Saturday, December 27, 2008
Dave the Mechanic
Wobble, wobble, wobble...thump, thump, thump; these are the sounds our little 1994 Toyota Corrola started to make approximately 20 kms outside of our destination for the night, Kaikoura. The noise seemed to be coming from the left front wheel, was it the bearings? Brakes? Dave's sure-fire solution: it'll fix itself. As we wove our way to town, the noise and wobble became more pronounced, so much so, that Dave reconsidered his original assessement. The local mechanic shocked Dave with the announcement that our wheels were coming off, he proceeded to demonstrate by removing all the nuts with his bare hands. Yikes!
Sea, Sand & Sun
It is impossible to do the South Island of New Zealand in three weeks or less; therefore, one makes do with glimpses and snatches, here and there. An important rule when booking activities or tours, is to use the ones that help you find a sitter. Kaiteriteri Sea Kayaking did just that, so Dave & I happily abandoned Mikaela for the morning to take their Split Apple Classic Tour.
It was the perfect day; the sun was shining and Kaiteriteri Beach was a long stretch of golden sand...littered with sea kayaks and guides at 8:30 am. Our tour guide was a young, Japanese man named Hiro. Oddly enough, he reminded me of Hiro on Heros - all awkward and cute. I relinquished the back of our two-person kayak to Dave so he would feel manly, and we set out on our journey. Dave & I were superstars, we put that family from the UK and the two Japanese girls to shame. Sadly, we also were reprimanded by Hiro for going too far out to sea and getting too far away from the group. I was sufficiently apologetic for this lapse in judgement, while Dave celebrated being a rebel.
The Split Apple Rock is the landmark in Abel Tasman, legend has it it that the rock was split, like an apple, by the sword of Zeus while battling with Neptune over the hand of Dione. Zeus actually won that battle and the hand of Dione; exactly how this rock made it's way to NZ is a bit murky. The kayaking was effortless, the scenery beautiful, and the company (Dave) tolerable. In Dave's words, I actually felt a moment of contentment and relaxation. Several consecutive ones, and we even managed to squeeze in lunch before picking up Mikaela. We returned to Kaiteriteri Beach again for the afternoon, this time just building sand castles and jumping waves. A fabulous real start to our vacation...
It was the perfect day; the sun was shining and Kaiteriteri Beach was a long stretch of golden sand...littered with sea kayaks and guides at 8:30 am. Our tour guide was a young, Japanese man named Hiro. Oddly enough, he reminded me of Hiro on Heros - all awkward and cute. I relinquished the back of our two-person kayak to Dave so he would feel manly, and we set out on our journey. Dave & I were superstars, we put that family from the UK and the two Japanese girls to shame. Sadly, we also were reprimanded by Hiro for going too far out to sea and getting too far away from the group. I was sufficiently apologetic for this lapse in judgement, while Dave celebrated being a rebel.
The Split Apple Rock is the landmark in Abel Tasman, legend has it it that the rock was split, like an apple, by the sword of Zeus while battling with Neptune over the hand of Dione. Zeus actually won that battle and the hand of Dione; exactly how this rock made it's way to NZ is a bit murky. The kayaking was effortless, the scenery beautiful, and the company (Dave) tolerable. In Dave's words, I actually felt a moment of contentment and relaxation. Several consecutive ones, and we even managed to squeeze in lunch before picking up Mikaela. We returned to Kaiteriteri Beach again for the afternoon, this time just building sand castles and jumping waves. A fabulous real start to our vacation...
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Road Trip
I'm five years old, sitting on the hump seat in the back of the family car with my mother and grandmother. In my memory it seems like we'd barely started our journey, I'd eaten homemade blueberry muffins for breakfast. It had been a treat; as the nausea sets in, my mother transfers the remaining blueberry muffins elsewhere to have an empty bag on hand. It wasn't long before I needed it, and hence, my long and grimacing memories of motion sickness induced vomiting commence. Like a photo album, I can flip through the vile files. A milkshake container in the back of the old suburban driving home from Presque Isle. Outside the Monte Carlo, along the side of the old airline route in Maine. Off the coast of Cape Breton while whale watching. On the plane ride home from my Nortel interview. The list goes on and on. Somehow in the planning phases of our South Island vacation, I ignored or glossed over all cold hard facts related to this trip. In our three week vacation, we would drive thousands of kilometers plus take a ferry. Did I mention my memories of the Grand Manan ferry rides of my youth? Not pretty.
As we make our way down the North Island on day one, I involuntarily cringe at the sight of mountain ranges in the distance. At the first sign that warns of twisting road for the next 32 km, I feel my stomach sink. I'm an adult; I can do this...roll down the window and suck it up. At no moment did I think I'd escape these mountain ranges unscathed, but I hoped desperately; it was not to be. Mikaela had grown progressively quieter in the backseat and then settled into a periodic whimper, I was worried she was going to vomit. I voiced this to Dave, but I think we both shrugged it off as a projection of my feelings. Less than two minutes later, she proved me right. It was everywhere, her dress, her hair, her car seat, the backseat...and the smell. By the time we had a spot to pull over, it was all I could do to open the door and take my turn. Poor Dave was a champ; he did his best to clean up Mikaela and the car. As we returned to the road, the smell of vomit permeated the air in the car but somehow we made it out of the mountain ranges and into our stop for the evening, Wanganui.
Our car continued to reek as day two dawned, today we would take the ferry cross Cook Strait to the South Island. We’d hoped they would have a nice little waiting area where they sold anti-nausea capsules, sadly, they did not. It was a drive-thru check-in process where you were assigned to one of the five vehicle lanes. This was looking bad, I had no anti-nausea solution AND I desperately needed to go to the toilet. Always the helpful husband, Dave suggested I pop over the edge of the sea wall and go on the rocks. He even got out of the car to confirm it was a feasible option; he assured me that none of the waiting vehicles would see me. I doubt this was true but eventually, I gave in and bared my bottom to Wellington.
We boarded the ferry and made our way to the family area, the initial few minutes were uneventful. In fact, I didn’t even feel us get under way but eventually the swells would grow larger and larger. I felt worse and worse, too late, the idea to check at the gift shop for anti-nausea drugs occurred to me. They did! I gave Dave one but it was too late for me, I sprinted for the outside deck and for the second time in less than twenty-four hours emptied the contents of my stomach. Again, Dave rose to the occasion taking care of Mikaela while I sat useless on the wet, cold outside deck for the rest of the three hour journey. As we disembarked, we blindly followed our GPS onto the worst possible post-ferry route. The Queen Charlotte Drive is a beautiful and scenic route between Picton and Havelock - if you can manage to lift your head to look around, I didn't. Almost thirty hours after leaving Auckland, we arrived in our first real vacation destination Motueka. I will again test my tummy when we head out sea kayaking the next morning...
As we make our way down the North Island on day one, I involuntarily cringe at the sight of mountain ranges in the distance. At the first sign that warns of twisting road for the next 32 km, I feel my stomach sink. I'm an adult; I can do this...roll down the window and suck it up. At no moment did I think I'd escape these mountain ranges unscathed, but I hoped desperately; it was not to be. Mikaela had grown progressively quieter in the backseat and then settled into a periodic whimper, I was worried she was going to vomit. I voiced this to Dave, but I think we both shrugged it off as a projection of my feelings. Less than two minutes later, she proved me right. It was everywhere, her dress, her hair, her car seat, the backseat...and the smell. By the time we had a spot to pull over, it was all I could do to open the door and take my turn. Poor Dave was a champ; he did his best to clean up Mikaela and the car. As we returned to the road, the smell of vomit permeated the air in the car but somehow we made it out of the mountain ranges and into our stop for the evening, Wanganui.
