Moving Is NOT For The Fainthearted

For any of you who were looking for a change of scenery and have decided to move to New Zealand, here are a few tips regarding the transportation of your belongings that might come in handy.

1. Your moving company is full of shit. Once you accept this as fact, you will be able to manage your expectations.

2. Your guess at how much your goods will weigh will be grossly underestimated. Guaranteed. This move is going to cost you an arm, leg and your firstborn child. I promise.

3. Shop around for marine insurance because your moving company's quote is unreasonable and designed to capitalize on a captive audience.

4. If you are moving from North America to the just about anywhere else in the world, don't bring appliances of any sort unless they are rated for 240 volts because that power converter that you think will be the panacea will eventually blow up your Dyson, your expensive juicer and that fantastic mini food processor you got as a wedding gift. Also, those big-ass, North American, side by side fridges to match our big, North American asses, will not fit into most overseas kitchens. Leave them behind.

5. When the moving company tells you that it will take 70 days door to door, you must nod agreeably and understand that if you are shipping from the US, you do not have a hope in hell of seeing your stuff for at least 85 days (see #1 above). New Zealand is the last stop on the way to the Antarctic. It's pretty far from everything and only boasts a population of just over four million people, which means there aren't a lot of direct sailings from North America to here. Our stuff visited a few ports to hook up with some other containers before arriving in Auckland. Yours will too.

6. New Zealand is absolutely gorgeous. There are no snakes. There are no crawly creatures that can harm you here, which is why I am actually contemplating camping (for real, like tents and no running water real) with friends in late January. The government department of agriculture has the overwhelming task of making sure that things stay this way and thus, in New Zealand, every household goods container needs to be inspected for a host of scary, threatening things including: Christmas decorations (those nasty pinecones, even painted and glittered ones, can host a variety of undesirable pests), outdoor furniture and yard equipment, sporting goods (bicycles, golf clubs, golf and soccer shoes), dry food, spices and herbs and anything related to pets of any sort. These inspections are not free. As a matter of fact, they can be quite expensive, especially when one calculates the surcharges assessed by your freight company for "hosting" said inspections. Let me tell you, it's not a bloody dinner party. (Please see #1 above)

7. 99% of all sea containers coming into New Zealand do not meet the specs necessary for them to be unloaded at the place of residence and therefore, the moving company will transport your container to their warehouse ($), unload it ($$) and repack it into an "approved" delivery vessel ($$$$$). If you know this ahead of time, you can easily make your way to the nearest grog shop and stock up on the necessary provisions. YOU WILL NEED ALCOHOL before viewing your "final" delivery charges. I wish I was kidding.

8. Your goods will deliver on the only day in the week when you had your hair, doctor or orthodontist appointment scheduled because that's just the way it is and you will be so damn desperate to see your belongings again that you will forsake EVERYTHING ELSE, especially when the moving company emails you to tell you that sorry, they will not be able to deliver until after the New Year and how does January 5th look and you LOSE YOUR SHIT and call your husband in tears because he's the reasonable one and you are holding onto your sanity by the skin of your teeth and somehow, miraculously, a Sunday slot opens up after he trots down to the office to speak ever so kindly to them in person and while he is grateful for small mercies, you shake your head wondering how many other desperate immigrants in Auckland will not get to see their stuff before Christmas because the general manager doesn't like that they are upset at receiving exactly the same email you did. God complex much? (see #1 above)

9. Expect some of your items to be broken or slightly damaged because they will have traveled all over the globe and been touched by at least ten people before they arrive on your doorstep. If nothing is broken, you may use that as a good reason to crack open another bottle of wine and toast your good luck. We were really fortunate. The only thing of ours that got damaged was a Bombay table. New handles and scratch cover pen took care of that.

10. The first sleep you have in your own bed after three months in other cribs, will magically make items #2-9 seem unimportant. It's a bit like childbirth. I completely expect that in eighteen months, I won't remember much about the shift at all except that the moving company was full of shit.

Driving Like Rainman

A weird thing happened to me yesterday while driving to our local mall.

Nobody beeped at me.

When we first got here, driving was a complete nightmare. The steering wheel is on the right side of the car (which shouldn't be that big a deal but it is) and we drive on the left side of the road (which is FREAKY). I can't tell you how many times I've turned on my blinker and had the windshield wipers sweep across instead. The blinker lever is on the right. It takes some getting used to, as does looking right first and then left when merging into traffic.

Then, there is the whole width/depth perception thing. When you learn to drive sitting on the left side, the sense of how wide your car is is just one of those things you absorb without thinking about it. Switching over to the right side has twisted my spatial skills into a knot. I now park like an asshole. If I were still in the States, my car would have been keyed by now. Don't even get me started on parallel parking. Embarrassing. Horror. Show.

Oh, and the traffic circles....they are absurd. You approach one and either turn on the blinkers left or right to indicate which spoke you are taking which is not as simple as it sounds because you must go left to go right. It's fucked. At the beginning, I either kept going around, unsure of which bloody road to take or I sat at the opening of the roundabout, heart pounding trying to get it straight in my head before venturing out into traffic. I got beeped at the most, there.

In this country, you are not allowed to make a turn on a red light. I'm not sure who clued me into this fact but it was long after I had made several illegal lefts into the flow of traffic and before any police officer had caught me (thank God). There are also a couple of rules regarding yielding the right of way (that make NO SENSE AT ALL) that I have unwittingly broken. For instance, if I want to turn right and the car approaching me wants to turn left into the same street, he has to yield to me. It's lovely and courteous but a nutty rule which I've unintentionally disobeyed to the sound of honking horns and wild hand gestures.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, I drove to the mall without thinking about it. I negotiated the roundabouts while contemplating my shopping list. I zipped into an open space in a jammed parking lot and later, drove home, mentally trying to calculate how much I'd spent and what I'd be making for dinner. I was on autopilot and surprisingly, there were no beeps and no middle fingers thrust in my general direction. I have been avoiding the motorway (freeway) for fear of orphaning my children or someone else's children. Perhaps today, with my new found confidence, is the day to tackle that hurdle where the fast lane is to the right and exits to the left.

Then again, maybe not.

I'm an excellent driver. But not on Friday, definitely not on Friday.

Dude! Where's My Container?

It's been seventy days since I've slept in my own bed.

I've never been big on the acquisition of material possessions (with the notable exception of Apple products) but I really, really miss my stuff. The trouble is that nobody can give me a date as to when I might see it again.

Our container was supposed to arrive into the port of Auckland last Friday but unfortunately, the port workers voted to strike THE DAY BEFORE and thus, our belongings were diverted to another port further south. Apparently, they have been railed back up here and now, they will be COMPLETELY unloaded, inspected by MAF and then put into an "approved" trailer for delivery to the Auckland suburbs. The costs associated with the aforementioned steps were not included in the head-shaking amount we have already paid.

