random roamings

sydney sydney sydney

2007-05-09T12:49:00.000+10:00

I've never actually seen the Brady Bunch episode where Jan, in a fit of sibling rivalry-induced angst, veritably shakes her fists to the heavens and rages, "Marcia Marcia Marcia!" But I moved to Brisbane and all I heard was "it's a country town, it's no Sydney" (from nearly all the locals we ran into), "I hate it here, there's nothing going on" (from transplants from other parts) to flat out "go to Melbourne" (from my former manager in Vancouver, a born and bred Gold Coastie).

I'd always wondered, WTF? It's perfectly fine here, if a bit hot. Now I'm known to be stubborn and I'm sure a lot of this was due to my making the best of things, determined to embrace my new home and I like to think I look at every situation anthropologically, for it's own merits and every new opporunity is a chance to observe and winnow out the unique and special. So it is with a heavy heart that I confide I FUCKING LOVED SYDNEY!!! I kinda want to move there. We had to visit the US Embassy (there isn't one in Queensland so we headed to Sydney, capital of New South Wales) to straighten out our passports and it was a fine excuse to spend five days in a city city.

It rained a little which of course made us ecstatic. We sat in cafes and wondered "what are we doing in Brisbane?" We walked through seedy neighborhoods, through reclaimed light industrial areas, alleyways, poking through nooks and crannies, wrestling milk crates and beer bottles out of The Bun's grasp (We did a lot of this at 6am since The Bun woke at 4, much to the chagrin of our neighbors in the edgy boutique hotel with paper thin walls...I think we've outgrown these).

It was like London with a comprehensive subway but about 1/10th the people and the people who were on the trains were NICE. Men would often grab the front of the pram and heave it off the train or up and down stairs with nary a look up for a smile or thank you. Weird! The streets were like New Orleans. The vibe was like San Francisco. The harbor was like San Diego and Vancouver. With a shot of Amsterdam. It was many favorite cities rolled up into one. Nuts.

Months ago, I saw a recruiting site looking for creative directors in advertising based in Sydney, boasting a fat salary...I mean PHAT. 4x what I could make here. A salary that would have us burning drugs and money in the front seat of our Porsche. It makes you think...

culture clash

2007-05-09T12:15:00.000+10:00

When Little Miss Organic falls off the wagon, she falls hard. After serving up a dinner of brown rice with tempeh and vegetables last night to my beloved husband (and soba noodles with tofu, flaxseed oil and shredded carrot, zucchini and broccoli to my unsuspecting baby), I decided what I needed for lunch today was...Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. Is it different here in Australia? You bet your arse it is.

a) it's called "Macaroni Cheese" (what's that? aren't "macaroni" and "cheese" two different things?)

b) it's not orange

c) the packaging says "no artificial colours, flavours or preservatives*" and "*preservatives are not included in this product in accordance with Australian food standards." WTF?

d) it lacks that tang, that saliva-inducing sensation when the fake, chemically-enhanced cheese product hits your taste buds.

Know what else is different here? Sara Lee frozen chocolate cake. Drier, not as dense and buttery. Don't tell Kirk I've been eating crap while he's out of the house.

wee shaolin

2007-03-16T11:44:00.000+10:00

ji xiang

2007-02-19T13:17:00.000+10:00

Boring but true...in spite of all the midges, huge grasshoppers, golden orb spiders, possums, dying beetles beating their upturned legs against the sky, blue-tongued lizards and other sundry 2+ foot long lizards everywhere...these bits of Australiana all but go unnoticed by me now. And that's just the wildlife in the city. I say “I reckon” all the time and I’ve taken to wearing shorts in public. I drink ginger beer and I eat Weetbix and Tim Tams (still can’t get onboard with Vegemite though). I can drive on the left like nobody’s business (Aussies regularly cross the lines anyway, I’m just fitting in). We haven’t journeyed into the outback so I can’t report on the bush or the red centre or Aboriginal rock art as I haven’t seen any. Brisbane is a modern city (or big town as the locals like to call it) and my time is spent on universal pursuits such as...where can I find good daycare to appease my guilt-wracked post-feminist mind?

The Bun goes to a daycare centre two days per week. When I picked him up the first two times, I found him clutching his Elmo doll with tears silently streaming down his little face. If that doesn’t make me feel negligent...