Our car continued to reek as day two dawned, today we would take the ferry cross Cook Strait to the South Island. We’d hoped they would have a nice little waiting area where they sold anti-nausea capsules, sadly, they did not. It was a drive-thru check-in process where you were assigned to one of the five vehicle lanes. This was looking bad, I had no anti-nausea solution AND I desperately needed to go to the toilet. Always the helpful husband, Dave suggested I pop over the edge of the sea wall and go on the rocks. He even got out of the car to confirm it was a feasible option; he assured me that none of the waiting vehicles would see me. I doubt this was true but eventually, I gave in and bared my bottom to Wellington.
We boarded the ferry and made our way to the family area, the initial few minutes were uneventful. In fact, I didn’t even feel us get under way but eventually the swells would grow larger and larger. I felt worse and worse, too late, the idea to check at the gift shop for anti-nausea drugs occurred to me. They did! I gave Dave one but it was too late for me, I sprinted for the outside deck and for the second time in less than twenty-four hours emptied the contents of my stomach. Again, Dave rose to the occasion taking care of Mikaela while I sat useless on the wet, cold outside deck for the rest of the three hour journey. As we disembarked, we blindly followed our GPS onto the worst possible post-ferry route. The Queen Charlotte Drive is a beautiful and scenic route between Picton and Havelock - if you can manage to lift your head to look around, I didn't. Almost thirty hours after leaving Auckland, we arrived in our first real vacation destination Motueka. I will again test my tummy when we head out sea kayaking the next morning...
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Make It Stop
Unless it is the middle of winter, power outages are usually not much cause for excitement. In fact, power outages of mere seconds are generally not noteworthy. Last night has changed that for me.
Shortly before bedtime, there was the tiniest blip in the power supply; I'm sure it was less than 2 seconds of total darkness before power returned and aside from comforting Mikaela, that should have been that. It wasn't, it would seem the occupants of the apartment above us have some electronic device that has an alarm in the event of a power blip. As the loud whining commenced, I closed all our windows in an attempt to minimize the irritation and wait for the return of our neighbours to turn off the alarm.
It is now eight hours later, I'm exhausted and the alarm carries on. Are our neighbours on vacation? Will we still be listening to this alarm ten days from now when we depart on vacation? It's torture. Please, I beg of you - Make It Stop!
Shortly before bedtime, there was the tiniest blip in the power supply; I'm sure it was less than 2 seconds of total darkness before power returned and aside from comforting Mikaela, that should have been that. It wasn't, it would seem the occupants of the apartment above us have some electronic device that has an alarm in the event of a power blip. As the loud whining commenced, I closed all our windows in an attempt to minimize the irritation and wait for the return of our neighbours to turn off the alarm.
It is now eight hours later, I'm exhausted and the alarm carries on. Are our neighbours on vacation? Will we still be listening to this alarm ten days from now when we depart on vacation? It's torture. Please, I beg of you - Make It Stop!
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Taupo
Every year, ten thousand cyclists descend on Taupo for the best cycling event in the world...or atleast that's what they told Dave at the start line. We arrived Friday night to discover the town overrun by cyclists and their swag bags; this is a crowd that is comfortable in their spandex. As we make our way to our B&B, we are treated with the view of Lake Taupo surrounded by lush rolling hills, and the snow capped peak of Mt. Ruapehu towering in the distance.
A good pre-race strategy involves a supper of healthy carbohydrate-rich fare with a good nights sleep, Dave would get neither of these Friday night. We were wolfing down greasy pizza at 9:30 pm, while Mikaela spent the night alternating between climbing into our bed or tossing and turning on the floor. Dave was competing in the Huka Challenge, a 75 km mountain bike course commencing at 7 am. Although he missed the call to the start line and brought up the rear for the first quarter of the race until he found space to pass, he would later call the race the best mountain bike course he's ever ridden. He was also pleased to be in the top 25 of the 400 odd riders :-)
It was a low key weekend. We took in some of Taupo's more notable attractions; the Huka Falls and Craters of the Moon were both enjoyable. Oddly enough, it was the BBQ with my Aunt & Uncle that remains most prominent in my mind. There's something to be said for sunshine, cool beverages, good food and family.
A good pre-race strategy involves a supper of healthy carbohydrate-rich fare with a good nights sleep, Dave would get neither of these Friday night. We were wolfing down greasy pizza at 9:30 pm, while Mikaela spent the night alternating between climbing into our bed or tossing and turning on the floor. Dave was competing in the Huka Challenge, a 75 km mountain bike course commencing at 7 am. Although he missed the call to the start line and brought up the rear for the first quarter of the race until he found space to pass, he would later call the race the best mountain bike course he's ever ridden. He was also pleased to be in the top 25 of the 400 odd riders :-)
It was a low key weekend. We took in some of Taupo's more notable attractions; the Huka Falls and Craters of the Moon were both enjoyable. Oddly enough, it was the BBQ with my Aunt & Uncle that remains most prominent in my mind. There's something to be said for sunshine, cool beverages, good food and family.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
'Tis the Season
Sales flyers announce the rapidly approaching holidays, the streets are decorated with garland and wreaths, miniature Christmas trees adore the halls of the shopping mall...and it just feels so odd. It would seem my brain has been programmed to reconcile chilly temperatures and snow with Christmas, twenty-seven degrees and flip-flops do not compute. Oddest of all, the image of Santa Claus remains the same, full red suit with hat and boots. Shouldn't he be in a speedo? I'm certainly glad he isn't, but it would make more sense.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Coast to Coast
Since arriving in Auckland, I've been harassing my husband to undertake the Coast to Coast Walkway. This 16 kilometer urban hike begins overlooking the Waitemata Harbour and the Pacific Ocean, traverses ancient volcanoes and beautiful parks, to finish at the Manukau Harbour and Tasman Sea. As this past Saturday dawned with blue skies, my Aunt Anne & Uncle Larry committed to the trek so we hopped the bus down to the CBD (Central Business District). Dave & Mikaela were seated in the prime bus seats, as the rest of us shuffled further back. Shortly after we pulled away from the curb, I noticed Dave struggling to force Mikaela to stand. It would seem the excitement of the bus had caused her to poop her pants, and Dave was trying desperately to stop her from squishing it :-)
Once disembarking, we made one quick stop at the public toilets, before collecting our map and heading out. The Waitemata Harbour was sparkling as we left it behind and worked our way across downtown to the University of Auckland Campus; it was here that I realized the provided map was vague at best. Where exactly are these arrows I was supposed to see en route? And why are most of the streets on the map unnamed? Oh well, my cohorts soldiered on without question as I wondered if I was leading us astray. Perhaps Dave sensed my hesitation, or perhaps he truly was thinking of Mikaela's patience, but he took the opportunity to veer homeward as we crossed the Auckland Domain.
Anne, Larry & I continued onward and upward, approaching our first true volcanic climb - Maungawhau - or Mt. Eden for those of us unable to pronounce Maori names. It was on this climb, that I truly lost the trail and wandered aimlessly. Were we really supposed to end up in a cow pasture? In retrospect, yes. The only other way to reach the top is via the road, a good tramp through cow country is definitely preferable. Although I had previously climbed Mt. Eden with Dave & Mikaela, the warm sunshine and lack of a small child made it even more enjoyable. There was ample time to truly appreciate the view; both Harbours are visible and there are no less than seven volcanoes towering over their surrounding areas.