But at this point, Dallas and I just look at one another and giggle.

In fact, regardless of how much money we are hemorrhaging, at this point, I would pay just about anything to have my king size bed back. Why?

a) My husband is a first class bed hog and we are sharing a queen on loan to us.

b) Living in limbo is what I imagine purgatory will be like.

And

c) Both of us have been medicating with food lately. Bumping bellies in the middle of the night is not sexy.

The first couple of days in our new digs, we were giddy with the newness of it all and the fact that we had stopped siphoning my in laws' resources. Now, two and a half weeks later, the infatuation with our view has eased just a smidgen and we've noticed a few flaws that are bound to drive us me mental somewhere down the road.

The truth is, I need my furniture.

I need for my kitchen to be fully functional.

I really need my fat clothes.

Amen.

A Perfect Day

Today is an absolutely stunning day in Auckland. It's the type where all of the washing gets done thanks to the perfect mix of breeze and sunshine. It's the day when you open up all of the windows, skim the leaves from the pool's surface and turn the music up.

For some reason, the presentation of this gorgeous spring morning has me thinking about the grandmas and how much I wish they were still here to enjoy the sun on their faces.

On September 19th, Dallas's paternal grandmother died. This was especially hard news because we were still in the US and believed that we would make it home in time to see her. She left word for Dallas that he was NOT to fly home upon the news of her death. We labored to honor that wish because being absent felt really wrong. We did get to attend her funeral, though, thanks to the miracle of Skype.

When our plane landed in New Zealand a month later, Dallas turned to me and said his first thought, that he needed to call Grammy Rhodie, was chased away with the understanding that he would never again be able to do that and how that made his chest heavy.

At precisely midnight on November 24th, Grammy June also decided to leave us. It's hard to put into words how much that hurt my heart. When we arrived in New Zealand mid October, Grammy was still in the nursing home. She was slower to get around than she had been at Christmas last year, for sure, but I would never have imagined in just over thirty days, she would be gone. The rapid decline in her health was shocking and something for which I was completely unprepared.

We had services for her earlier this week. Dylan sobbed through the entire funeral. I understood his pain. Grammy June was exceptionally kind to my children.

So as I sit here, with Adele singing in the background, clean laundry on the line and bathing in the sunshine with the gorgeous expanse of the east coast of Auckland spread out before me, I'm thinking of the grandmas and wishing them, wherever they are, the warmth of the sun on their faces too.

The Move

Moving across the world has been an experience. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that my eye twitched with stress for seven weeks straight. SEVEN WEEKS.

I didn’t manage all that well.

I barked at my family, consumed ibuprofen like candy, ate and drank with abandon and finally surrendered. That was the worst. That was when the fog settled in.

I’d wake up each morning with a belly full of worms and I’d wait. Like a drug, I’d feel the haze seep into my consciousness and slow the panic. I was tired all of the time. I watched my life unfold from an emotional distance that was unsettling but not so much so that I did anything about it. In the fog, there was safety. I escaped there.

In the weeks leading up to our departure, we put our beloved cat on a plane to Canada, had a massive garage sale which was attended by the every batshit nutter within a ten mile radius. We saw dentists, doctors, orthodontists and optometrists. We sold our cars and (gulp) our Harleys. Nine days before leaving the country, we went on one last motorcycle trip with close friends while my kids bid farewell to their dad. Four days later, we moved out of our house and into a hotel and like a complete idiot, I continued to home school. The stress was overwhelming.

Finally, the day came for us to leave and our first stop was Canada, to see my family. We stayed with my brother and his lovely wife for a couple of days. Still, the fog didn’t lift, for which I am enormously grateful because this time at the end of our visit, as I waved goodbye to them, like I have a million times before, I felt something splinter inside.

Next, we took a ferry over to mum’s house in Victoria and invaded her space for several days. My eye twitched like a junkie and we laughed a bit speculating that it was my mother's power to make me crazy but the truth is, she was gorgeous. The geographical distance between us had never bothered me in the eighteen years that I’d been gone from Canada and the reality of travel these days is such that she will likely be able to fly to Auckland faster than she has been able to travel to Arkansas but there is something about having the expanse of the Pacific Ocean separating us that gives me pause. Selfishly, I want her to emigrate to New Zealand.

While in Victoria, I was able to briefly catch up with two of my girlfriends from high school. Although we didn’t get a lot of time together, I was reminded of how fortunate I am to have these people in my life who love me unconditionally and drop everything to see me when I’m in town, in spite of the fact that I really suck at staying in touch. I love them and miss them.

We left Victoria and took another ferry across to Seattle where a third girlfriend from high school (that I haven’t seen in TWENTY FIVE YEARS) met me. She left work, traveled south the three hours from Vancouver, on a Friday, during rush hour traffic, to have a cocktail and catch up for a few hours. I am still awed by that. I have missed her too.

Early Saturday morning on October 1, 2011, Dallas, the kids and I boarded a plane for Honolulu where we would spend the next nine days trying to peel away the layers of stress that had enveloped us for the better part of two months. As the nose of the plane lifted off the ground, I felt the first hints of relief from the perpetual weight on my chest. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and comforted myself with the knowledge that the hardest part was over.

We were on to our new adventure.

Note

Hi.

There is SO much to share with you and I'm not trying to be a dinkus maximus but I won't be able to post until after the weekend.

Hang in there with me.

I'll bring cocktails.

Tick, Tick, Tick

Time hasn't really had much meaning for me this year.

When I thought I had a handle on it, I found it skipping away just beyond the reach of my fingertips.  I yearned to harness it.  I wanted to break it up into smaller, more manageable chunks and elongate every moment.  I've tried everything to slow it down but I give up.  I am resigned to sit quietly as it whooshes past, leaving me barely able to comprehend the date I see each morning on my desk clock.

For nearly ten months, Dallas and I have been planning our departure from America.  I have coped by immersing myself in work and focusing on just putting one foot in front of the other.  It was a good plan up until Labour Day and then, something gave way.

I'm not sure if it was the change in temperature or the mad scramble to tie up loose ends like doctor and dentist appointments but whatever the catalyst, I have suddenly found myself walking into our garage to get water only to become disoriented when faced with the newly empty space where our fridge once sat.  I have several panic-filled moments each day worrying who will do my hair in Auckland.  I've been to see the same girl, my friend, in Arkansas, every five weeks for the last ten years.   I study maps of the North Island of New Zealand trying to memorize the spaghetti-like twist of the different roads wondering how long it will be before their bends become familiar. 

Moving is scary.

Moving is harder as one ages.

