Bittersweet Birthday in Brisbane. Baby James is One Today

After an appalling pregnancy and a crippling case of pre-natal depression that sent my heart and mind to places I never could have imagined, a miracle bursting with joy, laughter and Love arrived in our world very early on a crisp April morning over Easter weekend in 2014.

We are a year on now, and we’re all more in Love with him than ever, but he’s growing up pretty fast, and is absolutely the last Hobbit child to come up the ranks.  Makes me a little sad.  Also looking forward to some independence again!

I can’t begin to tell you how well this child fits into our family and among our friends.

He is bursting with life and Love and smiles ALL the time.

Just thinking about him and listening to him splashing around in the bathtub with his big brother Adam as I attempt to get this blog out for you brings happy little tears to my Hobbity eyes.

I guess, he must have been sucking the joy out of me and building up his reserves while he was growing in my tummy, as he is absolutely one of the most joyful people I have ever met.  And I don’t begrudge him it, as now that he is on the other side of the womb, I have felt nothing but Love for the little man.

So here is a quick journey through pictures of our first year with James David Leondard West.

Smiling three and a half months before he was even born.

Smiling three and a half months before he was even born.

Lynelle (we went to high school together) at my very last hospital visit before James arrived.

Lynelle (we went to high school together) at my very last hospital visit before James arrived.

Meeting another gorgeous gestating girl at the Skid Row/Ugly Kid Joe concert.

Meeting another gorgeous gestating girl at the Skid Row/Ugly Kid Joe concert.

Gearing up for a quick and drugfree birth.  So they weren't just braxton hicks, they were actual contractions and an actual baby came a few hours later....

Gearing up for a quick and drugfree birth. So they weren’t just braxton hicks, they were actual contractions and an actual baby came a few hours later….

Whew.  Hi there James!

Whew. Hi there James!

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Meeting one of the people I adore most in the world. My Daddy Bruce

Meeting one of the people I adore most in the world. My Daddy Bruce

Adam feeding his very own baby :-)

Adam feeding his very own baby 🙂

Big Brother Daniel

Big Brother Daniel

Auntie Leigh and Steph and James

Auntie Leigh and Steph and James

Adam and Steph having a snuggle early one morning

Adam and Steph having a snuggle early one morning

Auntie Sarah

Auntie Sarah

Big smiles from James on my Birthday morning (he is six days old)

Big smiles from James on my Birthday morning (he is six days old)

In California with Aunty Cat and Mommom.

In California with Aunty Cat and Mommom.

Granny's shoulders at the big kids' parent teacher interviews

Granny’s shoulders at the big kids’ parent teacher interviews

Hanging in Pauanui with the only girl cousin Amara and Bapo (Pappa Strat)

Hanging in Pauanui with the only girl cousin Amara and Bapo (Pappa Strat)

The whole family

The whole family

Aunty Cathy

Aunty Cathy

Aunty Cathy and Uncle Bob at Granny and Poppa's house.

Aunty Cathy and Uncle Bob at Granny and Poppa’s house.

Wellington and running in to Delightful Danni!

Wellington and running in to Delightful Danni!

Up to no good with Hayley!

Up to no good with Hayley!

Visits with Kyrin

Visits with Kyrin

Looking pretty cute in an outfit Katie got for him

Looking pretty cute in an outfit Katie got for him

Happy as a bug in a rug in Matakana

Happy as a bug in a rug in Matakana

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Barcelona tiredeness

Barcelona tiredeness

Helping dad read the menu in Roma

Helping dad read the menu in Roma

Sneaking in some sleep in Italy

Sneaking in some sleep in Italy

Barcelona Tapas

Barcelona Tapas

Norway.  Airport.

Norway. Airport.

First steps at four months?  No... just a camera trick :-)

First steps at four months? No… just a camera trick 🙂

Taking a wee nap under our favourite willow tree in Central Park

Taking a wee nap under our favourite willow tree in Central Park

Auntie Lara

Auntie Lara

Uncle Derek

Uncle Derek

Meeting the cousins from Calgary

Meeting the cousins from Calgary

You!  You are AWESOME!

You! You are AWESOME!

Auntie Emma and Kiwi cuz Quinn

Auntie Emma and Kiwi cuz Quinn

more smiling

more smiling

All of us

All of us

Black and white, quiet moment

Black and white, quiet moment

Phteven's idea of parenting.

Phteven’s idea of parenting.

Yoda

Yoda

Meeting one of his two god mums... The other Godmum has heaps of beautiful pictures with James but doesn't like me sharing them online.  Sigh.

Meeting one of his two god mums… The other Godmum has heaps of beautiful pictures with James but doesn’t like me sharing them online. Sigh.

So I have hundreds and hundreds of pictures of James, but this is just a small collection I wanted to share with you.  We’ve had a great first year getting to know this guy, and we thank all our friends and family who have tuned in and watched him grow up in the chaos that is our family!

XXOO

Dee

Breastfeeding Around The Globe

Okay.  So in the long standing tradition of over-sharing, I have now spent 9 weeks taking selfies and random pics of feeding fourth and final child in various locations around the globe.  From Auckland to Andalucia I have demand fed this almost insatiable little Hobbit.

I will spare you further pontificating about my parenting style or my experiences feeding and share some pictures so you can come to your own conclusions about how you feel about feeding in public.  I cover up for my own modesty, and in all our travels I was only confronted once, strangely on a BC ferry.  Everyone else was pretty good.  I even fed him on the subway sitting right next to strangers, who were not fussed at all and quite relieved that I fed him and he was quiet after a good grizzle.