A few more missed turns and extended routes, and we arrived at Cornwall Park, the entryway to Maungakiekie - or One Tree Hill. With mature trees and wide open fields, stone fences and sheep grazing on the hillside, you can almost picture the affluent families of yesterday picnicking on the grounds, parasols in hand. Given our earlier trek through the cow pasture, I shouldn't have been surprised to find us soon making our way through the sheep pasture. I believe I still have proof of that on the bottom on my sneaker. Again, we were rewarded with beautiful views and as a bonus the sense of accomplishment was starting to bubble to the surface; the SkyTower in the distance represented our starting point while we could see the Manukau Harbour only a short distance away. In less than six hours, we'd ridden a bus, changed a poopy pants, and walked literally across the city - what a fabulous day.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Barely Adequate +
Last year, shortly after I returned to full-time employment, my husband informed me that I was a barely adequate mother. Apparently, by his standards, any mother who returns to work is barely adequate. It is the stay at home moms, like my sister Natalie and my girlfriend Carmen, who are great moms. It should also be noted that Dave told me last week it was his birthright to not cook supper, as the male he should come home to a warm home cooked meal every night. He's full of such crazy ideas, but I digress. With the move to New Zealand, Dave suggested I could be upgraded to a good mom. Yet, it was his humble opinion that since I was still working part-time, the elusive great mom label was still unattainable. Almost three months into this adventure, I can honestly say...we'll see about that :-)
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Auckland Half-Marathon
Prior to leaving Canada, I boasted to my running buddies that I would be doing the Auckland Half-Marathon. Therefore, I was disappointed to discover that registration was full before I even landed on kiwi soil! With this news, I admit, I let my training begin to slide...sure, I still ran. I even still ran my long slow distances, but speed intervals - who needs them? Hill repeats? Nope, only Teresa could ever motivate me to do those. And yet three weeks ago, in a moment of insanity, I purchased a registration off TradeMe (the New Zealand version of eBay). I knew there would be no personal bests on race day, but I felt it wasn't everyday you get to run across the Auckland Harbour Bridge!
Race day started at 4:18 am today; although my alarm was set to go off two mintues later, it was the sound of Mikaela heaving that woke me up. As any good mother, I stripped off her soiled cloths and bedding and promptly threw her in bed with her father so I could focus on me. I quickly ate, dressed, and crept out of the house. The overnight rain had all but stopped, I made my way through the remaining misty darkness to catch the ferry. The ride across the harbour was a bumpy one complete with several parking attempts, but I soon disembarked at Devonport on the North Shore of Auckland. Tourism propoganda claims Devonport is scenic, but I'm afraid I didn't give it much of a look; my focus was securing my spot in the port-a-loo line-up. In retrospect, I should have atleast watched the sunrise over the harbour as I waited. There's always next time...
At 6:22 am, I joined the runners at the start. As with every race, there was a nervous energy in the air; People shuffling, adjusting iPods, and fixing their gear just right as we awaited the gun. At exactly 6:30 am, 7500 race participants commenced the 2008 edition of the Auckland Half-Marathon & Marathon. It would appear Auckland's characters were out in form, I saw the local Borat, Dorothy & the Wizard of Oz crew, plus Luke Skywalker and his nemesis Darth Vader. In fact, the image of a practically naked man with Sorry Mum written across his bottom is most likely permanently burned into my brain.
Part of the mental game of every race is the identification of people you can catch and reeling them in, at 3k I chose this little wisp of a woman. Through the rolling hills of the next several kilometers, I had her in my sights and then she was gone. When that happens, you always hope you overtook them without noticing, but deep down you know they are most likely pulling away from you. Perhaps she got away while I was taking in the scenery, it was no Bermuda, but Auckland has its moments ;-) At 16k, I relocated my target and reeled her in. As I caught her, I explained that I'd been chasing her for over and hour and asked if she'd pull away again so I'd need to chase her down again. She graciously declined my offer but ran along with me for a couple kilometers and then sent me on my way. Somehow what little wind was in my sails seemed to desert me only a kilometer or so down the road. I stopped to walk. Within thirty seconds, I felt the push on my back and 'Come-on'. She had rejoined me and escorted me until the paths for the Half & Full Marathons diverged. I am extremely thankful for her intervention and words of encouragement. I crossed the line with a personal worst of 2:18:40. Am I disappointed? Nope. It was the toughest run of my life, no Teresa, no Dave, just me and 7499 other people I'd never met.
Race day started at 4:18 am today; although my alarm was set to go off two mintues later, it was the sound of Mikaela heaving that woke me up. As any good mother, I stripped off her soiled cloths and bedding and promptly threw her in bed with her father so I could focus on me. I quickly ate, dressed, and crept out of the house. The overnight rain had all but stopped, I made my way through the remaining misty darkness to catch the ferry. The ride across the harbour was a bumpy one complete with several parking attempts, but I soon disembarked at Devonport on the North Shore of Auckland. Tourism propoganda claims Devonport is scenic, but I'm afraid I didn't give it much of a look; my focus was securing my spot in the port-a-loo line-up. In retrospect, I should have atleast watched the sunrise over the harbour as I waited. There's always next time...
At 6:22 am, I joined the runners at the start. As with every race, there was a nervous energy in the air; People shuffling, adjusting iPods, and fixing their gear just right as we awaited the gun. At exactly 6:30 am, 7500 race participants commenced the 2008 edition of the Auckland Half-Marathon & Marathon. It would appear Auckland's characters were out in form, I saw the local Borat, Dorothy & the Wizard of Oz crew, plus Luke Skywalker and his nemesis Darth Vader. In fact, the image of a practically naked man with Sorry Mum written across his bottom is most likely permanently burned into my brain.
Part of the mental game of every race is the identification of people you can catch and reeling them in, at 3k I chose this little wisp of a woman. Through the rolling hills of the next several kilometers, I had her in my sights and then she was gone. When that happens, you always hope you overtook them without noticing, but deep down you know they are most likely pulling away from you. Perhaps she got away while I was taking in the scenery, it was no Bermuda, but Auckland has its moments ;-) At 16k, I relocated my target and reeled her in. As I caught her, I explained that I'd been chasing her for over and hour and asked if she'd pull away again so I'd need to chase her down again. She graciously declined my offer but ran along with me for a couple kilometers and then sent me on my way. Somehow what little wind was in my sails seemed to desert me only a kilometer or so down the road. I stopped to walk. Within thirty seconds, I felt the push on my back and 'Come-on'. She had rejoined me and escorted me until the paths for the Half & Full Marathons diverged. I am extremely thankful for her intervention and words of encouragement. I crossed the line with a personal worst of 2:18:40. Am I disappointed? Nope. It was the toughest run of my life, no Teresa, no Dave, just me and 7499 other people I'd never met.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Rotorua
Bubbling mud pools, chanting warriors, and the whirl of helicopters are all pare for the course in Rotorua. This tourist destination claims to be like no other place in the world and they might just be right.
In celebration of our first long weekend in New Zealand, we headed south to Rotorua. The moms in my playgroups seemed to think this was a less than ideal choice; they warned of the city's sulphuric odour and cough inducing air. These women had obviously never driven through Thurso on the way to Tremblant, or Saint John when the wind blows the wrong way. Yes, it had a sulphur scent but it was subtle with no respiratory distress.
