Nice Buns

Any of y'all good with hair? Me--not so much. I couldn't do big hair when big hair was in and I can't french braid and I can't blow dry my hair straight. But I'm okay with that. After years of painstaking research, I have found a couple styling methods that work for me and I'm sticking with those.

Tomorrow, though, is Ava's ballet concert and this particular dance school is very serious about hair. In fact, that's their motto, "We take hair seriously. And dancing. That too."* For every class, Ava has to have her hair done in a bun, and the teacher checks it each week. So that means that most weeks, Ava gets into the car after a class and heaves an exasperated sigh. "Mom, you need to use more bobby pins." Or "I'm not supposed to have any bits hanging down, Mom." I am apparently a failure and a disappointment in a myriad of ways.

So this week the dance teacher sent an email to all of the parents with info on the concert. At the end it says, "Please see attached for information on the perfect bun. If you would like assistance on learning how to do a bun, please bring all hair requirements to class and we will assist." Y'all, they have attached a bun tutorial. Apparently there are exciting advances in bun technology that now allow for a perfect bun. I am so thankful to now have this information at my disposal.

Last week for the dress rehearsal, I tried my Very Best. Here's what Ava looked like.

Now, I know it doesn't look so bad there. But that's cause the photographer had her stand sideways so you couldn't see how lopsided her bun is. And it was totally lopsided. Which Ava was prompt to point out to me. "Mom, why aren't you very good at this?"

Oh! And I have to show you this--this is Jason's attempt at a bun a few months ago when I was away and he had to get Ava ready. Actually, I think it's a good job for a dude. He was very proud of himself. And he can french braid!

Look at all those pins! Good on ya, babe.

So. Now I have 24 hours to work on the perfect bun. I have enough angst in my life, y'all! I don't need bun-angst. (Boy, that'll get me some interesting google hits, I bet!) I even had a dream last night that my sister cut Ava's hair into a cute bob shape, and in the dream I was all, "Now I'll never get it into a bun!" Maybe I should just tell Ava's teachers, Miss Cindy and Miss Patty to take a giant, bun-shaped chill pill. Maybe I should take one.

Wish me luck. Or come over and do Ava's hair for me. That'd be even better.


*That's not really their motto. But I think it should be.

Why Stephen Fry and some orange-painted dudes made me cry.

We've been in Sydney for four and a half years now. And as it has a tendency to do, time has flown by. In four years, we've lived in three houses, held church services in four places, had two more babies and had a major transition as we became the lead pastors of the church. So there's been some stuff going on.



Jason and I love living here. In fact, there's a lot to love about Australia, y'all. With the exception of missing family and friends (which is a constant), I don't often feel homesick. My mom is reading this right now, and I guarantee that I am making her nervous. If Amy doesn't feel homesick, she's thinking, maybe they won't move home! Ma, I ain't saying that. It's just that we are enjoying our lives here and the culture, and on a day-to-day basis, it suits us really well. You can however read about some stuff we miss cough--free refills--cough here.

Every so often though, I see or hear something and get hit with a wave of nostalgia--a longing almost--for America. Now, if living overseas has taught me anything, it's that America isn't the best or brightest and it isn't God's "chosen place". In fact, America could learn a thing or two cough--universal health care--cough from Australia. But even knowing that, there are things that are so ingrained in your culture, so a part of who you are that when you think of them you're hit with a wave of emotion. One that sometimes you don't fully understand.

Is this making sense? Y'all following this? It feels like this post is being written by an infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters.

I am second from left. Anyhoo.

I had such a moment a few weeks ago, watching a BBC documentary called "Stephen Fry in America". Stephen Fry is a British comedian, writer and actor and in this series he drives through all 50 states and highlights his experiences along the way. It is really worth watching, especially because it gives an outsider's perspective on the States. I think he's pretty perceptive.