When I arrived in San Diego, California on April 3rd, 1993 with a suitcase, a backpack and almost nothing else, I was electrified with the possibilities that my new life would certainly offer.  Eighteen years later,  I am wife to an amazing man, mother to two beautiful children and president of my own company.  The United States has been very, very good to me.  

And now, America will afford me the unique option to split our time with another country so my husband will be whole and so my children will be graced with a huge chunk of world as their oyster.  With a Canadian mum, a Kiwi stepfather and being American born, Dylan and Liv will be able to live and work in Canada, Australia, New Zealand, the US and many European countries.  How's that for opportunity? 

My only complaint is time.  I don't seem to have enough of it and what is available seems to pass too quickly to file away into memory.  Now begins the next major phase of my life and I am concerned that when I'm older and the frenetic pace has slowed; when the occasion comes to reflect upon this newest adventure and what it meant for our family, I won't remember.  

And I want to.  

I want to savour every delicious second of this journey.

I Remember

With the approaching ten year anniversary of September 11th,  television programming, print media and the internet have been rife with reflections of that ill fated day.

I have avoided most of the coverage because a decade later, the wound is still raw.  I find my breath unexpectedly catching in my throat, my chest tightening and the sting of unshed tears collecting at the corners of my eyes.  How is it that ten years later, the horror, the disbelief, the mourning and the deep, throbbing, sadness still remain?  

I was home from work, sick with pneumonia and pregnant with Olivia on September 11, 2001.   I turned on the Today show and within a few moments, the coverage switched to the north tower.  It was on fire.  Apparently, a small commuter plane had crashed into it.  I remember hoping that there would be survivors on the floor that sustained the most damage.  Then, with millions of other people, I watched as United flight 175 crash into the south tower, live, on television.  

What the hell is going on with air traffic control?  That was my first thought.

But seconds later as the videotape was replayed and it was evident that it was a commercial plane and the newscasters used words like, "concerted effort" and "attack", the truth of the situation became undeniable.  The first tendrils of panic filled my belly.  I called my mum in Canada.  Together, we watched the tragedy unfold.  

I've been down to visit the WTC site on every visit I've made to NYC since that day.  And each time, it is like a kick to the gut.  It just never gets any easier.  I didn't lose anyone that day and I personally don't know anybody that did but it doesn't matter. 

On September 11th, 2001, everything changed.  

There is not a single, good, thing that came out of the events of that day.  The unity that we felt as a nation in the aftermath faded all too soon.  There is no silver lining. There are no great cosmic lessons that have been learned.  There is only war and intolerance and death and debt and grief and mourning and fear and suspicion.  

I hope that one day, we will heal enough to be an uncompromising force for world peace.  Until then, we will rebuild and remember the 2977 innocent people who died.

Depreciation

Let me tell you something about selling used furniture, appliances and the like.  They aren't worth squat.

Seriously.

First, there is the stainless side by side fridge that we bought a few years ago to the tune of about $1800 bucks.  Today, we'll be lucky to get $600 for it.  I will never buy another stainless product again because you can't keep the bastards clean.  They are a fingerprint nightmare.

Then, we have our front loading washing machine.  I spent DAYS researching that purchase until I came up with a Frigidaire unit which promised performance without the huge price tag of the fancier LG and Bosch models. After rebates and incentives, we shelled out just over $700 but I felt smart and informed, until today.  A little web surfing tells me that even offering free delivery, we probably won't see any more than $200.

And the list goes on and on.

The point, I suppose, is that at the end of the day, why do any of us buy anything new when we can pick up good quality near new items for a song?  Of course, there is that sticky little "used" part.  One can never be sure how someone has utilized their fridge ( Jeffrey Dahmer comes to mind) and I can only imagine what badness could be tossed into a washing machine but I'm pretty sure that with the exception of beds and underwear, used items offer a superior value to their brand new counterparts.

If we are going to retire like The Millionaire Next Door, I'm thinking that the hubby and I had better cultivate a different mindset...... less consumer and more producer.

Personally, I think I will kick off my newfound financial enlightenment by combing through the used merchandise adverts listed on New Zealand's "TradeMe".   I'll plan to pay special attention to those that say, "Moving Overseas" because, you know, that's where DEPRECIATION lives.

Cleanse and Cash

Time is passing so quickly these days as it always does when you feel you don't have enough of it. Business is strong, homeschool is ticking along and slowly, all of the items our "to do" list are being crossed off.

A few weeks ago, I resigned myself to the fact that we will have to hold a garage sale. It is the most efficient way of divesting ourselves of the things that we will not be able to bring with us on our journey across the Pacific. The mere thought of that day makes my stomach hurt. Friends of ours recently had a garage sale of their own and unfortunately, the local paper got the date wrong. A week before they had planned, on a rare, quiet Saturday morning when neither of them had to work, they were startled awake by an insistent POUNDING on their front door.

At 6:30 am.

I'm not the most rational person on most days. I experience a near constant internal dialogue where the kind and reasonable side of my personality wrestles with the larger, impatient, head-shaking, wincing, angry, I'd-like-to-beat-the-tar-out-of-you side.

Let me just say this one thing. If I advertised a garage sale for 7:00am on a Saturday morning and had people thumping on my front door at 6:30am, it would be fugly. I've clearly communicated this personality defect to my husband and asked that he specifically mention the possibility of bloodshed should anyone try to be the uninvited, unwanted, early bird on said morning.

So last weekend, we power washed the garage floor, cleared all the shelves and then filled them, by theme (small appliances, lamps, seasonal, books, etc), with all those things that need a new home. It was enormously satisfying. I was also forced to open two boxes that were being stored in the garage and which hadn't seen the light of day since 1999. I'm not kidding.

I had moved those boxes from Houston to Bentonville, from Bentonville to a different Bentonville address and then from Bentonville, here to Tulsa. Twelve years.

I kept exactly two scrapbooks and a bag of pictures.

As I looked around the kitchen this morning with its absence of steamers, crock pots, popcorn makers, portable ovens, toasters, blenders, mini grills, food processors, beaters and such, I noticed that I preferred the minimalist decor. There is order in the nothingness. I can't say that I will be anxious to clutter all that clean, empty, space in my new environment. There is beauty in less.

Thus, while certainly filled with anxiety in regard to the mechanics of holding a garage sale, I am eager to give our house a colonic.

And the fistful of cash when it's all said and done is better than a kick in the pants.

Steve

“I have always said if there ever came a day when I could no longer meet my duties and expectations as Apple’s C.E.O., I would be the first to let you know. Unfortunately, that day has come.” - Steve Jobs, August 24, 2011


Good bye, Steve.

Thank you.

Be well.

Postcard From Lip of My Sanity

Remember the construction zone next door? Well, I'm just a big ball of hate and discontent today.

