fan of arachnids of any sort, but funnily enough I can’t bring myself to check my shoes before I slide my feet inside because somehow I feel the shock of sighting it would be worse than the alarm when it bit my toe to make its presence known.  Rediculous, I know…

Nathan has created an invisible barrier around our home with an effective spider spray – I haven’t seen a serious spider around here for months now, and all scars heal with time.  So I’m getting over the Huntsman experience.

I’ll now go on to tell you about the snake encounters we have had.  I haven’t had a literal “run-in” with a snake, however we have crossed paths.  The first one I ever saw was a Brown Snake that had been freshly run over by a car, just alongside the park I always go to with Jack.  The snake was not very big, and had a very small head, so I deduced that it was an insignificant sighting.  When I went home and googled the snake, I discovered it was probably one of the most venomous snakes you could come across here in Aussie.  Wonderful……….  Nathan told me last week that him and Jack had to stop in the park to let a Brown Snake cross… so that’s two in less than a year.  Two too many, thanks. 

The other snake we have sighted was the Carpet Python.  We have seen two of these, both in the same park.  (I’m contemplating changing the name from Minnippi Parklands to Minnippi Snakelands). 

Now a Carpet Python, in my opinion, is a great snake sighting cause it’s your classic, fat, slow-slithering, colourful, long, exotic looking snake.  I just wished I had a camera (however I have added a pic of a Carpet Python that I took at the Perth Zoo).  So these, along with a couple small snakes Nathan has had to pull out of the pool in our living complex, are the sum of our snake encounters.  The snakes don’t particularly scare me, not like spiders… maybe that’s why I leave my doors wide open all day long.  I might as well hang a sign that says “snakes enter here”… that might teach me a lesson and instill a healthy fear back into my bones. 

Carpet Python at Perth Zoo

But why be afraid of a chance of bad luck with a snake when there are far more useful ways to exert that energy?  We’ve been to the beach numerous times – I mean the ocean – where there are things like shark and jellyfish.  Hellloooooooo!   That’s worth worrying about.  Crikey, one time when we were in Mooloolaba for the weekend, we WITNESSED an evacuation due to a shark sighting.  There have been a handful, if not more, of reported shark attacks here in Australia just in the short time we have lived here.  Ocean?  What do I need to go in the ocean for?  I don’t have gills.  I don’t eat algae.  I’m not a crustacean.  The ocean is for LOOKING at, thanks very much.  Goodness me, there’s rip tides to worry about, and currents, and many, many things that bite.  I’m from a landlocked province so anyone should be able to understand my inability to fathom a desire to enter such a treacherous body of water.

So…I don’t like how I have to worry about Jack frolicking in the grass with no shoes on.  And I try not to think about what it would be like to walk into his room to see a giant spider on his wall or – God forbid – in his crib.  I’d be on the next plane out, I can assure you of that.

But, you know, aside from all of these heart-stopping-in-a-terrifyling-sort-of-way encounters, it would be nice if Jack had a memory of petting a kangaroo or holding a koala.  I would like him to be old enough to remember sighting a massive bat in the moonlight, and the famous Aussie crocs (at Steve Irwin Zoo – not in the wild).  I hope I can keep my wits about me once Jack gets a bit older so that I don’t instill a fear in him unnecessarily, yet there’s only a fine line between fear and wisdom when it comes to a child and animals…

Kangaroo outside a hotel we stayed at while driving across Australia

Living in Australia, the wildlife sightings are so different to what I was privileged enough to see growing up as a child in Canada.  I can’t help but wonder if Jack is ever going to get to see a big black bear, or a mighty timber wolf in the Canadian wild.  I can’t help but feel that he would be missing out if he doesn’t .  How awe-inspiring is it to see a moose with her cubs, a herd of deer, or a snowy owl in the great boreal forest.     Oh how I miss the Great White North at times…..

Alas, Jack will probably remember none of what we are experiencing here in Oz, nor is he likely to spend any length of time in North America as a child.  Soon we will be back in NZ, with nothin’ but Kiwiana goodness – sheep, sheep and more sheep.  No snakes, no deadly spiders, no cougars or crocs.  But hey…. At least he won’t have to wear shoes in the grass!!!  

Pimp My Ride... baby-style

So, I’m walking through the shopping mall with Jack the other day… yes, that’s right, Jack and I were walking side by side.  Or, rather, he was leading and I was just trying to keep up.  And I’m thinking about the past year – the first year of his life – and what a surprise its been in terms of baby transport.

