Ask Suburban Matron

Halloo! Matt and I just got back to Sydney from our Vanuatu adventure. I missed you desperately, even though we had a wonderful time. I will have much to share about that, but while I get my photos downloaded and clean the island funk off my body, I wanted to give you something to chaw on. A troubled reader needs our help. She writes:

Dear Suburban Matron,

I need your help with a domestic etiquette issue. Some friends gave us a $100 gift certificate toward a photo session--a unique and thoughtful baby shower gift, or so I thought and still think. A mutual friend of the gift-giver keeps asking when we are going to do our session. We haven't had time and I need to get my roots done first, but yesterday I finally looked into it because we are starting to run out of excuses. The total price for a sitting is $300. My mate's response is, "Who gives a gift that requires you to spend $200?" True enough, but clearly they think we can afford it. Nevertheless, $200 is a lot of money and right now is not a good time to spend it on something we would never choose to spend it on--you see, we are not really the kind of people who do portraits. Not because we don't like them, but because I am patently unphotogenic when it comes to staged portraiture. The husband says, "No way we're doing it." I think that it's more delicate than that. Our friends will know if we don't use the gift certificate. It will hurt their feelings and make them feel as though they wasted their money. As you can see, this is a serious dilemma in need of your keen insight into human behavior and domestic bliss.

Sincerely,

Candid in California

Hmm, Candid, that is a pickle. Thank goodness you wrote, as I know the SubMat readers are a savvy bunch and will help you through. While I do see the thoughtfulness of their gift, it was also a little presumptuous to give it to you knowing what the total tab would be. Maybe better to avoid those kinds of presents? But they didn't, so here you are. As I was collecting my thoughts, I polled the extended Matron family. They had various responses.

One strong current of opinion is that you don't owe the gift-givers anything further than a heartfelt "Thank you," which you surely have already delivered. That is technically correct in Etiquette Land. Giving someone a gift does not come with the right to ask about it in the future. But I feel, as you obviously do, that this will not serve you in your present situation, where your mutual friend seems determined to find out when you set up your portrait sitting and how it goes (and what you wore? She must be a curious soul, because who would ask about such a thing more than once?).

My sister points out that, since it is your mutual friend and not the gift-givers who is asking, all you really need is something to say to her. That could be right. In the real world, what I would really do, probably, is to say to the mutual friend something like, "I think we'll wait until the baby is a bit older (or walking, or married, something) and do it then." That would defer the photo shoot until some vague future, and it seems unlikely that it would ever be brought up again.

Or here's an alternate response: Matt says Candid's friends didn't give her a gift certificate, they gave her a coupon. He feels that they won't be out any money if she didn't use the present. I don't know where he gets this certainty, and Candid, you know better than us if this could be the case. Just throwin' that in there. Often dude is right about these things.

What do you say, sensitive and tactful readers? There is also the straightforward and direct option, where Candid could say to the gift-giving friend, "You know, this is so sweet of you guys, but we just won't be able to take advantage of this. I want you to take it back and give it to someone who can use it." I mean, that's the direct way, but would any of us really be able to do that? I am eager to hear what y'all think, and I know Candid is too.

Heading Into the Sunset

The sunset from Amy's porch.

Friends, just wanted to pop in for a moment. Today the whole extended clan is heading to the Blue Mountains, to a place called Katoomba. It looks like this.

Then, THEN, on Saturday Matt and I are leaving our kids with mom and dad and going here, Vanuatu.

For a little of this.


Or maybe this.

Yes, we will probably look just like that.

I hope y'all have a good weekend! Back next week.
xoxoxo
Suburban Matron

Things to Love in Oz: Birdlife

In addition to Vegemite! and Jackets! I am loving on these birds they got Down Under. The trees in Sydney are full of feathered things that look like they've escaped from pet stores. It's so much fun to see these guys all around.



These are sulphur-crested cockatoos on my sister's front porch. On her porch. You see these everywhere--they're as common as mockingbirds--and it blows my mind.



At the koala park near her house, you can feed these guys, and lots of other birds, and the cockatoos say cute things like, "Hello Darling," and "Wanna treat?" Sure, maybe this is not their pristine natural behavior, but it is totally adorable.