My office looks out onto our driveway and street. While not the most scenic, this view does have its advantages. I'm able to catch our post lady and give her last minute mailings. I can watch Olivia as she pedals her bike with a ramrod straight spine and I am able to spot the Jehovah's before they see me which means I can gather the children, flee upstairs and pretend we aren't home.

Today, I saw something that made my head explode. I watched as a subcontractor parked, completely blocking my driveway with his truck and trailer. Then, he unloaded a small excavator, like this.


Then he DROVE OVER MY DRIVEWAY AND MY GRASS to get to the construction site. I went flying out the front door and yelled at him to stop, which he did.

"What's the problem?" he asked. Ignoramus.

I got a little crazy because between the guys eating their lunch on my driveway, plugging their power tools into my electrical ports, the roofers at 6:30am Saturday and Sunday morning, the port-o-potty, the garbage that flies everywhere, the displaced mice, ants and dogs and the pile of dirt and gravel that has collected at the bottom of our driveway, I had zero patience left for a torn up lawn and an ass.

"We fix it," he said. I silently cursed him and his shitty judgment. Shortly after that, a supervisor showed up to the site and sat in his truck. Coward.

Three hours later, my reasonable husband came home and I once again flew out of the house to tell him what happened. The guy was still working, the supervisor still idling and I wanted Dallas to handle the situation for me because my solution wasn't rational and involved blunt objects. Big surprise.

He did and nobody got hurt, however, the supervisor did admit that he'd been sitting in his truck for several hours, working up the nerve to knock on my front door. He'd been told that I was a little upset.

And a small, immature, petty, bitchy, side of me is secretly happy about that.

The End.

Mad Men Mania

Last Christmas, I downloaded the first season of Mad Men to watch on the plane as we made our way down to New Zealand. I liked it but since I'd read rave reviews, I expected to be blown away and wasn't. Sure, the clothing and sets were scrumptious and from what I've read, they have captured that time on Madison Avenue perfectly but at the end of thirteen odd episodes, I had a take it or leave it attitude.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, I decided to stream a few episodes from the second season to see how the cliffhangers had been resolved and oh dear God, I drank the purple Koolaid. I was hooked. In fourteen days, between 9pm and 7am, I devoured 50 episodes (4 seasons). I'm obsessed. It's great tv.



I've only got two shows left of the fourth season and then I'm out of luck. No fifth season.

Yet.

Apparently, after prolonged contract negotiations between the series creator and the network, they are back to work filming new episodes. Makes me tingle with anticipation.

I know. I'm not well.

Stress Monster

In career and in personal life, the greatest challenges are those things which are beyond one's control. I have found that no matter how carefully I plan or how meticulous I am with the details, there exists the possibility for something to shit the bed.

And that causes stress; giant, steaming, heaps of stress of the kind that interrupts sleep and makes eyes twitch.

For instance, as a new business, I had to cobble together my supply chain and once I got everything all sorted and allowed myself a moment to breath, BAM, the FDA rears their ugly, bloated, red tape enshrouded, head and decides to hold an urgent load. Murphy's Law. The more urgent the load, the slower bureaucracy moves. Period.

Frustrating.

Also, it seems that we have an issue every month at one of our rental houses. From roof leaks to air conditioner breakdowns, we've been shelling it out since the spring. I never imagined that life as a landlord would resemble that of a boat owner wherein the happiest memories are the day you buy and the day you sell. Unfortunately, we are among the millions of people in this country for whom houses have become albatrosses slung about the neck. We are just trying to hang in there until the market gets turned around. From what I can see, it looks like we could be waiting a LONG TIME.

Finally, there is the move. There are an incomprehensible number of things that need to be checked off the list before we depart in 7 weeks, give or take a few days. SEVEN WEEKS. What happens with something like this is that the best intentions get slaughtered in the face of easier routes. I was going to clean the house personally because a) I'm good at it and b) I'm cheap. Then, I took a look at what it would take to accomplish that and decided that a couple of hundred bucks is a small price to pay for my sanity. I'm going to hire people to do it instead.

Ah well. That's life, right?

I suppose but I can tell you that I am looking forward to being on the other side of it all, both mentally and geographically.

LAST DAY OF REBOOT

Total pounds lost: 11.2

Now that we have reached the last day of this healthy kickstart, Dallas and I are not quite ready to give it up. We like the results. The two of us seem to function so much better when we are on some sort of a regimented plan. I am still amazed that fruit and vegetables, consumed mostly raw, could have this big an impact on mood and energy level. And weight loss? It has exceeded my expectations.

When I think back to the last time in my life when I was sustainably thin (defined as any period longer than one year), it was the period immediately before I had my children. I was living in San Diego, very physically active and a vegetarian. I can't say I was all that healthy, though. I still ate white bread, drank like a sailor and smoked but even with those vices, I felt better as a thin person. It isn't about vanity although, of course, I care about how I look. It's about sleeping well at night and having the energy to fully engage in life. It's about viewing the glass half full and visiting the doctor less.

We're not quite sure how the rest of the week is going to look as far as what we're going to eat. We will probably reintroduce animal protein back into the mix but I think we've said good bye to dairy for the most part. I'm not saying that a piece of cheese will never be on the plate again but we've decided to stay on this course. We are finding it easy to adhere.

This weekend, we went out to dinner with friends to a Mexican place. We had sparkling water and shared vegetable fajitas. Would I have rather have had a cocktail or three? Absolutely but Sunday morning, I woke up without a hangover, down a pound on the scale and full of the kind of energy I remember having as a teenager. So, at the end of the day, for me, there really isn't that much of a decision to make.

If you are interested, check out Joe Cross's film, "Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead". If you are interested in trying a fifteen day reboot of your own, go here for more information. You never know. It might be just what you've been looking for.

Day 11: HOLDING PATTERN

Total pounds lost: 9.3

I've been stuck at roughly the same weight for the past couple of days, which, with any other diet, would have given my weak brain permission to throw in the towel and get myself some dark chocolate. It won't go down that way this time because, damn, I feel great!

The only thing I'm having a hard time managing is keeping the fruit and vegetables fresh. It's hard to buy once a week like we always have because herbs and leafy greens like kale and chard, wilt pretty quickly. Thus, we are forced to shop about every three days. It also costs a freaking fortune to juice two or more times a day but for a fifteen day reboot, we can suck it up.

This weekend, we've got a couple of social engagements that involve restaurants and alcohol. I'm a bit concerned. I'm not worried about cheating because frankly, I feel too good to bung it up but I am wondering what in the hell we will find to eat. I know that it's not the end of the world and if I had to go without, I would be just fine but the social part of eating is problematic. I want to go, order, draw minimal attention and just participate. Whether we can find something to eat is secondary. However, I've learned with my whole gluten issue that food challenges make other people uncomfortable. They either don't believe that the problem is real or they want to solve it. Either way, it just leads to awkward moments and I'd kind of like to slide under the radar and get through the weekend without being known as the high maintenance, teetotaling, vegan, celiac.