So, thanks in advance for scrolling through this 8-9 week cross section of our Hobbity adventures.  I personally find it much easier to feed him on the go, and was thankful to get settled on the cruise ship so I could express and leave him at the creche for a couple of hours and enjoy a guilt free glass of wine!

Also just want to take a second to admit to the fact that I found feeding an absolute nightmare the first time around.  I also found it tough to start out with with subsequent kids.  I was mere moments away from giving up because it was so painful and difficult.  But I pushed through (barely) and am glad that I did.

I’ll let these pictures tell the story for the rest of the blog.

Coming up for air after a good feed.  He went to sleep so I could eat my dinner and that is the ideal outcome!

Coming up for air after a good feed. He went to sleep so I could eat my dinner and that is the ideal outcome!

This is what a hungry baby looks like… not happy

This is what a hungry baby looks like… not happy

Breastfeeding at WestCity Mall in Henderson selfie

Breastfeeding at WestCity Mall in Henderson selfie

WestCity Selfie V. 2 :-)

WestCity Selfie V. 2 🙂

Stanley Park in Vancouver.  People were very nice and there were a couple of women in their 50's that congratulated me for feeding in public as it "just wasn't the done thing" when they were raising their kids… hmmmm.

Stanley Park in Vancouver. People were very nice and there were a couple of women in their 50’s that congratulated me for feeding in public as it “just wasn’t the done thing” when they were raising their kids… hmmmm.

Super cheesy 1970's family planning shot with rays of light and staring adoringly down at my infant… gag.

Super cheesy 1970’s family planning shot with rays of light and staring adoringly down at my infant… gag.

Fed and happy baby at a scrumptious coffee shop near Pike Place markets in Seattle

Fed and happy baby at a scrumptious coffee shop near Pike Place markets in Seattle

Pre lunch drinks for James in downtown Seattle

Pre lunch drinks for James in downtown Seattle

Breastfeeding Selfie… somwhere… Mukilteo maybe?  Somewhere in Washington state anyway.

Breastfeeding Selfie… somwhere… Mukilteo maybe? Somewhere in Washington state anyway.

On the ferry from Washington to Victoria

On the ferry from Washington to Victoria

A&W … fine dining establishment

A&W … fine dining establishment

Victoria Inner Harbour

Victoria Inner Harbour

West Edmonton Mall

West Edmonton Mall

Times Square

Times Square

Times Square mid sentence probably nagging Grumpy about something...

Times Square mid sentence probably nagging Grumpy about something…

"I Love Boobies" clad baby post feed enjoying an afternoon nap with his dad in Central Park.

“I Love Boobies” clad baby post feed enjoying an afternoon nap with his dad in Central Park.

Lovely lady sat next to me on the train from Newark to Penn Station.

Lovely lady sat next to me on the train from Newark to Penn Station.

Snuggles in Central Park

Snuggles in Central Park

Feeding in a cab after a MASSIVE day in NYC.

Feeding in a cab after a MASSIVE day in NYC.

Boston Seafood restaurant with Crystal

Boston Seafood restaurant with Crystal

Harvey's makes your hamburger a beautiful thing… and gave me a chance to feed the baby on the way to Montreal from Ottawa.

Harvey’s makes your hamburger a beautiful thing… and gave me a chance to feed the baby on the way to Montreal from Ottawa.

Rhode Island

Rhode Island

Boston with my beautiful friend Michelle who is not in the picture as she is taking it :-)

Boston with my beautiful friend Michelle who is not in the picture as she is taking it 🙂

Subway NYC.  Crowded.

Subway NYC. Crowded.

Just getting baby latched on… nobody seemed to give a hoot which is great.

Just getting baby latched on… nobody seemed to give a hoot which is great.

Norway!

Norway!

Little Italy in San Diego.  Delicious Argentinean restaurant. Bad selfie… ah well.  I was tired and missing my Grumpy.

Little Italy in San Diego. Delicious Argentinean restaurant. Bad selfie… ah well. I was tired and missing my Grumpy.

Cafe across from the leaning tower of Pisa

Cafe across from the leaning tower of Pisa

Train in Italy

Train in Italy

Hamming it up for the camera in Pisa

Hamming it up for the camera in Pisa

Rome Bus tour top deck.  Dozens of tourists from several countries and nobody seemed phased or offended.

Rome Bus tour top deck. Dozens of tourists from several countries and nobody seemed phased or offended.

Looking thoughtful, but kinda old on the bus in Rome.

Looking thoughtful, but kinda old on the bus in Rome.

The museum

The museum

And another...

And another…

Whirlwind West Wend Around the South Island

Despite being quite different in many ways, my husband (who I’ve affectionately nicknamed Grumpy) and I share a great many interests and passions.  An example of this is our Love of New Zealand.

After a magnificent tour around South America late 2012 – early 2013 we had a discussion and decided that we were going to try and stay put a bit more and explore our own back yard for a change.  And for the past year, we more or less have.

Our annual family Christmas vacation was spent cruising around New Zealand and then over to Australia with all three kiddies, one people parasite (I was in my second trimester with our fourth child) and mother-in-law in tow.  It was an excellent trip.

