The Fuzz

The Australian police have a power over their people that is unlike America's police.  I'm sure this is for a myriad of reasons that I don't understand, yet, but I'm assuming it has something to do with the justice system and the powers of a, "constitutional monarchy," which is the technical term for The Commonwealth of Australia's government.  Anyway, blah blah, the fuzz are scary here!

Before stepping foot on Aussie soil we were warned about the seriousness of "drink driving" in Australia.  I'm no hooligan, or dummy for that matter; drinking and driving is bad m'kay.  However, the .08 legal limit in CA always allowed me to have 2 glasses of wine at dinner and drive home with no concern.  Besides, a police officer in America can't pull you over willy nilly - they need a reason, a good one.  Well, not here.  The police can pull you over with no justification and give you a breathalyzer test.  The legal limit is .05 and I was told as a foreigner I would be kicked out of the country without question if caught driving over the legal limit - do not pass go, do not collect $200 - instead I would be put on an airplane and told to get out and never return.  Needless to say, we don't drink a DROP whenever we drive.

The first few times we saw RBT (random breathalyzer test) sites it was 8am on a Sat.  An RBT stop looks something like this, they have 4 to 5 policemen/women standing a car width apart with cones blocking off the site.  They wave cars in to receive an RBT and when the site is full the traffic continues.  Several times we've been the lot to pass the RBT when it's already full.  They also have the same locations where they set up shop on the same day of the week - decreases shock value.


Several months ago I thought my time of avoidance must be coming to an end.  I was ready to take on the RBT!  And I swore when it happened I wouldn't be nervous, because what do I have to be nervous about?  I don't drink drive - especially in the morning, kidding, never!  So one morning about 6 months ago I'm driving Reid to school at 9am and all of a sudden the fuzz was behind me with their lights on!  My heart started pounding and I began to ransack my morning haze to determine if I was at fault for anything.  On the upside, I knew I hadn't been "drink driving."  I pull over and the policewoman comes to my window and unfeelingly says, "License."  I hand her my CA drivers license suddenly aware that I'm foreign, and I don't 100% know that I'm allowed to drive here on my license - ooops, oversight.  She glances at my license, then at me with an irritated look and shoves a little gadget in my face and says, "Count to 10."  I do as I'm told because my fear of police is POWERFUL.  She stares at the gadget for probably 15 seconds after my countdown - although it felt like a minute - before saying, "You can go," and walks away.  OK, hold on!  I was ready for the RBT, but to be randomly pulled over and given a breathalyzer test at 9am?!  I felt like my rights were being violated!  Ah shit, what are my rights here...?

On another occasion I was waved in to an RBT site with both boys in the car and it was kind of exciting, for all of us!  It's like taking a test you know you're going to pass!  Then on another occasion I was old hat at this RBT thing, so I decided to get a little cheeky and sing Sesame Street's The Pinball Song as I sang my counting:

Now you're going to be singing that for the rest of the day :-)

Obviously holidays are busy times for policemen/women and RBT's are everywhere.  So on Australia Day the police were on alert - makes sense I know.  Days before Australia Day I heard a warning broadcasted on the radio that made me feel uneasy.  The emphatic, bold voice with a mix of anger and condescension filled the airways saying, "WE are out there watching.  If you drink drive we WILL find you and you WILL be caught.  If you are speeding, you WILL be caught, we guarantee it."  He channeled George Zimmer at The Men's Wearhouse, but his threat wouldn't adorn you in nice new threads, but a pin stripe prison uniform!  I already felt like I was guilty!  We decided to take the ferry instead...but we weren't safe there either!

We spent Australia Day on a little island in the Harbour, so ferrying to and fro was really our only form of transportation.  As we disembarked the ferry after arriving home in Manly we filed out with the throngs of other passengers and were met with a salmon swimming up stream, but this salmon was a police dog and handler.  The dog made his way through the crowd on alert  - he was on duty.  His nose found something interesting in a woman's purse and the police pulled her aside and began to search her bag.  Mark and I stopped to watch the scene; we were stunned.  At an airport I can understand, but at a ferry terminal, really?!

