Gulls with the Wind

There were a few others in the bow of the ferry as Mark and I sat down, panting and sweaty.   They were doing just what we intended, sitting and staring.  The boat left the dock at 10:15 sharp.  Thankful that we were on board, we eased back into our bench seat and embraced the slight chill generated by the boat’s motion.  Halfway through our ride, when my senses “came to,” I heard sounds coming from the side of the boat; seagull sounds.  Oh seagulls, the rats of the sea, I know.  Every animal, land or sea, always has a friend in me though.  I stood up and leaned over the railing to get a better view of what I heard.  There were probably 20 or more gulls cruising along with the boat in the middle of the harbor.  They rode the boat’s momentum, swooping and gliding.  I can’t see a seagull without thinking of “Finding Nemo” and their movie-sound squawk.  So, the seagulls were screeching, “mine,” as they escorted the ferry to Manly.  I liked to think they were “adolescent” gulls out for a joy ride, having snuck-out to seek a thrill.  They barely flapped their wings to keep up with the ferry; they just rode the wind.  Every once in a while they would do a feverish flap, but only, as I liked to imagine, to lap their mate at the helm.  Then one of the teenage gulls would make a slight turn and be thrown back with the wind only to land awkwardly in the water, bounce off its surface, and anxiously beat with all its might to regain its position with the pack.  Funny how something as simple as seagulls soaring next to the ferry thrills me – what a thrill seeker I am.  It made my night though.

 

But to quote Julie Andrews, or Maria, let’s start at the very beginning.  It was date night in the city.  I’ve needed a break, we both have, and what better way to focus on what’s truly important in life than a night out.  Thank goodness for Bec the babysitter, or as Mark and I call her, Mary Poppins.  She’s amazing!  An adorable soft-spoken, 20-something redhead working on her Masters Degree who doesn’t take any BS, which is surprising given her gentle nature.  The boys shriek in delight when the bell rings knowing it’s her.  They barely acknowledge our exit, waving over their shoulders as Bec is making flowers and trees out of pipe cleaners.  We couldn’t be more thrilled to have found this treasure. 

I left the house with no extra appendage of a pram, diaper bag, or child, just my feet placed sweetly in my grey Toms wedges and my purse, where my book was secretly placed for the ferry ride; why do I always feel reading is a guilty pleasure?  I walked lightly to the wharf and hopped on the fast ferry that only takes 18 minutes; not long enough for the reading I was hoping to accomplish. 

I disembarked the ferry at Circular Quay to find Mark waiting for me.  We walked across the street for a drink at Café Sydney, a well-known, elegant restaurant with spectacular views of the Harbour Bridge on the 5^th floor of the Customs House.  We intended to pop in for a drink before heading to our booking at Malaya, a Malaysian restaurant near Darling Harbour, but inquired whether they had any openings for dinner.  They looked truly insulted that we even presumed there could be an opening.  So we stayed for a glass of wine and an appetizer. 

We made it to Malaya, which instantly reminded us both of The Slanted Door in San Francisco, one of our favorites.  It was a large, rectangular, open space, on the water of Darling Harbour, with the open-aired kitchen spanning the dining room.  To tickle our reminiscing senses our waiter was as gay as Christmas.  He was a short and delicate man in his 40’s, with tidily coifed brown hair, and big round glasses.  As he welcomed us he brought his hands daintily together in an almost Namaste.  He found and made light humor in the minor exchanges we had.  At one point he asked us where we were from, as Darling Harbour is a touristy area.  It’s bizarre explaining to people that we’re from San Francisco, but we live here now, because even I find it strange that we live in Australia.  In fact, saying it aloud still makes me giggle.  As we told him where we hailed he said, “Oh, I’ve been to San Francisco, but only in my dreams…” He trailed away in speech and motion as if he was in fact dreaming of the gay Mecca of San Francisco.  We loved him. 

