Life as usual and how to get a word out of your 15 year old

Hello Possums. I’m back at work. I love it! My quiet, spacious office overlooks a park where students sit on the grass and laugh at lunchtimes. I had a morning cuppa with G (the mature and interesting young man I have written about, who has become a treasured coffee date friend). For lunch I have picked up a large mixed salad from the cafe next door and am eating it as I write. Work is quiet at the moment. I am focussing on transcription of interviews and classroom audio tapes – a time consuming exercise. It sounds boring but because I will be analysing these transcripts at a later date for my study, it is actually very interesting to me. I just wish my shoulders didn’t get sore holding the typing position for long spells. If it weren’t for this I would just plow through it. As it is, I need to take a break every hour at least. You may be surprised that blogging is a break under these conditions. But I sit differently whilst blogging, a relaxed posture possibly. This is my second day back. Yesterday I rode my bike in. Riding in after the holidays is always a good test of fitness. To my surprise I did the ride easily. The jogs along the beach and the occasional pump class at the local YMCA seem to have kept me strong. I tested out my new digital speedo thingy that I got for Christmas. I now know that the round trip is 29km and my maximum speed was 52 km/h. I used to say those digital speedo gadgets were not for me. I refused to install one on my bike. I used to say I didn’t get why people cared about their trip stats and emphasized that it was a boy thing to do. But I went on Around the Bay last year and was thrilled to hear the speeds we reached coming down off Mt Martha. And when the hub said, “what do you want for Christmas?”. I said, “one of those digital trip meter thingys for my bike”. Riding always puts me in a good mood. When I got home, I changed onto my bathers and tied two kayaks onto the roof of my car. My slalom lessons with Rosie had begun for the year as well. I was still hot from my ride, but both of us appreciated being on the water because it had been the hottest day in awhile and also quite humid. I had done a little paddling over summer and I was very pleased that my slalom technique was still okay. Our session with our new coach was fun. When I got home, after a quick shower to wash off the Yarra water I went straight into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Kathleen arrived home from karate. How was your first day at you new shool, I asked her. Okay, she replied. I thought that was all I was going to get out of her. She looked hot from karate, and she was probably too tired to recount her day. I left it at that. Later, when she had set herself up on the kitchen table to do some homework, and Sally was sitting at the bench doing a bit of window art, I felt a surge of happiness which came out of me like this: I stepped out from behind the bench, threw my hands in the air like a victory gesture (you know like the gymnasts do when they’ve done their routine) and said, “I’d just like to announce that I’ve had a really good day”. “Yeah, right”, said Kathleen only half raising her head. “Yep”, I continued, “I rode my bike in and blitzed it. Then canoeing was really fun. I haven’t slipped back on my technique at all and I reckon it was my best session ever”. Kathleen raised her head to look at me then and smiled, “I had a really good time in drama today”, she said. And this is how my conversation with her about her first day at her new school began. I am happy to report that she loves it. She even thinks her maths teacher is good! (If you know Kathleen you will know the significance of this!).

Moving on to London

Eventhough I am now in London, Italy lingers. I have lost count of the times I have almost said grazie or expected the reply, prego. Walking into a sandwich bar in Southgate, I expected to find the familiar panini line up. But, no such thing – plenty of fried eggs and chips though.

When we were in Italy, we soon found out that not many people spoke English outside of the cities. I became accustomed to ordering lunch for my family in Italian. Succi di frutta, Pera, quatro, for the children’s drinks and the rest of the menu was pretty easy – pizza, or gnocchi or spagetti e pomodoro are not  challenging phrases to master. However I did make a mistake on the first day out of Rome. We stopped for lunch at a cafe in a country town. Judging by the prices compared to those in Rome, I ordered four slices of pizza for each of the girls, pizza quatro. However, when they arrived, instead of four slices we received four large pizzas – such was the relative cheapness!