Or wackado, for short.

DAY NINE

Pounds lost: 12.8 ounces (0.8)

Total pounds lost: 9

Dysplasic tumour: visibly smaller

The weight loss has slowed to just over half a pound a day, on average, which is a healthy rate of loss, I think and because I feel like a teenager, I've been doing a ton of research. It has made me realize how ignorant I am in regard to nutrition.

Over the past eight days, I've eaten yucca, kale, portobello mushroom caps, rainbow chard, red chard, jicama, collared greens, parsnips and arugula. They're delicious (except for the collared greens) and I am ashamed to admit that I avoided them like the plague for YEARS.

Why?

Well, mostly because they were never introduced into my childhood home and I never tasted them. I've always been pedestrian in my food preferences; sticking with those items, week after week, that were safe choices like carrots, peas and broccoli. Traveling the globe forced me to expand my palate somewhat but at the end of the day, I still bought the same things and served the same meals week after week.

That has changed forever.

I took a look in my pantry where massive containers of protein powders, vinegars laced with high fructose corn syrup, flour, refined sugar and processed coconut sat accusing me on the shelves. This weekend, I plan to purge my kitchen. I haven't gone off the deep end or anything. I will still drink wine. I will still indulge every now and again. I will still bake for holidays but I'm going to try my best to find healthier alternatives or fixes for our favourite recipes because I owe it to my children.

Used to be that I thought my cigarette habit was the worst thing I had ever done to myself for a prolonged period of time. As it turns out, smoking for 25 years doesn't hold a candle to the assault my body has suffered as a result of my eating and drinking habits. The good news is that it isn't too late. The body will heal itself.

"Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food"
— Hippocrates

DAY EIGHT- FEELING GROOVY

Pounds lost over weekend: 2.2

Total Pounds Lost: 8.4

There is a magical moment in every woman's life that I experienced this weekend.

It wasn't watching my son clean his own toilet although that did bring me a certain amount of joy.

It wasn't having our air conditioner break AGAIN and have it fixed the same day after a really silly answering service girl asked me if this was "an emergency". Hmmm.... it's 105 degrees outside and has been for 25+ days. Let me think about that one for a minute. Yes, yes I do believe it was an emergency.

It wasn't getting out of Whole Foods for less than $300 with SIX huge bags of groceries, although I could have sworn that when I swiped my bank card, I could hear harps strumming.

My magical moment was realizing that my current diet is working. This latest juicing-veggie-eating-lifestyle IS WORKING. For real.

I feel ridiculously good. Crazy good. I have more energy than I've had in at least fifteen years. My mind is crystal clear. The peri-menopausal hot flashes are GONE. I am premenstrual right now and I have no chocolate cravings at all nor do I feel the urge to drive into the back of every crap driver on the road. It's a miracle. My nails are growing abnormally fast. My skin has changed in both clarity and in its ability to hold so much more moisture. I seem to require less sleep and when I wake up in the morning, I'm ready to start my day instead of feeling exhausted.

The weight loss is a bonus, albeit, a very, very desirable bonus.

I understand the choice to be vegan now. It used to be that I thought they were extremist, PETA-card-carrying, betacarotene-stained wackados. Shameful generalization, I know. But I get it now. If I can feel like this most days, it would be pretty hard to go back to my former lifestyle. I won't end up a vegan for several reasons but mainly because I think we need protein and fat from animal sources and I like meat. However, at the end of this fifteen days, I can say with absolute certainty that I will make plant based items the bulk of my diet.

You know, when we coughed up $150 for a juicer that will have to be sold in the next two months I felt indulgent and wasteful. Upon eight days of reflection, it is the single best purchase I've made in my life.

EVER.

DAY FIVE

Pounds lost: 1

Total pounds lost: 6.2


I woke up at the ass crack of dawn this morning after a later bedtime than usual and I feel GREAT.

I have known for several years now, that food can be either medicinal in nature or poisonous. Too often, I have been guilty of indulging to excess, my love of caffeine, alcohol, processed carbohydrates and a ravenous sweet tooth. I somehow thought that by kicking cigarettes four years, two months, 5 days and fifteen hours ago, I had made a huge health leap and didn't really have to pay that much attention to what went into my mouth because, by God, I wasn't going to die of lung cancer.

And then came the weight gain, the gluten intolerance, the near constant issues with dysplasia, the fatigue, the aches and pains, the foggy head, the insomnia, the panic attacks and the hallmarks of future disease in my blood work results.

I am forty four years old. By today's standards, I am young. I am not interested in living the next forty years or so in a sick and diseased body. I don't text and drive. I buy organic. I wear my seatbelt. I don't skydive, bungee jump or run with the bulls in Pamplona. I floss.

So why has it taken me so long to understand that consuming Frankenfood, with its artificial colors, its preservatives, its nitrates and its massive sugar content, is just as careless a behaviour as jumping off a bridge?

I like the way I feel today. I'd like to feel the same way tomorrow and the day after.

You know, my mother has been harping on me for the better part of two years to consume green smoothies and eat more raw food. She sent me books. It's the only negative in a sea of excellent....the fact that I am going to have to ring her up and tell her she was right.

AGAIN.

DAY FOUR

Pounds lost: 3.2 ounces

Total pounds lost: 5.2

I woke up today and it was like the veil had lifted. The brain is functioning at 100%, which is such a relief. I feel sharp and alert. My energy level is right up there. I cannot believe that I haven't had a coffee, diet coke, cheese or chocolate since Sunday.

There is one weird thing, though. My hips are aching like they did when I carried my children. It's nothing that a few Advil won't cure but I'm just curious as to the cause since I know FOR SURE that I'm not pregnant.

Other than that, I am feeling so good that I am even contemplating going back to the gym and getting on the treadmill for twenty minutes of sprints. The kids and I are doing science experiments this afternoon which involve collecting water from a nearby pond. This means that we have to go outside and walk. It's blistering hot. Miserable.

And I can't wait.

There is something to be said for eating your veggies.

DAY THREE

Pounds lost: 2
Total pounds lost: 5

Things are better today. I still woke up with a headache that requires medication but it feels like the film that has covered my brain is starting to lift. I have more energy and I can bear the thought of my workload without wanting to run for the Xanax bottle.

I am still quite bitchy, though, which probably has nothing to do with the reboot and everything to do with my personality.

