But how can I tell if I'm getting enough calories from the grease group?

Today's trivia is about nutritional labels on foods.  You know how they're all standardised in the States?  They are here too, sorta... but different:

They break it down by the serving, and by the 100-grams, so that there's always an easy way to compare across consistent units.  So, reading down the list:  the bottom six I understand.  But at the top, instead of calories, New Zealand foods have Energy.  And it's measured in kilojoules (to the hundredths place, which amuses me).  88.03 kJ equals 20.96 calories.  Huh. 
 
 

Good eats

What I've learned about breakfasts:

--Bircher breakfast:  Raw rolled oats and dried fruits, soaked overnight in milk.  Can be heated up, but not cooked.
--Spaghetti:  From a can.  Yes, for breakfast.  On toast.  Can also be incorporated into a pizza, but that idea makes me a little nauseous.
--Baked beans:  Also from a can.  Also on toast.  Also blurgh, in my opinion.

And investigations into sandwiches:

--Beetroot: Sweet, boiled, sliced beets are very common on sandwiches.  It is surprisingly tasty and is quite pretty.
--Pumpkin:  Roasted, spicy pumpkin is a common vegetarian option for sandwich fillings.
--Salads:  All the raw veggies that go on sandwiches:  the lettuce, tomatoes, onions, etc.  The sandwich-maker will ask you, 'Do you want all the salads on that?'
--Vogel:  Vogel's is a common brand-name of sliced sandwich bread at the grocery store.  At a cafe, you can order a 'Vogel' (although I think they should call it 'The Synechdoche'): a sandwich with any type of filling between two pieces of regular fluffy sliced bread that either are or resemble Vogel's.
--Toastie:  Or you can have them put your Vogel in a panini press and toast it up.  This is especially pleasant when it incorporates cheese.
  

The proud (and naked but for a diaper) artist

It's not quite a Chilean mine rescue, but...

We went to Devonport last weekend.  That's on the North Shore, across the harbour.  We took the ferry and that was was Big Fun for the little guys.  We watched the horse-drawn carriage going by (accompanied by Arram's delighted squealing), poked around in a used bookstore, saw some doggies (more squealing) and had brunch at a nice little cafe.

Then we played on the playground.  They had a big jungle gym, with lots of stairs and ladders and tunnels and slides.  The little guys could climb high-high-high up, and with the way it was designed, they were guaranteed not to fall off.  Both boys had lots of fun clambering around, although Amiri naturally went higher and faster than Arram.  Arram tried so hard to keep up with his big brother.  He eventually made his way all the way up to the third level, where the only way down was a big, twisty, intimidating slide.

That's when our poor little pumpkin got scared.  He just gave up, sat in the middle of the big plastic tube and wailed pitifully.  I stood below him, watching, and trying to coax him into moving toward the stairs where he could get down.  He refused to move, and his wailing soon turned into panicked screaming.  Meanwhile, a whole line of older children eager for a go on the slide had developed behind him.  'Baby, move!'  'Baby, come out!'

So I climbed up the awkward stairs and chicken-walked my way through the series of tubes, and gently elbowed my way through the line of impatient children until I got to my little guy, who by this time was frantic.  He clung to me like a baby monkey and ground his teary, snotty face into my shirt.  We reversed direction and made it back to solid ground.   One more reassuring hug, and I put him down.

And where did he go?  Right back up the stairs.
 

Mr. Prime Minister, stop being so PC

Warning-- the following may be infuriating and the content in the links may be unsuitable for children.

New Zealanders are blunt and to-the-point.  They don't mince around with their words.  They will say what they think.  This is quite refreshing.  There also tends to be a xenophobic streak among some Pakeha NZers.  Although I think (hope) it's largely in the spirit of good-natured ribbing, this is unfortunate.

Taken together, straight talk plus mild bigotry can result in statements being made that range, to American ears (especially those of us who grew up with politically-correct terms ingrained in our vocabularies and psyches), from the Huh? Did he just say that? to the Whoa! Line crossed! Beyond-redneck alert!

There has been some of this in the news of late, and it is reeeeediculous.  To sum up:

First, a breakfast show (the equivalent of Good Morning America, but quaint) host recently questioned whether the Governor-General, born and raised in New Zealand but of Indian descent, was 'even a New Zealander', and went on to speculate about the identity of the new person soon to take over the role, 'are you [the Queen] going to choose a New Zealander who looks and sounds like a New Zealander this time ... are we going to go for someone who is more like a New Zealander this time?"