As well as fresh panini, I do miss Italian men. The day we took the kids into Florence, we caught the wrong train out again. Connecting trains were 45 minutes to an hour apart, so we were stuck in stinking heat backtracking on the train system when we could have been back at our beautiful villa swimming in the pool.  It actually got to the ridiculous stage when we passed through our stop for the second time – once as our train diverted onto another line and we saw the blue rails of our stop at Lastra a Signa fade off to the side, and again as we came back through on a train that was on the right line but just didn’t stop at Lastra a Signa. Do you you know the feeling? – so ridiculous that you just have to laugh.

Finally in Lastra a Signa, we stopped at the Ipercoop for supplies on the way back to the villa.  My family waited for me in the car while I ran off promising to be quick. I raced around the Ipercoop as fast as I could grabbing milk, breakfast cereal, chianti (a few staples) and stacking it into my arms. Unfortunately the lines at the checkouts were mammoths! I waited and waited behind trolleys stacked like mountains, my arms gradually giving out on me. After almost as much as I could take, a man in the next isle who had just loaded his stuff onto the conveyer belt thingy, called out to me. Bella, he said to get my attention. He held out his empty basket to me, gesturing that I should use it to save my arms. Gratefully I accepted, but another man came to my assistance to help me move the stuff from my arms into the basket. Grazie. My relief was obvious. The man in front of me was watching all this while. He caught my eye then and whispered, bella to me before turning back around to attend to his shopping.

Possums, this attention cheered me up no end. So kind and gentle – nothing like the leering and pinching that the guide books forwarn you of! Jess and I discussed this later and we believe that modern Italian men don’t deserve this image. The only experience of lewd or unwanted attention we had over our three weeks in Italy, was once when Jess alighted stairs in a cafe opposite the Vatican. A decrepid man of around eighty years old pinched her on the butt. We laughed about this, but my point is that I believe the habit is dying out with that old timer’s generation.

My tan lingers, and so do the sand fly bites from a day at Portovenere! But I don’t know how long the tan will last because here in London, in contrast to the Italian heat wave, the weather is cool and soggy. This is not deterring us really. We had a great day in town today walking the banks of the Thames and catching a ride on the London Eye. We ended up in Chinatown in Soho for dinner, and would have stayed longer had it not rained. Instead, we came home early with our copy of Harry Potter 7 that we found in a bookshop in Soho and I read the first couple of chapters to the girls – very exciting!

The girls are appreciating the cooler weather, and the relative quietness of the suburb we are staying in. The only decisions I have to make over the next few days are which shows to see (I’m thinking a matinee of Wicked upon request by the kids – they know the songs from choir, and an evening show of Miss Saigon without the kids), and which restaurant to book for Thursday night, when my brother-in-law’s opare will baby sit for us. 

Oh, and one more thing to look forward to in London – a visit from an old flame who I haven’t seen for ten years. He said he’d pop by on the way to or from work one day this week. Cool! said I.

Catering Resolved

Hello Possums. Thanks to inspiration from Charlotte, MissV, Kit and Kate I emerged from a catering funk to please a very discerning group of food lovers at breakfast time over the long weekend. It was lucky that I put some thought into it, because I think the standard soared to new heights. For example, at dinner one night we were served duck baked slowly in a casserole of haricot beans, vegetables and Lyonaise sausage, complimented magnificently with Craigielea Shiraz, followed by freshly prepared orange tart. My mouth is watering just recalling the rich flavours. It was ecstasy!

As I wrote, I was having trouble making up my mind on how to cater for a breakfast for this crowd, so in the end I decided to let them make their own decisions. I bought ingredients that could cover a small breakfast menu, wrote out the menu on a couple of pieces of cardboard torn from a wine box (I’d forgotten to bring paper), enlisted the children’s help as waiting staff and turned the country kitchen into a restaurant.

The choices included omelet with an option of fillings and fresh herbs; eggs cooked to your liking (poached, scrambled or fried) with a choice of bacon, baked cherry tomatoes or field mushrooms and served with toasted sourdough rolls; muesli with fruit salad and yogurt; a choice of cereals; toasted fruit bread (Philippa’s hazelnut and date bread no less); a variety of teas, freshly brewed coffee and fresh juices.