In a country that outlawed automatic weapons after the Port Arthur massacre, which my liberal views COMPLETELY support, I see a country that appreciates the rights of the greater good rather than the individual.  In theory I believe in this because I feel what is best for everyone is (most-likely) best for me.  I have nothing to hide, and I'm such a rule follower - to a fault - that I'm not threatened by extreme laws, but they do infringe on an individuals rights - although those are just rights I'm used to as an American.  Ah shit, again, what are my rights...?!  To be continued...      

My Beach Boys

 

Wharf Beach on the Harbour side

Summer in Manly, Australia, ahhhh… I’m not sure what image that conjures in your mind, but it’s probably very close to reality.  The temperature doesn’t drop below 70 degrees, ever, and rarely goes above 85.  We’ve had a few days above 100, in fact there was a record-breaking 110-degree day, but that’s what air conditioning is for.    

The boys just started back at school but had 6 weeks off for Christmas and for the summer holidays.  We’ve been at the beach as much as possible.  In fact, this summer we’ve had an addition to our family, a 6^th family member if you will, and that new member is sand.  Sand has embedded its tiny existence, yet large presence, in the fabric (literally) of our lives.  I have done everything in my power to eradicate this miniscule intruder, but have failed.  I’ve thrown up the white flag and now accept that I have fallen to its subsistence.   I might be complaining a wee bit, but really it’s a small price to pay for the true pleasure of this beach wonderland. 

We have our beach necessities down to a science.  All sand toys are in the “sand bag,” that goes inside the “beach bag,” along with whatever food and water we’re toting, and towels.  The trusty Salesforce beach blanket (love the tchotchkes) and beach umbrella are carried over the shoulder.  Parker carries his boogie board, fins, mask, and snorkel, and away we go!  As we’ve perfected our beach outings I’ve been able to toss in a little treasure of my own, my book.  Yes, sometimes the stars align while the boys are digging in the sand, or playing in the surf, and I withdraw my book from its nestled slumber and ease it open with great stealth, so as to not disrupt the aligning stars.  I hear a little angel sing as I lay back under my umbrella and turn the pages of my novel.  Ahhhh…

The Little Beach Boy

The boys can play blissfully on the beach for hours.  Reid prefers to hang with his newest sibling, the 6^th family member, and play in the sand, running down to the surf to fill his elephant watering can and running up to fill the hole he’s dug, only to watch the water disappear.  I’m not sure if he continues to hope that the water will pool, but it keeps him occupied and happy so who am I to wreck his great attempts.  Parker on the other hand has fallen in love with the water.  When we moved here Parker was barely swimming, now he’s snorkeling and boogie boarding, diving into the waves and body surfing to the beach. He comes alive when his toes hit the sand and he sprints to the water with either boogie board in tow, or mask and snorkel, ready to dive in to the watery world.  He’s even boldly jumping off the “pool” wall that partitions an area on Little Manly beach.  I think of it as the shark safe zone, but don’t tell the boys that.  Mark too is loving the water, playing with the boys and reliving childhood experiences of days spend on the beach.  The first time he took Parker snorkeling they saw an octopus!            

Little Manly shark safe zone

Something that has initiated Parker's love for the water is Nippers.  Every Sunday morning Parker joins the rest of Manly’s youth for Nippers at the beach, which is sand and surf-play focusing on fun and surf awareness.  It’s also a grooming program for future Lifesavers, who are different than Lifeguards as they’re volunteers, and Australia’s beaches depend on volunteer Lifesavers to patrol.  When kids who participate in Nippers reach 13 they’re able to complete their Surf Rescue Certificate, which enables them to patrol and participate in Nippers competitions.  It’s a serious program down here.

Unfortunately, autumn is around the corner.  This Friday, 1st of March is the first day of autumn.  Australia's seasons change on the first day of March, June, September, and December.  A bit confusing considering the rest of the world changes its seasons on the 21st day of those months.  My flip flops, or thongs as they are called here, will go to their resting place where they will sadly collect dust, my bikini will be hung up until next summer.  My Uggs and boots will be pulled from their hibernation... Who am I kidding?!  I'm being dramatic!  We still live in a beach town where the beach is down the street and the sun still shines, so I don't think our trips to the beach will wane dramatically, they just might be a little cooler.  But it's been a tremendous summer and we've loved this stay-cation that is our life in Manly; meals outside, all doors and windows open, swim lessons in our pool, hats and sunglasses, sundresses and sandals, a cold beer or glass of bubbly as the sun sets at 8pm.  Ahhhhhh....      