We still have not had a repairman to the house to fix the air conditioner and I feel like this is unacceptable. I understand that we are experiencing unprecedented temperatures and have been for nearly three weeks. I understand that the repairmen in the area are busy but if it were my tenants, they wouldn't have waited a day, let alone three. Just to be sure I wasn't being unreasonable (finding myself having to check that more often lately), I made two calls to two different repair places that I found in the telephone book. Both said they could have someone out today. So now, my dilemma is how to handle the situation like a rational person and not like the lunatic that I harbor inside just under the facade of good manners. My husband has taught through example, that the better choice is always to be reasonable and accommodating. The cerebral side knows that this is the right path, however, the emotional, angry, we-are-paying-a-ridiculous-amount-of-rent, side is fighting for self control.

I should probably go have a green juice and think about it.

DAY TWO

Pounds lost: 3
(water weight from all the gin I drank this weekend but I'll take it because the beaches of Hawaii are looming and my fat, dimpled ass is...well...FAT AND DIMPLED)

I've had a headache since about 11:00am yesterday that needs medication every 4-6 hours.

Caffeine withdrawal.

I am bitchy.

I just want to crawl in bed and read except that now, I have to wear glasses, which pisses me off to no end. You cannot read with glasses on whilst laying on your side.

The food does taste good, which has been a revelation for me since I'm not really a vegetable girl but I also have to admit that I have fantasized about dark chocolate about five hundred and sixty two times today.

Obviously, I haven't gotten a lot done on the work side of things.

I am having trouble concentrating because I'd really like to just go have a nap. Did I already mention that?

Oh, and the upstairs air conditioner quit working. It's a million degrees outside.

Is this day over yet?

DAY ONE OF REBOOT

It is my third wedding anniversary today and I am happy to say that my husband is still the best thing that has ever happened to me and my children. Since it is our third year together, tradition holds that we exchange gifts of a leather theme and yep, RIGHT THERE, I saw your mind forming a punch line. Dallas did some research and learned that a more modern celebration of one's third anniversary included an official gem. Hence, I woke up this morning to find these.

I love them and I never would have bought them for myself, which makes them that much more special.

What did I get for him?

Well, nothing yet because I am a) a procrastinator of exceptional calibre and b) my head is so damn foggy from lack of caffeine that I am considering just waltzing my arse back to bed instead of finding just the right card and gift for the love of my life. I am aware of how badly I suck but on this vegetarian juicy juice reboot extravaganza, I just can't bring myself to care.

I had no idea how important my morning coffees were until today.

This replaced my morning Joe.


Kale, celery, a few apples, spinach and ginger. It had a bit of a woodsy taste, which took some getting used to but it tasted pretty good.

And let me tell you, it takes an astonishing number of carrots to extract the three cups of juice I needed for a raw soup we ate for lunch.

I know it is only day one and on the whole, it really isn't that awful but at this point, I think I could be persuaded to sell one of my children for a Starbuck's.

Rebooting

I've talked recently about some medical issues that I've had for a while, now, and how I don't seem to be getting the kind of results that I've been told to expect if everything were going according to plan.

Hacks me off.

I'm relatively young and although my earlier years were peppered with behaviour that might not be especially conducive to good health, all of that is behind me now and I'd like to move forward without further bumps in the health road. I've come to accept the fact that I cannot have gluten, cigarettes or unlimited quantities of alcohol and food. I also understand that my reproductive capabilities are coming to an end and that hormonally, things are a crap shoot. Okay. No problem. I am even slowly coming around to embrace the idea that the wrinkles, the sunspots and the gravity-challenged body parts show the character of a life well lived. I get it. I'm aging.

But I'm not willing to be sick.

This weekend, Dallas and I were streaming Netflix (trying to get in as many movies as we can before the price change) and we stumbled upon a documentary by Joe Cross called, "Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead". It spoke to both of us.

Within the last two months, my mum called and suggested that I read Dr. Joel Fuhrman's book, "Eat To Live". I did but it didn't resonate with me because I think we need a whole lot more protein and fat from animal sources than he prescribes. Dr. Fuhrman appeared in the documentary, which peaked my interest, but what really hooked me was that the filmmaker took some of the doctor's advice and expanded upon it to include a few of the more important tenets of a Paleo lifestyle. An interesting balance was struck and as a result, the people featured in the film were able to heal themselves, lose weight and improve the quality of their lives. All of the goodness started with a completely vegetarian juice fast for a specific period of time.

I started wondering if maybe I shouldn't give it a try. I mean, what's the harm? You get plenty to eat and apparently, after about four or five days, you really start to feel great. At this point, I'm willing to try anything to get rid of the dysplasia and avoid surgery. ANYTHING.

So, come Monday, I will be on a vegetable juice "Reboot" for fifteen days. I'll let you know how it goes. No caffeine, no dairy and no animal products for fifteen days. Piece of cake. Or should I say piece of kale.

Friends and Fireworks

This past July 4th holiday, Dallas and I were fortunate enough to have been invited to spend the weekend out West with friends. I've lived over forty years on the planet and for some reason, it had never occurred to me that emotionally healthy, well-adjusted and involved people tend to raise emotionally healthy, well-adjusted, secure children. Nice people, nice children.

Imagine that.

"Nice" is such an anemic word. I know this. It doesn't even begin to describe the unselfish and generous nature of our friends but strangely, it's simplicity seems apropos in characterizing complex and interesting people who are choosing to live mostly uncomplicated lives. My friends have got their priorities straight and it shows. We were so impressed with the teenagers and the young adults that we met. They were polite, well spoken, centered, responsible and....happy. I was in awe with how my friends balanced their expectations for their children with the ability to allow them to forge paths of their own. Obviously, they had figured out the magic formula because their kids were a joy to be around.

Besides the lessons in great parenting, Dallas and I got to experience some of the most beautiful scenery that you can imagine. It reminded us of some of the places in and around Queenstown, New Zealand.


The trip was one that Dallas and I had been anticipating for MONTHS and the night before having to fly back home, we were savouring a spectacular view of the night sky, flush with the Milky Way and teeming with stars.

"Top five," Dallas remarked. I had to agree.

We do that. We rate things.

It's a way for our type A personalities to compartmentalize our life together and to note those experiences that change us somehow. This trip was like that.

As I write this, I am sipping on a glass of wine. It is mid afternoon. How naughty, right? Probably, but our holiday weekend served to remind me how crappy I am at savouring the small things. Since we've been home, Dallas and I dessert a few nights a week on dark chocolate and red wine. It's conducive to relaxed conversation and an appreciation of what is really, really good in life. Que syrah, syrah, kids.

In the northwest, the weather is temperate and on the eastern side of the Rockies, the roads are not choked with cars.
Life is slower.


Porcupine races are held. There are wide open spaces dotted with sagebrush, wildflowers and evergreens.
Hummingbirds come to play.

As do deer.

Multiple times over the weekend, Dallas and I asked each other what the HELL we were doing living in the dust bowl among the refineries and in the suffocating heat when all this beauty was just a fingertip away.