In celebration of our first long weekend in New Zealand, we headed south to Rotorua. The moms in my playgroups seemed to think this was a less than ideal choice; they warned of the city's sulphuric odour and cough inducing air. These women had obviously never driven through Thurso on the way to Tremblant, or Saint John when the wind blows the wrong way. Yes, it had a sulphur scent but it was subtle with no respiratory distress.
As we made our way across the pedestrian-friendly downtown core on Saturday morning, we made a strategic decision to cater to Mikaela first in hopes of some grown-up activity later. On this day, we would be rewarded. The volcanic playground on the shores of Lake Rotorua is a two-year old's dream, she swung and climbed, teetered and tootered. Daddy took it to the next level in allowing her to wear a life jacket and go in the paddle boat; Dora frequently wears a life jacket so she can be safe. At the lakefront, you had your pick of scenic activity - floatplane, helicopter, traditional waka (canoe), and so forth. Dave nagged for a helicopter ride, but I said no. On the recommendation of a friend, we then made our way over to Kuirau Park. In retrospect, I consider this wonderful free park as a geothermal teaser. As Mikaela napped, we took in our first bubbling mud pools, hot springs, and steam upflows. Additionally, the gardens were beautiful, a playground was available for the little miss, and Dave & I were able to enjoy some delights at the local market - fresh local strawberries for me ;-) After a brief return to the hotel to recharge Dave, we took a drive out to view the famous Blue & Green lakes and, of course, visit our third playground of the day.
Although I'd enjoyed my first glimpse of geothermal activity, Sunday, I awoke determined to see a geyser. Te Puia is located on the outskirts of Rotorua, it is home to seven geysers, sulphuric pools, hot rocks, and lots of goo - Mikaela's very adept description of bubbling mud pools. It is owned by the Maori, the Polynesian indigenous people of NZ, and provides a glimpse into their past lives and even current ones. We naively opted to purchase tickets to the 10:15 am cultural performance in hopes that Mikaela would be enchanted; instead, I found myself vacating the meeting house within the first two minutes with a protesting toddler tucked under my arm. Later, Dave rejoined us, and reported the performance was good and the Haka, a war dance, quite chilling. We enjoyed the geysers, but alas, we were not treated to one of its fabled 30m spurts. Perhaps if Mikaela could work on her patience so we could wait longer, on the naturally heated stone bleachers, for it next time. On the way out, we again passed by a helicopter scenic ride location but again, I denied Dave's request to take to the skies. We finished the day off with a trip to the Rotorua Aquatic Centre; it was one of those rare moments that I was noticably a minority - not because of my gender, but my pastey white skin. I found it a very odd sensation and wondered if my visible minority friends continue to feel it.
On Monday, Dave took in some of Rotorua's world-renowned Mountain Bikes trails. In his words, it was some sweet single-track, the best he's ever ridden. We capped off the weekend with a trip to a trout farm. Ironically, it was Kate, mother of two, who suggested this child-friendly activity to me - I scoffed at her. I certainly didn't want to see a trout farm. Paradise Valley Farms is more than a trout farm, they have beautiful trails throughout their property and several farm animals, as well as other more exotic animals. The highlight for Dave & I was the daily lion feeding; these magnificant cats are housed in a large chain link enclosure. Silly men and naive children alike can tempt fate by putting their fingers through the fence, Mikaela herself gave it a try. I don't think she understand the dangerous speech I gave her, but she did lose interest and wandered off to quote Dora episodes on a patch of grass. The keeper gave a running commentary on their lions as he tossed chunks of meat into the cage. It was fascinating to watch them leap, roll, and posture for their bits. Terrifying and beautiful at the same time, if ever in the area with a small child, the trout farm is a must-see - and don't forget to purchase the food to feed the little fishies.
All in all, I loved Rotorua. I can't wait to go back. Dave too, we didn't make it to any of the heart-stopping, vomit-inducing activities he wants to try - bungy jumping, zorbing, luging...
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Behind the Wheel
As a teenager, Dad took me out to learn how to drive. He taught all the lead-footed MacLeod daughters, one by one. As I recalled those driving lessons today, there was no sense of fear or hesitation, only excitement, adrenaline and my father's exasperation. Today, a decade and a half later, I was the very definition of the white-knuckled driver.
In an earlier post, I described the narrow, winding, up and down road to Piha. As circumstances would have it, it would be on this road that I begin my kiwi driving experience. It was unnatural, I was trying to reprogram my brain while negotiating tight turns, steep climbs, and following the GPS. On one hand I was thankful I was heading into Auckland. This meant the steep, certain death drop-offs were on the other side of the road. I was merely terrified of the non-existent shoulder and deep ditch on my side. And why was that guy trying to crawl up my ass? Fine, I'll find a spot to pull over and let him pass. Yikes! I just left part of our car in that rut. And so it went for the first ten kilometers, and then I began to relax. I was doing it, I was driving on the wrong side of the road!
It was a false sense of security; soon I entered the confusing land of blinkers, wipers, and roundabouts. Why did they have to switch the location of the blinkers and wipers? And why can't that guy behind me understand that fast wiper speed means I'm turning left? Slow wipers=right. What did Dave say about the roundabouts? Am I in the right lane? Crap, I think I'm in the wrong one. Oh well, I made it through...I'm sure I'll do better next time. And I did.
Driving in New Zealand - check.
In an earlier post, I described the narrow, winding, up and down road to Piha. As circumstances would have it, it would be on this road that I begin my kiwi driving experience. It was unnatural, I was trying to reprogram my brain while negotiating tight turns, steep climbs, and following the GPS. On one hand I was thankful I was heading into Auckland. This meant the steep, certain death drop-offs were on the other side of the road. I was merely terrified of the non-existent shoulder and deep ditch on my side. And why was that guy trying to crawl up my ass? Fine, I'll find a spot to pull over and let him pass. Yikes! I just left part of our car in that rut. And so it went for the first ten kilometers, and then I began to relax. I was doing it, I was driving on the wrong side of the road!
It was a false sense of security; soon I entered the confusing land of blinkers, wipers, and roundabouts. Why did they have to switch the location of the blinkers and wipers? And why can't that guy behind me understand that fast wiper speed means I'm turning left? Slow wipers=right. What did Dave say about the roundabouts? Am I in the right lane? Crap, I think I'm in the wrong one. Oh well, I made it through...I'm sure I'll do better next time. And I did.
Driving in New Zealand - check.
American? Me? No.
With Halloween approaching, it was time to locate and acquire the perfect novelty tee-shirt. It would have to be adorable, most likely sporting witches, pumpkins, or ghosts, in my wildest dreams - perhaps all three! The height of New Zealand's children's fashion seems to be the appropriately named Pumpkin Patch, so we headed there. The store was a maze or cute summer outfits, swim suits, and sun hats. There was not a pumpkin in the place; was I missing something? As a mom on a mission, I headed directly to the cash to inquire if said novelty tee-shirts existed in New Zealand. I was informed "We don't celebrate Halloween like Americans in New Zealand".
In a knee-jerk reaction, I wanted to correct her; didn't she know I wasn't American? And then, why did it matter if this one sales associate, who I would never see again, thought I was an American? I should note that every American I have every had prolonged contact with has been extremely pleasant and accommodating...yet, I feel that America is perceived as the Big Bully and wish to distance myself from it. In the end, I let it slide and wander away preoccupied with my thoughts. How does the Land of Opportunity become the Big Bully? And is it really perceived as such? If so, why are there still waves of immigrants applying each and every year to live in America? Or is it merely better to be part of the Big Bully in the World's Playground?