The children enjoyed the role play exercise, and those that were not up to speed were pulled into the kitchen for on-the-spot training:

Chef [to waiting staff]: OK. you need to let me know when Joe has just about finished his fruit salad and then I’ll put his eggs on.

6-year-old Waitress [very eagerly]: I’ll do it!

Waitress walks promptly into the dining room and her loud voice could be heard from the kitchen: Hey dad, finished your fruit salad yet?

Chef [to ten year old waitress]: could you please ask Margret to come in here for some training?

10-year-old Waitress [smiling because she is old enough and good enough at role play to understand the joke]: OK, straight away boss.

Chef [to 6-year-old waitress]: Now, Margaret, you have to remember that we are running a professional restaurant this morning. So, rather than asking the customers directly if they have finished, I want you to walk past them occasionally and just notice without asking them. OK? You’ve been to restaurants before haven’t you?

6-year-old Waitress: Yes.

Chef [to 6-year-old waitress]: Good, so you may have noticed what the waitresses do? You’re doing a great job at taking the customer’s orders, but after that a waitress lets the customer chat to their friends and interrupts them as little as possible.

6-year-old Waitress: nods her head

Chef [to 6-year-old waitress]: I would like you to ask whether they are enjoying their meal after we have served it and report that information back to the kitchen. But to check whether they’re finishing up, just walk past the table every now and again without asking them, OK?

6-year-old Waitress [smiling to the point of almost giggling whilst nodding her head]: yep!

I’m happy to report that they learnt quickly. Their parents happily reported later that even more than enjoying the food, they enjoyed the magnificent table service! Their orders were taken professionally: the children learnt to explain the omelet and egg choices; remembered to ask for drinks orders and to check for customer satisfaction; meals arrived at perfect intervals; dishes were cleared promptly. They had also noticed with a fair amount of amusement that the young waitresses cultivated a habit of circling the table (perhaps too often and too eagerly).

Cafe Conversation in Chicago

Hello Possums, like Stephanie, I have a funny conversation to report whilst I was in Chicago recently. This was overheard when I was grabbing a quick bite to eat at the Corner Bakery Cafe – cnr North Michigan and West Wacker (I think) – on the intersection opposite the bridge on Nth Michigan. Two youngish women were sitting at the bar stools facing out of the windows of the cafe, hunched over a book of photos for ages.

I sat on a table nearby and tried to work out how to do what was expected of me in this particular setting. For example, I worked out that you actually have to stick the number they give you in the funny little stand on every table, which I didn’t notice immediately because it was so thin. I also couldn’t work out whether I was supposed to tip, as it isn’t a custom in Australia and I was paranoid I would get it wrong! So I was looking around and watching other people. In the end I had to ask someone about the tipping (and no, in this joint you don’t because you line up to pay).

These two women were obviously old, dear friends. They were using the photos to catch up on each others lives. As they were hunched over the photos in complete complicity and intimacy, I couldn’t hear them until they put the photos away and straightened up to discuss more immediate concerns. One of them was launching into motherhood. I hadn’t noticed that either was pregnant, but this brief snippet of conversation makes it all relatively clear why:

Well, we like ‘Hazzard’.

Hmmm.

But just in case, when we pick up the baby its not a ‘Hazzard’, we have a back-up name.

Oh, mmm.

The back-up name is ‘Sherlock’.

laughter

‘Hazzard’ and ‘Sherlock’, nice!

Feeling at home in Chicago

I’m starting to feel at home in Chicago. Yesterday I even went to Walgreens, just like a local!

Well, not entirely like a local. I had to ask the Philipino check-out chick (actually she was more like a check-out mamma) where the Panadol was. I didn’t actually have a headache, but with the conference in full swing now, I wanted to have them on me in case I got one in the middle of a presentation (and you already know how little sleep I’ve been getting, Possums, so I thought it very likely). She showed me Tylenol in a tube! – very handy, cute, purse size. I wonder why they don’t make it in circular packaging at home in Aus? I must get some more to take home for the novelty.