Then a talk radio host publicly derided the same man for his portly build:  "He is a very large, fat man.  I don't know why but just on an Indian it seems slightly incongruous.  I mean, we don't all expect Indians to be begging on the streets of New Delhi, but it's like Anand discovered the buffet table at, like, 20 and he's never really left it."  When the Prime Minister later told him that was uncalled-for, he smarted back like a teenager.

And then the first guy was back with an on-air mocking --complete with naughty words on the morning show-- of the pronunciation of the surname of an admittedly-unfortunately-named-but-it's-not-her-fault official from overseas.

Racism combined with sizeism and just plain opportunism all in the same week?  Wow!  Maybe I'm misremembering how things are, but you just wouldn't see that kind of thing on the public airwaves in the US.  (Or maybe I've just led a sheltered life and I would have encountered plenty had I watched more Fox News.) 

Some righteous vindication amongst all the redneck alerts going off in my head this week is that the morning guy ended up resigning his job under duress.  But only because he's been making similar comments for years and people have gotten fed up.  Although apparently he has only just now racked up enough Broadcasting Standards Authority violations for the network to finally say anything.  But I think it's cool that some people got fed up.

I loves me some coffee

New Zealand is a cafe culture, and coffee is a national passion.  They really, really like their coffee here.  And they do it right-- just the right beans, just the right hot water, just the right additions.  And as with most things, New Zealand enjoys a few eccentricities regarding its coffee.

If you want a small (50 mL?) shot of espresso, you ask for a Short Black.

Want some frothy milk layered on top of your espresso?   You want a Flat White.  (This is my favorite.)  If you want to be healthy, ask for trim, not skim, milk.

Or maybe you want double-strength espresso with  the milk mixed in.  This is a Latte and it always comes in a short, fat water glass, not a mug.

If you'd like an American-style coffee, --I know what you're thinking, 'you ask for an Americano!', right?-- you ask for a Long Black, which is actually espresso with hot water added.

Brewed coffee, the hot-water-filtered-through-grounds-stuff ubiquitous to kitchens, offices, and conference centers across the US, is not typically available in cafes.  It just doesn't seem to be the thing. 

We all fall down!

A difficult conversation, but it had to be done

Hey, New Zealand?  Can you come in here for a second?  I need to have a talk with you about something personal.

We've known each other for a while now, haven't we?  And we both like each other, right, New Zealand?  So I feel comfortable enough with you to bring this up.  And I know that you'll understand that I'm coming from a perspective of caring, not judging, when I say this.

New Zealand, you have a body odor issue.

I'm not talking about the post-athletics funk that we all encounter from time to time-- hey, rugby players have every right to be stinky.  No, I'm talking about at the office.  At the grocery store.  In the movie theater.  How there seems to be this certain sour twang to the air in enclosed spaces, and especially now that the weather is warming up.  There always seems to be one of Those Guys around.

I'm pretty sure that there isn't some sort of widespread glandular problem that's to blame.  And I know there isn't a cultural opposition to basic principles of hygiene.  I suspect the problem lies with the deodorant and antiperspirant technology that you've made available.  I feel like I need to let you know that the 'dry sprays' you like so much just really aren't sufficient.  Nor are the roll-on liquids.  In fact, I don't think that the active ingredients on the shelves at any of your stores are really in the proper formulation to address your needs.

This isn't your fault, New Zealand.  I think you probably just haven't thought about making a real investment in effective deodorant technology.  But I think you really do need to think about doing that because it's starting to become noticeable.

I hope I haven't embarrassed you.  Do you have any questions for me?  No?  Right, then, mate, come on, let's go and get back to this beautiful day.   Thanks for the talk.
 

A photo for you from Eid day

We posed nicely for a second...

And then seconds later the complaining started and I had to catch Senor Crankypants as he threw himself back in disgust...

I love watching them play this game....

...but I don't know how they ended up incorporating a Scary Crocodile at the end.

Suffrage

As permanent residents, we have the right to vote here.  Registering to vote is compulsory in NZ (although actually voting is not), and we filled out our applications at the Post Shop almost as soon as we arrived.  Now we get our first chance to cast our ballots!

All voting in NZ is by post; there are no polling places.  We were sent our official voting packs recently, containing the information book, voting sheet, and a FreePost envelope in which to return the ballot.

This election is for the mayor and council members.  The information book contains biographies that the candidates have written about themselves.  They range from the smooth lines of the incumbent...