So in typical fashion, I launch an all-out assault gathering info on alternatives (this is the second all-out info gathering assault, the first happening when we first arrived and I surveyed the daycare options and waitlisted at five centres). I wind up with two interviews from the local family daycare coordination facility and meet: a) a very nice, very intense Sicilian Australian woman with children in their 20’s and a small coterie of toddler boys in her care, and b) the most lovely, beatific tiny Indian woman who has a 10 year old son with a severe disability called fucosidosis and is so complementary to me for my “broad-mindedness” that it’s embarrassing. She calls me three times the next day, hoping I will place Kai with her. I am wracked with more guilt as I wonder why her life is so challenging...a single mother living on what I think must be some kind of public assistance and a son with a disability so rare fewer than 100 cases have been written up in medical literature.

Ironically, that morning, I had dropped Kai off at the centre and there was a teacher in his room who I hadn’t previously met. I thought she was another parent. She hailed me from across the room and I thought “friendly, must be because she’s my people.” But she was the teacher and not only is she Chinese, she’s from Luoyang (the ancient capital of China!) and she speaks Mandarin. Proper Mandarin, from the north only without the Beijing rolled R which, truth be told, kind of drives me crazy. She was like some shimmery vision, a sign of...something.

The next week, I’m sitting on the deck of my friend, Sandra’s beautifully renovated home (she’s an interior designer, her husband’s an architect so it’s spectacular) and she’s telling me “I reckon people have their priorities backwards” regarding early daycare and American women going back to work in their baby’s first year. She’s got two boys, one three years old and another 11 months. As I’m looking out over her perfect backyard with a sandpit, tree-swing and banana palms and thinking about her parents and in-laws all around the corner...I don’t know what to think. All I know is ever since having The Bun, I long for family in the most visceral way. I long for dream family, maybe not the one that I actually have...the family that I came into (although I’d pick my mom and my brother all over again or at least pluck them into my bucolic reality). Is longing the root of suffering?

Regarding luck...a) I’ve read recently that optimistic people define themselves as lucky, even if their path hasn't always been smooth (thank you psychological research), and b) I’ve also recently read that perhaps what most of us define as luck is actually having been “unmarred by fate” (thank you Peggy Orenstein). I’ve always thought of myself as lucky, childhood notwithstanding. Gratitude is what I feel lately, more grateful than lucky. Despite the longing.

My baby’s name...ji xiang: peace and prosperity and happiness and all good things in the new year.

cycles

2006-12-29T21:31:00.000+10:00

How can you be ONE?! They say the first birthday is as much a celebration for the parents as for the kid...surviving the first year is an accomplishment, even though you still get up at 5am every morning and call it a good night's sleep. We're fortunate in so many ways, not the least of which is that landing a mere five months ago still gave us enough time to make fast friends who came out to celebrate Kai's birthday with us. Is it better to emigrate from North America to Australia when a) you're 7 months pregnant, b) your baby is 6.5 months old or c) your baby is 7 weeks old and you also have a 4 year old? Ask a) Kylie, b) me and c) Clarine.

Here are our beautiful friends, Francois and Clarine (photographing) with their son Noa (4) and Luca (asleep in pram) who came from Quebec via Oregon, Mireille and Mike (4 month old Jason is in his pram) from Montreal, Kylie from New Guinea and Australia (holding Kai) and Dylan (with Cole) who met in Whistler and moved from LA, Angela from Sydney (with Jaye) who settled here after working in London for years. Jaye, Cole and Kai are almost the same age and are quite the trio. I think mine's the troublemaker...

11 months

2006-11-22T20:54:00.000+10:00

Rahm-SHTINE!!!

2006-11-02T21:21:00.000+10:00

Sorry, another text-heavy/photo-light entry. The characters you meet in Brisbane, I tell you people...

Kirk and I were invited to the wedding of Christie and Andy (fellow Pandemic-ites, Christie in fact runs the whole operation). Lovely wedding, formal dress at the Stamford Hotel for which I busted out my mauve Rick Owens getup and Alexander MacQueen medieval hunting bag and a pair of suede heels that I had bought as wishful thinking back when I was heavily pregnant and had not yet had occassion to wear. Kirk rocked his Prada wedding suit (our things had arrived on a slow boat from Vancouver just the previous day) and we packed up The Bun and all his accoutrements for an overnighter at Kylie and Dylan’s. Kylie had been kind enough to offer up her family (mum, dad and brother) to watch Kai as well as their baby, Cole. Excited at the prospect of our first night out without The Bun since he was five weeks old, we over-indulged in the drinks (Kirk was seen with pastry on his head at one point but you all know he doesn’t need drink for that to happen) and all four of us wobbled into a cab for a quick ride back to Dylan and Kylie’s as the night waned.