We had a prix fix menu that included fried prawns, barbequed white fish, Szechuan eggplant, and beef curry.  Everything was tremendous and we enjoyed it all paired with a tasty local Shiraz and some Pellegrino, of course.  We even got to meet our flowery waiter’s roommate, also a waiter there, who was as equally flamboyant; I wanted to hug them both.  He said we could crash at his pad anytime, but no kids allowed.

We said our goodbyes to our new friends at Malaya and headed out on foot with 30 minutes to spare before our 10:15pm ferry back to Manly.  We setout to the streets of Sydney, in our old stopping ground so-to-speak; the restaurant was close to our temp apartment where we stayed on our arrival to Oz.  Mark and I, separately, ran this route several times - from our apartment, along Darling Harbour, to the Harbour Bridge, underneath the Bridge and to Circular Quay and back.  Round trip was about 4.5 miles.  With this knowledge under our belts we assumed we had about 2 miles to walk in about 30 minutes.  We picked up the pace.  It was a clear, warm evening, and the last day of summer.  We were looking for a romantic meander to the ferry, but it turned into a slightly anxious speed-walk.  I even had to remove my Toms as I could feel the blisters from the previous walk to the restaurant starting to scream.  When in Rome, right?  Shoes are optional in Australia, especially in Manly.  So I decided to be a native.  We rounded the head, passing under the Harbour Bridge and we could see Circular Quay, but still, we knew we had at least a 15-minute walk – we had 7 minutes until our ferry left.  Mark and I being the runners we are, put our toes to work and ran.  I’m a toe-runner, and I’ve toyed with getting the Vibram five-finger toe shoes, but I haven’t entertained the art or act of barefoot running.  I wasn’t going to run in my Toms, so the alternative was to run barefoot.  We made the ferry.

As we boarded the nearly deserted “slow” ferry I again felt like I was missing an appendage.  All of my previous ferry excursions have been with the boys.  There is no sitting and enjoying the ride; it’s chasing the boys from bow to stern multiple times in the 30-minute ride.  This time Mark took my hand, led me to the front of the boat where we sat and let the wind flow over us and didn’t move until the ferry reached its destination.  I move all day long, I never stop, and at this moment I took a deep breath and realized I wasn’t going to move, I was going to sit and stare, and just take in the sights, sounds, and fresh air – what a gift, so simple, but truly a gift.  It was only the squawking seagulls that drove me from my seat before docking.  I imagine they docked too and waited for the ferry to return to Sydney, then resumed their thrill seeking by riding the ferry back to the city, letting the wind take them for a joy-ride.  

Like a Virgin

Before our move to the land of OZ I feared very little. I was truly thrilled for the adventure.  I knew our “stuff” would make it there, eventually, I knew the boys would acclimate because kids are resilient, I knew Mark would thrive in his job, I was at ease with the idea of the change; the change of a lifetime.  However, something I was not at ease with was driving.  It’s what concerned me the most in fact.  When we first arrived we were living in the CBD (Central Business District) of Sydney and we didn’t need a car.  Mark had reserved one for when we arrived, but I talked him out of it saying, “Why do we need a car?!”  Deep down, I wanted to avoid the entire topic.  I didn’t even want to breach the idea; I was terrified.  I knew Mark wouldn’t throw me to the wolves via the driver’s seat, but my heart still palpitated with the thought.  After a week of living in the CBD with no car we were invited to a BBQ at the home of an old coworker of Mark’s.  We needed to rent a car for the excursion over the Harbor Bridge.  I remained calm and acted uninterested in the entire scenario, as if it was no big deal. 

BBQ day arrived and Mark departed “rental apartment CBD” to pick up the car; we couldn’t all go because of the car seat issue – phew!  He acquired the car and made it back in a timely manner.  However, he walked in the door looking a bit weathered, shaky, and on alert.  He had a healthy glow about him that I knew wasn’t due to pregnancy and he had a moist back and forehead, not only because it’s summer, but also because he just drove “on the wrong f’ing side of the road, and the wrong f’ing side of the car!”  But, he has done this before in South Africa and England – no biggie, right?!  Again, I remained calm and acted nonchalant, but supportive to his plight.  I listened to the details of his harrowing journey; one-way streets, parked cars, strange turns – giving him all the empathy and love I had, but underneath was utter fear.  How the FRICK was I ever going to drive?!   At this point the idea of NEVER driving was running through my head.  Maybe I’ll just plead incompetence, bad eyesight, seizures?! 