John BANKS, Independent:
John Banks stands for careful spending and decisive leadership. He will use his thirty years of political and business experience to keep your rates down, seek better value for your money and deliver you the benefits of savings. As a former Police Minister he will focus on your safety and security, establishing a strong relationship with Auckland's Police and investing in CCTV and other security initiatives. John will fix Auckland's economic infrastructure, promoting jobs and opportunities for you through tourism and events. John will deliver modern integrated public transport using trains, ferries and buses and important roading projects − giving you choices in how you travel. John will ensure that arts and culture thrives in every corner of this region, protecting our heritage and our environment and ensuring that the unique local identity of our valued communities is preserved and enhanced.  Visit www.johnbanks.co.nz to see his policies for Auckland.

To the guy who is clearly having a bit of a laugh:

Craig THOMAS:
Jedi Craig − A Super Jedi for a super city My name is Craig Thomas, I am a Jedi. For too long the Jedi Order and politics have been kept separate. But no more. The Auckland Council is desperately in need of my infinite Jedi wisdom. The dark side of long standing ineffectual politicians has lead to much fear in our city, as every Jedi knows, fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering and this is the path to the dark side. A vote for Jedi Craig is a vote against the clone army of conventional politicians. Craig is committed to delivering common sense, wisdom and balance to a Council that needs a new approach.  Support light−sabre based progress. Do, or do not, there is no try − Vote for Jedi Craig. (Join the Rebel Alliance today by searching 'Jedi Craig' on Facebook)

There are a high proportion of curious biographies, actually, some of them bordering on tinfoil-hat incoherence.  The reason?  It only costs $200 to get on the ballot.  I wonder if there is a similar repository of biographies from the 2003 California gubernatorial recall election?  I bet that would be good for a laugh.

--This episode of South Seas Style brought to you by New Zealand:  the first country with voting rights for women (1893).

Tales from Middle Earth

Our little guys sometimes do the silliest things, acting like they're from another planet.  I made some observations at the dinner table recently, however, and now I believe that actually they are just characters from a fantasy classic.

On weekends they become Hobbits, requesting and then joyously chowing through breakfast, followed by second breakfast, then elevensies, lunch, tea, and supper.  I often check their feet for hair growth.

They exhibit altogether different behaviour some evenings after picking them up from school, particularly on Mondays or when there had been cabbage in the lunch.  I NEED TO EAT.  WON'T WALK UNTIL I AM FED.  RIGHT NOW.  NOW.  FEED ME WANT WANT WANT.  I provide expedient crackers to avert the otherwise-inevitable public meltdown... and watch my little Orcs tear them apart two at a time and demand more.

And then there's evenings when they just don't seem to have much interest in food.  Under extreme parental urging, they will grimly make their way through the minimum-acceptable amount, attitudes like Dwarves faced with another dinner of cram... that they clearly believe that this is 'more of a chewing exercise' than an enjoyable eating experience.

Fittingly, Hobbiton is only about four hours south of us, and Mordor another hour beyond that.

It was all worth it, for this!

We took Amiri to the doctor this week (nothing serious).  He was worried, of course, about getting a shot.  But nothing scary happened, and when it was all done, he was taken to the ice cream shop!

Arram can dish it out too

They are singing either 'Ring Around the Rosy' or 'Dancing Queen'.  I can't quite tell.   ABBA has been very popular at school lately.

He just HAD to go and complain

Urban exploration

Some workmen were doing some maintenance up on our building's roof recently.  We discovered that they'd left the service stairwell open and unlocked.  Since that's pretty much an invitation to go poking around, that's exactly what I did.

The roof has a walkway all around the perimeter and a nice view of the harbour.  This is what we'd see if we lived across the hall.  The roof isn't, unfortunately, suitable for family fireworks-viewing.

Then I went down the stairwell to see where it came out.  It turns out that we're linked with the service alley behind all the kitchens of the restaurants in our building.  Neat.

I didn't take any pictures during this adventure, but Amiri will fill you in.

Spring is here!

I woke up the other morning and the air had that wonderful springtime smell.  It smelled green and warm and fresh.  Wonderful.  I realised that I haven't smelled that in years, because you miss out on springtime in SoCal.

So at lunchtime, in between all the rain showers, I took a nice walk around to look at the signs of spring.  There are buds on the trees.

Lillies are blooming.

And see the tiiiiiny little flowers starting to appear on the wintry-mossy trees?

Wet curls

Look at how our big boy's curls transform into springy little ringlets when his hair is wet.   Bathtime fun!

The call of the Red-Throated Ringtone

Today while walking outdoors in the suburbs, my phone let me know that I had a new text message.  Brrrrr-tink!  My phone was all the way in my backpack; ehhh, I'll let it go a few minutes, I thought, until I arrive at my destination.