You can feed an emu too, as Matt is doing here, even though an emu would just as soon kill you as look at you.



That's a kookaburra. They are ubiquitous and wonderful. Remember the song, "Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree, merry merry king of the bush is he"? Dad took this picture today at a state park near Amy's house. They really do make a sound like laughing. But here's my fave, the rainbow lorikeet. These are super common too. There were two of these in a bush next to where our car was parked this afternoon.





Sorry peacock, the lorikeet makes you look so BORING. (Kidding, dude, you know you're my bird.)

This concludes today's postcard from Australia. I thought y'all needed an avian update.

UPDATE, commentary from my Dad:

I talked with an Aussie on the street in Paramatta yesterday and he asked what would bring an American to his little river town. When I said that every tree held amazing birds he seemed surprised. He seemed to think about it for a minute and recalled a travel ad for Australia that he had seen while in California. He said that the ad talked about Australia being world-famous for parrots. He said, "I didn't know that." I told him that I had seen a King Parrot just that morning. He didn't know what that was. I guess it proves that we don't appreciate the common place things in our lives.

What's Cooler Than Bein' Cool?

Ice cold, y'all, that's Mom and me. I give you. . . Team Awesome: World Police!





It takes a certain amount of savoir-faire to get off the ferry in downtown Sydney, buy the first "Australia" warm-up jackets you see, and wear them proudly right that minute. Kind of like walking into Disney World and immediately donning mouse ears, when you are not yourself a child. And if your mom did it with you. We rocked it, friends, and we did not stop it.

I wanted Dad to get one too, but my sister said she would not walk around with us, and I think she was almost serious. Just a little postcard from our day for you, from Australia with love. That's Circular Quay in the background, and we saw very beautiful things and places today, but I'll post pictures of those later, because. . .jackets!

Vegemite!

Several of you guys mentioned Vegemite, and who doesn't love that old Men at Work song? So when I saw it in the supermarket, I was curious. The package says that it contains "yeast extracts, mineral salts, and malt extracts," plus so many B vitamins that it will "keep your family bright and alert." Okeedoke. When in Rome, right?



The package is cute.



Thanks are owed to Amy and Jason for telling me that people eat it smeared very thinly, with butter, on toast or crackers. I might have just squeezed it on my toothbrush otherwise.







You know, it's good! It has a really strong flavor, definitely yeasty, and the butter is the right complement. I can see how it would be a way of livening up bland toast, especially if times were hard and you didn't have savory meat or something. And it really does have a ton of vitamins. I'm taking my tube of vegemite home with me.

I still don't know what "chunder" means, and I'm embarrassed to ask the locals. Kind of like how Amy told me they don't make jokes about that "The dingo ate your baby" skit from Seinfeld, on account of, you know, how horrible that was.

So there you go, let it not be said I don't take risks for this blog. Can't you hear, can't you hear the THUNDAH!

Getting There Is Less Than Half The Fun

We had a four-hour flight from Atlanta to Los Angeles, then a three-hour wait at LAX, then a 14 hour flight to Sydney. It was more difficult than I thought it would be, but not in the ways I expected.

Here's what went right:

• I had good plane activities for Hank. I figured that now that he's three, we wouldn't be in for the potential nightmare that traveling with a younger toddler could be. I knew he could be reasoned with (mostly) and that he wouldn't wail the whole time or kick the seat in front of him. In my tote bag, I packed a few flap books for him that he'd never seen. I learned when Laura was little that regular books are nice for toddlers, but flap books, or books with something extra for them to manipulate, like stickers, are even better.
  
  I had two little Transformer robots that I bought just for this trip, and I didn't let him get his hands on them 'til he was strapped in his airplane seat. A smashing success--he played with them continually.
  
  I had also sprung for a new portable DVD player, because neither of our laptop batteries can go the distance. I got Hank and Laura each a set of child-sized headphones, because I learned the hard way once that the little earbuds they give out on the plane will not fit in a kid's ears.
  