See, that's a condition of our existence. Dallas and I have not lived so much as we have survived. We put the blinders on and slogged forward. Priorities got scrambled among the mortgage payments, the careers and the unquenchable thirst for MORE. We allowed ourselves to forget about stars and mountains and the taste of unadulterated water until recently.

Beauty matters. Leisure matters. A not so casual game of cards with friends and laughter and bubbles, matters.

Our trip out west was a gentle reminder, in so many ways, of what Dallas and I value most.

Top five. For sure.

Limbo

As you can probably tell from my lack of posts, it's a busy time in our household.

I am now schooling both children, which has turned out to be more time consuming than I had anticipated and like it was when Dylan first came home, I am appalled at the gaps in Olivia's knowledge. While she is blowing through her math and science work, she struggles badly with a number of language arts concepts in spite of the fact that she is an accomplished, voracious, reader. It serves to remind me how grateful I am that I have the ability to homeschool the kids.

Interestingly, Dylan has talked with me lately about the point of it all. He wonders why in the world he is being made to study biology when he has no intention of entering any career field which requires it. He believes that it is useless information that he won't retain because he has zero interest and frankly, he has a point. Lately, I have been researching the "unschooling" movement pioneered author, John Holt, who believed that children would educate themselves naturally, learning what they needed to learn, without coercion, if they were allowed to pursue their own interests. A lot of what I've read lately makes sense to me but fear finds me on Sunday nights, writing biology lesson plans for the following week. I guess I'll just keep researching...

Work is mental.

Again, in spite of how overwhelming it can be, I am profoundly grateful to be this busy. Business is good. Projects are moving along nicely and we have managed to get our corporate infrastructure in place without much trouble. Captaining my own ship is a completely different animal from being an employee and I'll never look back. While hugely more stressful, I wouldn't trade my status as owner for anything in the world.

The biggest challenge these days is our upcoming move to New Zealand. We're currently interviewing international moving companies and weeding through all the bullshit. The transportation industry is filthy. I understand that everyone has to make a profit and I have NO problem with that. What irks me is the garbage that some of the account representative spout before they realize that both Dallas and I are well versed in logistics. They deliberately throw around terms and acronyms that they know most people won't grasp and use that position of confusion as a profit center. I have listened to more wanks babble on about this upcharge and that fee until I get a break in the diatribe and ask if I can send them a bid sheet. That usually stops them in their tracks and opens the door for a meaningful conversation. I had one guy from New Jersey tell me that I was smarter than the average bear, which for some reason, made me want to club him to death. Anyway, what it all means is that we will have about five different companies traipsing through our house over the next two weeks taking inventory and submitting bids.

We will also be starting the process of divesting ourselves of all of our electronics. Seriously. Everything from the TV's to the refrigerators, the toaster, lamps, steamers, crock pot, etc. have got to be sold. New Zealand works on a 230/240 volts which is double ours. I suppose we could get converters and we may for some things like Dylan's XBox but for everything else, it just makes more sense to sell now and buy new when we get over there. It is amazing how much stuff one accumulates over the years. I've started taking pictures of everything with the intention of listing in Craigslist or on eBay because I'd rather gouge my eyes out than have a garage sale.

Finally, there are all the medical and dental appointments over the next 10 weeks or so. My dysplasia issue continues to be an annoying thorn in my side and it looks like I may have to succumb to the idea of surgery. I cannot express how unhappy I am about that but I've had enough. I just want it fixed. We'll see. I'm going to give the alternate, less invasive, treatment two more weeks to work.

Yeah. So....

Like most of you, we've got a pretty full schedule these days. This is one of those times in life where I'd like a crystal ball so I could peer six months into the future and ease my twitching right eye. I have no doubt that things will be exactly as they should but still, a quick peek would go a long way to quelling the anxiety associated to living a life in limbo.

Please Go Away

Just to add to the general yuck of having a construction site within spitting distance of my house, I arrived home this morning from running a few errands to find that power tools were being charged on my front doorstep. My driveway was partially blocked by a worker's car and our lawn is now littered with empty water bottles and cigarette butts.

Oh, and the port-o-potty is four feet from my daughter's window. Nice.

One guy sees me pull into the driveway and comes over to remove the tools telling me that, "the boy" plugged them in there and that he didn't tell the wayward lad to do so. What an arse. "The boy" ? Really? I said absolutely nothing. I just stared, enjoying his discomfort, as he scrambled to unplug.

I'm so glad we're paying a fortune in rent.

Deconstruction

There is a house being built on the lot next to ours.

I am in hell.

It averages 150,000 degrees Fahrenheit here in dry, windy, Tulsa, Oklahoma and people who work outside tend to start things early before the temperatures get suffocating. There must be some sort of neighbourhood covenant about noise because the subcontractors seem to descend around 8:00 am with their heavy equipment, their endless cigarettes and their poor manners.
They park their vehicles in front of my house and walk across my lawn. I despise them.

Recently, something has happened to our water pressure. It used to be great. Now, it doesn't come out with enough force to create bubbles of the dish detergent. I blame the construction work next door.

We were all through with allergies, or so we thought. Now, all four of us are watery-eyed and sinus challenged. It's all the dust and matter in the air from the junk next door.

Remember the dog behind us who barked whenever someone walked by? Well, he barks ALL DAY LONG now that there are people working on the lot adjacent to his back fence. I love animals but that dog is on my very last nerve. I blame the construction.

We have somewhere in the neighbourhood of three months left at this address. While that fact used to cause the hair on the back of my neck to stand straight up with anxiety, I now embrace the coming change with joy. Until then, I will have to adapt and thus, I am scouring the internet researching noise canceling headphones.

A girl has to be able to hear herself think.

Mac Attack

Three days ago, I walked into an Apple store with the intention of getting my iPhone fixed. I tell myself lies like that all of the time knowing full well that crossing the threshold into all that silver and white minimalist, Genius bar, goodness would likely result in me walking out the door with something bearing the Apple logo.

My love affair with Steve Jobs and his black turtlenecks began with the iPod. I have spent numerous hours in the throes of Asian customs queues, white ear buds inserted, jamming away like the crass foreigner that I am.

Next, came the advent of iPod with VIDEO. I didn't think it could get any better.

And then, the iPhone was debuted. I bought my first one on eBay. I bid a ridiculous amount of money, never expecting to win, and before you could say, "car payment", I was an owner. Can I tell you how much I love my phone? I'm on my fourth version.

When I first heard about the iPad, I couldn't really see the point because wasn't it just a larger iPhone? Yes, some of those apps they advertised looked mighty interesting but how could I possibly justify the purchase? Then my friend came over, showed me hers and all the neat things it could do and I coveted. A few weeks later, I went to the Apple store to "browse". I came home with an iPad.