Then, Brrrrr-tink!  Brrrrr-tink!  Brrrrr-tink!  Well, it must be something important if I'm getting four in a row...  So I wrestled open my backpack, scrabbled around for a while in the middle of the sidewalk, and finally fished the phone out.

The phone which had no new texts.

I pondered this paradox, staring dumbly at the phone.   Inexplicably outsmarted by technology.  Again.

And then I got another text.  Brrrrr-tink!  Curiously, my phone stayed quiet and dark.  And even more curiously, the sound came from the nearby tree. 

I looked and looked, but I couldn't find the culprit, even though he called several more times.  I wonder if that is his usual call or if he's a mimic.

Arram tests out the new torch

so that he can check for monsters under the bed.   In a few years.

 

But what are they really like?

I've written often on the topic of 'what New Zealanders are like'.  But I got to wondering, what do New Zealanders think of Americans?

So I put this question to some work mates during lunch.  They exchanged glances and grinned-- I could tell they had some answers ready and waiting!  Their interactions with Americans have primarily been with tourists, on NZ soil, so it should be noted that their opinions largely reflect the way that relatively affluent Americans behave while on vacation.

Before revealing anything, though, they made certain to assure me that I wasn't the 'typical American' and that none of these things applied to me, personally.  Thanks guys, that's nice of you and I won't get offended, now make with the stereotypes...


---Americans are loud.  They are much more inclined to shout or to bellow laughter.  Even in a 'normal' tone of voice, Americans' voices are tens of decibels louder than they need to be, and carry for long distances.

Personal reflection:  Do the Kiwis have a point?  Yes.  This is true!  Early on, I noticed that I was much louder in meetings or on the phone than anyone around me.  I have made a effort to keep my voice down.  My office mate nicely acknowledged that my volume has indeed become more pleasant in recent months.  Funny, I never would have thought of myself as 'loud'...  (Arram, though... that noisy little kid is CLEARLY an American!)

---Americans are crass.  They'll discuss bodily functions or reveal sensitive personal information anywhere, any time, and they don't really care who hears.

Also true.  The last time I was out on the sidewalk doing errands, I overheard a young guy telling his buddy about last night's conquest, in great detail.  I realised that I hadn't randomly overheard that kind of talk in a while, and then I realised that the guys were Americans.  But as a counterpoint, I think it's rather odd that NZers would consider American conversations as crass, whilst Americans see the commonly-accepted level of nudity and cursing on NZ TV as scandalous. 

---Americans aren't capable of having fun without it being scheduled.  They can't just find themselves in a situation and find a way to enjoy it.  This is why 'vacation packages' and tour guides are so popular with Americans.  It gives them a structure and a-plan-for-fun, within which they are able to let loose a little and enjoy themselves.

Although I don't think I agree that this is widespread enough to generalise to all Americans, this one actually provoked a little introspection on my part.  Now that you mention it, I DO tend to feel a little guilty unless I'm being 'productive', and I DO tend to schedule Fun, rather than being fully engaged in the little moments that arise organically.  So I'll watch that.  Thanks, NZ, for the psychotherapy!

---Americans wear track suits and runners everywhere.

It's probably just confirmation bias that I'm noticing this everywhere now that I've thought of it, but yes, it does seem to be the case that most of the examples of sweatpants and athletic shoes I've seen outside of a exercise scenario have been worn by Americans.

Evidence of Motherhood

While at work:

Opening your laptop bag, and a toy falls out.

Whatever your wardrobe, having at least one spot of dried drool, milk, snot, or food on it.

Mixed in with your TPS reports are kids' pictures.

Finding remnants of your son's sticky peanut butter goodbye kiss on your cheek.

Did you know that citrus trees grow here?

Look! Pukekos!

One of the charming local birds is the pukeko*.  It's a mostly-flightless bird with lots of personality.  I say mostly-flightless because they're kind of like chickens... they CAN fly, but they don't do it well and can't go very far.  Fifty years ago, they were nearly endangered, but have made a great comeback.  Now they live all over in the bush, and venture into the suburbs as well.  They like to take up residence in backyards that have apple trees:  eating the apples on the ground during the day and roosting in the trees at night.  And noisily chasing each other.  They're fun. 

I saw a family of them gallivanting around in the field by work.  I scurried over to the fence to watch them cavort and to take photos with my phone.  One of my coworkers laughed and laughed that I would be so amused by something so simple.  Like a tourist.

I managed to take the world's worst photo of one of the little fellas.  It's so bad it looks like an expressionist painting, with no photoshop needed.  Ha.  But at least you can see his red head, blue/black body, white rump, and spindly legs.