In Episode 2, "Deep South", he travels through Florida and Alabama. The episode ends with him at an Auburn vs. Alabama football game. The camera follows him as he wanders around the sidelines of the game. He is in wonderment at the masses of people there, the fanfare, the outrageous fans, the electrifying atmosphere. Growing up in the South, this phenomenon isn't new to me. I know what big college games are like. But this time, it was like I was seeing it anew. The grandeur of it all, all this money and passion spent on what is actually a local football match between students. "Only in America," he says. For real.


I know that these characteristics are part of what some people can't stand about America. And sometimes I think they're right--any good thing can be taken to ugly extremes. But this episode just made me miss America so much. I'm not even a football fan. But the audacity and the abandon that would elevate a college football game and bring something like 87,000 people together to watch it struck me as so familiar, so uniquely American. It was almost like seeing someone you used to know well but have forgotten all about. I was like, Yes! I remember this now.

And then Stephen said something about the whole game experience that really struck me. He said, "I really don't know of anything that sums up America better. It's simultaneously preposterous, incredibly laughable, impressive, charming, ridiculous, expensive, overpopulated, wonderful. It's America." Gosh, I thought. That just so hits the nail on the head. All those things are America.

As he listens to the crowd belt out the national anthem, he gets teary-eyed on camera, and I was tearing up right along with him. And then, as if to make his point, two F-18s fly by right overhead.

I sat in my bathrobe watching all this with a huge lump in my throat. I'm not even sure why. I think it has something to do with seeing something again that is familiar to you, yet you know that you won't find it where you are now. Yes, it's excessive and maybe even a little silly, but it's part of where you come from.

When I started writing this blog, part of my purpose was so that my friends and family could know a bit about what it's like for us to build a life in another country. And much of doing that--having kids, being a family, working hard--is the same as it would be anywhere, I suppose. But what I've just described--that sort of culture-longing, for lack of a better term, is something that hits out of nowhere sometimes.

So that's what that is. If you get a chance, check out "Stephen Fry in America". Oh--and you can watch the segment I described to you on You Tube right here. I'm curious if anyone else has had these types of experiences--these waves of nostalgia or homesickness.

Or if you've read something else entirely produced by monkeys.

I am their leader

I told you once about how I sort of stumbled into being the chairperson of the Management Committee at Nate's preschool. The woman who did it the year before me is one of those uber-organized, together type of people. She's so organized that she probably knows how to type that little "u" with the two dots above it to spell "uber" correctly. She's also incredibly personable and makes everything she does seem easy. And when she told our preschool director, Judy that she couldn't be the chairperson this year, Judy let out a silent scream.

Actually that looks a little like it was painted in a preschool. Was Edvard Munch an early childhood specialist?

Anyway, the previous chairperson couldn't do it this year and thus a new search began. And there weren't many volunteers. Ok, there weren't any volunteers. At which point, the qualifications were lowered to require that someone have two things, A: a child in the preschool, and B: a pulse. I actually meet both those requirements, and in an elaborate ceremony early this year, was crowned Supreme Empress and Queen of All Preschool Parents. Fear me! I am kind of like Queen Amidala:

But my hair is more of a blondish color.

Whereas, the previous years' chairpersons had to oversee fundraising endeavors for the school, that role isn't there anymore. So, as Judy anxiously told me last year, as chairperson I would just need to be comfortable with public speaking and being in front of people. Was I comfortable with that? Yeah, I think I can handle that. (I enjoy working a room, you see. I used to be embarrassed to admit it, but hey. I gotta be me.)

And it's actually been a pretty good year. I chair monthly meetings, show up to family events that the school hosts, and help revise preschool policies. I check in with the director each week when I drop Nate off and see if she needs me to do anything. I nod sagely when it seems like I ought to know what she's referring to. And I smile really big at all the other moms.

Yesterday, I was picking Nate up from school and went to chat with Judy about our upcoming Information Night, for parents of incoming students. (Here in Oz, the school calendar follows the year calendar--so a new school year will start in late January.) I have to give a little speech and write something for the newsletter. No probs. Then she sort of smiles in a cringing sort of way and says, "And how are you for next year?" Meaning, did I want to remain the chairperson.