      

Ho Ho Ho-t!

Everyone knows Corona's vivid beach scene commercials, right?  And if you don't curse the television in response to a sincere longing to be drinking beer on the beach every time you see one, then you're not human - or maybe you just don't like beer, or the beach - nah, you're not human.  

In 2000 Corona aired a Corona Christmas commercial that made me sigh in a dramatic way, (not difficult for me), and then I cursed the television.  It was a beach scene at dusk, showing a little hut on the beach surrounded by palm trees.  Someone was whistling a Christmas tune and one of the palm trees lit up with Christmas lights at the close.  Ahhhhhh...  Before this commercial I'd never given thought to a warm Christmas.  How ignorant I was to not realize people in the Southern Hemisphere and near and around the equator actually get to relish in sunshine and warmth when all I knew was a cold Christmas.  

  

Last year we arrived in Australia 12 days after Christmas.  Even though we went from winter to summer in 14 short, purely blissful hours, (insert sarcasm), we didn't get to experience the spirit of Christmas until this year.  Our American friends living here told us it would be weird, in fact, they said, "It's weird, just embrace the weirdness."  Now what did that mean exactly?  I didn't know what they were referring to until Christmas arrived. 

First, Christmas' arrival is normally preceded by Thanksgiving.  Thanksgiving is the season kick-off, the first-quarter, the starting line for which you gauge your readiness and start the countdown, (hence Black Friday, which Australians are fascinated by; I had several Aussie friends demand a detailed description of this strange, dark day), but... no Thanksgiving here.  I actually had a friend in the US ask me, "How do they celebrate Thanksgiving in Australia?"  This person shall remain anonymous.  There is no Thanksgiving Down Under, or in any other country for that matter.  It is purely an American holiday - ya know, the Pilgrims, Indians, turkeys etc. - specific to America.  So without Thanksgiving, how could I ready myself for Christmas?  Luckily we had Mark's birthday as an indicator that Christmas was around the corner.  Mark's birthday is always on or around Thanksgiving and this year it was a doozy of a birthday - 40!  We were so focused and consumed by the, "month of Mark," and by our fabulous US visitors Uncle Dave and Aunt Kat, that Christmas' impending arrival seemed an odd idea.   

Second, it's hot and humid.  The beach is beckoning like 5pm after a horrendous day of mothering.  The sun is shining; it's up at 6am and down at 9pm.  I pulled the comforters out of the duvets, we're sleeping with the windows open (to the dismay of Mark's NY sensibility), I've turned on the air conditioning for Pete's sake!  They don't use the word Christmas down here either, they call it Chrissy, as if it's another holiday entirely.  The current weather demands a scantily clad wardrobe instead of sweaters, scarves, and snow boots.  It's champagne and beer instead of eggnog and red wine!  It's ODD people!  It's downright WEIRD!  But as I was reminded by a sweet Irish woman in a grocery store in Ireland circa 99', "Just because things are different girls doesn't make them weird, just different."  So, it's just DIFFERENT!  But ya know what?  It's AWESOME!  

Third, there are very few Chrissy decorations adorning store-fronts and streets, and NO Christmas lights to be found.  The tradition of driving around with bundled-up little ones, ogling at the spectacular light displays created by the Clark W. Griswold's of the world, dies Down Under.  We put up our faux Chrissy tree wearing shorts and tank tops (singlets) all while sweating.  I put the Christmas station on Pandora as we decorated our tree and was struck by how odd it was to hear Frank Sinatra singing, "Let it Snow," when I could hear the waves down at Little Manly beach.  

As unconventional as it seems we LOVED it!  There is a little part of me that yearned for the tamales on Christmas morning that is a tradition in my family, and the French onion soup and clam chowder for Christmas Eve, but our Chrissy menu was deliciously different.  We had prawn salad on Chrissy Eve and shrimp scampi for Chrissy dinner (are you irritated with the Chrissy use yet?).  Also, the pyro in me didn't know what to do with all the Christmas wrapping since there was no blazing fire to stoke.  Nonetheless, the holidays (hols) in Australia have been fabulous.  The culmination was a spectacular fireworks display at Manly Beach that we watched from our front yard all while drinking champagne on a warm summer night.  It felt like the 4th of July!          