And after re-affirming our Happy Hobbit commitment to each other on Valentines day at a re-wedding party, we thought it would be fitting to take a quick honeymoon together (no children).

We chose to go to Christchurch, as Grumpy had not been there since he was twelve years old when he was flown down for winning a mathletics competition.  I’ve been down half a dozen times, for various reasons.  So we booked our seats, packed our bags and away we went.

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Luckily, you can fly domestically pretty much up until your due date (if you are so inclined) so being 35 weeks pregnant was not going to impede our plans.  We would not have been able to go any further afield at this point anyway as you are not generally allowed to fly on any international route after between 28 and 32 weeks, depending on the carrier’s policy.

So here’s what we had planned:

Nothing.

Wait, that isn’t entirely true.  We had booked a rental car.

We’ve had terrific luck and numerous adventures just flying by the seat of our pants when we travel, and maybe, to a lesser degree, through life in general.  We don’t make a lot of plans, and when we do, they change frequently.  Not planning and letting things like; the weather, our budget at the time, our mood, and now our smart devices, help us to decide where and how we spend our vacations is pretty much how we roll.  Not for everyone, but it has served us well.

We’d made loose plans to visit some people in Christchurch.  However, when we landed, the weather was astoundingly clear and crisp and we decided then and there to head inland.  We popped in to Riccarton mall and picked up a grocery bag full of supplies (grain waves and water basically) and were on our way.

Once we were out of the Canterbury plains and into the foothills of the Southern Alps, we felt quite free and very pleased with ourselves for being so adventurous.  We arrived at Castle Point rocks, and I asked Grumpy if we ought to stop, by he opted to take a picture from out the window instead and said we’d stop on our way back through.  That proved to be a mistake, as we didn’t return to this iconic natural wonder on our return to Christchurch.  We’ll stop another time and clamber over the interesting formations with our children, one day in the not too distant future.

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Whilst driving, we decided we’d aim to get to Greymouth that evening.

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Greymouth is a lovely little West Coast town, where mining has historically been the major industry of note.  What we noticed, is that there was no shortage of interesting and eccentric characters, an abundance of local pride, and, it just so happens, really good food.

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We let trip advisor suggest to us where to stay, a lovely farm/homestay called Oak Lodge Homestay and were pleasantly surprised with the results. The hosts were very friendly indeed, and we had a self contained cottage with lovely rural views.

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Our hosts recommended we eat at a place called Ollys’ (yes, the name is grammatically accurate as it shows that more than one Olly owns the restaurant apparently).  The smoky stuffed mushrooms were delicious, the plating was impeccable and the dessert was divine.

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And the whole experience cost us just over $50NZD after our tourist discount.

That night, Grumpy fell to sleep at a completely uncharacteristically early 10:00pm and we woke up at around 9:30 the next morning.

We had a delicious (and reasonably priced) breakfast at Maggie’s.  Again, we ate really good mushrooms (calling card of this quaint little town perhaps?) and perfectly acceptable coffee, even by our undeniably demanding standards.

We also got a call from our hosts to let us know that I had forgotten my spectacles.  They say spectacles.  Not sure why this is noteworthy, but I liked that they called them that.  So while Grumpy returned to the Oak Lodge Homestay to collect them, I went shopping on mainstreet.  I picked up a hand knit sweater for our current youngest son Adam (about to be dethroned of this title once his brother arrives) and a kiwiana charm for my Pandora bracelet.  Steve was given some fresh baked muffins for our trip, and then we were off again.

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We were going to head up to Pancake rocks, but opted instead to drive South toward Glacier park, as we had been assured that the forecast was going to be clear and calm, assuring us glorious views of some of our natural wonders.

Low cloud rolled in about the time we had driven through Hokatika, and stayed with us for the rest of the trip through Glacier National park.

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After a very brief stop we got back in the car with the intention of making it to Wanaka that evening.  We happened across a lone hitchhiker and picked him up.  He travelled with us until we got to Lake Hawea where we dropped him off at a very nice campground there.

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After dropping off the German at the campground, we stopped to take this picture of the hills at dusk coming into Wanaka.

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That night we stayed at the second most highly recommended accommodation on http://www.bookings.com.  The room was $260.00 per night with a King Sized bed, and no tea or coffee making facilities.  The hosts were very friendly, and the other guests provided excellent breakfast conversation the next day.

That morning we set off on the 5+ hour trek to get back to CHCH for our dinner reservation with our friend Erin.

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We stopped at Lake Pukaki so Grumpy could have some Sashimi from the Salmon farm.  I of course could not partake as raw anything is a no-no whilst gestating.  Sigh.

It was a slightly hazy, but overall very clear and settled Autumn day and we got to take in gorgeous views across the lake and over to Aoraki/Mt. Cook.

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Sometime later, I decided I was hungry, so we stopped in Fairlie in Mackenzie County for a cuppa and a bite.  We happened across some signs on the road as we arrived into the town and followed the short metal drive down to a gorgeous restaurant called The Red Stag.

The staff were friendly, the food was good, the decor was lovely, and I got to have cuddles with a 6 month old Jack Russell named Charlie.  Yet more fabulous to add to our already abundant supply.

We arrived back to Christchurch a little after 4:00pm on Sunday.  We’d decided not to book accommodation, but to stick with our winning strategy of arriving at the second most highly recommended establishment according to booking.com. This happened to be a luxury self contained apartment called Sumner Re Treat for $195.00 per night.  Well, let me assure you, we will be returning to Christchurch in short order, and this is where we shall stay.