You know how it is when you are trying to figure out what someone is wanting you to do or say? I was actually fine to do it again or pass on my duties. But I couldn't tell from the cringing if she was bracing herself that I might say, "Yes! I'd love to stay on!", or "No, I don't think I can do it next year." Her face kind of froze in that smiley, cringe-y position.

Then we did The Dance. Do you know what The Dance is? It's sort of like a verbal version of when you almost run into someone. And they step one way to go around you, but you also step that way. Then you both step the other way. So it was like:
Me: Well, would you like me to stay on?
Judy: Well,would you like to stay?
Me: Well, I don't mind, unless there's someone else who would like to.
Judy: Well if there is, would you like them to do it instead?
Me: Well, only if they really want to...

And so we danced! You get the idea. It went on for a few more minutes, as I stood there holding Grace in one arm and my car keys, Nate's backpack, artwork and pillow in the other. And finally I decided to put poor Judy out of her misery by just saying, Yes! I'd be happy to continue on as chairperson if she was happy to have me. Hoping that this would provide her an out if she is secretly wanting to oust me. How would Amidala behave in a coup, do you think? I'm takin' all the fingerpaints and the school fish with me!

Whew! That one conversation--both of us trying to read what the other person is wanting us to say--was more tiring than a whole year's worth of chairperson duties! Kind of like how tired you must be feeling right now, having read this whole post.

I mean, I can stop writing now. But I don't have to. Would you like me to stop? I mean, I don't mind either way. I can keep going if that's better for you. It's just that if you have somewhere else to go, I totally understand. Here. I'm just gonna close my eyes and while they're closed, you can either stay or go. If you want to. Okay? Either way.

Be careful what you wish for. I'm looking at you, Nate.

Can I confess to you that sometimes I get a teensy bit bored playing with my kids? I'm not saying that it's always boring or that I don't play with them, but sometimes it becomes, well, tedious. I understand that it is a violation of Mom Code to say this outloud. I think my status as a club member is now in jeopardy. Just don't tell anyone, will you? While I can't confirm its truth, there is a rumor going around that I sometimes use ice cream as a distraction from playing oneeeeeeeeeee mooooooooorreeeeeeee game of "Space Dogs" or "Moms and Babies".

However, Nate sometimes finds a way to make these games really interesting. (You can read about his alternative interpretation of a dollhouse here.) There is nothing in all creation quite like a 4 year old boy.


Yesterday, Nate and I were sitting on his bed, playing "Outer Space". ("Space Dogs" is a spinoff of this, you see. Kinda like how Melrose Place was a spinoff of 90210. But the space dogs don't wear short skirts.) He has a little lamp mounted on his wall that's in the shape of a star. It's from our beloved Ikea. The star lamp paired with his spaceship bedspread form the whole space milieu that we have going on. Look, it's very complex, ok?

So after our 3rd trip to Neptune, he turns the star lamp on, and snuggles next to me. "Make a wish, Mama," he says. How sweet is he, I think. "You have to close your eyes,"he tells me. So I do, and I wish that we would all have a happy day. Or something like that. And then I tell him it's his turn to make a wish.

So he sat up and closed his eyes. I looked at him and marveled at how long and fine his eyelashes are, how smooth and soft his cheeks are. What a precious little face, I'm thinking. "I wish...", he says. "I wish I had a gun that shoots nails."

"Dude." I say, snapping out of my reverie. "Did you just wish for a nail gun?" "Yeah!" Nate says. "I wanna shoot nails!" Then he starts jumping up and down on the bed.

I have no idea where that came from. We don't even really have toy guns around the house. (I like to keep my toy savage weaponry confined to swords, bows and arrows, and the like.)Boys will be boys, I guess. Neptune traveling, clothes stripping, nail shooting boys.