Kylie gets in next to the cabbie in front while Kirk, Dylan and I climb into the back. Kirk immediately launches into a drunken impression of The Jerky Boys, going on and on about his GASSSSS. The cabbie, not amused, advises (in heavily accented English):

cabbie: Hey, I am not kidding if you have a problem man it is a HEALTH ISSUE go see a fucking doctor man get the hell out I don’t need this trouble...

Dylan: Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? We’re CUSTOMERS.

cabbie (still doing 40 kph): I don’t care man I don’t need the fare get the fuck out I don’t know where you going anyway.

Kylie (calmly): We’re going to Newman Street in Gaythorne (sidebar: that’s Newman Street in Gaythorne in Queensland...another ongoing thing).

Me (whispering): Is this (general hand gesture in the air, sign for what are we listening to on the audio system?)...Rammstein?

Kirk: RAMM-STEEN? Is this RAMM-STEEN??

cabbie: Rahm-SHTINE!!!!

Sound of four pairs of hands immediately clapped over four mouths and various pitches of “PFFFFHHHHTTTTT!!!“ stifled laughter.

Dylan: Did you hear the cover of that Depeche Mode song they did?

cabbie: No.

Dylan: No?

cabbie: No. I am not the gay.

[SIDEBAR: Gentle reader, may I direct your attention to the lyrics of track number six from the Rammstein classic, “Sehnsucht”, a dreamy little ditty entitled “Büch dich” (English translation: BEND OVER):

............................................................
Bend over, I command you
turn your visage away from me
I don't care about your face
bend over

A two-legged being on all fours
I take him for a walk
ambling along the corridor
I am disappointed

Now he comes backwards towards me
Honey stays stuck on the garter
I am disappointed, totally disappointed

Bend over
your face doesn't interest me

The two-legged one has bent over
and moved into a good light
I show him what you can do
and I start to cry

The biped stammers a prayer
because he's scared I'm feeling even worse
he tries to bend over even more
tears run up his back

Bend over

Bend over, I command you
turn your visage away from me
I don't care about your face
bend over once more

Bend over
............................................................

Ummmm...Mr. Cabbie? Care to comment? Or maybe you’d like the one written from the POV of a HERMAPHRODITE. And have you SEEN this CD cover art (above)??? END SIDEBAR]

OK, know what? I’ve been sitting on this half-assed blog entry since October so I’m posting it anyway finally. Couldn’t find a nice coda to end it on. Blah. I’m a hack.

pathetic

2006-10-10T21:06:00.000+10:00

We moved down the hall mid-October and the broadband took 2+ weeks to follow but that’s a sorry excuse for my not having blogged since SEPTEMBER. Belatedly, here are some photos from a little day trip we took to Currumbin Beach on the Gold Coast. Photos by Adam and me, image processing by Kirk.

say it with me now.......

2006-09-29T14:32:00.000+10:00

Maroochydore, Mooloolaba, Coolangatta, Jindalee, Noosa, Caboolture, Cootha, Currumbin, Indooroopilly, Coolum, Nudgee, Eumundi, Beerwah, Teewah, Cooroibah, Cooloola, Nebo, Bongaree, Nullarbor, Uluru, Geelong, Kalgoorlie, Wollongong, Jindabyne, Mudgee, Toowoomba, Coorparoo, Tarragindi, Pinkenba, Wooloowin, Mudgeeraba, Tumbulgum, Murwillumbah, Bogangar, Coombabah, Jimboomba...wasn’t that fun?
Aboriginal Languages of Australia

p.s. Don’t read about what happened to one of the girls in Rabbit Proof Fence if you don’t want to be sad.
The True Story of Rabbit-Proof Fence

magpie madness

2006-09-18T21:26:00.000+10:00

So Mireille and I are sitting under the shade of the enormous Moreton Bay Fig in New Farm park this afternoon when she says to me (in her soft, lilting French Canadian accent), “Have you ever been attacked by a bird?” Hmmm...well not really, but I go on to relay the story of a wild turkey/carrion feeder/raptor thing that busted out of some low scrub and came squawking after me, Kirk and The Bun while we were walking on a Mt. Nebo trail a few weeks ago. Not an attack though, no. So she starts telling me about the time she and her husband, Mike, were riding their bikes around town and an Australian Magpie went after him, pecking at his helmet and generally giving him the business. And when he thought it was all over, the same bird came after him on the ride back! This I find outrageously funny and I respond with widening eyes, hands clapped over my mouth and plenty of guffawing and appreciative horror (I LOVE crazy wildlife stories! Like how Bill Bryson writes about crocs stalking people!!) until she shares this piece of information...“they go after the eyes. It’s recommended that you wear a helmet and paint eyes on the back...maybe you should get one for the baby.” Excuse me??? I see these black and white birds all over town and I would always think, “wow....preeeettttyyyy!!” when I should have been screaming, “COVER THE BABY’S SOFT TISSUES FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!!”