The landlady was out when we arrived, so the pub downstairs gave us a hot drink while we waited for her to return and let us into the apartment.  She ended up taking us upstair to a tastefully decorated second floor apartment that would not have been out of place on Manhattan’s Upper East Side.

The linen was gorgeous, the kitchen was amazing, the lighting plan throughout was fantastic.  Being seasoned travellers as we now consider ourselves to be, we can honestly say this was one of the most luxurious and best valued nights we have spent anywhere. Ever. I’m not kidding.

That evening we ate at a restaurant in Riccarton called Dux Dine with a menu designed perfectly for Grumpy’s dietary requirements and peculiar tastes.  The establishment serves no meat, only vegetarian and seafood.  It also recently went through renovations to become more wheelchair accessible, which was great, as our dinner guest Erin is not only in a wheelchair, but an active accessibility campaigner (among other amazing achievements).

Dinner was divine, although dessert was more than a little disappointing.  Grumpy ate so much he suffered a food hangover that lasted two days.

The next morning we had excellent coffee and went for a drive to the top of a hill in Sumner.  Neither of us had been out to this coastal suburb since the earthquakes of September 4th, 2010 and then the big one on 2/22/11.  It was wrenching to say the least.  Three years on from the event, and houses still teeter on the edge of the cliffs.  Swaths of the neighbourhood sit dark alongside perfectly safe and populated houses as a reminder of mother nature’s immense power and indiscriminate destruction.

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So, in a little more than 72 hours, we managed to get a small taste of what is referred to by the locals as “the mainland” of New Zealand.  We will absolutely be back for more, and intend to take all four Hobbit children on a 18 day road trip from the very tip of the North Island to the very bottom of the South in our long range Electric Vehicle, the Tesla Model S.  We’ve been waiting on delivery of this family friendly EV for nearly two years now, but that is a story for another day.

Thanks for tuning in.

XXOO

Dee

 

 

 

Raising Cross Cultural Kids

Our children are all exceptionally lucky.  They have been exposed in massive doses to their cultural heritages, here in New Zealand, in my native land Canada, and across the planet.

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Daniel in the Rockies

They have trudged through the Grampians, visited the lochs, and picnicked along the river Dee in Scotland, all the while being told tales of their Lamb clan heritage.  They’ve visited their frail old aunt on the banks of the Nieuwe Maas in Rotterdam and been told stories of their grandfather’s childhood on a houseboat there.  Two of the three have been taken by train to Bavaria and Austria and served spaetzel by gorgeous women with high cheekbones, wearing lederhosen.  They’ve driven the Irish countryside and watched their mother kiss the blarney stone (not that I needed the gift of the gab, heaven knows I already had it).  They’ve seen native American Indian art and culture from the West Coast to the East of Canada and the USA, and told in vague terms that there are drops of that sacred indigenous blood in their veins, but the stories are not clear and we’re still trying to piece together which ancestral tribe(s) we may share DNA with.

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Here’s our third child dressed as a bumble bee in a bar in Bavaria.

At times, this all falls on seemingly deaf ears and disinterested little eyes that hark back to their electronic devices and whine excessively about “not being like the other kids” and “having to travel all the time” and “spending so much time in airports and hotels.”

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This is Steph when she was about three in Holland.

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Daniel in Rotterdam… Thrilled as he frequently is. Such an emo sometimes. He’s been that way since birth. Love him just the way he is!

Sigh.

There are other times when they are genuinely interested in their heritage, stories of where they came from, and knowing about their family history.

Despite our best efforts to keep them connected with their vast and varied family roots, the two most recent pieces of their cultural substance stand out heads and shoulders above all their diverse ancestry.  Our children very much identify as Canadian and Kiwi.

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Here are three little hobbit children playing in the snow in Gatineau (Quebec Canada)

Perhaps this is owing to the example we set, openly and frequently appreciating the fact we belong to this quiet, peaceful, and remote little nation nestled somewhere in the South Pacific.  They have been privy to an absolutely idyllic childhood here.  They ride their bikes in the lush green park across from their grandparents’ house.  They pick seasonal fruit from the trees in the yard.  They celebrate the seasons and snuggle in with blankets and hot porridge in the brief winter months of June, July and August, and climb trees and scrape knees throughout the rest of the year.

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Here are the children eating an ice cream on our deck overlooking the harbour.

Pleasingly proud of being “half Canadian, and half Kiwi – but you can call me a Caniwi” they have spent at least some part of every season in Canada, while predominantly residing since their births in Auckland New Zealand.

What got me thinking about all of this was an off-hand comment by a good friend who piped up with: “Oh, NOW you are a Canadian” when I congratulated the hockey teams (men and women it turns out) for winning gold at the recent Olympics.  A light-hearts jab at the fact I will tell anyone who will listen just how amazing NZ is and how blessed we are to live there, yet when my native land does something noteworthy I am quick to proclaim my Canadianism.  Well, sure.  Why not right!  My home and Native Land of Canada punches well above its weight at the winter Olympics, while my home of choice does the same at the summer games.  Ironically though, I don’t actually watch any of it.  Sport is not something that interests my family, but a bit of national pride and celebrating internationally noteworthy achievements like these, well, I’ll happily join in on that.

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The similarities between the two cultures that the children hail from are staggering.