But the show must go on.  We installed the boys’ car seats in the white, Toyota Aurion; equivalent to the Camry.  We input the address in the navigation system, Mark climbed into the driver’s seat, on the right hand-side of the car, and I climbed into the passenger seat on the left.  The air of seriousness was palpable.  It was so strange to sit on the left side of the car with no steering wheel in front of me – it just felt abnormal!  Feeling our confusion and anxiety the boys were on their best behavior.  We pulled out of the garage and onto Kent Street.  We were driving.  Mark made it clear that he needed my help keeping to the right, so if he got too close on the left I needed to tell him to move over.  Oh jeez, this was a joint effort?!  It felt like backwards day at school all over again.  Remember backwards day?  Pants on backwards, shoes on the wrong feet, shirt backwards – I hated backwards day, it made me feel off.  I had to tell Mark to, “Move right!” several times, but he piloted the vehicle safely and we made it to our location without maiming any one or thing - success! 

In the weeks to come whenever we journeyed out Mark would drive.  He kept hinting that I needed to get, “back in the saddle,” and I agreed appeasingly, “You’re right, I will.  Maybe the next time we head out,” but I avoided it, still.  Thus far I had been able to get by with just my feet and a stroller when Mark was at work, but when we moved into our house in Manly misfortune struck when our aerobed blew up.  Mark had to work the next day and couldn’t pick up a new aerobed.  I hadn’t driven yet, so wasn’t too keen on putting my boys in harms way by hopping in the car and setting off without my coach, copilot, and all-around rock.  The prospect of sleeping on the floor again was looming.  I bowed my head; I was a kept woman and couldn’t accomplish a minor task.  It was time.  I needed to pull my big girl panties on (as Mom would say) and get behind the wheel. 

My maiden voyage was to the Waitangi Mall (it’s actually called the Warringah Mall, but I nicknamed it the Waitangi Mall to channel my Spices).  The Waitangi Mall is all of 6.4 km from our house, it might as well have been ½ km; it was all the same to me.  I slid into the driver’s seat of the nobirds.com.au rental car, a white Toyota Corolla, my heart pounding, sweat beginning to dampen my lower back, a slight shake in my hands.  Again, the boys knew something was up; they were quiet, as if respecting the sanctity of the moment.  Mark suggested we drive around the block a few times.  I put the Corolla in gear and eased onto Marshall Street.  My mantra was, “STAY LEFT, STAY LEFT!”  I sat at attention, back straight, eyes popped, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel at 10 and 2; I was 16 all over again – like a virgin.  Fortunately we live in a very quiet neighborhood, I took a few laps around the block chattering as I went, “Ok, keeping left, blinker – oh wait, that’s the windshield wiper!  Good on ye Steph, here we go, blinker’s on the right.  Ok keep moving… oh no here comes a car!  That’s ok, just stay left, stay left.”  Truly, I did this.  No wonder the boys were sitting like frozen popsicles in the backseat!  Their mum had resorted to talking to herself!  Mark sat in the passenger seat assuming the role as trainer and cheerleader; “Doing good sweetie, you’re a natural, you got it, see, not so bad, you ready to head out?!”  I took a few more turns around the block before heading out to face the 6.4 km to the Waitangi Mall.        

As I ventured out into the world, on the wrong side of the street, and the wrong side of the car, I for the life of me didn’t know which way was left, and which was right!  Everything had just been flip flopped, but my left and right were still the same…right?!  It was backwards day all over again!  But, with the help of my copilot, and the silence of my children, I made it to the Waitangi Mall.  I was a prizefighter and my coach blotted my brow through the 6.4 km excursion.  I made it, and parked on my first try!  I had broken the seal; I was ready to take on Australia via vehicle! 