A power company here has a commercial with pukekos and I LOVE it.



*POO-kih-ko

Happy Father's Day!

You're all thinking, 'What?  She's confused... Father's Day was months ago!'

Not here it isn't!  In Australia/New Zealand (maybe other countries too, I don't know), Father's Day is the first Sunday in September, not the third in June.  Mother's Day is the same, though, so go figure.

Amiri made his Daddy a card at school, and on Friday they had a Father's Breakfast during drop-off time complete with scones that the children made themselves.  Amiri and Arram also signed a card for their Daddy at home-- Amiri only needed help with the R, while Arram eschewed the oppression of script altogether and gleefully scribbled across the Hallmark poetry.

An earthquake but don't worry

If you're watching the news or on CNN you've probably seen that there was a 7.0 earthquake in Christchurch. 

That's far away from us and on the South Island.  We didn't even feel it here.  And there's no tsunami.  We're safe.

The local news is showing pictures of a lot of crumbled brick in the street.   Apparently one or two below-code buildings collapsed.  Authorities are urging people to take precautions, like conserving water, and are checking to make sure that city utilities are still OK.

But there are no reports of injuries, and it appears that 99.9% of the damage was just cosmetic-- broken crockery and the like.  The precautions are just that, precautions.

People were frightened at the time, of course, since it came in the early morning and startled most people awake.  But now people seem to be dealing with it in the usual matter-of-fact Kiwi way.  Earthquakes happen here; it's not their first time at the dance.  Regular life is proceeding along its normal way, and people have gone out to pick up debris as part of their Saturday morning chores.   They'll replace their cracked crockery and everything will go back to normal.

Arcs galore

I have never in my life seen so many rainbows as I have in Auckland!  Maybe it's because it rains so often here.  My favorites are ones like these, where they're a full 180 degrees.  And then the BEST is when you can see where they end.  Where the color extends down all the way and ends right on Fanshawe Street.  Gorgeous.

Baby, go to time out!

I mentioned Arram's Time Out Chair a while back.   Now that he has some capacity for self-reflection, he has to sit by himself for one minute when he misbehaves.  This usually happens a couple of times a day.  As a result, he hasn't bitten me in over a month, and has considerably reduced both the frequency and duration of his whining.  Yay, time out!

Amiri is familiar with the time out procedure, of course, having gone through the process himself.  These days he's quite good at regulating his behaviour and is rarely sent away in disgrace to think about what he's done.

So now he's taken it upon himself to apply this staple of gentle parental discipline to his little brother.

The scene this afternoon:

Arram spots a treat on the counter.  He communicates his interest in the treat by screaming for it.  Seriously, I think the neighbors are alerted to the existence of the treat.

Arram:  *Winds himself up for yet another high-volume round of ear-piercing shrieks*

Dad:  Arram, no whining.  Tell me what you want nicely.

Arram:  *Shrieks like an air siren*

Dad:  Arram!  We don't whine.  Stop yelling so that Daddy can hear what you want.

Amiri, from across the room and self-important:  Arram, listen to Daddy!

Arram:  *Shrieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek*

Amiri:  Baby, go to time out!

Arram:  *Continues bellowing but trots obediently to his time out chair and sits down.*

Amiri:  When you stop whining you can come out.

Arram:  *A few more experimental hollers, then a couple of hiccups, then quiet.*

Amiri:  OK, you can come out.  Come here.

Arram:  *Stands up and goes to his brother.*

Amiri:  Good job stopping crying.  Don't whine any more.   OK?    Now give me a hug.

Arram:  *Nods his head, hugs his brother*

Mom and Dad:  *Exchanging wondering glances while watching this whole interaction*

Amiri:  Now go TELL Daddy what you want.

Arram:  *Returns to kitchen, points at the treat, looks hopefully up at Daddy.*   "Dat.  Dat dat dat?"

Daddy:  You want the banana?  You asked very nicely so you can have it.  Thank you for asking nicely.  Here, you can hold the whole thing and eat it by yourself. 


We don't want to encourage Amiri to get too enthusiastic about meting out the discipline, so we simply acknowledged that he was nice to his brother.  Later that night, though, after the kids went to bed, we were all, "Did you see that??!"  "I KNOW!  I couldn't believe it!   He did it just right!"  "And the best part?  It WORKED!!"

Cornwall Park

This weekend I took the little boys on an outing to Cornwall Park down in Epsom.  First we walked to Britomart and got on the bus.  Amiri was so good at following my directions:  when it was time to get off, he waited for me to get Arram's stroller safely off and to then turn back for him--he didn't jump down onto the street unsupervised.   Then we walked and walked, and waited for our next bus, and did it all again.  The boys got a little fussy on the second bus, so I doled out bits of trail mix one by one to keep them occupied.  While we were on the bus, it started to rain.  HARD.  Uh-oh.