Canada and New Zealand have larger, louder neighbours that they constantly get compared to and pitted against.  Not to state to obvious, but Canada shares the largest uncontrolled border on earth with the USA, while Australia is New Zealand’s largest and closest neighbour, with a mere 2153.61km separating the largest cities of Australia and New Zealand (Sydney and Auckland).

Canada has many of our talented sons and daughters swallowed up by our economically and politically larger neighbour to the South, and many, if not most of our talent in business, entertainment, R&D and beyond jump the ditch or end up further afield as well.  They often come back though.  There’s something about this country that grabs hold of most people who are exposed to it and never, ever lets go.  I am confident that our kids are going to have the option of chasing their dreams just about anywhere on earth those dreams may lead them.  At this point, at least one of them is just biding their time until they are old enough to settle in Canada for an extended period, and that’s just fine as far as we are concerned.

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Adam with the sand of Black Bay between his toes

Our children have spent parts of their childhood, the same as I did, at my Grandfather’s cottage in Luskville Quebec.  They have felt the same sand between their toes in Black bay as I was when I was a child, and they sample the same vast array of summer fruits and vegetables from his extensive gardens as I did when I was a child.  And while they are there, they immerse themselves in their Canadian family and culture.  It is a part of them, and they are a part of it.

And then they return home to New Zealand.  To a culture of tall poppies, rugby fans, bare feet, great things to eat, and plenty of peace and quiet in which our family can retreat.

Our eldest son is fully intending on settling in Canada for an extended period when he is old enough to venture out on his own.  Our daughter currently has plans of buying a caravan and filling it with food, medical and school supplies and helping people who need these things anywhere and everywhere that need may be.  The third child just bides his time and adventures through life on his balance bike waiting for our next adventure, and the fourth and final son will slot into our story once he arrives.

Many of their friends have a similar story, and live with one foot in New Zealand and another in some distant land like the UK, South Africa, Holland, Italy, China etc.  Their families are cross cultural and even the ones who do not venture back overseas regularly observe customs and traditions from their non-kiwi heritage, all the while embracing the culture and lifestyle here as well.

The most important thing I hope the kids glean from our extensive investment and efforts lugging them across the planet as we do is that they are miracles.  Miracles of the fates of generations before them, and the Love between their parentage for the hundreds of years we have been able to trace back to.  And that they are citizens of the planet, and parts of them come from many corners of the world, and therefore, it is absolutely imperative that they show Love and respect to the all the other citizens of this planet as well.  Because every person they meet is also as miraculous as them.  When we spin it to them like this, I like to believe that they genuinely comprehend the importance of respect and tolerance.

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I also truly believe that the two countries that they connect most readily with are places where diversity and tolerance feature heavily as a foundation in our political and social systems, as well as our communities for the most part.  And our family works hard, both within our own walls, and in the way in which we conduct ourselves in society and the community at large, to encourage this tolerance and diversity. New Zealand is a country where ANYONE can marry, where we have (or had at one time) some of the best personal privacy and protection legislation on earth.  Both Canada and New Zealand welcome many political and social refugees, and enjoy a diverse range of cultures and religions who I believe genuinely try to co-exist and learn from one another.  Two genuinely fantastic countries and cultures if I do say so myself.

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Peaceful demonstrations for marriage equality bill (which is now law!) Makes me awfully proud!!!!

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So that’s a little window into what we figure it is like trying to juggle a Caniwi family with a rich and varied mix of heritages.  And not a day goes by that I don’t feel grateful for the opportunity to share these two amazing countries and cultures with them as we carve out a future together.  I hope that the foundation of knowing where they came from, helps all of our children move confidently, filled with Love, tolerance and kindness to wherever their paths may take them.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Thanks for reading.

XXOO

Touring Tasmania – Part Two PORT ARTHUR

I have a collection of lists of things I either want to do, or feel unimaginably compelled to do with the time and resources I have available (not literally, you understand, I am NOT the kind of person who actually writes lists).  This does not include the social causes and environmental initiatives we are passionate about, just collection of places and things I want to go and do for a whole bunch of different reasons.

There’s the bucket list of course.  These are things I’d like to see or experience before I shed the mortal coil.  There’s a long list of movies I’d like to watch, and books I’d like to read.  There’s a list of concerts and events I’d like to attend, foods I’d like to try – you know, the usual stuff.

One of the more important lists is aligned with my insatiable fascination with the human condition.  There is a long and ever growing list of the sites of human atrocities I feel overwhelmingly compelled to see.

When I go to these places I feel something that I can’t accurately describe.  Grief, anger, confusion, nausea, urgency, and some strange quantum bend where, when I close my eyes and am very still, I can sort of taste the fear, urgency, and confusion that lingers in these places.  It is almost like some palpable force I can only describe as evil attaches itself to these places.  But this feeling is always, I mean ALWAYS overshadowed by something else quite liberating and powerful indeed.

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These places also seem to carry an echo of hope, courage, expectation, self-sacrifice, human-kindness, and an indescribably intense peace.  The stories come out of strangers risking their lives for other human beings, parents saving the lives of their children, Lovers clinging to each other in a final embrace.  There are stories of heroic first response teams saving lives without a great concern for their own safety, brave and effective interventions or emancipations, and selfless and heroic acts by entirely average people thrust into these extraordinary events. Believing, as I do in an afterlife and a never-ending cycle of infiniteness and energy that we have our part to fulfill, I genuinely believe that the victims at places like these are freed to soar and find eternal peace and comfort that surpasses all human understanding.