This morning at the market, I would again be called an American. This time there was no hesitation - I gently corrected with Canadian. It was not a wish to distance myself from America this time, merely a desire to make my heritage known. With this in mind, I made my way to the Crepe counter et j'ai commandé un crepe d'oeufs et de fromage. C'était magnifique :-)
In a knee-jerk reaction, I wanted to correct her; didn't she know I wasn't American? And then, why did it matter if this one sales associate, who I would never see again, thought I was an American? I should note that every American I have every had prolonged contact with has been extremely pleasant and accommodating...yet, I feel that America is perceived as the Big Bully and wish to distance myself from it. In the end, I let it slide and wander away preoccupied with my thoughts. How does the Land of Opportunity become the Big Bully? And is it really perceived as such? If so, why are there still waves of immigrants applying each and every year to live in America? Or is it merely better to be part of the Big Bully in the World's Playground?
This morning at the market, I would again be called an American. This time there was no hesitation - I gently corrected with Canadian. It was not a wish to distance myself from America this time, merely a desire to make my heritage known. With this in mind, I made my way to the Crepe counter et j'ai commandé un crepe d'oeufs et de fromage. C'était magnifique :-)
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Party Hat
In the months leading up to our moving, there seemed to always be a reason for a party - Mikaela's birthday, my birthday, Canada Day, goodbye parties - it was one social occasion after another. Additionally, Mikaela is a big fan of Dora who is constantly attending surprise parties, fiestas, and carnivals. Therefore, it was not shocking when she started talking about having a party late last week. She needed a party hat.
Initially, I tried to put her off. Dave's birthday is in a couple of weeks, we'll have a party then. It was no use, now she wanted a party hat, to sing and eat cake. Defeated, I did what any good parent would do, I decided to throw a small intimate surprise party for Dave. To clarify, by intimate, I mean it would only be the three of us.
On Monday, we set out to find our necessary supplies. Party hats were our first priority, it was no contest, we snatched up the Fairy Tale Dora ones. Mikaela insisted on putting hers on immediately and proceeded to wear it for the rest of our errands. We picked up our obligatory candles and balloons, then it was time to chose a cake. Our limited attendance didn't require a full size cake so we selected two individual options; Mikaela selected the American Fudge Brownie, while I chose the healthier option of an Apricot Macadamia Nut Loaf.
At home, an amused Dave put on his Dora party hat and joined in the festivities. There was only one flaw in my party planning skills, we had no matches. Despite my best efforts to light the candles using the burners, this only resulted in smoke and melted wax. Mikaela was non pulsed by this, and carried the cake plate with unlit candles to Daddy while we sang 'Happy Birthday'. She helped him blow out the candles and then requested a second round of 'Happy Birthday'. The party was an overwhelming success, and as I look around, there are still brownie crumbs to prove it.
Initially, I tried to put her off. Dave's birthday is in a couple of weeks, we'll have a party then. It was no use, now she wanted a party hat, to sing and eat cake. Defeated, I did what any good parent would do, I decided to throw a small intimate surprise party for Dave. To clarify, by intimate, I mean it would only be the three of us.
On Monday, we set out to find our necessary supplies. Party hats were our first priority, it was no contest, we snatched up the Fairy Tale Dora ones. Mikaela insisted on putting hers on immediately and proceeded to wear it for the rest of our errands. We picked up our obligatory candles and balloons, then it was time to chose a cake. Our limited attendance didn't require a full size cake so we selected two individual options; Mikaela selected the American Fudge Brownie, while I chose the healthier option of an Apricot Macadamia Nut Loaf.
At home, an amused Dave put on his Dora party hat and joined in the festivities. There was only one flaw in my party planning skills, we had no matches. Despite my best efforts to light the candles using the burners, this only resulted in smoke and melted wax. Mikaela was non pulsed by this, and carried the cake plate with unlit candles to Daddy while we sang 'Happy Birthday'. She helped him blow out the candles and then requested a second round of 'Happy Birthday'. The party was an overwhelming success, and as I look around, there are still brownie crumbs to prove it.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Things I Miss, Volume I
Above all, I miss family and friends but in the spirit of frivolity, I publish my first list of things I miss:
- My Kitchen; Not only do I miss the fabulous layout of my new kitchen, but all the amenities too. Here I make do with the barest of utensils, my one mixing bowl and struggle to operate the fanbake.
- Driving; I admit it, I'm terrified to drive on the left. I've driven twice in the last month, both times less than a kilometer. I suppose I'll need to get over this eventually, but no rush - there's lots of months left to figure it out.
- Coca-cola; As my most notable vice, I gave up my workday Coke when I moved to NZ. After three weeks, I indulged myself on one particularly exhausting day only to discover that the NZ formula is not the same as the one I know and love back home :-(
- Goldfish Crackers; Mikaela threw herself to the floor and cried when I told her that they didn't sell Goldfish here. There doesn't even seem to exist a alternative, a la Gators, it's straight crackers only in this land.
That's all folks...so far.
Hunua, an MTB Event
With his collection of bikes, closet of spandex, and spring shave, there is no doubt my husband is an avid cyclist. As such, it is not surprising that our tour of New Zealand involves several mountain bike (MTB) events, road races, and the occasional half-marathon. Oh wait, the half-marathons are for me ;-)
This past Sunday, we headed out of town to the Hunua Ranges. Located an hour south of Auckland, the drive in is one of rolling hills, green pastures, and various animals. Mikaela is constantly on the lookout for cows, sheep, horses, and donkeys - it helps pass the drive. As we enter the park, the road starts to climb, and climb. As we climb, the road becomes dirt and narrow and our GPS system believes us to be in a field. There are no other cars in any direction, and you can't help but wonder if you took a wrong turn. As we begin to descend back into the heart of the moutain ranges, an uneasiness settles in my stomach - what if our gutless car can't climb back out? Dave assures me that the car will make it...very slowly, and we continue on. At last we arrive at a road block, our choice is a little path to the right that indicates it's part of a horse back riding trail. We take the path and with a few more bumps, we're there.
It is an eclectic mix of riders; the super serious, the super fit, and the super fun. The youngest rider was 10 and the oldest 60; Mikaela & I seated ourselves in the feed zone to watch the festivities. As the riders climbed up to the zone, their discomfort was obvious. The rapid beat of their hearts seemed almost audible, their breathing ragged, and their turnover laboured. On more than one occasion, a rider would cry out to ask if the cut-off time had arrived? Could this be the end of their misery? They would always look defeated as they learned there was time for one more lap. Of course, this was not all of the competitors - my Poobah climbed with ease, a real champ ;-) If he needed inspiration, he need only look to Mikaela as she gave her best cheer "Go, Daddy, Go! You can do it!". Not all finished and there was blood shed by more than one but this little group of cyclists were in good spirits on this sunny, spring afternoon.
Dave was right, our car did manage to climb back out of the Ranges and we joined a traffic jam further up the road. It's been several years since I saw traffic stopped for cows crossing the road, but here we sat as the herd made its way from the pasture, across the road, and up the steep path to their barn.
Oh, did I mention that Dave took top honours in his age group? I'm so proud.