  Finally, I had some snacks and candy, as a last-resort child-muting device. As it happened, we barely touched the candy.
  
  
• Both kids did great and behaved wonderfully. At age 8, traveling with Laura is like traveling with another adult. She totes her own carry-on, reads a book on the plane, takes herself to the bathroom, and puts up with Hank's feet in her lap or in her space. She whined and complained less than I did.
  
  
• Both kids slept about half of the long flight. Actually they were both asleep before we got off the ground in LA. Hank is small enough that he could lean over, put his head in my lap, poke his feet a little into Laura's seat, and zonk out. Laura made a stack of pillows on her armrest and snoozed her way west.

What did not go so great:

• We started this journey with Matt sick. Actually, he's still not back to normal. You may recall that early last week I was on my own with the kids while he went to California for work. He had a good trip but arrived home at 3am Thursday morning, exhausted, with a little cough. This blossomed into a full-blown respiratory infection, with coughing and fatigue. Swine flu? I don't know. But by the time we were setting off on Friday afternoon, he was in bad shape. It meant that he wasn't really able to do his share of the parenting logistics, locomotion, and kid-management. In the airport, every time I would leave him to take the kids to the bathroom or something, when I came back he'd be sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. That is not normal. And here he is at our gate in LA. That's not normal either.

• We were misdirected in LA, causing us to walk all over creation with increasingly tired kids and a barely functioning Matt. The dude at our check-in in Atlanta said, "When you get to LA, you'll have to go check in with Air New Zealand for your flight to Sydney. You'll come out of the Delta terminal and go to the left." So we made our way to the Air New Zealand check-in, and they had no knowledge of our reservation. The dudes finally figured out that our flight was actually operated by United, even though it said it was ANZ, so we needed to go check in with United. They told me that if I had read my itinerary more closely, I would have known that, but I swear to the Lord, it only said "Air New Zealand."
  
  So, if the airport were a clock face, we arrived at the 2, and walked to the 5 to check with Air New Zealand, and were then told we needed to go back to the 12. To the kids' bodies, it was about 1am when we got that news, and it was all Matt could do to stay upright. A couple of times, Matt broached the idea of just staying overnight in a hotel and flying out the next day. He was just looking for an escape hatch, he was feeling that bad. I told him that if he could just get himself to the gate, I would do everything else.
  
  When we were almost back to where we needed to be, Hank complained of blisters on his feet. His crocs had rubbed both feet raw, so I started carrying him. When we got into the check-in line, I took his shoes off of him and let him go barefoot. So yes, I was the person in the airport with the barefoot child. I was just thrilled he wasn't having a meltdown, because he was pale with tiredness. When the self check-in didn't work for us, even though they told us we HAD to start in that line (I hate air travel now), a really assholish guy told us that he couldn't help us and we had to get in another line, the line for people with special problems. I moved my sick and exhausted brood into the other line, the line of the damned, and my generally positive attitude began to crumble. Normally, I am all buoyancy and flexibility when in transit, but for a moment I understood how those passengers on the reality show about the airline wind up screaming and having to be restrained by airport security. I just thought, "Um, this is really hard."
  
  But we just kept on chugging. The barefoot Hank sat on the floor and played with his robots, scooting forward in line when I told him, Matt remained vertical, and Laura hung in there. Then somehow we all kept chugging through security, then we made it to our gate and Matt grabbed a nap. It is crazy, but the getting on the plane to start a fourteen-hour flight actually seemed like a relief. At least it meant we were all in the right place and could stay there a while.

• I never really got to sleep on the flight. It's just not that easy to sleep sitting up, even with a magical neck pillow. Hank fell asleep with his head on my lap, and you know how it is when you want one of your kids to sleep at all costs, even if it means you have to stand on your eyebrow and hold your breath. I just didn't want to disturb him much, and then when they turned off the cabin lights, they left the big video screen on. That thing was so damn bright that it was boring a hole in my skull. I felt around as best I could. I didn't have anything I could use for an blindfold. I felt my pocket, and remembered that when I had changed Hank into a pull-up before boarding, I'd stuffed his underwear into my pocket. I was desperate, people. So that's how I found out that his underwear won't fit over my head. Or they did fit, but the waistband was uncomfortably tight over the bridge of my nose.