The next feat was driving without my cheerleader, anchor, and biggest support.  I dropped Parker off at school one morning and explained to Reid on the way home that we would be getting into the car and heading to the big grocery story – again at the Waitangi Mall – they have everything!  We loaded into the nobirds.com.au vehicle and I said, “Ok Reido, hold on buddy, here we go!”  I proceeded to talk to myself, still, all while Reid was in the backseat saying. “I hold on Mommy!”  And he was in fact holding on.  His hands gripped the sides of his car seat, a supportive look on his delicate little face, big brown round eyes at attention.  He was securely fastened not only by his buckles, but also by his clench, my literal, little man.  When we safely arrived he cheered, clapping and all, saying, “We did it Mommy!”  He carried on his cheerleader duties when Daddy couldn’t be there to wipe Mommy’s brow or give me a congratulatory kiss on the cheek; Reido accepted the undertaking and gave it his all.  I officially considered myself a driver.

I still have issues with my right and left.  And I still periodically repeat to myself, “Stay left, stay left!”  But I’m driving.  I also haven’t figured out how to use the rearview mirror  – sounds weird I know, but I don’t use it!  Carol, my Mother-in-Law said it best, “It’s not that hard, except when no one else is on the road with you, or when you pull out of a parking space, then it’s hard.”  She was right; having the other cars helps orient me.  Also, the frustration of turning left in the US has now been swapped with the ease of turning left; it’s turning right that’s a bitch!  And when I pull up to a red light I ask myself, “Can I take a left on red?!”  There are still still some kinks I’m working out.  Let’s hope I can untie those kinks safely and with ease.  But, I’m on the saddle, and no longer a kept woman; I have wheels.            

Melbourne Take Two: Benny and the Roos

We stayed in a quaint little house south of Melbourne’s city center.  Mark had just stayed two nights at the Westin in the middle of it all and dined at lavish restaurants with coworkers.  Now he was movin’ on down to the burbs with the fam and hitting the Coles supermarket as soon as we walked in the door for the necessities: milk, eggs, cheese, bread, peanut butter, bubbly water, and wine. 

Melbourne, Victoria is referred to as the “cultural capital of Australia.”  There are a myriad of art, film, and dance institutions, and more than 100 galleries showcasing not only art, but music, comedy, dance, theater, theater, and more theater.  We of course saw none of this, nor experienced culture of any kind.  We did go to a really cool park though! 

I’m being dramatic; we did see a bit of culture.  On our first day we took the tram to Federation Square in the scorching heat and arrived to find some art students walking their Imperial Walkers through the square.  Not really, but they reminded me of Imperial Walkers. 

Federation Square

Next it was on to find ACDC Lane; yes, you read that correctly, ACDC Lane.  Contributing to Melbourne’s culture are their narrow lanes, originally built as the result of the grid-like structure of the city center.  During the Victorian era the lanes evolved as service laneways for horses and carts.  Today they have become notable because of their urban art.  Some of the art we saw in the lanes was quite impressive.    

 
 

That's me, the artist, doing some tagging (Adri style).

So, in addition to the creative art displayed in the lanes we received word that Melbourne housed an ACDC Lane that pays homage to the much-celebrated Australian rock-n-roll band, so we set out to take a picture of the lane sign for Uncle Dave.  We cruised up and down the street ACDC Lane supposedly intersected, but could not find it.  Between Parker’s complaints that it was too hot and his feet hurt, we consulted our phones and found ACDC Lane. 

Mark and Parker giving the ACDC signature hand gesture of the devil. 

