Free to Be...You and Me

This morning while rousing Parker from his cozy aero bed slumber,  – yes, we are STILL living Bedouin style, – he clumsily stumbled into the bathroom to take his morning pee pee and asked me to throw away his pull-up (yep, still in those too) in the RUBBISH BIN!  I stopped dead in my tracks and said, “Parker, did you just say rubbish bin?!”  He replied in slurred, sleepy speech, “Yes, Mommy, it’s right there,” pointing to the garbage can as if I didn’t know where the, “rubbish bin” was.  It’s happening already!  My boy has been in Kindy for 3 weeks and he’s already using Aussie lingo!

Parker and Reid’s transition to Australia has been almost seamless.  Reid hasn’t skipped a beat…

And Parker has evolved into a Kindergartner almost overnight…

He wakes up everyday energized and rearing to go; he LOVES school!  I’m still not sure whether his love for the uniform carries his spirits throughout the 6-hour school day, or whether he is in fact enjoying it for other reasons.  I do know however that he’s proving himself as quite the little academic, and fashion trendsetter, all while having fun and gaining some of the Aussie lingo. 

Shortly after the term began Parker had a one-on-one assessment with his teacher, Mrs. Bruce.  I dropped him off after school for 30 minutes and Reid and I cruised to the beach to wait out the 30 minutes by putting our toes in the sand and climbing on the rocks – rough life, I know.  I knew what Mrs. Bruce would say when I picked him up, but it sounds better coming from her mouth… As Reid and I anxiously walked down the Manly Village corridor to retrieve Parker we approached the classroom where Mrs. Bruce was standing with Parker.  Mrs. Bruce looked at me with wide eyes and said, “Wow, he did amazing!  He’s definitely going to be one of the tops of my class.  I was so impressed with him I had to stop him mid assessment and get a sticker for him because I was so blown-away!”  (I wish I could write the above in her accent because it sounds much more thrilling than what I just wrote).  Then she continued, “I can’t believe he’s only 4 ½!  He’s so ready for Kindy and is ready to read.”  I wanted to say, “Yeah, I know,” but instead I said, “I’m thrilled he’s already working hard and wanting to do well.”  Before Parker started Kindy I decided I wasn’t going to throw my teacher status on his teacher.  I’ve had THAT parent, and I didn’t want to be THAT parent, so I wanted to let it go.  But anyone that knows me knows I can’t keep anything inside, (unless it’s a really good secret), so in response to her praise and oozing over Parker I declared, “Well I’m a teacher and can’t tell you how thrilled I am to hear you say this!”  Why I needed to pull that out at that moment I have no idea, but ya know, open book this one!  She said, “Well no wonder he’s advanced already, you’re a teacher!”  I smiled, but really wanted to say, “No it’s because his parents are brilliant.” 

So Parker had his Back-to-School night last week, which is basically an informational session for the Kindy parents.  Being the teacher I am I judged everything, every step of the way; “Why are they doing that?  That’s a great idea!  Oh, that’s just wrong! I would do it this way.”  Obviously this was all an internal monologue.  Once in the classroom, after meeting in the, “hall” = “multipurpose room,” I was anxious to meet some parents and talk to Mrs. Bruce.  The parents milled about and signed up for random parent volunteer type things; sharpening pencils, covering books, organizing the book order - I am going to help with reading groups every Thursday for one hour.  I was tempted to sign up for, “class parent,” which they call, “CPR," which denotes all kinds of confusion; don’t they have life saving techniques in Australia?  Anyway, I talked myself out of CPR, which Mark fully supported.  As parents started to leave I hung around to get some teacher time; yes, I’m THAT mom.  As I cornered (not really) Mrs. Bruce to ask how Parker was doing, she started giggling – she seems quite giggly – and she started telling me a story about how he got up to give his “news;” the equivalent of “sharing” in the US.  She said, “He stood up, brought his water bottle with him and said, ‘Good morning, I got this water bottle in Boston, America.  We flew to Boston for vacation and my mommy left my water bottle on the plane, (thanks kid, way to take responsibility), so we had to buy a new one.  Are there any questions or comments?’”  She then said, “I just love his accent and I was so impressed he picked up on the 'good morning' and ‘questions or comments’ lines because that’s what I’m always whispering to the kids giving their news!"  That’s my observant, rule-following boy!  She also said there are a few boys in the class who are copying him and tucking in their shirts and pulling up their white socks.  Now we’re talking!  He’s setting a nerd trend!  I couldn’t be prouder!    