You see, I like to keep on the minimalist side of things when it comes to parenting.  I don’t want Jack to have tons of stuff, and I don’t want to spend tons of money on him.  So when I was pregnant, we went out and bought this wonderful pram (sorry my Canadian readers – pram is stroller, and this is the term I use given I live in a country full of funny-speaking people).  The pram came with two different seats – a little capsule for when he was a tiny bub -  This was necessary for transferring him from car to pram without disturbing him from sleep.  Then when he grew out of that, there was a toddler seat.  This faces forward or backwards, reclines in three stages for baby’s sleeping or awake time comfort, and the pram itself is a Cadillac of a machine – both in terms of its size and its endless features.  The pram can also accommodate another seat – so it can eventually cart around 2 children.  This was one of the main selling points for me.  Its cost was something exorbitant – as we expected it would be – prams are just outrageous in both their cost and the wide range of bells and whistles they can offer. 

So, anyways.  We spend nearly $1000 for this shiny new set of wheels for our little cherub who will soon be making his grand entrance.  I had visions of using this pram on our daily outings, trucking it overseas for family holidays, and of watching Jack go through the stages of growing up with the pram – going to toddler seat and eventually the second seat to make room for his new little sibling we might have one day.

It is now roughly one year on from when Jack and I had our first outing in the Vista Cruiser.  (All of Jacks vehicles have names).  And today I had to blow the dust off it in the garage.  I hate that thing.

It is so big.  It is so hard to get through aisles in a shop – if not impossible.  The basket under the seat is not big enough to hold any reasonable amount of groceries, so when Jack was a wee baby I would have to push the pram, load up what groceries I could, and hang a basket on my arm as well to collect what I needed.  Nightmare. 

So I went to the frontpack.  Jack liked this, but it would put him straight to sleep so I had to be careful with our outings if I was working around nap times.  Jack never was small or light, so a frontpack also proved to be a strain on my back.

As soon as Jack was old enough to hold himself up, I had him propped up with blankets and a purpose-made cover for the shopping trolleys.  He LOVED sitting up in there, seeing all the people go by and being able to chatter away to me all the time as we cruised the supermarket aisles.  This is one of his more preferable modes of transport.  But there is more.

Theres the trike.  This is probably Jacks favourite.  With guards to stop him falling out, foot pegs to rest his legs, and a handle for Servant Mummy/Daddy to push him round, he thinks this is the greatest thing ever.  The trike goes everywhere.  Around the block, to the pond to feed the ducks, to the city for department store shopping.

We do have another little pushchair, which we purchased for my trip to Canada with Jack.  But Jack makes it clear to me that he doesn’t like prams much at all, and he would appreciate it if I would put him in something else.  Being the hopelessly spineless mother that I am, I hastily oblige.  Going through airports, Jack would be tucked up in the front of the luggage trolley as his pushchair lay folded amongst the suitcases. 

Then there’s the Blue Streak.  A plastic box secured onto a tray with 4 wheels (like a mechanics slider) with a handle attached, this was a DIY wagon type of device… on a cool evening, Jack likes being bundled in blankets and pushed up the road to meet his daddy coming off the bus before dinner. 

On his first birthday, he got a big John Deere wagon that fits all the children of the neighbourhood and then some.  When we left for our beach holiday in Noosa after Jacks birthday, I insisted Nathan put this massive wagon into our pocket-sized car so we could take it with us, as I was sure Jack would enjoy this most.  Nathan looked at the wagon, looked at the hatchback space, looked at me, and just shook his head. 

“It’ll fit!” I cried. 

“No, it wont” he calmly said.

 “Well take off the front axle and handle and it will fit”.

“Jesus.  You want me to bring the whole tool kit with us too?”

“Just a spanner and a screw driver, honey.  Come on, be a sport”

“Isn’t his little pushchair and his trike enough?”

“NO! He will LOVVVVVE the wagon. It will be perfect!”

The wagon did not fit.  Axle or no axle, Nathan dutifully demonstrated to me that the wagon was ginormous, and the car was not.  “ok.  I believe you now.  I just had to see for myself it wouldn’t fit.  You can pack the trike and pushchair now. Thank you.”

Pretty sure he was shooting daggers in the back of my head as I walked back into the house.

The point I am trying to make here is that I had the best of intentions before Jack was born, but it all gets thrown out the window once you have that little package of perfection staring at you with needing and loving eyes.  Minimalist my ass.  His Royal Highness requires more than the bare minimum, thank you very much!  A one year old shall have no less than 6 or 7 modes of transport at their disposal.  At this rate he will have a motorbike by the time hes 3, and a car when he’s 7.  And before all of that there will be scooters and bikes and pogo sticks and skateboards… God help me!!! 

I am curious to know if other mums are disappointed with the lack of use they got out of their fancy dancy prams which we thought were the be-all and end-all at the time of purchase……

So in closing, after 12 months of transport-transitioning, now Jack is walking  - and so as far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t need any type of carrier at all – he insists on using his own two feet to toddle about.  If only he would walk the way I want to go instead of running in the opposite direction…. Oh the joys. Bless him.