After that remarkable feat we were on to look for a place to eat lunch.  Searching for a restaurant is like trying to catch a fly with chopsticks (Mr. Miagi style), somehow it's always a challenge for the Abramowitz clan.  It always turns into tears and whines instigated by low blood sugar I’m sure; by me included.  So we wandered and wandered.  Parker’s sweaty little hand enclosed in mine, he wouldn’t let go, not even for a minute, so we could wipe the wet away, he held on tight allowing my forward motion to carry his pitiful, dragging body; the drama is strong in this one.  Finally we came across a burger place and Parker was instantly revived when he realized he could eat his favorite food, burgers!  Reid took over the dramatics where Parker left off.  With his eyes pinched shut and his head thrown back Reid screamed and cried, complete with throwing himself on the ground, throughout lunch.  We of course pretended like nothing was happening and ignored him while we enjoyed our lunch. (Not sure ‘enjoyed’ is the correct word here, but whatever.)  We then hopped on the tram back to, “rental house Melbourne,” and ladies and gentlemen, that was the extent of our visit to the city of Melbourne.  Culture galore!

Once home the boys, all 3 of them, took naps.  I went to the Lululemon Outlet store.  The only one in the Southern Hemisphere!  I had fun.

That afternoon we went for a BBQ at the Shaul’s; friends of ours from Marin.  The Shaul’s moved to Melbourne 5 years ago.  Their daughter Noa was a student of mine my first year teaching.  Noa was 8 when she was my student, and her little brother Itai was 5.  Seeing them at 15 and 12 was such a thrill.  Their parents Yael and Avi are wonderful and we had such an amazing evening.  An added bonus, on top of seeing the Shaul’s, was that Parker and Reid were thoroughly entertained by Noa and Itai, and Mark and I actually got to sit down, enjoy a drink, and have nearly uninterrupted adult conversation.  Now we were on vacation!      

Reid and Itai

Reid after eating a popsicle

Steph and Yael

The next day we jumped in the rental car and headed about an hour northeast to the town of Healesville to visit the Healesville Sanctuary, a zoo that specializes in Australian animals.  On the drive Mark and I were taken aback by the surrounding countryside; it looked exactly like California wine country!  Rolling hills, vineyards, scattered clouds that add texture to the scene; it was gorgeous, but it didn’t make us long for “home,” it made us want to explore more, and perhaps taste the wine that comes from them hills!

The Healesville Sanctuary was quiet and sparsely crowded.  It’s such a pleasure to go to a public place, even on a weekend, and not fight the masses.  In a country with only 20 million people, and the size of the United States, you’re bound to have some space to move about.  There are 6.4 people per square mile in Australia, whereas there are 76-79 people per square mile in the US.  The US population of 300 million is 15 times that of Australia.  Granted, there is some uninhabited open space in Australia, but nonetheless, it’s pleasant experiencing Australia’s version of crowded, which in the US would mean almost deserted.  

The Healesville Sanctuary is set in a bushland environment; dirt walkways, indigenous flora and fauna, and is filled with all the Australian animals you can imagine: kangaroos, wombats, (although we didn’t see any – sorry Sarah!) koalas, platypus, dingoes, Tasmanian devils, (didn’t see any of them either), birds galore, and even some non-native animals like the tree-kangaroo from New Guinea – who knew there was a kangaroo that climbed trees?!  All was silent in the wombat and Tasmanian devil enclosures; no little bats or devils were milling about, most likely because it was over 100 degrees.  

Reid watching the dingoes.

Dingoes, made us miss Bodi.

Roos!

We paid a bit extra to get up close and personal with Benny the koala only to have him sleep during the encounter.  Apparently, koalas sleep about 20 hours a day.  In other interesting koala trivia; their closest relative is the wombat, and there is no relation to the bear.  Early English settlers called the animal a bear due to its similarity in appearance to bears, but there is no relation.  (Dumb English settlers messing stuff up centuries later.)  Koalas are marsupials and survive solely on eucalyptus leaves.

Benny's girlfriend; she's prego.  

Up close and personal with Benny the koala.

And we learned the Tasmanian devil living at Healesville Sanctuary’s name was Lucifer.  We found this quite funny. 

          

Upon entering the Sanctuary we saw several signs like the one on the right.

A little confused we carried on to see more signs that read, “Do you have a guilt free bum?”  Well, we came to learn that their message is about using recycled toilet paper to save the environment, and they’re taking this campaign very seriously.  Parker has joined the bandwagon!