The Apple store in all of its chaos, does it for me. I love technology, especially the kind that is born in Cupertino, CA. It's intuitive, progressive and solves problems I didn't know I had. I'm pretty sure that there are one are two ideas brewing in R&D for products that will end up on that list of things I cannot imagine life without. See, that is why Stevie boy is so successful. He's managed to create need where none existed.

This past Tuesday, I walked into the Apple store to get my phone fixed and walked out 40 minutes later with a fully loaded MacBookPro but not before I grilled my sales guy about the rumours of a fall debut of the iPad3 (which he thinks are bunk).

Apple is electronic heroin and I am an hopeless junkie.

Waxed

Earlier this week, I ventured back to the land of professional waxing but this time, my expectations were that it would be easier considering my maiden voyage had already sailed.

No such luck. It hurt. It hurt in places it didn't the first time. And, I didn't even go all the way to Brazil. I probably bailed out somewhere around Nicaragua.

It wasn't a complete disaster, though, as there were some very important learnings.

1. Accidentally missing one or two days of the application of my bioidentical cream allows all hell to break loose.

Okay, warning: too much information is about to be shared (imagine that). Gentlemen, you may want to leave the room for a minute.

My body, without benefit of bioidentical cream, has a powerful need to menstruate every 23 days or so which means I've really only got one sane week in every three. In one of the other two, I'm a cramping, ugly, miserable mess and in the other one, I'm a raging loon. With the cream, I float along blissfully for about 27 days, like NORMAL women and I don't have to curb the impulse to ram into every driver on the road who thinks that he, and his half ton truck with the lift kit and the gun rack, in the fast lane, doing 60 mph, is going to teach everyone else how to drive safely.

2. So when reading the warning in BIG LETTERS about waxing within a few days of onset of menses, I should probably give myself a cushion of at least 10 days because here I am, three days later and DING, DING, DING, it's here. Early. This explains the pain, the raw red skin and the fact that I bled. My esthetician told me to look at the positive side of things in that each of the places where there was bleeding, the hair follicle has been killed dead. I don't know if she's full of crap or not as I haven't had the time to research that little piece of waxing lore however, in this moment, I will choose to believe her because it makes me happy to think that I might be winning the war of the curlies.

3. Since I appear to have an embarrassingly low tolerance for pain, my girl suggested that I medicate with ibuprofen BEFORE my next appointment and use this:

Oh, yes please.


Sold! Could I get a case?

Painfully Self Aware

There was a small incident today which served to show me that the abused can become the abuser.

My father and I are estranged and have been for fifteen years or so. It's a long, mostly boring, story so to be quick and spare you the gory details, let's just say that he was a man who was a slave to his personal demons. His perceived inadequacies led him to make dreadful decisions which he justified through emotional manipulation, battering and fabrication. There was a time when I was very angry with him. Now that I am a parent myself, when he does enter my thoughts, I feel mostly pity.

This morning, Olivia had a swim lesson and immediately afterward, Dylan needed to be rushed to his volunteer job at the aquarium. There wasn't time to go back home after the lessons and collect him so Dylan had to get up earlier than usual and come with us.

About midway through Liv's forty minute lesson, Dylan had had enough of the viewing room at the pool and asked if he could wait outside in the car. I tossed him the keys.

Tulsa is hot in the summer. It is scorch the lungs, sweat out of the shower, unrelenting, Las Vegas, hot. Dylan turned on the car fan in an effort to stay cool and in doing so, he drained the car battery. Dead.

After her lesson, Olivia and I came flying out of the building and rushed to get into our seats so we could beat the mad scramble of cars in and out of the swim school. I turned the key in the ignition and of course, the car engine wouldn't turn over. I lost my mind and berated Dylan until he was in tears. Then, disgusted with him (because of the tears), I turned away, called Dallas and asked him to help me. Without hesitation, my husband dropped whatever he was doing in his workday and came to our rescue. This was not the first time.

It wasn't the fact that he came to help. What jarred me back to my senses was that while my fourteen year old son quietly sniffed beside me from my assault, my husband got our car running again in two minutes, without complaint, with grace, with kindness, devoid of stress. He didn't emotionally punish me because I'd inconvenienced him. You see, he loves me more than that.

Dallas's picture was in stark contrast to the one I had drawn with my son, moments before. Raising a teenager is hard, for sure, but my intolerance, my lack of empathy, my impatience and my rage are not Dylan's problems until I force them onto his fragile psyche. He can sometimes be quite unkind, didactic and sarcastic with his sister and I've always thought my ex's behaviour was to blame until this morning when I realized that Dylan's single largest influence is me.

Today, I stared into the rearview mirror and saw my father staring back.

I didn't feel pity. I felt ill.

Grandma June

Life is so rich in that there are people that you meet along the journey who touch your world in ways you could never anticipate.

Dallas' Grammy June is one of those people.

Grammy June grew up in a world that saw a Hitler and a Mussolini. She lived through the Great Depression; was witness to World War II, Korea, Vietnam, Cambodia, the Chinese Cultural revolution, the Falklands and the independence of Western Samoa. She grew up on a farm and knew the ardours of physical labour. Grammy June is a very practical woman with a wicked, dry, sense of humour. She does not suffer fools lightly.

Even before I officially married into this family, my children and I were immediately accepted with open arms and incorporated into the extended family structure. There was no pussy footing around. Dylan and Liv had a new set of grandparents, cousins, an aunt, uncle and two lively great-grandmas. From their New Zealand relatives, they received emails and cards celebrating their birthdays. They participated in Skype conversations and their welfare was inquired after during any discussion.

This past Christmas, my children had a ridiculous quantity of gifts waiting for them under a Cromwell Christmas tree and it is one of those that I'd like to share with you today.

Grammy June hasn't been feeling all that well for the better part of a year. She suffers from near debilitating diverticulitis and the indignities that come with the disease are hard to accept. Christmastime, she made the decision to get on the plane with us in Auckland and fly down to the South Island for five of the best days I have ever personally spent in my life.

One day, either Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, she pulled me aside and asked to speak with me privately. We went back to her room and it was there that she sat me down on the bed opposite her own and handed me a package.


She explained that inside was Liv's "real" gift for this Christmas but she felt it best that I hold onto it until the timing was more appropriate. Puzzled, I asked what was inside.


She opened it to reveal this:

This outfit is for Olivia's firstborn child, which Grandma June figures she's not likely to meet but on that special day, whenever it comes, she wanted Olivia to know just how happy she is for her. It is hand-knit, with the most delicate details like wee little rosebuds and dainty pearlescent buttons.

I wept.

While it can be considered a thoughtful gift befitting of a practical woman like Grandma June, it meant a whole lot more to me than that. Sitting on our twin beds sharing a conversation and receiving the present on Olivia's behalf, is a poignant memory I'll treasure forever.