I left Kindy night with a spring in my step and a warm feeling that pulsed through my body and led me to giggle myself, and also shed a few tears.  Parker is just himself, he’s so stubborn and sometimes it makes me want to strangle him, but other times it makes me so proud, because he knows who he is.  I don’t believe he even hears any difference in his speech, than that of his peers and teacher, or notices that not everyone tucks in their shirts and pulls up their socks.  Or he might notice, but he doesn’t let it affect the way he conducts himself - let your freak flag fly, I say!  He marches to the beat of his own drum and is a proud little peanut.  He doesn’t judge or think twice about the phrase, “rubbish bin,” he’s just impulsive and speaks and acts on a whim.  I need to remember that impulsivity when he clobbers Reid and says, “I couldn’t help it, my body just did it!”  However, I might fall over in shock if he starts calling me, “Mummy!”      

Just a smile, come on!

I heard a song many moons ago, it's not a song really, but a form of an essay in music single by Australian film director Baz Luhrmann.  It was originally written by Mary Schmich for the Chicago Tribune as a commencement speech.  It's called, "Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)," and was released in 1999.  

Other than positive messages and rules to live by there is a line, or lyric, that has always stood out to me; “Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard.  Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.”  Having lived in Northern California basically my whole life I realize, I am a softy.  I’m easily offended, and very sensitive to people’s actions and reactions.  I know, no big surprise. 

The first time I visited New York City was on a business trip in 2000.  After attending an all day trade show at the Jacobs Javits Center I, along with 100 other people, was trying to catch a cab.  I hailed a cab, after waiting patiently and politely for my turn, only to have my cab stolen by some man.  As I walked over to “my” cab a man wearing a suit and looking like an upstanding, gentlemanly citizen, nearly knocked me out of the way and stole my cab.  This happened 12 years ago and I can still picture this clean-cut, son-of-a-bitch with the determined look on his face as he STOLE my cab!  I was shocked, distraught, and my Northern California softy self began to cry.  How could a MAN steal my cab?!  I was a cute 20-something girl with several bags on my shoulders and a wearied look on my face after having worked all day, and without qualms, he stole my cab!  Obviously I’m still disturbed over the experience.  One thing this encounter did for me, other than make me unbelievably upset and yearn for San Francisco, was to realize that I have a sensitive, soft-crab shell.  This is even after I traveled through Europe for a year!  I’m getting off on a tangent…

My point…I’ve found in my short time in Australia that people are not as “soft” as I am.  Back in California, while on walks with my boys and Bodi, a stranger cannot help but smile and comment on my company; two adorable boys and a dog.  I used to think, “If you can’t smirk at my brute, you’re dead inside.”  Which leads me to believe, Australians are not only dead inside, but they have no soul,” (I’m obviously being dramatic).  I walk Parker to and fro school everyday, granted Bodi is still in California, so I’m missing 1/3 of my adorableness, but I have Reid in the stroller (or pram), and Parker on foot.  Parker is sporting his uniform; wide brimmed hat, white knee socks, rosy cheeks from a long, hard day at Kindy, etc., (you’ve read the post), Reid sitting at attention in the orange Bugaboo, noting the cockatoos swooping and the flowering trees dropping their colorful floral.  Everyone that passes us has no expression, and no comment; they don’t even make eye contact.  I try and catch their eye to ascertain what could be running through their mind at that moment, but to no avail.  I don’t get a glance, a comment, or a smirk – just a stare ahead, an unused face.  This tears me!  How could you not glance at my gorgeous, gregarious boys without a simper?!   Even while they’re picking up flowers on the sidewalk and passing them to their “mum” with a warm smile, glow, and a kiss?!  Dead inside I think.