I will leave you with the Aussie version of Jingle Bells, and Parker's rendition.  Imagine living here and listening to the traditional lyrics of Christmas songs.  I'd make up my own lyrics too.

Happy Chrissy (as they say) and G'Day mates!!!

C-o-f-f-e-e

In 5th grade chorus Mrs. Schoenlein made us sing Coffee Canon: (sung to the youtube melody below)

C-O-F-F-E-E!

Coffee is not for me.  

It's a drink some people wake up with.

That it makes them nervous is no myth.

Slaves to a coffee cup,

they can't give coffee up.  

I loved this song; it made me giggle 27 years ago, and I have carried the lyrics (not surprisingly) in my mental lexicon for a quarter of a century (holy shit, I'm old!).  I've taught the boys the song and we teasingly sing it to Mark when he's pining for his coffee.

Now, something you should know about me - if you don't already - is that I'm not a coffee drinker.  I'm one of the very few people that walk the face of our beautiful planet who does not consume the nectar of the coffee bean.  As a tea drinker I still crave my morning cup of Earl Grey with honey and milk as much as the next person craves their latte.  In the afternoons I usually enjoy green tea and depending on the weather an iced tea.  I tried to like coffee my senior year of high school, but I drank crap coffee and loaded it with sugar and milk - yuck.  In my first year of college my dear friend and roommate Caitlin worked at the coffee cart, therefore I got free mochas.  I enjoyed my chocolatey treat and loved the jolt it sent through my body, but wasn't keen on the nervousness I felt, or the loopy stomach it gave me.  Therefore, I gave it up in 1993 and haven't looked back.  

I've always respected everyone's coffee addiction, but at the same time I found myself prideful that I didn't carry the same dependence.  In fact, I've always been somewhat jealous of the coffee drinker.  There is something ritualistic and comforting about stopping for your daily cup of joe.  Stopping for tea is NOT the same, believe me, I've tried.  First of all, no one respects tea, unless you live in England and they have an entire hour designated to the classy ritual.  Secondly, you can't just grab your tea and go, you need to let it seep for at least 5 minutes before you can flavor it with cream and sugar.  Lastly, if you order green tea they put boiling water in your cup which scorches and destroys the delicate tea leaves, not to mention your tongue because cream and sugar, which acts as a cooling agent, doesn't mesh with green tea.  See what I mean, you don't care either, tea isn't respected.  Sigh.  

Anyway, I've been jealous.  Mark walks into his local coffee shop and it's like Cheers, they know his name and his poison without a word from him, which I'm sure is beneficial for Mark since he doesn't communicate well until he has his coffee (love you sweetie!).  

Six weeks ago my life changed.  Mark has been raving about Aussie coffee since we moved to Australia.  He's been ordering something called a "flat white," which apparently they don't make in the US.  One morning while out and about with the family we stopped for Mark's coffee.  I rolled my eyes like I usually do at the pit stop, but when the take-away cup was handed his way I asked for a sip.  Surprisingly, shockingly actually, I REALLY liked it.  It wasn't bitter like I remembered coffee to be, and it wasn't foamy, but warm, strong, and soothing.  I thought, hmm, maybe I should start drinking coffee?  Mark looked at me with a questioningly, sideways glance.  

Then on September 26th the boys and I took the ferry into the city to tour the Opera House.  On our way to meet Mark for lunch I stopped at a cafe and ordered a take-away, regular flat white.  I was nervous as I approached the counter.  What if I ordered wrong, or what if they asked me a question about my coffee choice and I didn't know the answer - like how many shots of espresso, or what kind of milk?  I felt like an underage kid trying to order a cocktail at a bar - they were going to see right through me!  Luckily they made my coffee and handed it over without incident.  I took my first swig and exhaled - damn that was good!  I was a born-again coffee drinker!      