Of course I google “Australian Magpie” and find these specimens...looking evil, so very evil. The males attack while the females brood over the eggs, they go after mainly males aged 10-30 and postal workers (“posties”!) on bikes. The National Parks site has these handy hints:

.................................................................................................

If a magpie swoops at you:

• Walk quickly and carefully away from the area, and avoid walking there when magpies are swooping.

• Make a temporary sign to warn other people.

• Magpies are less likely to swoop if you look at them. Try to keep an eye on the magpie, at the same time walking carefully away. Alternatively, you can draw or sew a pair of eyes onto the back of a hat, and wear it when walking through the area. You can also try wearing your sunglasses on the back of your head.

• Wear a bicycle or skateboard helmet. Any sort of hat, even a hat made from an ice cream container or cardboard box, will help protect you.

• Carry an open umbrella, or a stick or small branch, above your head but do not swing it at the magpie, as this will only provoke it to attack.

• If you are riding a bicycle when the magpie swoops, get off the bicycle and wheel it quickly through the area. Your bicycle helmet will protect your head, and you can attach a tall red safety flag to your bicycle or hold a stick or branch as a deterrent.
.................................................................................................

Why do you think they pointed out “ice cream container” in particular as good helmet material? Anyway...

Near the end of our visit, Mireille says, “next time I want to show you the pythons that live in a tree...on the walk to the city!” Before I had even met Mireille in person, I saw video of her crouched next to a tent on the beach and trying to feed potato chips to a 5+ foot long goanna. Googled that too and this is what it said: “has been observed killing a young kangaroo, and then biting out chunks of flesh like a dog.”

*all magpie-related photos stolen off the ’net!

nurse becks

2006-09-13T10:24:00.000+10:00

I saw an enormous grasshopper flying around at eye level today. It was amazingly beautiful and of course I didn’t have the camera on me. I wish I had a visual to go with this story, I really do, because the contrast between that amazing grasshopper and my morning was pretty major!

I had heard great things about the children’s health nurse who held drop in hours at the local chemist (pharmacy). Emily had told me she was “very direct” which I quite liked the sound of and Kristen had told me she brings her daughter every month so it was with high hopes that I got The Bun ready and wheeled him down a full hour ahead of the opening of office hours. I had been lead to expect a queue, so popular was Nurse Becks (not her real name although chances of her landing here are pretty damn slim). I had a bunch of questions, most involving the issue of eating...how much? What textures? Will he ever feed himself or will I be holding the bottle at an angle until he’s 18? In fact, will he refuse to drink from anything other than the bottle until he’s 18 (he’s keen to drink from a real water glass all the time so I guess he’ll be alright...but NO. SIPPY. CUPS. EVER).

After a flattie and pastry, I wheeled in and announced that I’d start the queue. No one was going to jump in, not even the lady with the unfortunate port wine birthmark on her face who was wheeling one bub and Bjorn-ing another. Show up right at 9am will you? The Bun and I have been here since 8:39 so step off.

“Are yeh waitin’ feh may?” I heard a voice boom. I looked up and beheld the sight of a rather large woman in a Kelly green polo, delicate gold jewelry and a short spiky ’do with a prodigious layer of powder on her face that still couldn’t quite hide the gin blossoms on her nose. Imagine if W.C. Fields had a sister who was a penal colony outpost nurse.

“Yes!” I chirped with my best introductory smile while port wine kept up the chatter with Becks. No way was she butting the line. Once Becks was ready, it went a little something like this:

NB: “Put ’im up there, sitting...no...let go. Hmmm....big fella aren’t yeh? Long fella...father tall?”
Me: “Nooo...” (if you know Kirk you’ll laugh here)
NB: “Wot’s ’e eatin’ then?”
Me: “Two meals a day, breakfast and dinner, mashes...but he doesn’t like his food...”
NB: “Milk? Formula?”
Me: “Formula...”
NB: “Wot kind?”
Me: “Nestle Nan 2 Gold, but I was thinking of switching to Bellamy’s Organic...”
NB: “Dun’t matta...pay mowah fer the owergennic. How many bot’uls?”
Me: “About 1200 milliliters...”
NB: “BOT’ULS!!”
Me: “Five!”
NB: “TOO MENNY!...FAAAAHHH TOO MENNY!!! THREE BOT’ULS...that’s all...three mayals, one bot’ul aech mayal, plus aftahnoon tay wif a coop o’ watahh, ’e ates wotchew ates...samwiches, whatevah, NO MASHES! Won’t leahhn ta chew othawise...WON’T LEAHHHN TA CHEWWW! Yeh hear that yooung fella...NO. MORE. MASHES. FEH. YOUUU!!!”
Me: (meekly) “What if he doesn’t want to eat the solids...”
NB: “TOOFFF!! Won’t stahhhhve will ’e???? WON’T STAHHHHHVE!!! TOOFFF!!”
Me: “His weight’s OK?...” (actually wondering if he was too big at this point)
NB: “E’S UUUUUUUGGE!!!”

So I collected my UUUUUGGE lazy chewer and beat it the hell out of there, slinking past the queued up mums and bubs and stopping at the bottle shop where I picked up a bottle of red. “Bag?” said the young man assisting me, ostensibly asking if I’d like one and not, I hope, a comment on my appearance. “No thanks!” I chirped brightly, “I’m thinking of just drinking it ON MY WAY HOME!!”

I texted Emily as I walked and pushed The Bun along: “met becks 2day...traumatized!!” She texted back, “It was a fine line between putting you off before you’d met her and forewarning you. The effect mellows with time.” I could hear her laughing at me.

shopping on a spring tide

2006-09-09T19:50:00.001+10:00

It's the little things about a new environment that I find fun and enchanting. Gold Coast? Sunshine Coast? Wild lorikeets? Bats at twilight? Wild kangaroos? Nahhhh...how about not being able to push the grocery-laden stroller up the ferry ramp during a waning gibbous moon? That's fun and worth writing about! I had just discovered the Woolworth’s (“Woolies” in the dimunitive-loving Aussie vernacular) across the river in Bulimba. Now that I’m a housewife, I get so excited about the good grocery shopping (plus, it didn't have the skeezy edge of the Coles in New Farm). My friend, Kristen, left me in the baby food section and I never made it past the organic baby purees into the actual adult food sections before it was time for us to leave. Happily loaded down with toothpaste, organic mashes for The Bun and a brand new Tommee Tippee sippy cup, I made my way to the ferry to cross over into my neck of the woods. We boarded the ferry and I got my usual little happy surge that THIS is public transportation, crossing the river in a cute little boat. Alighting on the other side, there was a surprise in store. The ramp on the Teneriffe ferry is narrow and quaintly vintage with HUGE bumpy wood strips and it’s always a bit of a trick getting the Bugaboo up it at any time. Today, it was downright impossible and I trailed baby blankets and Courtney Love (The Bun’s beloved stuffed frog) on my bumbling way up. A guy waiting to board had to come down and help drag the whole contraption up while another guy held the gate open and the bicyclist coming up after us picked up the trailing baby gear. “Why is this damn ramp so hard to get up?” I was thinking. I didn’t buy THAT much stuff! It finally ocurred to me...the tides. Physics. Waxing and waning of the moon. Full moon spring tides. Dur. So now I plan my Woolies shopping trips around the phases of the moon. These are the things I love about new places...

i’m just a young bloke, trying to have a fair go...

2006-09-06T10:56:00.000+10:00

Hi! I’m Kai. My mom let me take over posting for today and I say about time! I’ve had a request from my uncle, Super Sam, for more pictures of me. That’s what I’ve been telling my mom all along...more pictures of me! Aren’t I the center of her universe after all? How else am I going to get that shiny new bike that Super Sam has promised me if we don’t keep inundating him with visions of my cuteness? Work with me mom! Maybe Super Sam will even come and see me! That would be awesome! If he comes early next year, I might even be able to hold a crayon in my chubby little mitts and he can teach me foreshortening and sequential storytelling! Maybe I’ll get to hold his Emmy!!! I’m so excited right now that I have to go spit up!!

isms

2006-09-04T21:32:00.000+10:00

I won’t cop to much but I’ll admit that one of my talents in life is blending in. Comes from a lifetime of moving and living in between cultures. I can “pass” for the dominant culture in North America and I’ve had people, even some who are staring right at me, not see that I’m Asian. So I think it’s always a bit of a surprise to people when I get my knickers in a twist on the big R...racism. Or what I perceive to be racism (as my poor sweet friend Ophelia found out the hard way when she used the term “mongoloid” to describe someone). You should come meet my parents some time and everything will become clear the way it did for Kirk when he first came home with me. I’m SO Chinese.