This past Sunday, we headed out of town to the Hunua Ranges. Located an hour south of Auckland, the drive in is one of rolling hills, green pastures, and various animals. Mikaela is constantly on the lookout for cows, sheep, horses, and donkeys - it helps pass the drive. As we enter the park, the road starts to climb, and climb. As we climb, the road becomes dirt and narrow and our GPS system believes us to be in a field. There are no other cars in any direction, and you can't help but wonder if you took a wrong turn. As we begin to descend back into the heart of the moutain ranges, an uneasiness settles in my stomach - what if our gutless car can't climb back out? Dave assures me that the car will make it...very slowly, and we continue on. At last we arrive at a road block, our choice is a little path to the right that indicates it's part of a horse back riding trail. We take the path and with a few more bumps, we're there.
It is an eclectic mix of riders; the super serious, the super fit, and the super fun. The youngest rider was 10 and the oldest 60; Mikaela & I seated ourselves in the feed zone to watch the festivities. As the riders climbed up to the zone, their discomfort was obvious. The rapid beat of their hearts seemed almost audible, their breathing ragged, and their turnover laboured. On more than one occasion, a rider would cry out to ask if the cut-off time had arrived? Could this be the end of their misery? They would always look defeated as they learned there was time for one more lap. Of course, this was not all of the competitors - my Poobah climbed with ease, a real champ ;-) If he needed inspiration, he need only look to Mikaela as she gave her best cheer "Go, Daddy, Go! You can do it!". Not all finished and there was blood shed by more than one but this little group of cyclists were in good spirits on this sunny, spring afternoon.
Dave was right, our car did manage to climb back out of the Ranges and we joined a traffic jam further up the road. It's been several years since I saw traffic stopped for cows crossing the road, but here we sat as the herd made its way from the pasture, across the road, and up the steep path to their barn.
Oh, did I mention that Dave took top honours in his age group? I'm so proud.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
An Unexpected Entry
As I go about my time here, I file away little things I might like to mention in my blog. Since Dave & I had headed to the Northlands this weekend, I had planned such riveting material as the disappointment of Sheepworld, the challenges of travelling with a two-year old, and the beauty of Whangarei Falls. All of this seems less important following Dave's grim discovery...
After hiking the short jaunt to the bottom of the Whangarei Falls, Dave wanted to climb across the rocks to get closer. As I was busy changing Mikaela out of yet another pee-soaked outfit, I encouraged him to go solo and I would take a picture once he was under them. When I turned back a moment later, he was hunched over in what I assumed was a gasping for air position. Given his disregard for his own safety, I naturally assumed he had had a near death experience - most likely having the wind knocked out of him. When he made the universal sign for a slit throat, it seemed to confirm my suspicions. His next words shocked me, "There's a dead body over here".
While at the edge of the pool with Mikaela earlier, I had noticed a black and white sneaker. It reminded me of the mysterious feet washing ashore in BC, but I dismissed the idea that it could be anything untoward - we were at a major tourist attraction surrounded by beauty. It would seem I was wrong. Once Dave composed himself and returned to us, we headed to the car park to phone the police. They took an unusually long time for them to appear, and the first words of the officer on the scene "So you found one for us, mate?" were not comforting. As Dave headed back down with them, I was oddly drawn to watch from far away. In fact, there was a little cluster of curious bystanders stationed on the viewing platform opposite the crime scene. As the hours tick by post-discovery, both Dave & I find ourselves googling looking for more details. Who was this man? How did he die? I don't know if we'll ever have the answers we seek.
Although disturbing, and I suspect Dave will have nightmares for awhile, it has in no way soiled our opinion of New Zealand. We'll just have to try and remember the time before the discovery...
After hiking the short jaunt to the bottom of the Whangarei Falls, Dave wanted to climb across the rocks to get closer. As I was busy changing Mikaela out of yet another pee-soaked outfit, I encouraged him to go solo and I would take a picture once he was under them. When I turned back a moment later, he was hunched over in what I assumed was a gasping for air position. Given his disregard for his own safety, I naturally assumed he had had a near death experience - most likely having the wind knocked out of him. When he made the universal sign for a slit throat, it seemed to confirm my suspicions. His next words shocked me, "There's a dead body over here".
While at the edge of the pool with Mikaela earlier, I had noticed a black and white sneaker. It reminded me of the mysterious feet washing ashore in BC, but I dismissed the idea that it could be anything untoward - we were at a major tourist attraction surrounded by beauty. It would seem I was wrong. Once Dave composed himself and returned to us, we headed to the car park to phone the police. They took an unusually long time for them to appear, and the first words of the officer on the scene "So you found one for us, mate?" were not comforting. As Dave headed back down with them, I was oddly drawn to watch from far away. In fact, there was a little cluster of curious bystanders stationed on the viewing platform opposite the crime scene. As the hours tick by post-discovery, both Dave & I find ourselves googling looking for more details. Who was this man? How did he die? I don't know if we'll ever have the answers we seek.
Although disturbing, and I suspect Dave will have nightmares for awhile, it has in no way soiled our opinion of New Zealand. We'll just have to try and remember the time before the discovery...
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Piha
Approximately 28km to the west of Auckland, there is a little piece of surfers' paradise called Piha. As one of the locales told us: there are those that have a apartment or house in the city and visit often, those that have a house in Piha and commute to the city, and those that are lucky enough to have both.
Once you depart the city, the winding route allows you your first glance of the famous New Zealand sheep. They, and their friends the goats, chickens, and occasional donkey, are nonchalently grazing against the backdrop of the Waitakere Range forests. After a few more minutes, we entered the Waitakere Range for ourselves. The road is a test of will for those of us prone to motion sickness; it winds up and around, incredibly narrow and facepaced. As you near Piha, the forest is replaced by rugged coastline. The road remains nerve-racking with certain death to the left and cliffs to the right, I give kudos to my husband's foritude, but the view is beautiful.
Rising out of the beach is the Lions Rock, this natural rock formation serves to separate the north and south beaches. At the top, you can enjoy the panaromic view of the forests, the cliffs, and of course, the beaches below with their crashing waves. Despite the chilly afternoon, Mikaela took full advantage of our outing. She ran wild on the beach, chased ducks, and climbed the Lions Rock. Piha is worth returning to...
The Momma Booboo
From the Pulled Elbow Wiki:
If the forearm of a young child is pulled, by an impatient parent or for whatever reason, it is possible for this traction to pull the radius into the annular ligament with enough force to cause it to be jammed therein. This causes significant pain, partial limitation of flexion/extension of the elbow and total loss of pronation/supination in the affected arm.
During my apres-work excursions with Dave & Mikaela Thursday night, I played the role of impatient parent. While Dave was extracting our millions from the bank machine, Mikaela made a break for it. As I grabbed her arm to stop her, she pulled the typical toddler move of allowing all her body weight to sag to the ground...leaving her essentially dangling from one arm. She began to cry immediately, but given I'd just stopped her escape - I wasn't particularly concerned.
We tried our normal routes of distraction - the yummy blueberry muffin was rejected, and the swing only held interest if Mommy was holding her. At this point, I couldn't help remembering my sister Bobbi's email from earlier this week. Her daughter, Tara, had fallen out of bed and been diagnosed with a pulled elbow. I began to take inventory and was informed that Mikaela had a Momma Booboo under her shirt. As Mikaela is fond of discussing her booboo's this wasn't so alarming, but her decided lack of use of her right arm was beginning to be. We headed home, she wanted only to be carried and even the excitement of the Troll Bridge did nothing to improve her spirits.