   

Enjoying my first cup of coffee

Shortly after the picture on the left was taken we met Mark for lunch.  I had slurped down my coffee and I felt energized, like my eyes were popping a bit, and I noticed I was speaking more quickly than my brain was able to produce the words, and in general, I felt happy.  Again, Mark looked at me with a sideways glance.  But the bottom line was I felt awesome!  This was a rush!  I felt like Huey Lewis - I found a new drug!

It's just so pretty!

Since then I've been enjoying a flat white nearly everyday.  I don't feel the same jolt as I did the first few times, obviously, but I'm enjoying it tremendously.  I still wake-up to my morning cup of Earl Grey, but go for the coffee in the afternoon.  I also let Parker order for me now, since he knows, "Mommy likes regular flat whites, and Daddy likes skinny flat whites.

Australia wins in the coffee department, I'm told.  The jury will remain out on whether I will continue my love affair with coffee once returning to the US.  Will I be able to find a flat white anywhere but in Australia?!  We might just need to live here forever for the flat whites alone.    

How do you feel about champagne?

When backpacking around Europe I cherished the freedom of anonymity, and the clean slate that came with each new city and/or country.  You met people on a train, in a hostel, or at a coffeeshop called Hill Street Blues where you told your life story over a Heineken and J.  The freedom to divulge your true colors and life experiences was always at the surface liberating you from formalities and small talk.  I still claim some of the most wonderful and real people I've ever met were the ones I spent no more than 2 days with while backpacking.  Of course the setting of Cinque Terre, Amsterdam, or Prague helped master these beautiful experiences in all of us.  Nonetheless, starting from scratch and making friends so easily was refreshing.  Meeting and making friends as an adult, without a backpack, not so refreshing.  The formalities and small talk are a part of the awkward courting game.  

Fast forward 15 years and the Abramowitz's were fully immersed in the Marin County community.  I hadn't been faced with the challenge of making new friends in years, decades really.  In Marin going to the grocery store was turning into a social engagement.  A brief park outing turned into a playdate with five other moms.  I was surrounded by tremendous friends, and friends of friends.  Feeling lonely was not an emotion I had experienced in quite some time.  So when we decided to jump ship and head west into the future I knew making new friends would be something I needed to broach.  

When we landed in Australia nearly 10 months ago I was anonymous.  Not as anonymous and care free as my days in Europe, but there was a clean slate paving our way that was both scary and exciting.  I had never stepped foot in this country, let alone this hemisphere.  The anonymity was palpable.  I knew no one other than friends of friends I'd exchanged emails with, and thankfully I felt I had a few friendships ready to bloom, but I'd still never met these people.  At the grocery store I was lonely.  I missed Trader Joe's and all of the people I saw while shopping there!  In Coles Supermarket I wandered around with a confused look on my face gazing at all the different products.  I wish I had known someone because then I could have asked, "How many kilos in a pound?"  I could have remarked, "This stick of butter is massive!"  "Why does all the cheese say 'Tasty' on the front?"  To put your mind at ease I now know there are .45 kilos in a pound, and a US stick of butter is approximately 113 g which is about 2/3 an Australian stick of butter.  And all the cheese says 'Tasty' on the front because 'Tasty' means 'Cheddar Cheese'.  But it was confusing, and I was alone!

So here I was anonymous and alone!  I appreciated the new and quiet of this country after my busy and boisterous Marin life, but I also missed my Marin girls like CRAZY, and I was feeling alone.  It's in my Steph nature to need people, to need girlfriends, so...how was I going to meet people?  How do you make new friends?!  Do you walk up to random mums and say, "Hi, I'm Steph, I just moved here!"  All of the friends I've made in the last 15 years have been through a mom's group, or a friend of a friend, or through some organized, communal group.  Here I was in another country starting fresh and all I had to go on was that I had kids to hopefully segway the friendships.  My backpack had long been laid to rest, and I didn't have the liberating 2 day city/country stint giving me freedom and voice to approach randoms in a coffee shop.     