Our last day in Melbourne was quite insignificant.  Mark had to work all day and the skies decided to cool down the sweating Melburnians via downpour.  It didn’t stop raining ALL day.  So, what do you do with 2 boys when it’s pouring outside?  Well the first thing you do is hunt down High Tech Burrito!

High Tech Burrito was our local burrito joint in Mill Valley.  Every Sunday at the Abramowitz household was burrito night.  During our last run to High Tech Burrito before our move Down Under I mentioned our adventure to our friendly High Tech Burrito employees, cause they knew us there, and they told us there is a High Tech Burrito somewhere in Australia!  I of course went home, got on their website, and found that High Tech Burrito was in Melbourne.  So our entire morning’s adventure was getting into the car in the torrential downpour, navigating our way across Melbourne to find High Tech Burrito.  Turns out the guy that runs it is from Marin.  We had a good time comparing stories and talking about Aussie vs. American cultures. 

The rest of the afternoon consisted of Reid sleeping, Parker playing games on the iPad, and me watching the Oscars – Mother of the Year, right here!  Everyday can’t be art projects and singing Kumbaya, right?!  We did play some games and do a few puzzles though when Reid woke up. 

The next morning we were on our way back to Sydney.  This time Mark flew with us, and he took the aisle seat next to the boys in the middle and window seats.  Yours truly got to read her book. 

First vacation while Down Under – check!  

Melbourne Take One: Fashion Patrol and Sociological Experiences

Our latest adventure brought us to Melbourne.  Mark had work obligations so we joined him for a long weekend.  I flew down solo with my rambunctious, but oh so adorable little guys.  They look so sweet and serene in this picture…

…but looks can be deceiving.  They scurried around the airport zig zagging here and there, running into people, all while they repeatedly shouted, “QUANTAS!” some thought it was cute, others did not.  I’m THAT mom with the crazy kids that I can’t control! 

As the boys and I sat at the gate waiting for our plane to arrive, we copped a squat on the floor near the entrance to the jetway.  I began to stuff their little faces in hopes of keeping them occupied and quiet.  While feeding time was underway a woman and man approached our little area and sat close by.  I had to fight the desire to stare at this woman, and I was crossing my fingers that Parker wouldn’t ask one of his loud, inappropriate questions like, “Mommy, why does that man have hair on his back and not his head?”  The woman had greasy, scraggly hair with several colorful barrettes scattered about.  Her muffin top spilled over her denim shorts, while her dirty pink t-shirt rose above her waistband.  She had mismatched socks and unique looking hi-top sneakers.  It was not pretty.  To add insult to injury I could see her wavy cellulite thighs and cheekage area dripping out of her shorts.  How can one not stare at that?!  I wanted to call the fashion patrol on her.  (I sound like such a snob, but come on; I could see her butt cheeks!)  I could only imagine what Parker was going to say about her; I held my breath…  Fortunately he remarked instead on her reading material, which was a footy magazine.  While looking through the pages she remarked loudly, “Oh there you are, you were hiding on the next page!” and proceeded to kiss the pages with loud smacking noises.  I began to think she had special needs and felt bad for wanting to call the fashion patrol.                   

When the plane arrived, and while the passengers exited, Reid decided to spring up from our comfy spot on the matte, filthy carpet and run through the security doors and on to the jetway.  I sprinted after him, scooped him up against his protests, while one of the airline attendants chased after me with a fearful yet disgusted look on her face that said, “Control your child!”  I returned a screaming Reid to the gate area where the waiting passengers glanced up to wear the same disgusted look on their faces, and then quickly glanced down again at their phones, or whatever else was holding their attention.  Luckily, Parker remained seated eating his granola bar covered in its crumbs.  As Reid and I resumed our position on the floor the special needs woman yelled to the airline attendant, “Can you please repeat what you just said, I missed it because of that screaming kid.”  I glared at her.  She looked at me and said, “What, your kid was screaming and I didn’t hear the announcement!”  This woman’s volume was offensive and everything she uttered was in a whiny, high-pitched shout.  I gathered up our belongings, got the boys up – leaving crumbs scattered on our spot like glitter - and walked outside the gate waiting area.  I was fuming and thought; oh I hope we’re not sitting next to them on the plane. 