The other thing that separated me from the locals was the fact that I spent a considerable amount of time in the souvineers isle. I was very excited to find Chicago Beenie Kids. These are little bears that are made as collectables. Every second day they bring out another bear. All the bears are the same shape but they are different colours and fabrics and are made to a theme. You can get Zeddie the Zebra, which is a bear in a Zebra outfit, or Olga the Viking, which is a bear, yep, in a viking outfit… etc, etc, ad infinitum. The Chicago ones are plain with Chicago embroidered on their tummies. You can get them in purple, yellow and red. Anyway with four girls in our family, it goes without saying that we spend a small fortune on these damn bears.

There was only one in the store, so I bought it and between conference presentations I have been legging it to every Walgreen store within cooee of the conference to up my bear count. Luckily there is a Walgreens on just about every block and I now have four little bears of different colours lined up in my suitcase! I feel very satisfied when I glance over at them, and a certain excitement related to the anticipation of the kids’ reactions.

On the Water

Hello Possums. How many of you enjoy getting out of doors occasionally? In my twenties I used to get away most weekends for a spot of kayaking, back country skiing, mountain biking or bushwalking. These days I manage to get away for the odd weekend when I’m able to con the hubby into looking after our kids and keeping the home fires burning (so to speak).

Lately I’ve taken up slalom kayaking. This is something I can do on a weekday evening. There is a small group of other parents with whom I paddle and we have been receiving some brilliant coaching. We all have at least one child who trains on the same evening. So instead of just dropping the children off and letting them have all the fun, we’ve decided to get into it as well!

I used to tour in white water kayaks, so the paddling isn’t new, but the precision needed to move swiftly around the gates is. However, after the couple of months training we can now all do some pretty tricky moves.

I was the youngest in our friendship group to start having children. Initially, heaps of our friends kept up the weekends away while we were raising our kids. One particular couple moved from white water kayaking into sea kayaking and also paragliding. Others have had their own children now and, as well as keeping up the odd bushwalking or ski trip, we now also organise weekends away with all of our families. My kids are getting close to being independent, are strong skiers and walkers now, and are fun to go away with. Here’s a Pic of one of my girls at the top of a peak at the Grampians in Victoria:

However, some of these outdoor friends, who are now in their forties, have only just had their first babies! This is quite an adjustment when you are used to being able to get away whenever you want to. One friend became so desperate after having her first recently, that she actually set her tent up in her back yard and slept in it there for a couple of nights!

It’s hard to compare slalom training on a weeknight with getting away for some white water touring. But, although I used to say ‘touring is the best, chuck out the rest’, now I just think its great to be on the water again!

Lessons in Morality 2

Hello Possums. It is a joyful experience to watch children forming their own moral understandings. I was privileged in such a way on an occasion that would never have happened if I was parenting by the book. If I had been a vigilant parent, Sally would never have been exposed to Raw Comedy. As it was, she was accidentally placed in a situation that called for moral judgment.

Raw Comedy.

I recently got an ipod and worked out how to download podcasts the other day. I was so excited that I downloaded over 100 free programs including how to meditate in 14 lessons, how to speak Italian in 18 lessons and the Tripple J Raw Comedy Finals, among others.

My dad also gave me a gift voucher for my birthday in February (the 26th, although this is irrelevant to the story), and I spent it on some cute little portable speakers to pop the ipod into. I was playing with these new ‘toys’ in between getting dinner ready last night and decided to play the comedy show while I was cooking.

Sally, my youngest child, is still at the age where she enjoys playing where she can also see and talk to me. She is seven. While I was cooking and listening to my podcast, Sally set up her toys on the rug in the dining area, which is really in the same big room as the kitchen. She was involved in imaginative play and I couldn’t really tell whether she was listening to the podcast or not at first.

This particular podcast was of the South Australian finalist of the Raw Comedy competition on 28th March 2006, Beck Hill, doing her winning stand-up routine. Her last joke involved the image of a dwarf who’s scarf was dragging on the ground because it was a scarf made for a “normal-sized” person. A friend of the dwarf noticed the scarf, picked it up and held it off the ground as they walked through a muddy section of the park. The punch line was, and I couldn’t help thinking that it looked like a girl taking her pet midget for a walk. Ha ha ha.