The original cross containing the names of the 35 victims of the Port Arthur Massacre - April 28th 1996

The original cross containing the names of the 35 victims of the Port Arthur Massacre – April 28th 1996

So this is what brought me to Tasmania, nearly 18 years after the largest mass murder carried out by a single individual in Australian history.

The first time I saw the news report for the day remain a flashbulb memory.  Same as I will always remember where I was and what I was doing when I saw the plane crash into the Twin Towers or a handful of other incidents.

A massacre was unfolding in a picturesque historic site on the southern-most tip of Tasmania that I had never heard of called Port Arthur.

According to an extensive report released on November 19th 1996, the 28-year-old unemployed malevolent sub-human containment unit of evil set his alarm for 6:00am.  He said goodbye to his girlfriend, and left the house that was left to him by some rich benefactor, whose generous gift also allowed him to buy an extensive cash of high-powered weapons.

At some point he began systematically mowing down people who he’d actually engaged in broken and sporadic conversations at picnic tables that same day.

The location of the highest number of fatalities was the Broad Arrow Café.  In 15 seconds there were 12 people killed and 10 seriously wounded.dfsaq

The siege in the café began when the monster “…finished his meal, walked into the cafe and returned his tray, assisted by some people who opened the door for him. He put down his bag on a table and pulled out a Colt AR-15 SP1 Carbine with a Colt scope and one 30-round magazine attached.”

He carried on throughout the historic complex.  Back toward the entrance, right next to a ticket booth, a mother, who was around my age; Nanette Mikac, was running away from the scene of the chaos as fast as she could with her two little girls.  A car slowed down, she assumed, to help her.  That car did not contain help, but the evil executioner.  He walked toward her, had her kneel and she begged for mercy for her 3 and 6 year old daughters Alannah and Madeline.  He shot her point blank and then killed her babies while other people looked on in absolute horror.

On the original cross there is a bronze plaque containing the names of all the victims.  I ran my fingers across the three names which were warn shiny from countless others doing the same thing.  I thought about my own children, and all that lay ahead of them – and how all that hope and promise was taken away in a senseless violent act.

The siege went on for two days and ended when he came out of a house in the tiny beachside settlement of Seaspray, just up the road from Port Arthur.  He had just murdered the two elderly residents and set the house on fire.  He was himself on fire when he emerged from the home and was then taken into custody.

Since that day in 1996 – sweeping reforms have been made to Australian gun control legislation.  There has not been a single mass murder in this nation since.

Australians remain huge gun enthusiasts.  In 2007 more than 5% of the population had registered LEGAL firearms.  That is three quarters of a million people.

I don’t need to go into any sort of detail about the situation in the USA.  It is appalling.  It has gotten to the point that even I, as a paper thin-skinned social activist and aspiring humanitarian hardly blink when I see the news reports regarding another shooting in America. I wince and shut my eyes as a wave of nausea comes over me when I hear of another (usually Black of Hispanic) young person has been shot by some emotionally unstable cowboy wielding a high powered weapon.  I shake my head and say a silent prayer when I hear about the most recent mass shooting.  These events frequently occur at schools and community colleges.

Here’s the thing.

If you like guns, and want to use them for whatever reason and can be reasonably be trusted not to go on a senseless shooting spree, I think you should totally be able to engage whole heartedly in your passion for firearms.

The entire world simply needs legislation that will mean that simple and effective measures and procedures are in place so that these weapons do not land in the hands of evil crazy people.  Don’t sell guns to people who have a serious propensity to violence or severe mental illness that may very well go on a killing spree.

The evidence is there that well managed gun control works, and enthusiasts in places with these controls don’t often begrudge this.  Canada and Australia have miniscule gun violence statistics compared to say, the USA or the Philippines, who have similar constitutional legislation on gun ownership and little to no control on the sale and distribution of weapons.

We cannot forget the atrocities of mass shootings the world over.  And the truth is we hardly hear about most of them as they are only interesting to us if the news values of the incidents are high in proximity, significance, and relatibility.  When a village full of people in the Middle East, South East Asia, or Africa gets wiped out of existence by guerilla forces, evil and corrupt dictatorships, or even “friendly fire” we rarely hear about it.  That’s all a much bigger conversation for another day though.

We’re doing a great job as a planet at fighting extreme poverty.  We’ve all but wiped out the incidence of mortality due to preventable diseases.  Can’t we do something about people killing each other?  There seems to be a fairly clear and effective strategy in effecting positive change in this area.

In conclusion, you may or may not have noticed I did not use the name of the perpetrator once in this piece.  It is my firm personal belief that these people deserve no notoriety.  I have gone to great lengths NOT to write his name.  Judgment will come to them.  In the meantime, they do not deserve a name that takes up any space in my, or anyone else’s brain.

Touring Tasmania – Part One

Clocks had gone back two consecutive nights now, so in a round-about way we’ve had two consecutive sleep ins.  It doesn’t feel that way though.  Captain Batboy (our 3 ½ year old) wakes up full of vim and vigour at too early o’clock regardless of what the clocks say.  Meanwhile, Grumpy fancies himself quite the gambler and is out until two or three in the morning playing poker if the table is open.

So on the morning of New Years Eve 2013, we rolled out of bed and rushed to breakfast, as usual, just before it shut at 9:30.