Anyways, so I’m walking around on Brunswick Street and minding my own when I look up and see a sign on a fast food place called...The Crazy Chinaman. And there’s a character. Or should I say...a caricature. So the next day I wake up, put The Bun in the stroller and start walking, ruminating on whether I can in good conscience bring up my child (who is half Crazy Chinaman) in this society? Because being in a new environment sensitizes you and being a new-ish mom makes you want to not fuck up beyond all redemption. So I walk right into a bookstore and there’s an autobio by David Suzuki. Reading the back, I learn that he was interned in CANADA during WWII along with his family (and I thought only the US was so f’ed up). So it was a defining moment in his life and he continues to live in Vancouver and he is brilliant and no insight or understanding comes without challenge. Like I’ve never experienced racism in all my years of living on the hippie North American West Coast.

Besides, a football commentator let this comment rip the next day: “you might as well be playing in a skirt!!” I think the Aussies do this all with a wink. Let us hope.

party like you’re landed gentry

2006-09-02T21:02:00.000+10:00

Today was Riverfest, a sort of PR/appreciation day for the Brisbane River which had a reputation for being kinda gross. The festivities involve fireworks and military jets flying in formation and lighting their fuel dump on fire in mid-air. This looked very impressive and all but I had to wonder what all that incinerated jet fuel was doing to the atmosphere and the river.

Adam and Sonya have recently arrived from Kamloops, BC and they live in a spectacular vintage Queenslander in a very nice (Jags and Land Rovers nice) neighborhood (you can see our building across the water). The house will be lifted from its foundations and moved to another lot to be restored shortly so they had a last blowout hoighty toity party with theme dress on the verandah, badminton on the lawn and a remote control boat launched from their very own jetty. Fabulous party with many recently landed Pandemic-ites: Adrian and Laura from the UK, Adam M and Brianna from Vancouver, Tony and Margot and Allie from Adelaide. Pictures of the drunk have been held back to protect the guilty.

babies babies babies

2006-09-02T14:39:00.000+10:00

The baby scene is full-on. In seven short weeks, I’ve met a bunch of people to do kid stuff with (walks, Caterpillar Club, swimming). Not surprisingly, we’re all in a common mindset with common concerns. Are you going back to work? Is your kid eating mashy foods? When I’m lucky, I manage to meet someone I can talk to about heavy metal, unicorns and Helvetica Bold:

Kylie (SAH graphic designer) and Cole (7 months)
Angela (SAH architect) and Jaye (7 months)
Margot (from Adelaide and Nottingham) and Alabama (22 months)
Kristen (SAH mining manager) and Sofie (12 months)
Donna (SAH IT manager from NZ) and Caleb (7 months)
Anita (from New Guinea) and Tobias (8 months)
Emily (SAH music teacher from London) and Anna (9 months)

It’s bizarre making acquaintances with people (OK, women for the most part) based on the fact that you’re both at home with a baby. You navigate the personalities and interactions of the adults as well as those of the babies. It’s like entering another reality. If, two years ago, I saw a phalanx of strollers parked at a cafe...I’d be horrified. Nowadays, my stroller is right there in the wedge. My kid is like a puppy. People seem to take to him.

Kylie and I have loads in common, to whit:

1) baby boys
2) Bugaboo strollers, illegal car seats and other sundry baby items
3) an aversion to nursery rhymes and Gymboree instructors
4) semi-dormant graphic design careers
5) early years spent on plantations (she in New Guinea, me in Brazil)
6) former extreme sport athlete husbands who think we, respectively, could dress more “stylishly”
7) the question “I’ve had Red Bull and booze and I pumped...do you think it’s OK to feed it to him?”

the ’hood

2006-09-02T14:23:00.000+10:00

It's home, a 1920’s era wool store building (one of eight) along the Brisbane River. Converted warehouse spaces in previously seedy/edgy/derelict parts of town...sounds familiar! When I grow up enough to move into a proper house without heroin lights at the local shopping centre, I’ll let you know.

We had just visited our friends Kristen and Geoff (mining engineers from Vancouver) at their home in Bulimba, right across the river. Here's the ferry stop with the Woolstores in the distance (a forlorn Barbie Cinderella shoe kept us company). Mike and Mireille (from Montreal) also visited with their two week old baby, Jason. Was Kai ever so small?