By this stage, Sally had stopped what she was doing on the mat and was listening to the podcast. She had a serious look on her face. Neither of us laughed at the punch line. She came over to the bench and watched me cooking for awhile. I was half thinking about the politically incorrect nature of the joke, surprised that a young comedian would resort to this style of joke and that it was endorsed by her audiences as well as the Raw Comedy competition, and half filled with regret that Sally had been exposed to it.

Had she understood the put-down?

Would she think it was funny or even OK?

I watched Sally leaning on the bench, her little brow furrowed with the effort of contemplation, and wondered what sense she would make of it all. I was almost expecting her to ask for an explanation of the “joke”.

Finally she looked up to me with an expression of concern in her deep brown eyes and said in a serious tone of voice,

Mum, what if you were a midget and you were listening to that?

 

Child of mine

I don’t always understand my eldest daughter, Possums. She seems haphazard and disorganised. Yet, she is self contained and expresses a wry sense of humor when you least expect it. She generally talks non-stop, and I occasionally find myself tuning out, especially if she is in one of her nutty moods, or recounting a bizarre dream (these recounts usually go on for ages). She is and always has been very creative. She is now quite well known at school for her drawings and sculpture.

Over summer, when my sister was visiting us at our beach house, we were sitting casually around the kitchen table. Some of the kids were drawing, some were listening in to our conversation and we were all drinking Chai. My sister was talking, when K added a comment of her own. Even though I had heard her, I hadn’t been tuned into what she had said. There was a lot of action around the table and I had been more tuned in to my sister. But it was my sister who stopped and did a double take. She paused in what she was saying to direct her attention to K. That was really funny She said.

It was only when my sister drew attention to what K had said that I took it in. We all laughed then. What she had said was astute and hilarious. I wondered how many of these moments I had let pass over my head. I felt internally grateful to my sister for directing my attention to my daughter at that moment.

I worry about K. She does her own thing mostly and she is cynical about joining clubs and societies at her school. I don’t understand her attitude because I generally enjoy the social thing. I worry that she should be extending herself more and broadening her freindship circles. If she decides she doesn’t see the point of a subject at school, she refuses to study for tests and gets average to above average marks anyway. But this I don’t understand either.
Why wouldn’t you want to do your best? I have been known to ask her.
Can’t be bothered. Is the generally unsatisfying reply I get to that style of question.

Last Wednesday K announced to me: Mum, I got 18/20 for my text response in English. Would you like me to read it to you?
Yes, I’d love to hear it. Go get it!
K finds her school bag and fossicks around for awhile, Oh, I forgot to bring it home.
Maybe tomorrow then? I say.

Two days later (yesterday) she finally remembered to bring it home. I had been out at a meeting that afternoon and arrived home at around ten that night. She had been waiting up for me in her room. When she heard me come in she came down to the study in her nightie – a loose Tshirt style of thing that I had sewn for her. She looked so grown up, but so cute to me because she was wearing something I had made for her. She had her story in her hand and asked if I wanted her to read it now, or whether it was too late for me.
It could wait until tomorrow if you’re too tired she said.
No, I want to hear it now. I’ve been looking forward to it.

So we closed the study doors and each took a chair at adjascent desks. I spun around to look at her and she tucked her legs up onto the chair and began to read. It took my breath away. Her story was sensitive and beautifully written. She had cleverly incorporated the line that the test question had demanded and had crafted an engaging piece of fiction. I realised that she had a gift for writing. I felt awed and proud in overwhelming proportions. Here she was, a child of mine, but an individual I could not always understand, an individual I don’t always know how to be for, but at the same time an inspiring individual, with gifts beyond anything her father or I can imagine.

She handed me the paper and I read the teachers comments, which echoed my reactions of awe and delight. As I read the last line of the teacher’s remarks, K commented over my shoulder:
Yeah, too many spelling mistakes. If I could spell, the teacher said I would have got full marks.