The children were in a particularly talkative mood this morning, and solicited eye rolls, loud tongue clicks, and then a round of “Thank GOD they are leaving!” from a table of particularly prickly old battle axes that were perched next to us that morning.  Is it wrong that I find miserable people like this particularly amusing?  Hate it up ladies – these three noisemakers bring us laughter and joy till our sides hurt and our cheeks ache.  They have more Love, grace, generosity, and hope, in the tiniest corner of their Hobbit hearts than you appear have in all of your shriveled and twisted beings.  The life we lead and the adventures we go on together mean I have peace like a river in my soul as I go through life, and you’re just a shriveled up nasty old prune.  The vast majority of people have been absolutely amazing and friendly and complimentary of course, but you are always going to come into contact with jerks.  It is just a statistical inevitability.  As long as they exist, and so do you, chances are you’ll run into them at some point.

Where was I?

Oh yes.

Heading out exploring in Tasmania.

I had fully expected to be on my own traveling to the farthest Southern Tip of Tasmania this day.  Yet, my undeniable mini-me Stephanie-Jane insisted on spending the day with me, even though the chances were the boys were going to be having a much better time at a zoo or something.

So off we rushed to pack a bag and grab a credit card.  Steph “helped” me with my make-up as she always does by blowing away the extra sparkles from my eyelids and choosing the very brightest red lipstick I had “because it makes you look like my older sister or auntie or something mummy”.  And within 15 minutes we were headed down to the gangway to disembark on our day.

Here’s a quick series of pics from that day to illustrate my daughter’s cosmetics skills and our staggering similarities, for those of you not already familiar with one or both of these things:

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We wandered up to the taxi rank, populated by only two or three mid-size sedan taxis with blue writing.  I put on my biggest bright red smile and extended a hobbit hand for shaking to the grey haired bloke that made his way from the drivers seat to greet me as we walked up.

“How much to get to Port Arthur?”  I asked.

“Strewth.” Exclaimed the man.  I am not embellishing, they actually, fair dinkum say that here in OZ. “That’ll be a fair whack – like about $360.00 or so.”

“Okey Dokey.” I chirped.  “Jump in baby Jane.” And then I opened the door for my bubbly blonde clone and turned back to the cabbie. “You’ll have to bring me to an ATM if you’d prefer cash, as I don’t have any Ozzie dollars at the moment.”

“No worries Love, cash or card are just fine.”  Said the somewhat surprised but seemingly buoyed spirited fellow.

I was happy with the price, as it saved me the nightmare of being on a crowded bus tour.  With the two of us, it was also cheaper than taking the ship’s tour would have been.  Win-win.  I like it when that happens.

We made our way out of Hobart and Steph and I were our usual chatty selves, telling the man about who we are, our many travels, the baby in my tummy, her two brothers, her wonderful daddy and my wonderful husband and his amazing inventions that make our travel and adventures possible.  The man, who’s name was Viv, was far less chatty than us of course.  He had lived in Tasmania his whole life though, so was a font of knowledge and an amazing tour guide.

We found out fairly early on in the adventure that Viv had three grand-daughters and two more grandchildren on the way at the end of January.  We also found out that he had lost one of his three son’s to Cystic Fibrosis in 1994.  One of the brothers had never been to the grave-site and chose to remember his beloved younger sibling the way he was, while the other brother joined his mother and father in visiting the site at the crematorium every birthday and Christmas.  After 20 years he misses his son terribly, but feels blessed to have had 12 wonderful years with him when the doctors had told them when he was diagnosed at 6 months old that the prognosis was he’d be lucky to see his 6th birthday.

One of the strongest, coolest and kindest women I know is the president of the CF foundation in NZ and hearing this story reminding me of how very much I respect and admire her and her beautiful, tough, and consistently over-achieving eldest daughter who lives with CF.

Viv became a cab driver in his mid 60’s after leaving a long career as a fire door engineer.  He likes the hours, the flexibility, the freedom and the fact as soon as he turns the key and walks through his door, he has left his day behind and can focus completely on his life.

As we drove, he pointed out the vast charred areas that had been swallowed up by the infamous Tasmanian bushfires 11 months earlier.  Started by a smouldering stump a farmer lady had tried to burn out, which caught the wind and started one of the most destructive fires in Tasmania’s history.  This bushfire destroyed over 130 properties and claimed the life of one firefighter (who had a heart attack while fighting the blazes).

“I am not sure a person’s mind would ever recover from something like that… the poor woman.” I said to Viv.

“No, I don’t suppose it ever would.  Terrible really.” Agreed our gentle Tasmanian tour guide.

He asked if we liked berries – and my daughter’s eyes got as wide as saucers.  So Viv stopped at a local stall and bought us fresh raspberries and cherries that were consumed with great satisfaction.

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Our first stop was a lookout called Pirates Bay.

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We then wended our way down the hill and stopped to see the Bronze Dog.  There were angry dogs placed at regular intervals along the road to discourage convicts from escaping or something like that.  Didn’t seem like a very nice existence for a dog.  Nor a convict – but that part of the story comes later.

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I’ll leave it there for now as I am erring dangerously close to the 1200 word limit I have set myself to hopefully avoid boring my beloved readers to tears.

I’m nearly through editing the second installment as I publish this one, so I’d be honored if you’d tune back in soon.

Thank you again for sharing some snippets of our Hobbity lives, and I wish you well wherever you are and whatever you are doing.

