I heart NY

I was in New York this weekend. It was FABULOUS.

I was with my best friend from school so the weekend would have been wonderful wherever we were, but I hadn't expected to enjoy the city so much.

The buildings, the monuments, the fire escapes, the stoops, the water towers, the taxis, the streets, the sirens, the food omg the food, the subway, the musical, the play. I loved it all. And the perfect spring weather - while it was raining here and snowing (!) in Dallas - was the icing on the cake.

I was blown away by how familiar everything was - from the sights to the sounds to the people - even though it was my first time there. I never realised just how much New York is a part of my culture, of what I know, even as a non-American. Normally I don't even really like visiting cities, I'd much rather be in the mountains or someplace wild, but New York, well, I'd go back in a heartbeat. Apart from Sydney, I've never felt so attached to a city before.

At the airport coming home, I had to fight myself not to buy the T-shirt. Because truly:

A gratuitous picture because I have nothing to say

Actually, I do have something to say. Or rather, words to eat.

I swore I would never have a house full of plastic toys. Especially big plastic toys. Like, say, the trike and truck my boys are sitting on. Which belong to them.

But these particular big plastic toys, as well as some others that you can't see - toys that are not only big but make noise, something else I'd sworn against - were being sold by a family leaving the country and, well, cheapness won over principles.

And I have to say, it's the best 20 bucks I ever spent. Hours and hours of races around the table, every day, by Téo and Lukan and all other kids who come visiting.

Actually, I have something else to say too. Because 5 bucks for a trike? And 15 for a ride-on dump truck? BARGAIN! I wish I'd bought them years ago... and learned the lesson earlier that second-hand is the way to go.

Kids, from now on you can have whatever toys you want. As long as I can find them second-hand and cheap.

(I'm picking up a heap of jigsaw puzzles tomorrow. $3 a set! Woo hoo! Come on expat families, leave the country and sell your stuff!)

(Also, Téo and Lukan asked for this photo to be taken and posed for it themselves. With no suggesting or cajoling by me.)

For my dad

Along with the lobster song, the pie-eyed pied rooster was a classic of my dad's. He also liked to hide and then call out BOCK-A-BA-KER-CUL, in the hopes of tricking people into thinking they'd heard a very strange bird. It even worked once, on a week-long hike in Tasmania when I was a kid. There was much chortling in our camp at the other poor, gullible hikers.

I wish Dad could see this. I wish my boys could have heard him sing it.

Oh

- Mahmeeeeeeeeeee...

I tense every time I hear it. The slightly nasal, borderline tone of whinge, the drawn-out rising inflection at the end. Nothing else so quickly sets my nerves on edge and puts me in a combative mood.

It has never prefaced a polite request or anything pleasant.

- I can't...

- I want you to...

- I don't want to...

- Why can't I....

- When can we...

It came again as I headed upstairs for a shower, the umpteenth time already this morning.

I braced myself and tried - not completely successfully - to keep the impatience and upcoming denial-of-request out of my voice.

- Yes Téo?

- I love you!

Growing pains

He clambers onto my lap, all hard knees and pointy elbows, and tries to curl up. Failing that, he just hangs across my legs, feet dangling on one side, arms on the other. I try to accommodate him, my long-limbed boy, but he's just getting too big. I can't even cuddle him while reading anymore, he's so tall I can't see over his head to the page.

And then I see this:

And it makes me cry.

He's only been with me for 5-and-a-bit years. It feels like no time at all. In another blink he'll be 10, and then in another 15 ... and gone.

I know this is how it should be, I know he needs to grow and become a teenager and then an adult and in the process move out of my world and into his own.

But I will miss him.

And I hug my still little one even tighter, knowing I only have 12 months at most before he too stretches out of his sweet, pot-bellied toddlerhood into a gangly boy that first won't fit on my lap, and then won't want to, ever again.

Scratching my head

So since Téo has started school, we've had at least four notes home about lice. How to check for them, how to get rid of them. All from different publishers. One was even hand written - attention aux poux - complete with a Téo-drawn triangle containing an exclamation mark, which freaked me out as I assumed it meant the teacher thought he actually had lice, but no, it was just another general warning.

I thought this was all a bit over the top, but hey, whatever, I guess the district education board wants to be sure we parents know what to do.

It seems they want the kids to know too. Because Téo has become an expert on head lice.

He knows the signs. Mummy, my head is itching, I must have lice.

He knows how to check for them. I have to put my head back and then you have to look with a magnifying glass. Woe betide if you fail to use a magnifying glass.

He knows how to kill them. You need to buy a special shampoo and a comb and then wash my hair. This shampoo, here pointing to the bottle on the latest notice he's brought home.

He knows about their predators. Mummy, why do monkeys eat lice?

But, he doesn't know how to avoid them. It seems the school does not think this is perhaps the better lesson for kids.

WTF?

10 years

At 2am, I called you to join me and Bronnie-chan at the bar.

You were still fixing your diamond-making machine, and weary.

You came.

Drinks were drunk. There may have been flirting.

At 4am, the streets still dark at this time of year, we set off for our apartments, arriving at the corner where we would go our separate ways.

You don't have to go home.

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This wasn't flirting. It wasn't the lemon sours or orgasms, either.

This was the first time I was really ready to try being with someone, properly 100% heart and body, hopefully forever.

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The White Horse went up on one wheel, spun around, turned away from your apartment, turned towards mine.

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And now, here we are, 10 years later.

Happy anniversary, sweetheart. I love you!