Once home, Mikaela allowed us to further poke and prod her. In the theme of "better safe, than sorry", we headed to the doctor's to have the Momma Booboo investigated. It was indeed a pulled elbow; as I watched the doctor manipulate her elbow back into place, every bite of guilt I had stored away from her starving infant days came roaring back. I could now add words like significant pain, partial limitations and total loss to the list of things I've caused my daughter. Although the doctor warned us her arm would be sore for the rest of the evening, I was unprepared for seeing out normally boisterous daughter refusing to use her right arm. As she woke that night for the third time, we gave her Tylenol and guilt-ridden I asked Dave to take us to the hospital. He obliged, and as we sat in the waiting room, she finally began to use her right arm again. We left without seeing a doctor and on the way home I realized a valuable lesson - always wait for the Tylenol to kick in.
If the forearm of a young child is pulled, by an impatient parent or for whatever reason, it is possible for this traction to pull the radius into the annular ligament with enough force to cause it to be jammed therein. This causes significant pain, partial limitation of flexion/extension of the elbow and total loss of pronation/supination in the affected arm.
During my apres-work excursions with Dave & Mikaela Thursday night, I played the role of impatient parent. While Dave was extracting our millions from the bank machine, Mikaela made a break for it. As I grabbed her arm to stop her, she pulled the typical toddler move of allowing all her body weight to sag to the ground...leaving her essentially dangling from one arm. She began to cry immediately, but given I'd just stopped her escape - I wasn't particularly concerned.
We tried our normal routes of distraction - the yummy blueberry muffin was rejected, and the swing only held interest if Mommy was holding her. At this point, I couldn't help remembering my sister Bobbi's email from earlier this week. Her daughter, Tara, had fallen out of bed and been diagnosed with a pulled elbow. I began to take inventory and was informed that Mikaela had a Momma Booboo under her shirt. As Mikaela is fond of discussing her booboo's this wasn't so alarming, but her decided lack of use of her right arm was beginning to be. We headed home, she wanted only to be carried and even the excitement of the Troll Bridge did nothing to improve her spirits.
Once home, Mikaela allowed us to further poke and prod her. In the theme of "better safe, than sorry", we headed to the doctor's to have the Momma Booboo investigated. It was indeed a pulled elbow; as I watched the doctor manipulate her elbow back into place, every bite of guilt I had stored away from her starving infant days came roaring back. I could now add words like significant pain, partial limitations and total loss to the list of things I've caused my daughter. Although the doctor warned us her arm would be sore for the rest of the evening, I was unprepared for seeing out normally boisterous daughter refusing to use her right arm. As she woke that night for the third time, we gave her Tylenol and guilt-ridden I asked Dave to take us to the hospital. He obliged, and as we sat in the waiting room, she finally began to use her right arm again. We left without seeing a doctor and on the way home I realized a valuable lesson - always wait for the Tylenol to kick in.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
I Alone...Run
On a gray, windy Saturday afternoon, armed with my iPod shuffle, I dressed in my running gear and headed out the door - ALONE. It was glorious.
Although the runner's high is mentionned extensively in any piece of literature on running, it is a rare occurence in my life. Most of my runs are pre-occupied by the loud panting, the incessant jiggling of my thighs, and the desire for it to end. Ok, maybe that's just the first 2k. I do eventually fall into a comfortable rhythm, but alas, there is nothing euphoric about these runs.
In any case, I can only vivedly remember experiencing this fabled runner's high once before. It was May 2005 and I was in Halifax, NS. My niece, Tara, was undergoing chemotherapy at the age of eight months, it was an emotional, scary time. As I burst forth from the IWK and headed towards the harbour, I didn't struggle - I was free. No sickness, no stress, only me with the sunshine, salt-air, and the sound of the wooden boardwalk with each step.
Now, three years later, the runner's high once again graced me with it's presence. After seven days of 24 hours Mikaela, I headed out for a run in my new city yesterday. I headed north and entered the Auckland Domain, a 75 hectare park located on the Pukekawa volcano often filled with locales during the summer. As it was a cool Saturday in winter, the park was mine. The salt-air was not noticable and the sun had deserted me, but I enjoyed every responsibility-free moment. I ran past the Wintergardens and through the Cherry Groove, cut across Lover's Walk and climbed back up to the central sportsfields in the heart of the volcanic crater. It was 7k without nary a thought to my panting, jiggling, or the end.
Although the runner's high is mentionned extensively in any piece of literature on running, it is a rare occurence in my life. Most of my runs are pre-occupied by the loud panting, the incessant jiggling of my thighs, and the desire for it to end. Ok, maybe that's just the first 2k. I do eventually fall into a comfortable rhythm, but alas, there is nothing euphoric about these runs.
In any case, I can only vivedly remember experiencing this fabled runner's high once before. It was May 2005 and I was in Halifax, NS. My niece, Tara, was undergoing chemotherapy at the age of eight months, it was an emotional, scary time. As I burst forth from the IWK and headed towards the harbour, I didn't struggle - I was free. No sickness, no stress, only me with the sunshine, salt-air, and the sound of the wooden boardwalk with each step.
Now, three years later, the runner's high once again graced me with it's presence. After seven days of 24 hours Mikaela, I headed out for a run in my new city yesterday. I headed north and entered the Auckland Domain, a 75 hectare park located on the Pukekawa volcano often filled with locales during the summer. As it was a cool Saturday in winter, the park was mine. The salt-air was not noticable and the sun had deserted me, but I enjoyed every responsibility-free moment. I ran past the Wintergardens and through the Cherry Groove, cut across Lover's Walk and climbed back up to the central sportsfields in the heart of the volcanic crater. It was 7k without nary a thought to my panting, jiggling, or the end.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Putting Yourself Out There
Interestingly enough, I'm often telling my single friends to let others know they are looking and make the effort to get out. As a happily, married person, it is extremely easy to give this advice - I *hope* my looking days are over ;-)
In a new country, one I intend to put down temporary roots, I've suddenly found myself needing to put myself out there. As a social creature, I would wither and die without interaction beyond Dave & Mikaela. So, I started in a place I hoped would be welcoming - the Plunkets Parnell Playgroup. I was so nervous about the prospect of meeting someone who would talk to me, I rushed Mikaela out of the flat and arrived twenty minutes early. While she contented herself with swinging, I scoped out any person with a child in the vicinity to see if they looked approachable and friendly.
I was in luck. Although no one was unfriendly, there were two moms who I felt went out of their way to make me feel welcome. One of the moms noticed my Lululemon bag, and asked if I was from Canada or America. Her name was Kate, and we bonded over the use of the sling. While out and about yesterday, I received several odd looks while carrying Mikaela this way. It turns out that slings and baby carriers are indeed popular, but only until the baby reaches a year. Kate had rebelled against this, carrying her daughter until she was too pregnant with number two (she's due next Friday). The second mom, Georgina, and I bonded over being away from family. She is a transplanted Australian, and having recently gone about building her own new social networks, she was full of ideas on how I could entertain Mikaela and meet other moms.
My initial dream of joining the Les Mills World of Fitness (creators of BodyPump, BodyCombat, BodyFlow, etc) as a way to stay as fit as Teresa and offload Mikaela for a couple hours was squashed yesterday. To get the same type of service I have with GoodLife in Ottawa, I'd need to pay approximately $275/month. There's the $29.50/week fee for me, the $10/session for Mikaela, and the $5/class for RPM (spin). In the time-honoured tradition of milking the free trial weeks, I will attending classes tomorrow and Thursday. Once my week is up at Les Mills, I plan to move onto the YMCA, the exercise room, the Olympic, the Just Personal Workout Centre, and so on. I wonder how many fitness facilities they have in Auckland...