Reflective NY Blog from Somewhere in the Middle of the Tasman Sea

This time last year we were traveling all around North and South America with my family, my best friend and his family.

Checking out Glacier National Park in Chile

Checking out Glacier National Park in Chile

Have been missing them, and remembering what an absolute comfort it was to share the adventure with them and the handful of friends we made that trip.  At least we will see them IMMIDIATELY – IF NOT SOONER (our friend Gabriel’s catch phrase) once we arrive back in our beloved Land of the Long White Cloud on Monday as they are there visiting for Christmas.

Gabriel and the children at Sabatini's at breakfast

Gabriel and the children at Sabatini’s at breakfast

So much has happened since then. Some things have been wonderful, others terrible, and many simply indifferent.

The year has brought unspeakable grief, as well as lofty and hard-fought triumphs and accomplishments, both for us personally and for people we know and admire.  New babies have arrived, while other children and people have been called away too soon, leaving a lot more questions than answers, but living on forever in the hearts and minds of those left to mourn them. Couples we know and Love have purchased homes or tied the knot, while others have made the final arrangements in going their separate ways.  Just like any other year, 2013 has been punctuated with joyful and terrifying new beginnings or anticipated, sometimes shocking, or even on a few occasions, long overdue endings.

On balance this has been the year we have stayed closest to home since our first ever-overseas trip together more than a decade ago.  Unfortunately, staying close to home did not mean getting all that much closer to those we know and Love.  The year whizzed past and appointments were made and frequently not kept to spend time with the people we hold dearest.  In a household that used to open its doors several times a month, or even a week for dinners or parties, we found that just getting the kids fed and watered and meeting work and general commitments and appointments left us with precious little time or energy for much more than sleep.

Perhaps we haven’t made the strides we’d have liked to in our environmental and alternative energy initiatives.  But we’re always moving forward, however stifled the pace may seem. We’re palpably close to re-wiring so that we’re hooked up to the 8 Kilowatts of solar power that is collected from the cottage to service our primary property in the city.  That’s going to feel great.  My parents bought us a worm farm for Christmas (thanks guys!), our third electric vehicle will be arriving soon, and Grumpy is still working on a stunning little micro-hydro system to ensure we can power through our energy needs (including charging the cars) during the rainy days of winter up in Matakana.  And last but not least, I am still making plans to try and get us completely off grid for 6-12 months and surrounding the move with the single most elegant and engaging PR campaign EVER!  Do I have to stay in the country for that whole time?  I guess if we actually do plan on being carbon neutral, my travel addiction will have to take a back seat for the duration.  I break out into a cold sweat just thinking about it though.

Some other stuff has popped up, big stuff that is taking priority at the moment and will do throughout the year.  I have faith that it will come together how and when it should though.

So, as is customary, I will start the year with lofty and ambitious ideas about the things that will be accomplished with some Hobbit planning and savoir-faire.  I’ll likely fall short early and hard and probably just carry on much the same as I do every year.

I will, however, share with you a short list of things that will absolutely be made a priority this year, and I encourage you to take a few moments to do the same.

1)  Laughter will be an absolute priority:

We already laugh loud and often, but instating some sort of quota and ensuring it is met might be something worth investigating.  Is there an app for that?  There ought to be.  I may get Grumpy working on it…

2)  More nature, less Internet: 

I may have to take extreme measures such as joining a tramping club or finally buying a paddleboard or sea kayak so we can walk to the bottom of our yard and venture out onto the harbour.  Finally planning and planting the extensive food forest we’ve been talking about for years now.  So watching it grow, and raising the kids to get out and pick and appreciate fresh fruit and vegetables was once a pipe dream that is set to become a reality.

3)  More visits: 

More, actual, look people in the eye and hear what they are saying and share words and hugs and laughter in person instead of on social media VISITS.  A few months ago, I ran into a woman who I Love and admire beyond words. I had not seen her in person for nearly a decade.  We caught up in Manhattan of all places, and just touched the very tip of the iceberg on what has come to pass for us since our exceptionally close friendship way back in the late 90’s.  She is only just up the road, and I mean to see her, and so many other people, and when I do, it is a touch of magic and the most effective and sincere remedy to the constant nattering of my frequently troubled mind.  Friendship is a mighty force indeed, and one that I fear I take for granted.

4)  Get rid of stuff. 

I want have a serious desire to just have less crap!  I’ve taken an awesome step in the right direction by curbing consumption this year.  I used to relish shopping and picking up trinkets or hunting bargains on our travels or even in our own back yard.  I took a 6 month self-imposed shopping sabbatical which successfully changed my habits in that department in a real and lasting way.  Christmas shopping was an absolute chore this year, and precious few people got gifts.  Yet, as far as I know, all the salubrious and flourishing relationships remain pretty much in tact.  So yes.  Less stuff.

5)  Take it easier.

So, among the many things I know, yet frequently choose to ignore is that failure is actually an option.  Trying and falling flat, can be a far more fruitful and useful endeavor than getting something right or having it fall easily into place.  And as long as a person is always moving, learning, and growing, there’s no need to move mountains all the time.

There’s a fairly long list of other stuff I intend to do of course, but I shall leave it there.

Hope that the New Year is safe and amazing whatever you may be doing.  And if 2013 was less than stellar for you and yours, I do hope that you are able to leave it behind and have a much better 2014.  It’s my year (Chinese Astrology) and I expect great things are afoot.