Not to worry!  Along came Renate.  I spotted her across the courtyard at Manly Village Public School and immediately knew we could be friends (it was friendship love at first sight), but how was I going to forge a friendship without any "moves?"  Like some sort of odd mum dating ritual I positioned myself near her at school pick-up one day.  Luckily she looked as lost as I was.  I made eye contact and displayed my puzzled, bemused look hoping we could commiserate on the chaos that is pick-up at Manly Village.  We briefly chatted about the seeming anarchy of Kindy kids at pick-up and that I had just moved here and knew nothing and no one.  I wanted to ask for her number, but I lost my courage as I found Parker in the mayhem.  I smiled and said, "Well I found him, hope to see you around."  Fortunately Renate was more bold and followed me out of the courtyard and said, "I'm somewhat new here too, do you want my phone number if you have any questions, or do you want to grab a coffee sometime?"  I wanted to hug her.  She took the plunge and chased me down and I got her digits!  We made our first date for the next week.   

It was kismet at the start.  We bonded immediately and joked about the process and weirdness of making friends as adults.  During the 'making friends discussion' Renate said the most tremendous, fantastic thing - I will take her comment to heart and use until the day I die - she said, "What I really need to ask any potential friend or acquaintance is, 'how do you feel about champagne?'"  In that one sentence is embodied everything I stand for in life, and it made me putty at her feet.  I knew we would be lifelong friends.  

Since that fateful day, as our little ones played on the beach and we discussed bubbles, we've passed many a wonderful night and afternoon together enjoying the bubbles and making fun of each other's accents.  With Renate's friendship my anonymity began to fade.  I started meeting her friends and then I became closer with our neighbors and so forth and so on.  Now I have a social calendar and I see the process of becoming immersed in a community as an inevitable.  One, or at-least the Abramowitz's, cannot live anywhere without seeping into the community.  Now to be clear, there is no way I'm going to be leading a non-profit down here, or even joining the P&C (Aussie's PTA), but I find myself getting involved and being able to call on more than one friend when having a rough day, or wanting to hit the beach with the kids.  I feel so fortunate to have met so many special people in such a short amount of time.  Maybe it's my new moves; and that is I ask, "How do you feel about champagne?"     

Bats out of Hell

Reid turned three a few weeks ago and there has been a colossal shift from toddler to little boy, or maybe it's just that I'm more willing to accept that he's a little boy now, and I'm letting go (sniff sniff).  He is completely potty trained, during the day and NIGHT - HALLELUJAH!  The Abramowitz household is diaper and pull-up free!  And he's finally taken to his Strider bike and now he rides it like a 16 year old who just got his license - he's outta my grasp and thrilled.  The challenge of the Strider - and the point really - is that it has no pedals and no breaks.  On flat surfaces he's jamming along and mostly able to control the bike.  On inclines it's not so easy.  He's becoming more comfortable gliding down a decline and naturally slowing as the decline flattens, but the other day he was sailing down a slight decline and instead of veering left and continuing on the path as it flattened, he went right, straight into an enormous birds of paradise bush.  He completely disappeared from sight as he plunged into the bush, almost like it swallowed him.  With fear dripping from my face I ran to him as he was backing out of the bush, still straddling his saddle, and laughing hysterically.  As soon as Parker and I saw that he was unharmed we broke down in hysterics too.  It was a priceless moment  - my fearless three year old.  His bike needed a tune-up after the birds of paradise collision.

Reid fixing his Strider

Parker has been cruising on two wheels for almost a year now and is very conscientious - most of the time.  In the past, prior to the Strider conquest I walked briskly by with Reid in the pram and Bodi trotting next to me while Parker causally biked ahead; smiles plastered on our faces as we walked along the beach.  Now that Reid has found his biking groove they are like bats out of hell!  They have turned into rascally boys, with wild looks in their eyes, without an awareness that others exist; even for me who is running after them pushing an empty pram while dragging Bodi (he's no runner), shouting, "Watch out!  Look forward, not behind!  Slow down!  Stop ramming each other!"  Yes, I'm that mom now.  My conscientious first born has breathed new biking life now that his brother is by his side to raise hell.  And EVERYTHING is a competition, via Parker's rules of course.  Parker is always ahead during the race and constantly looking behind him to gauge his lead.  I'm terrified that he's going to run into some helpless little grandma and send her flying.  There is a fine line between the strangers we encounter that have the soft, sympathetic look in their eyes that says, "Boys will be boys," from those that say, "You crazy mum, control your children, and I really hope you don't have any more!"  I'm no stranger to boys and their level of activity, what has changed however is that I'm now the mom, and responsible for these wildings - how did that happen?!