Then I ask myself why does their lack of acknowledgement hurt my feelings?  Oh that’s right, cause I’m a softy.  Which leads me to ask, are we, (Californians) too polite and cordial?  I happen to like exchanging a, “Good Morning” with strangers.  It’s better than a blank stare in my opinion.  And really, who or what does it hurt and how much effort does it take to smile at someone?  Maybe I was just hoping people walked around saying, “G’day!”   

This noticeable difference between what I’m used to in California and what happens in Sydney, makes me contemplate the impact our environment has on us.  It shapes who we are and how we react to society and everyone in it.  The social norms I’ve lived by have changed all of a sudden and I’m struggling a bit to accept the new society and social norms I live in - i.e., not being overly polite and friendly to strangers.  When I say, “struggle” I’m not really broken hearted by it, cause I do have the beach down the street and a lovely home to comfort the blow, (again, drama), but nonetheless, it’s a change.

So I've decided to take matters into my own hands!  I normally subscribe to the, “When in Rome,” attitude, but not this time.  You can take the girl out of Northern California, but you can’t take the Northern California out of the girl!  That’s right, this girlie is going to conduct a social experiment.  What do I have to lose?  I’ve decided to exchange a pleasantry or a smile with everyone I cross paths with, within reason of course - on a busy sidewalk it would just be too challenging.  Why not just be me?!  I’m friendly, and ya know what, I’m a softy from Northern California!  What are they going to do, lecture me on being too friendly?  My guess is they'll be taken aback at first, but then give a smile in return, or MAYBE even a, "G'day!"  That would be so cool!  Cause really, everyone I come across has got to be thinking inside how utterly adorable my boys are.  How could you not?!  

Stay tuned for my sociological findings… 

Watch out for that bandicoot!

While snoozing, "Up Over," (as opposed to Down Under), all nestled in bed, there are creatures that lurk at night.  We know they’re out there.  Mostly they’re quiet, except for the occasional raccoon brawl or trash can dive that wakes you from a deep slumber to wonder, “Is that someone breaking into my house?!  No, it’s just a damn raccoon.” 

While, "Down Under," one of the creatures that lurk at night is the bandicoot.  The bandicoot is an endangered, nocturnal marsupial that resembles a rat, but a bit cuter.  Endangered you ask?  Read on and find out why. 

The bandicoot is a yellowish, brown omnivore, has a long tail and snout, is peach fuzzy, and the size of a small raccoon.  It feels as if every unique animal I run across is a marsupial!  It’s amazing that there are 334 species of marsupials, and 70% of them are found in Australia – a little trivia for you.

The other morning as I headed out at 5:45am to my new Boot Camp on Manly Beach, I ran in the middle of the street to avoid tree branches, jagged sidewalks, driveways, and whatever other creatures go bump at that time in the morning, which now include bandicoots... 

As I sleepily jogged toward the beach there was a band of bandicoots upon me all of a sudden!  I came upon one who began to run circles around me, and then another one a few feet – or meters – away, then another!  I think I saw a total of five bandicoots, just running around in the street.  My first thought when I saw these strange creatures was, “Oh yeah, I’m in Australia – strange animals!”  Sometimes this idea of living in Australia still startles me and causes me to giggle, “Wow, we LIVE in Australia, how weird is that?!”  My second thought as I slowed down to inquire – or enquire as it is in Aussie - was; “Oh, they’re kinda cute!”  But they were scurrying so fast and had tails like a rat’s, so I scampered on doing high knees as I didn’t want to step on the little suckers moving around me like field mice, lest I hurt one and make the rest attack – who knows what they’re capable of?!  It was 5:45am!  Who would have heard my muffled cries for help as the gang of bandicoots took me down?!  I escaped them and continued on to the beach.  I would survive my introduction to the bandicoot and live another day.   