But it was just a cloudburst and was resolved by the time we arrived.  There is an impressive fountain at the entrance of the park.

We proceeded in, past the Saturday morning rugby matches.  The sun came out and it was absolutely beautiful.  I took my jacket off and enjoyed the first t-shirt day of the year.

Amiri enjoyed running through the grass, running back and forth under a stone arch commemorating The Great War, and finishing up the trail mix.

 I really only had to keep track of Amiri; here is what Arram was doing starting from shortly after his snack:

Then we retraced our steps to get home, and since the little guys were hungry we stopped at a cafe for a plate of noodles and some milk tea.  They boys were absolutely wonderful the whole time-- no crying, no tantrums.  The worst thing that happened was that Amiri sat in gum at the bus stop (and that's not so bad!)  After arriving home after all that exercise, Amiri napped for about three hours.

Amiri writes his first word

"Mama, what's your name?"
     "Allison."
But what did Daddy just call you?
     Allie.
Allie is your name too?
     Yes.
How do you spell Allie?
     A-L-L-I-E.

After hearing the spelling, Amiri dashed off to the other room.  Whatever.  Three year olds often dash away unexpectedly.

I'll admit that this little conversation barely even registered for me amongst all the other chatter... I was distracted with something in the kitchen and paying attention to Amiri with only a quarter of my brain. 

Seconds later he dashed back, holding a piece of paper.  "Like this, Mama?"

When I saw what he had, I paid him some BIG attention!

Things the children have stolen from us and hidden away

1. Cell phone.   My phone was missing for two days.  We finally found it by calling it with another phone and listening very carefully for the muffled ringing, which turned out to be coming from the living room cupboard.  Under the kids' towels.  And several of Arram's toys that had also been stashed there.
2. Amiri once stole $20 off the table and hid it in an inaccessible (to adult-size people) corner behind his bed.
3. Keys:  house, car.  They've swiped these many times.  The most recent event resolved after finding them in a shoe. 
4. Amiri apparently used to believe that the TV remote belongs in the laptop bag.
5. A pair of pants.  No, wait, I mean trousers-- 'pants' means underpants.  A pair of trousers.  Depending on the imaginary scenario you subscribe to, they were either accidentally dropped or enthusiastically flung off the balcony.
6. Daddy's watches:  they keep turning up in unexpected corners.  Get ambitious and vacuum under the couch?  Find a watch.  Naturally.
7. Our hearts.  They've stolen our hearts.  Barf, I know, but I couldn't resist...

How I occupy myself while waiting for business meetings to start

I had a meeting for work recently on the 17th floor of a building facing the Harbour (well, except for the other big buildings right in the way).  Here are some views, starting with facing westward and moving eastward.

The building I was in happened to be across the street from the building that the kids were in.   I could look down into Arram's classroom's playground!  Unfortunately the babies weren't outside playing, or I would have probably missed my meeting trying to get a snap of my little guy. 

S

Sorry the picture's so bad... camera phone...

The languages of Oceania

In the US, when you look on the label of supermarket items like toiletries and paper products, you sometimes see Spanish or French on them in addition to English.  Makes sense, it's so that the same product can be sold in Mexico and Canada.

Here, it's even more common to see multiple languages on a label.  The languages I see most often are Indonesian (I think), Arabic script which I presume is Malay, and my favorite because I think the script is so pretty, Thai.


Translations on signs around the city or on websites, though, are more often Pacific in origin.  Te reo Maori is of course the most common.  But I've seen signs with five or six translations.  I can't tell what's what.  My guesses are Cook Island Maori, Niuean, and Tokelauan (since those islands have loose governmental associations with NZ), or Tongan or Samoan since they're relatively nearby.  And then there's Vanuatu, where conveniently they speak English or Bislama (read the sign phonetically.  It's a fun little creole.).

City lights on a wintry night

School picture day

The backstory:

The school told us that the photographer was coming.  So we dressed our boys up in their suits and hoped for cuteness.  Each child was supposed to have an individual sitting with the photographer and Amiri predictably put on the charm and the big smiles.  Arram, however, objected to the whole idea and screamed inconsolably.  So, wisely, his big brother was brought in from the next room.  With his calming influence, our cranky-pants little boy was able to be photographed.

I don't think the tongs provided are big enough for the job

Sightseeing at the fish market--

It's like going to the aquarium except you get to eat it if you want to.