Nits again

Hi Sorry I’m late.

No problem. We were just going around the table and introducing ourselves and explaining a little bit about our research projects.

Hi, I’m Bindi and um, well, I’ve just been nuking my kids hair – nits again! So my brain is not really in research mode, so give me a little time and I’ll get back to you on that.

Hello Possums, I had a wonderful International Womens Day! As you know I went to a luncheon. I was expecting to feel out of place. I bet I don’t have anything in common with anyone and that they’ll all be Brighton women and I’ll have to listen to superficial wealth-creation-type stories all through lunch, I had said to my husband prior to leaving.

I sat next to a women who was probably 10 years older than me, and WAY more glamorous. She spoke with a ‘Brighton’ accent. For those of you who are not from Melbourne, this probably doesn’t make much sense to you, but if you have watched Kath and Kim, the two women in the Homewares Store have ‘Brighton’ accents. If you live in the suburb of Brighton, you will disagree with me vehemently (sorry). Brighton is an affluent bayside suburb – very desirable real estate, Possums.

She turned to me and smiled and I noticed her name tag: Lindy.

Hi Bindi, I’m Lindy.

Lindy asked me where I was from. And you? I inquired politely. Brighton she said.

It was almost poetic. I felt I was slipping into a de ja vous situation, although it didn’t have that mystical I- feel-I’ve-been-here-before quality, but an I-told-you-so and here-we-go quality. I was conscious that my face had begun to support a stuck-on smile. But, just as I thought I had read the situation, Lindy surprised me with a confession: I’m afraid I’m not a business woman, she said, So I’m feeling a little out of place here. I’m a scientist.

What the… I thought to myself.

Tell me about your science, Lindy, I inquired with genuine interest – you see, I am a science graduate myself. Once a secondary teacher, I now venture into primary schools as a visiting science teacher and teach sessionally as a tertiary science educator.

At this request, Lindy did a double take on me. She obviously was not expecting to be asked about her career. Her body language indicated that she required an explanation, although she smiled at me, obviously pleased to have been asked.

I’m not a business women either, I admitted, and I did a science degree too. What field are you in?

Lindy was a physiologist before she had her two children. She told her story with animation and passion. I warmed to her. It was when she mentioned that she ventured into primary schools to teach science, and confessed to having a secret wish to one day write a book about her ideas that I figuratively fell off my chair. It was as if she had been planted there, just so I would have to eat my words!

We swapped contact details.

We spoke with each other until the guest speakers came on. The first speaker was the 2006 Telstra Business Woman of the Year. She was a women in her fifties with a broad frame, but with a sense of style that spoke loudly: PERSONALITY and MONEY. Black leggings, a grey balloon-pleated skirt, a loose wrap top, orange framed rectangular glasses, a chunky orange African bone style necklace and high orange pumps that radiated the message: Sex and the City chicks, eat your hearts out!

She told the story of building her business, a furniture design and manufacturing business located in regional Victoria. The beginnings were humble: no money after respective divorces, seven children between them, and depression (her husband’s). Yet despite this, she and her husband made a pledge over a boozy dinner between just the two of them to try one more time to make it work in furniture. This was at a time when the trend for manufacturing furniture in Australia was to go off shore.

She spoke with a dead pan voice that a stand-up comic would undergo major surgery for, and she instantly had the audience laughing and almost crying with her, and screaming for more. Four of her five daughters were in the audience and as adults each of them had a pivital role in their business which grew to become national and turning over millions of dollars a year. The name of the business: Jimmy Possums.

Serendipity, or what?

I’m planning to google Jimmy Possums, and check out the furniture myself. I was impressed not only with this women as a mother and with her drive through adversity and the stories she told of gaining recognition and respect in a male-dominated field to be finally taken seriously, but also with her business philosophies that are put into practice at Jimmy Possum. For example, not only does Jimmy Possum employ apprentices, it nurtures them. The company is like a big family and their apprentices are brought into the fold to have success and pride for perhaps the first time in their lives (often they hadn’t succeeded at school and suffered low self esteem at the beginning of their employment). She spoke of the joy and pride she felt in watching these young people blossom into confident and talented tradespeople.