A few days later, at about 9:30pm, as Mark and I were lounging on our front porch – as that’s where we can hear the waves hit the shore at Little Manly Cove – we saw a bandicoot running solo in the street.  This little dude was literally running in circles, not like a dog chasing its tail, but covering some area by running in big circle, after circle, after circle.  We were cracking up!  Was he confused, lost, upset?  No, I think he was just stupid.  No wonder they’re endangered!  They’re so senseless they’re running around in circles and getting hit by cars!  Poor little marsupials. 

Therefore, when driving - or running - in Australia, proceed with great caution, because a really dumb, but kinda cute, marsupial might be trying to commit suicide under your tire (tyre), or running shoe.  

Kindy-garten

The countdown for Kindy began 10 days before the first day of school when we bought Parker his school uniform.  Parker’s world changed once again by fabric we drape over our bodies – how simple, but monumental for our little peanut.  When he stepped out of the makeshift dressing room at Pickle’s School Uniform Supply, he wore a navy blue, wide brimmed hat with green school crest and a chinstrap that he cinched so tight I could see the mark forming under his chin.  Fresh from the package the hat brim flipped up crying out to be broken-in.  He sported a white three-button polo shirt with a green trim collar and a crest on his left breast that implied, “I’m a student at Manly Village Public School, established in 1858.”  His size 4 navy blue Gabardine shorts fell just above his knees and had zipper pockets on the sides and one on the back.  On his feet were the mandated stark white socks, pulled up to his knees.  Lastly, and most importantly, stretched across his recently tanned little face was a beaming, shiny smile that made his eyes look like crescent moons.  My insides swelled.  This uniform was going to be enough to make him want to go to school, and be beyond excited about it.  He pranced around a bit giggling as he does when he’s excited or nervous, and then asked, “What about the shoes?”  We were told we had to buy the required school shoes at a department store.  As if his excitement couldn’t grow any further the Pickle’s employee who was helping us pulled out another shirt and pair of shorts and explained that this was his “sports uniform” for the days when they played sports.  I thought he was going to combust, or shoot through the roof.  Sports day?!  And to boot, the sports shirt was a GREEN polo shirt - for the JETS of course!  I imagined the visions running through his mind at that moment; him at the front of the class teaching everyone how to play American football, and having them so engaged and intrigued, they began to chant, J-E-T-S, Jets, Jets, Jets!  This might go down as his best day ever.  With the sports uniform they needed plain white sneakers – more shoes to buy!  He was better behaved that day than he’s ever been in his short 4 ¾ years.

After dropping a bundle of cash at Pickle’s we were off to the department store to buy school and sport shoes.  Mark and I began to crack up when we saw that school shoes are black leather sneakers made by Clarks.  Yes, Clarks has a corner on the school shoes market in Australia.  The plain white sneakers for sports day, also Clarks!  I don’t know why we thought this was so funny. 

For the next 10 days Parker wore his school and sports uniform whenever we were at home.  We forbade him to wear it outside the house; same rules apply to all “uniforms” – 49ers, Jets etc.  He also began to literally count down the days.  Every morning it was, “Mommy, only 8 more days until I start Kindy!”  Everyday he did this!  I really hoped when the excitement of the uniform faded that he wouldn’t be disappointed with what he was left with; school.  The jury is still out on that one…

The night before school started I felt like a little kid the night before MY first day of school.  I always had my outfit picked out and folded nicely on my desk, as if it was safer out of the drawer; shoes lay neatly on the floor with the roll of socks sticking out of the right shoe.  Parker did the exact same thing.  He had to lay his perfectly folded uniform; stark white shirt, (that wouldn’t be white for too long – who makes kids where a WHITE shirt anyway?!), shorts, socks placed neatly in his black leather Clarks, even his underwear; Yoda, his favorite, with his hat covering the cherished ensemble as if protecting it, at the foot of his aerobed.  I just hoped he would sleep that night; I hoped I would sleep that night. 