Auckland's regional personalities

Central city:  A place to work, not live.  Except for the immigrants who will put up with renting an apartment.

The south side--  Counties Manukau:  These are the low-socioeconomic, high-crime areas.  Large minority populations.

The east side--Mount Eden, Remuera:  Old money.  Proper.  British influences.

The north side-- Devonport, North Shore City:  Posh, expensive, and newly-built.

The west side--Waitakere, Henderson:  Hippies and bogans.

Bike safety

This bike sat un-locked and un-stolen for 48 hours downtown recently. 

I know it's not a very nice bike.  But it's un-stolen!   On a very busy street!  Over two nights!

Whoa. Whoa whoa whoa. What.

In the toy department.  At Smith & Caughey on Queen Street.  In amongst the hand puppets and other sweet fluffy toys.

The manufacturer calls these "a wonderful collection of beautiful and colourful gollies." (Fifteen pages' worth?  Seriously?) I had to look the term up.  Just what I feared. 

I expected better, New Zealand.  Fail.  Rethink.

Spring cleaning

It was a dreary rainy day today.  We took it as an opportunity to give our apartment a proper cleaning.  The biggest difference came from having the professionals over to shampoo the carpets.  After nine months or so of toddler detritus, the rugs really needed some stain removal.  I learned, after seeing the enormous amount of dry debris they extracted and the gallons of grimy water that it took, that the brushless canister vac that came with our place really doesn't cut it. 

We organised our papers and the closets, did heaps of laundry, and bleached every available surface in the bathrooms.  Amiri's favorite part was helping with the windows.

We are happy about our new bathrobes...

but it is past our bedtime and we are unable to be happy about ANYTHING else.

But I'm slightly OK about this orange.

Ramadan mubarak!

It's been a long day already so just a short post today.  Wishing all a happy day and month.

The little tiny baby monkey and the co-co-die-lo

In keeping with his top animals to feature in our round-the-couch make-believe chasing game, Amiri was recently given some Just Because presents.  The monkey has magnets in its feet and can cling to his shirt.  He holds it sweetly in his arms, and he tells me several times a day, 'Mama, I love my monkey.'

The crocodile SNAPS! at Arram's feet.  Behind Amiri, by the way, is Arram's Time Out chair.  We have recently begun to implement one minute of sanctions for serious infractions.  Last night:  biting Mama.

The best part is I don't have to do any diapers today

Today we mark the event of my making my way around the sun one more time.  An eventful year it's been, too... what with having made my way halfway around the Earth, besides.  It's very odd now that I have an early-spring birthday.  Thanks for the good wishes, everyone.

As for me, I had a nice day being pampered, and got to have a NAP, which any mom-of-two-toddlers will tell you is her fondest desire.  It rained most of the day but then it stopped and there was a beautiful rainbow.  Then the two oldest males in the house ventured out to harvest a pretty cake.

About that cake...  Three layers, with custard and strawberry jelly in between.  Whipped cream frosting and lovely fruits on top.  Just before cutting it, Amiri told me, "Mama, I'm so excited about your birthday!  Your cake is beautiful."  We all ate too much sugar.

It was also a big day for Arram, who officially transitioned from Baby to Little Boy today.   (I'm not sure where we came up with that, that Arram Will be a Little Boy on Mama's Birthday, but it's sure been a much-discussed crowd favorite around here.)

Amiri told anyone who would listen that it was Mama's Birthday, she is 43 today.  Thanks, Amiri, for adding ten fifteen eighteen years to my age.  That's totally believable, right?

By popular demand...

Enjoy the interactions of our little guys as they eat a snack of toast on their new kid-sized table and chairs.

I'm NOT crazy

Last summer, I got sunburned even through my SPF 30 sunscreen.  I know I'm a burny-prone person, but still, I was surprised.  I was lamenting the upcoming summer and my apparently melanin-free skin to my coworkers today.  They gave me some valuable information.

The sun in NZ actually IS stronger than it is in the States! 

The intensity of the sun is measured in the UV index.  The UV index ranges from 0 (night-time) to 20 (laser sun).   Florida beaches have a UV index of about 10-12.  Summertime in northern New Zealand regularly reaches 14-15, even if the temperature is much lower than Daytona.

This happens for three reasons:  the ozone hole is nearby, the Earth's axis and orbit mean that the southern hemisphere is physically nearer the sun during the summer, and (ironically) there is less air pollution here to impede the sun's rays.

With this information, I'll be investing in SPF 45 this year.