In a new country, one I intend to put down temporary roots, I've suddenly found myself needing to put myself out there. As a social creature, I would wither and die without interaction beyond Dave & Mikaela. So, I started in a place I hoped would be welcoming - the Plunkets Parnell Playgroup. I was so nervous about the prospect of meeting someone who would talk to me, I rushed Mikaela out of the flat and arrived twenty minutes early. While she contented herself with swinging, I scoped out any person with a child in the vicinity to see if they looked approachable and friendly.
I was in luck. Although no one was unfriendly, there were two moms who I felt went out of their way to make me feel welcome. One of the moms noticed my Lululemon bag, and asked if I was from Canada or America. Her name was Kate, and we bonded over the use of the sling. While out and about yesterday, I received several odd looks while carrying Mikaela this way. It turns out that slings and baby carriers are indeed popular, but only until the baby reaches a year. Kate had rebelled against this, carrying her daughter until she was too pregnant with number two (she's due next Friday). The second mom, Georgina, and I bonded over being away from family. She is a transplanted Australian, and having recently gone about building her own new social networks, she was full of ideas on how I could entertain Mikaela and meet other moms.
My initial dream of joining the Les Mills World of Fitness (creators of BodyPump, BodyCombat, BodyFlow, etc) as a way to stay as fit as Teresa and offload Mikaela for a couple hours was squashed yesterday. To get the same type of service I have with GoodLife in Ottawa, I'd need to pay approximately $275/month. There's the $29.50/week fee for me, the $10/session for Mikaela, and the $5/class for RPM (spin). In the time-honoured tradition of milking the free trial weeks, I will attending classes tomorrow and Thursday. Once my week is up at Les Mills, I plan to move onto the YMCA, the exercise room, the Olympic, the Just Personal Workout Centre, and so on. I wonder how many fitness facilities they have in Auckland...
Saturday, August 23, 2008
My Daughter, Delightful Traveller
In late March, Dave & I had a discussion about living abroad. In my mind, it was a theoretical discussion but Dave thought he could "make it happen". True to his word, I now sit in New Zealand.
In my infinite wisdom, I had sent Dave as an advance party...this left me to accompany one child in the 24 trip from Ottawa to Auckland. As our departure drew nearer, I wondered at the sanity of this decision but knew there was no recourse. The five weeks prior to joining Dave were a blur of packing, socializing, and feeling my clothing get tighter ;-)
Despite my best intentions, Mikaela and I arrived at the Ottawa airport with four large suitcases, one car seat, and three *heavy* carry-ons. With the help of my sister, we managed to get checked-in by 4 pm and headed for security. After a brief, unexpected moment of choking up as we said good-bye to Auntie Bobbi, it was off to chase down Mikaela, perform our security ritual, and join the pre-boarding line at gate 17! The first leg of our journey passed quickly; it was the five hour flight from Ottawa to Vancouver. With a blur of puzzles, books, and snacks, I give Mikaela a 9.5/10 as the perfect travelling toddler. With a score like that, you can only assume things will go downhill.
In the Vancouver airport, I'd thought my luck had run out. Mikaela was running wild as I struggled with my carry-on luggage, and she face-planted. The ensuing wailing attracted the attention of a passing Air Canada flight attendant. She quickly flagged us down a golf cart, and Mikaela perked up as we were driven to our International gate. Next up, the 13hr+ flight to Auckland.
She continued to be a trooper, showing only the vaguest signs of her exhaustion until she promptly announced at 1:19 am EST that she was going to lie down on her back. She fell asleep within seconds and proceeded to sleep for the next eight hours. Sure, there was the occasional whimper as she moved positions or as she discovered she was no longer on the seats, but rather, her mother had assisted her rollover onto the floor. When it looked like a wake-up was imminent, I flagged down a flight attendant for the all important "milky". With this in hand, Mikaela easily transitioned from sleeping beauty to delightful daughter. We watched a little Baby Einstein on the iPod touch, read a few more books, and played with our animal flash cards. At breakfast, served at 12 pm EST (4 am local time), she dug heartily into her cheese omelet and home fries. Personally, I couldn't stomach the idea of eggs and partook of the lighter fruit fare. For this, the longest leg of the trip, Mikaela outdid herself with a perfect 10!
Customs was a bit more challenging, she needed to run and I needed to stand in various lines. After a few chase downs, I resorted to the sling on my back. This was not meet with glee, but some JellyTots helped soften the strapping down. As we emerged from the arrival area, she was extremely excited to see Daddy. It may be because she missed him, but I think the fact that he let her out of the dreaded sling played a role in this excitement :-)
All in all, my hestitation about travelling solo with Mikaela on such a long journey - unfounded. Despite Dave's displeasure in the use of superlatives, she was awesome.
In my infinite wisdom, I had sent Dave as an advance party...this left me to accompany one child in the 24 trip from Ottawa to Auckland. As our departure drew nearer, I wondered at the sanity of this decision but knew there was no recourse. The five weeks prior to joining Dave were a blur of packing, socializing, and feeling my clothing get tighter ;-)
Despite my best intentions, Mikaela and I arrived at the Ottawa airport with four large suitcases, one car seat, and three *heavy* carry-ons. With the help of my sister, we managed to get checked-in by 4 pm and headed for security. After a brief, unexpected moment of choking up as we said good-bye to Auntie Bobbi, it was off to chase down Mikaela, perform our security ritual, and join the pre-boarding line at gate 17! The first leg of our journey passed quickly; it was the five hour flight from Ottawa to Vancouver. With a blur of puzzles, books, and snacks, I give Mikaela a 9.5/10 as the perfect travelling toddler. With a score like that, you can only assume things will go downhill.
In the Vancouver airport, I'd thought my luck had run out. Mikaela was running wild as I struggled with my carry-on luggage, and she face-planted. The ensuing wailing attracted the attention of a passing Air Canada flight attendant. She quickly flagged us down a golf cart, and Mikaela perked up as we were driven to our International gate. Next up, the 13hr+ flight to Auckland.
She continued to be a trooper, showing only the vaguest signs of her exhaustion until she promptly announced at 1:19 am EST that she was going to lie down on her back. She fell asleep within seconds and proceeded to sleep for the next eight hours. Sure, there was the occasional whimper as she moved positions or as she discovered she was no longer on the seats, but rather, her mother had assisted her rollover onto the floor. When it looked like a wake-up was imminent, I flagged down a flight attendant for the all important "milky". With this in hand, Mikaela easily transitioned from sleeping beauty to delightful daughter. We watched a little Baby Einstein on the iPod touch, read a few more books, and played with our animal flash cards. At breakfast, served at 12 pm EST (4 am local time), she dug heartily into her cheese omelet and home fries. Personally, I couldn't stomach the idea of eggs and partook of the lighter fruit fare. For this, the longest leg of the trip, Mikaela outdid herself with a perfect 10!
Customs was a bit more challenging, she needed to run and I needed to stand in various lines. After a few chase downs, I resorted to the sling on my back. This was not meet with glee, but some JellyTots helped soften the strapping down. As we emerged from the arrival area, she was extremely excited to see Daddy. It may be because she missed him, but I think the fact that he let her out of the dreaded sling played a role in this excitement :-)
All in all, my hestitation about travelling solo with Mikaela on such a long journey - unfounded. Despite Dave's displeasure in the use of superlatives, she was awesome.
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