Later, I told Jason what Nate wished for. "Should I tell him I have a nail gun in the garage?", he asked me. Oh, yeah. That's a fantastic idea. Let's do that right now.

--Nate has a history of making notable wishes. Remember this one?

Culture was happening, and I missed it. But I did get some popsicles.

This afternoon, Grace and I went out into the scorching afternoon heat to run to the grocery store. It is 38 degrees Celsius outside as I type this, which for my Fahrenheit buddies, is about 100 degrees. I wish that I was kidding you. I forgot about how much heat little babies produce. As I carried her through the parking lot, it was like cuddling a hot water bottle to my chest. Which sounds comforting, except when you stop to consider that my dress was already sticking to the backs of my legs. Man, if we could figure out a way to harness that kind of power, our global energy crisis would be solved. Wait--did I just advocate infant labor? Like, little babies strapped to treadmills or something? Oops. Not really what I set out to do today. But have I established that it is hot? Okay, then. I'll move on.

It was almost deserted in our normally busy shopping centre. I looked around, trying to figure out what was going on. The shops in the afternoon are normally the hub of our community. But no one was around. Then, I remembered. Today is Melbourne Cup Day.

I should've been clued in much sooner. The buildup to Melbourne Cup Day begins at least back in early September. It's a famous horse race, known here as "the race that stops a nation". It's the culmination of what they call the Spring Racing Carnival, and pretty much everyone stops to watch it. Every cafe, restaurant, or pub in most of the major cities in Australia are full of people dressed to the nines and watching the race. Except clueless people like me who go buy popsicles at the grocery store instead.

I'm not sure that it's because everyone here loves horses or horse racing. It seems to me that people mostly love dressing up and taking 2 or 3 hour lunches in the middle of a work day to watch and bet on the race. And if clothes and food are involved, then that is a sporting event that I can believe in. And dress up they do! Women all wear lovely spring dresses with big hats or "fascinators" in their hair. Men are in suits. Aussies in general are very casual dressing people, but not on Melbourne Cup Day!

Leaving the grocery store, we went to Ava's school to pick her up. Ava's teacher, the lovely Miss Blank, was wearing a floaty dress and gold stiletto heels with a purple fascinator in her hair. I'm assuming she was off to a party after school. I salute her for spending 6 hours with 5 year olds while wearing spike heels. She is a stronger woman than I.

I've been cruising the web to check out how it all went, since I missed it on TV. Turns out, a horse named Shocking won the race. Apparently, he wasn't one of the favorites. There: that was the extent of my race commentary. But listen to some of the horses' names: Crime Scene, Alcopop, Shamoline Warrior, Whobegotyou. What happened to Larry, or Mitch?

And here's what most interesting to me: the fashion. For those who actually attend the race day in Melbourne, it is definitely a see-and-be-seen kind of thing. Here, courtesy of this site, are a few samples from today:

This is someone famous. I think her name is Sonia. Again, only expert commentary from me. You're welcome.


You go, girls! This one made me smile.


That's Leona Edmiston, a fashion designer, I believe. Girlfriend is rocking the colored tulle.


A little brekky in the carpark before the day begins. Love it!


I would totally forget that I had something that ginormous on my head and probably hit people with it or something. What if small woodland creatures come to live there? They look pretty fab, though. It's a shame you can't wear that kind of stuff for school drop-off in the morning.


Now, that alone is worth reading this blog for, isn't it? I love her hat, and her chutzpah!


She's real purty.



So, Melbourne Cup Day. There's a slice of Aussie culture for you! Have a great day, and when in doubt, wear a feather in your hair. Or a birdcage.

First Swim of the Season

When we moved to Australia four years ago, I knew that the seasons were reversed. As we were coming over in July, though, I just could not wrap my brain around the fact that it could be winter somewhere. Not while we were sweltering in the oppressive, "Seriously? It's this hot?" kind of Texas heat. I thought, "Surely these Australians know that it isn't really winter."