Literacy

Arram loves it when we read him picture books.  He stands in front of us with armloads of books, begging for a story.   His favorite is 'Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?' and he excitedly joins in with 'Burr! Burr!' which, of course, is Arram-ese for Bear.

But yesterday we discovered that we aren't the only ones who can read to Arram.  Watch our big boy teaching his brother.

And so let the feasting begin

I had a couple of wonderful meals to celebrate my return to chemosensation.

Last week, we found a food court in one of the towers near our house.  It's described on one website as having 'all the ambiance of eating in a carpark', but it consistently gets five-out-of-five-stars reviews for the quality of the food.   It's a collection of twenty-plus Chinese, Japanese, Indian, Thai, Malaysian, Indonesian and other Asian stalls hawking steam buns, claypot cookery, any number of ugly-to-look-at, scrumptious-to-taste seafood, and everywhere you turn it's rendang this and goreng that.  It's been named the Best Food Court in Auckland.  Why oh why did it take us so long to find this place?

Anyway.  Look at this insanity I picked up at the Sushi Buffet stall upstairs.  $10 for 12 pieces, plus miso soup, condiments, and that crazy-good pink ginger.  You'll see that I am a wimp about the raw fish, but look... they deep-fried a Philadelphia roll.  Seriously, that's about as good as it gets in my book.  And when I saw that they made a nigirisushi out of a prawn twister, well, that's what sold me.

And then later I made a lunch of tapas.  Oh yeah.  On the left we have albonaya beef (I'm sure I've spelled that wrong):  it's a spicy stew of niblets of organic beef in a tomato-based sauce with cumin and saffron.  I mixed the cilantro and lemon zest throughout for an even more complex treat.  On the right are fresh local cockles, steamed open and dressed with a little garlic butter and herbs.  They're chewy little briny bites of happiness.

Nose-blind

Last week, I wrote about our boys getting sick.  They recovered nicely, but as tends to happen, I picked up their germs myself and came down with a nasty sinus infection.  I've now recovered as well with the help of some antibiotics.  I had an interesting experience during my illness, though... temporary anosmia.

Many times I've had trouble smelling things while sick, but this was the first time that I lost my sense of smell completely.  I tested very strong smells like bleach and acetone (as well as Arram's epic diapers, of course), but they didn't register, not even a little.   It was like living inside a deep-frozen wasteland where nothing smells of anything.  Additionally, it was very interesting for me to experience firsthand the old saying that taste is actually mostly smell:  because I lost my sense of smell 100%, I also lost my sense of taste by about 90%. 

I could tell in a very vague way that something was sweet vs. bitter, but I couldn't differentiate, say, mint from watermelon.  I did a taste test on some leftovers:  aside from the texture, I perceived savoury peanut noodles, beef with rice, and vegetable stir-fry as identical (identically bland, that is).  It was so odd. 

The novelty quickly wore off, though, and after several days I was feeling bored with food and craving flavor... any flavor.  I found crunchy textures, such as celery, much more amusing than I had previously, but still.   It's kind of sad when celery is your best option for comfort food.  I guess it was a decent diet aid, since I had no incentive to eat chocolate or any other junk.  I worried, what if it never comes back?  It was rather terrifying to consider a lifetime without chocolate.

Then the next day I realised that I caught a tiny hint of garlic in my dinner--it was incredibly subtle, but it was there.  The day after that, there was a hint of coffee flavor in my coffee.  And after that, I was able to correctly diagnose Arram's need for a diaper change by smell alone (although I really hadn't missed that aroma, lemme tell ya).   Now I'm back to normal, more or less, and grateful for our tasty world.

Our beautiful boys

Well, he DID hear a doctor say they recommend a one-cup serving per day...

Oh, that Arram!  He looooves his mischief.  Yesterday he reached up and grabbed an empty cup off the counter, and threw it down onto the tile floor where it shattered into a billion pieces.  I spent a lively 20 minutes barricading the children out of the kitchen and then sweeping-vacuuming-mopping up the tiny shards.

Here is Arram's contribution to the household's excitement today.

He stole it away from someone who was drinking from it.

The really sad thing in all this was that he picked up a tiny sliver of glass in the bottom of his foot.  I don't think it really hurt, but he sure did holler as we were taking it out and applying a band-aid.

Awwwww.  Poor little guy.

But he's OK.

Arram, how do you say 'milk'?

It was a big day here as Arram walked up to me and politely asked for a diaper change, instead of just hollering.  Hooray for communication.




(Note for those fluent in infant-signing:  Yes, I know that that is not the traditional diaper-change sign.  Amiri invented that sign all by himself when he was Arram's age, and we've continued it.)