We awoke in the morning, me with a slight headache after the MarkSteph party we had the previous night J and Parker at a reasonable time, 7am.  We had talked about what would happen in the morning, breakfast first and then you can get dressed.  We had to be there at 9:45, so we left promptly at 9:30 loading the boys in the stroller, or pram rather, and walking the .9 km to Manly Village Public School.  

It was hot and humid, so by the time we arrived Mark and I were sweaty already.  We entered the school grounds and were welcomed by utter chaos.  First day of school for 600 students, and every mother and father there to say goodbye to their little Kindy kid on their first day of “real” school.  

There was tables set up with teachers at each and a list of students with nametags on the table.  Mark and Reid found a comfy corner and I took Parker’s hand and we went from table to table looking for Parker’s name.  I didn’t find anything.  Table after table, nothing.  We had just registered a week prior, and I began to panic that our registration didn’t go through and I was going to have to tell him, you can’t go today buddy – or mate.  I hoped the panic didn’t show on my face.  Through this ordeal, Parker held tightly to my hand, which he never does, normally I almost have to bribe him to hold my hand, and his face was vacant and expressionless.  Luckily, one of the teachers told me to check with the head teacher who looked on a list and said, “Oh yes, you’re a new enroll!  Go down to the last table, the flower table, and check that list.”  We made our way down; weaving in and out of little ones dressed in their crisp, bright uniforms, to the flower table, and there beams a pretty young woman with a list.  I ask her if Parker is on her list and I see that his name has been penciled in at the bottom: Abramowitz, Parker.  Phew!  She kneels down to his level and says, “Hello, Paaker (because Aussie’s don’t say r’s), my name is Mrs. Bruce, welcome to Kindy, here is your name tag!”  He looked at her with his wide brown eyes, and whispered, “Hi.”  I wanted to cry I was so happy.  Not only was he registered with an actual teacher, but Mrs. Bruce was hot!  This would definitely be his first crush on an older woman.  She looked exactly like Elizabeth Banks (look her up on IMDB if you don’t know who I’m talking about), blond, big smile, simple white linen dress with flowers around the neck.  I was thrilled for him. 

Once we put his nametag on Mrs. Bruce summoned Parker’s buddies to come and meet him.  Every school in this area has a buddy system for the Kindy kids.  Their buddies are year 6 students (called 6^th grade in the US) who they’re assigned to and help them throughout the year.  Parker had 2 buddies!  Ryder and Tom.  Ryder had golden kissed skin and brown almost Bieber hair.  Tom was tall and lanky with blond, wild surfer hair.  They were so excited to meet Parker.  They immediately started asking him questions, “How are you mate?  Are you excited?”  Parker just stared at them as if he had stage fright.  I answered the questions for him and explained that we just moved here from California.  They launched into what they’d been trained to do and said, “Here, let’s show you where the bathroom is mate.”  I stepped back hoping Parker would go with Ryder and Tom and I would follow, but Parker reached his hand back to me with a slightly worried look on his face.  I took his hand and could feel him relax. We walked over to the bathrooms, next to the water fountain, then it was time to get in line.  I backed up against the wall where Mark was standing snapping pictures, and Reid was whining, “I want school too!”  Parker’s buddies, one on each side, said, “It’s ok mate, your mum’s there, it’s time to go to school.” - I wish I could write how they spoke, but my ability to write phonetically has waned.  

For a moment I thought he was going to cry, but he just stood there, his chin up, with the strap from his hat tucked snuggly beneath, looking stoic and brave.  I was so proud of our little guy.  My eyes welled with tears, but nothing fell, I was also proud of myself.  Reid on the other hand was crying enough for all of us.  He kept saying, “I want school with Parker.”  Little dude was bummed he couldn’t go to school too. 

We waved goodbye as Mrs. Bruce led her Kindy kids and their buddies in the school entrance.  Parker didn’t look back, which made me happy because it meant he was fully engaged.  Once in the door we turned and left, our little peanut was now at big boy school in Australia, sporting a uniform that made him look like he should speak with an Aussie accent; I’m sure that’s to come too…