This increased level of activity doesn't stop at bikes, it involves anything and everything except TV, (which I try not to allow since they look like drugged, comatose mannequins when they watch - it's a bit creepy actually).  If they see an obstacle, they must climb it.  This includes, trees, parking barriers, benches, street lights, hills, fences, garden walls - you name it, they want to climb it.  If they see an opportunity to push each other; they push and then tackle, an occasion to run turns into a game of tip (tag) all while dodging people, bikes, skateboards etc.

I may sound like I'm complaining, but the truth is I wouldn't change it for the world.  I think Bodi is the most shell shocked.  He definitely prefers the old days of sauntering along.  I am nostalgic for the days of pushing my baby in a pram though, Bodi by my side, while strolling and listening to Pandora or chatting on the phone, but I imagine I'll always miss those times.  Their energy is palpable and innocent, their shining smiles contagious and trouble-free.  They fill my body with warmth and make my heart swell.  What a wild ride they are.  Love my boys :-)                 

Life Lessons from The Pride

Several months ago my mom gave Parker "The Lion King" Broadway musical cd.  Since that time The Lion King and its array of characters has woven its way into the fabric of our lives.  We sleep, eat, and breathe The Lion King.  I find myself lying in bed seeking sleep while "The Morning Report" dances through my mind.  Hakuna Matata is a regularly used phrase around here and Parker now refers to Mark, Reid, Bodi and me as his Pride.  Simba, Mufasa, Scar and the whole gang are characters in the play that is our lives.           

Beyond our pleasure and entertainment The Lion King has prompted hours of interesting conversation and questions that range from marriage, death, and puberty to monarchy, ecological consumers, and of course Africa and every animal that lives on the continent.  It's also encouraged Parker's art.  We have a myriad of original pieces of art of Simba and his buddies.  

To give you a slice of some of the questions... "Mommy, since hyenas are scavengers, if a hyena died would the other hyenas eat it?"  I've had to educate myself on the ecological consumerism of EVERY LIVING THING!  Carnivore, herbivore, and omnivore are commonly used words in our house.  And it continues, "Mommy, why couldn't Scar be king?  I'm now an expert on the line of succession to the throne; "the heir and the spare."  And more, "Mommy, why are Timone and Pumba sad when Nala and Simba are singing, "Can you feel the love?" This prompted several conversations about having "feelings" for someone and "coming of age," which of course lead to marriage talks (about Parker and Eadan of course),  hormones, body hair - "Yes Parker you will be as hairy as Daddy one day, and yes your voice will change, and yes, you will be taller than me, and I'll have to look up to scold you" - and it still goes on and on... 

"Mommy, why is there only one lion and lots of lionesses?"  My response to this is, "Look Parker, a Kookaburra!"  DIVERT!  Don't think he's ready to hear; "Well Parker, the lion is a big ole arrogant ass who lays around all day while the lionesses are off doing the hunting and then when he decides he wants to "get some" he pounces the nearest lioness."  Is there a better explanation?!  Although to be fair lions sometimes hunt, but not often because lionesses are naturally more aggressive and the lion's mass and mane inhibit their hunt (as well as their enormous reproductive organs).  Also, sometimes there are two lions in a pride and not just one.  I love Wikipedia!         

Parker and Reid also have a lion den which is located under our dining room table.  They each have an end and rest their sweet lion heads on the table leg and make meowing noises while they pretend to sleep.  They also walk around the house on all fours with their Ugg's on their feet, their rain boots on their hands and wearing goggles - don't really understand the goggle connection but I don't question. 

The instrumental music of The Lion King, which is fabulous, has also inspired what I can only describe as some form of a tribal dance in our boys.  Similar I suppose to the African Anteater Ritual, it must be their African roots bubbling to the surface.  I only wish I could have their moves on video, but they don't groove on command, unfortunately.   

There will be a natural end to The Lion King obsession one day, but that day isn't today, or tomorrow, or next week for that matter.  We did however purchase "The Little Mermaid" broadway musical when we were back in the states.  Who knows, we could have littler mermen or crabs swimming through our living room soon.  Wonder what questions that music will initiate?