In her closing remarks she said she supports and employs women in all areas of her business. She said women are much more colourful to work with. She celebrated the fact that women can display their personalities through what they wear better than men. She would rather be in a board room with women than with men in their drab suits that all look the same. She said she loved being part of all that, especially the shoes, and she loved being a women in business.

There was a magic connection around the room after her speech, Possums, and it wasn’t just due to the wine. Members of the audience stood up to tell their stories about women they had known in business that had supported them. Lindy leaned over to me when one of them finished speaking and whispered, I’ve got tears in my eyes! Me too, I replied.

The second guest speaker was more factual in her presentation and resorted to statistics to illustrate women’s contributions in various countries. She pointed out that women in the workforce was an indicator for economic success. One of the women in the audience asked the speaker to comment on the statistics for indigenous women in business and the response was surprising. Drawing on her experiences in New Zealand, she said that in small countries there seemed to be a need to utilize all talented people, whether they were indigenous, women or men. There were therefore better chances for indigenous women of New Zealand than Australia. This was a very thought provoking discussion.

At school pickup that afternoon, my two youngest children inquired about my day:

How was your lunch, mum? Did you make any new friends?

Yes, I did make a new friend.

You’ve got sooo many friends, mum!

Yeah, that’s coz she’s an adult!

Nothing more to be said. But in my mind I reflected on how easy it would have been to have had a different conversation with Lindy. I eat humble pie, Possums (for not the first time).

Now you might be wondering what the Nit anecdote has to do with this story. Well it is my little example of being a woman in a mans world, Possums, and not being afraid to say it the way it is (for what its worth).

Pic of my youngest submitting herself for nit treatment and a crazy hair style:

Shopping with kids

How do you cope shopping with four kids?

Well, Possums, I became very experienced at it and have a few tips to share with you.

1. Don’t stress, just do what you have to do and don’t apologize to anyone.

2. If it helps you to do a snatch-and-grab for womens clothing, pay for everything quickly, take them home to try on and return the things you don’t like next time, then just do it. Just make sure you shop at places that have easy return policies.

3. If you can get around the supermarket in the time it takes your three-year-old to eat a soft-serve ice cream, then buy her one, stick her in the seat of the trolley and go for it. Try to get back to your car before the child finishes the cone. Haven’t quite achieved that myself yet, but it would be praise-worthy.

4. If your kids are like mine then as soon as you enter a department store, especially the women’s or men’s clothing sections at Myers, the kids scatter in all different directions and hide inside clothing racks. I used to stress and get them to all come out, but I worked out that even though I can’t see them, they can usually see me (from their vantage points inside a rack of suit coats or whatever). So I let them go for it these days. They scatter, hide, I shop and when I leave the store I just shout “I’m going now!” And like magic, four little girls appear from every-which direction as I walk out with hardly a glance back. If they knock clothes off the racks in the process I wouldn’t know, I figure just getting them out of there is help enough and I’m happy these days to leave the aftermath for the shop assistants.

5. If your child behaves in an embarrassing way then continue shopping but distance yourself and occasionally look around as if to say, who’s child is this anyway? Perfect the unaffected expression for just this sort of occasion.

These days, they are a little older and, as well as hiding, they occasionally try on the garments for effect. I turned around whilst shopping at our local suburban Myers for clothing for my husband last Saturday to that find my 10 year-old had slipped into a black suit jacket. The jacket was hanging on a rack in front of a line of identical jackets, as is usual in these stores. Look Mum, she said, School Principal pose: hands clasped, stern facial expression, but still a little girl inside a massive suit, hanger attached. Truly a funny sight! Ah, the joys of having “creative” children!

Well now possums, I’m sure many of you identify with this aspect of my chaotic life! What are your tried and true tactics for confronting The Public and/or The Shop Assistant?