I have an airplane boarding strategy that Mark disagrees with, but I hold steady to, and that is I board last.  I don’t need overhead bin space because if you’re traveling with children you need all the tools, tricks, and trade at your ready, which means under the seat in front of you.  I also despise feeling like I’m a nameless cow in a cattle call where everyone rushes to the front only to wait in the queue, or on the jetway, OR in the airplane aisle.  Besides, if I waited in the queue like everyone else the boys would begin crawling between peoples legs, chasing each other, or wrestling right there on the grimy airport floor.  Why is it that being in public brings out the worst in my little darlings?! 

So because I didn’t have Mark with me to contradict my strategy, we waited to board until the last instant.  As we marched on to the jetway I thought about the poor passengers around our seats that jealously gazed at our 3 empty seats, plotting their move from their purgatorial middle seat, to the tantalizing window or spacious aisle seats in the empty row.  Sorry suckers, not only are we coming to occupy them, but I’ve got kids!  But on this airplane it wasn’t my boys who were going to annoy the passengers around us, it was the crazy, denim underwear lady and her peculiar boyfriend who happened to be sitting right behind us!  I cursed Murphy, for it was his law that just bit me! 

We pulled away from the gate and the crazy lady; we’ll call her Maleficent, started talking, and when I say talking I mean yapping!  She wouldn’t stop asking her boyfriend “Is it time, can we watch the computer?”  Then proclaiming to everyone around her, “We have a computer and get to watch stuff in 10, 9, 8, 7, 6 …” and then she would get to 1 and start her countdown all over again!  She didn’t stop until she heard the ding that sounds at 10,000 feet.  Then she loudly cheered and squealed.  I wanted to shoot myself.  Parker kept asking, “What is she counting?”

That ding also signified it was iPad time for us, which meant I got to read, oh glorious reading time.  I was relieved when Maleficent and her beloved began watching something.  However, instead of being polite airline passengers and respecting their fellow travellers by using headphones, they had their computer blaring an episode of the Family Guy.  I ignored it and dove into my book. 

The flight was short, thankfully, and upon descent when it was ‘time to turn off all portable electronic devices’ I cringed as I had to soothe an upset Reid and I knew Maleficent would start up again.  Well that she did.  She started barking, “It’s kissy time, come on give me a kissy, kissy, kissy!  This went on during the entire descent.  Once we reached our jetway and we were able to ‘unfasten our safety belts’ the lovebirds stood up and she started trying to take his shirt off because she was screaming that she was cold.  This turned into a tickle session with squeals and laughter that was so confusing and shocking!  There were bulging eyes, wrinkly foreheads, and gaping mouths displayed on every surrounding passenger.  This was just too weird.   

We arrived at baggage claim and were delighted to find Mark who was probably a bit surprised to find his stunned-into-silence wife and Tasmanian devil sons.  Not only was my silence because the boys exhausted me, but because I was still processing the oddity of Maleficent and her bf.

Airplane travel, when you think about it, is such an unusual experience: sociological and scientific.  A group of strangers cram into a steel hull, sit uncomfortably together - largely in silence - fly through the air! - which I still don’t understand how that’s possible; yeah yeah, I get the whole air lift thing, but really?! - and then arrive in another location.  Other than a slight smile, nod of the head, or surface question, I rarely make an exchange with my fellow passengers.  This strange encounter with Maleficent left many brief exchanges between the passengers on the JetStar flight; be it an eye roll or eyebrow raise.  It's always a shared experience that brings people together and makes an experience filled with discomfort more comfortable.  I say 'discomfort' because I hate flying and am uncomfortable every time I journey into the friendly skies.  For some reason, it doesn't get any easier for me.  At the end of this voyage I was just happy to be with my hubby and away from the freaky, sociological focus of my day.  I really wish there was a fashion patrol; they would have carted her off.   

Stay tuned for the rest of our Melbourne trip...