Oh, but it was. And when our jet-lagged Ava would wake up at 4:30 in the morning and we would get up in the freezing pre-dawn, I'd think, "Oh. They weren't kidding." Conversely, our first New Year's Day here, it was 108 degrees Fahrenheit (about 42 Celsius). Surreal. If by "surreal" we mean, "so hot you want to die but it's too hot to put forth the energy that dying requires".

Today, though I noticed that it doesn't feel at all strange to me anymore as I took the kids out to the pool on the 2nd day of November. It felt totally normal to get popsicles today and break out our new raft for the pool. And we are glad that warm weather is here.

Nate would like me to point out that he was not thrilled to wear the pink life jacket, but as it's the only one we have, he didn't have much choice. I had him eat some dirt afterward to ensure his boy-ness is still intact.

The pool water is still pretty cool, but the kids had fun splashing around a bit and Grace just watched and listened to their squeals in bewilderment.


Her expression in that cracks me up! She wasn't enjoying herself as much as the rest of us...I think her cold is still lingering. She's like, "You guys are acting so immature. Nice life jacket, Nate."

I'm taking part in NaBloPoMo--the National Blog Posting Month. That means I'll post every day in November. Cause I obviously have nothing but time on my hands. And because I likes a challenge. Translation? Your month just got about one million percent better. Right? Right?

Handy Hints and Happy Birthday

The kids and I have been sick this weekend. Which is always fun. There has been a lot of DVD watching and sniffling and medicine taking and orange juice drinking. Grace has her first cold, bless her. Her little nose is blocked up, which she relieves by rubbing her face on my shoulder. So for the past couple days, I've had dried globules of snot on everything I've worn. I don't mind so much--I wear mucus well. It's the ultimate accessory.

There are a few handy hints to make parenting sick kids easier. I'm happy to pass them on:
--Kids love having their noses wiped. Even more than that, they LOVE blowing their noses. If I had a dollar for every time they begged me to wipe their noses! Well. I'd have some dollars.

--After you've done the nose wiping, follow it up with a dropper full to the brim of cough medicine. This is always a winner. They'll signify their enthusiasm by gagging, running away, or crying tears of joy.

--To make your sick child feel extra nurtured and cared for, forget to turn the baby monitor on at night. So then, when she wakes at midnight, feverish and needing you, she'll call and call and call and you won't hear. Then, she'll finally end up at your bedside in hysterics. And you? You'll feel like a perfect, attentive parent. Because you are.

Just a few tips from my vast parental repertoire. I got lots more.


Saturday was Jason's 35th birthday. But because we were all feeling pretty yuck, we didn't get to do too much. I staggered into the kitchen that morning, mumbling something about making him a birthday breakfast, which he quickly vetoed. He said I wasn't looking up to it, which was true. But I also think he didn't want his omelet sprinkled with contagion, either.

Happy Birthday, babe. I look at this picture and think, "Wow. How did we get here?" When we sat next to each other on the van ride back from that fall retreat in college, who knew that we'd end up on the other side of the world together with three children? (Our three children, I mean. We didn't steal them or anything. Just to make that clear.)It amazes me to think of where life has taken us, and you know I wouldn't want to do it with anyone else.

And while I'm being all sweet--sorry about that time I yelled at you in 1997. (Which you always bring up.) And sorry about when I left that stuff on the stairs at our house in Dallas and you slipped on the stairs and did that spectacular, flying, spread-eagled fall. (Which you also bring up from time to time.) The slapstick humor of it was mitigated by the fact that you were holding newborn Ava. Thanks for not dropping her, by the way. One of the many reasons I love you so.

I should go now. I am all hopped up on some serious cold medication, as you can probably tell. I won't even tell you about how I embarrassed myself at church tonight. Do not give me a microphone when I've had codeine, okay? I need to stop blogging before I hurt myself or someone else. Hope everyone has had a great weekend. Keep it real, y'all.