• Early in our day, I let Matt put a bag of leftover garlic bread from Sbarro into my purse. Ladies, do not let someone put leftover garlic bread into your purse. The entire trip, whenever I opened my purse for anything, a noxious cloud of garlic wafted out for the enjoyment of those around me. I share this so that others may be spared.

But you know what? We made it. Matt had an empty seat next to him, and I relieved him of parenting duties for the duration of the flight. I think he slept okay. And we all got here. Of course, I lied on our health declaration forms, because I was afraid that customs would quarantine all of us. And indeed, since we've been here, the rest of us have come down with Matt's affliction, and we brought the Black Death to Amy and her family. They're so happy we're here! But all is well, and next I'll start sharing some of the sights.

Happy Fourth of July, y'all! I hope you have a great weekend. Strangely, the holiday is not such a big deal here.

I Am, Like, Walking Around Upside Down

Whoa, y'all, that was kind of hard. But we made it. I am blogging from Australia, where it is currently late Tuesday afternoon. I think in my Atlanta time zone right now it is Flursday, the 39th of June, in the year of the Llama. Seriously, I have no idea, and it is so disorienting. I keep thinking that if I can figure out what time it "really" is, then that will help me somehow with this jetlag situation, which at this point is not so much physical as spiritual, honest. I voiced this feeling last night at dinner, and Amy said, "Okay, I can tell you exactly what time it is there. In Atlanta it's 5:00 in the morning, Monday." And I was like, "That is so creepy." It didn't help at all.

Also, it is winter here. We knew that, and we packed warmer clothes. It's not like hardcore winter anyway--more like a Northern California winter. But the sun is in totally the wrong place, and it gets dark by 5:30, or 17:30 as they call it, freaks. Last night as I was grappling with the notion of June 27th, and what happened to it--I mean, we flew to Sydney on June 26th, and we arrived on June 28th, so someone owes me a June 27th--Mom had a revelation. We were talking about how early it got dark, and she was like, "I get it! We just had the summer solstice, which was our longest day of the year, but down here it was their shortest day of the year!" Dad laughed at her like she was a complete simpleton to just be figuring this out, but it seemed like a major epiphany to me too. Be gentle with us, we are not from around here. Today when I was ordering fries for Hank, or "chips," God help us, I was offered "chicken salt" to go on them. Chicken salt! What the HECKS! I've asked if it is actually chicken-flavored, but nobody will quite give me a straight answer.

Matt just helpfully explained that we did in fact have a June 27th. It lasted from when it struck midnight as we flew over the Pacific until we crossed the International Date Line into June 28th. Hmmph.

Tomorrow (whenever that even is) I'll share the saga of our journey with you, and how I came to learn that Hank's underwear will not fit over my head, at least not loosely enough to be comfortable. I hope that you all had a good weekend (whenever that even was).

I Can Has Naps?

Today's itinerary was not especially hectic. But somehow I was barely up to the challenge of normal life. Matt is still in California, so it was just me and the kids. Because I love daily itinerary posts. . .

I woke up at 8:30. Today was my day to drive the carpool up to swim team practice. I rousted both kids out of bed and I was driving to pick up our neighbors by 8:55, a cup of yesterday's reheated coffee on board. While the girls swam from 9 to 10 at the pool, I pushed Hank on the swing. Science has yet to determine the maximum amount of time that Hank would want to be pushed. In computer models of the scenario, either the sun burns out or the universe collapses back into a singularity before he wants to get off and go slide. So that was my cardio for the day.

At 10:00, we dropped our friends off and came back home to a round of cheerios. I dragged the garbage and the recycling to the curb. Then things are hazy. I think there was a lot of playing with trains. I was allowed to touch some of the trains, even. I nurtured Hank's burgeoning imagination by pretending to be tied to the train tracks. Then I did a few loads of laundry, neatly dumping the clean clothes in a giant pile in a chair. Oh, why there they are right now.

Around noon I called AT&T to see about options for using my iPhone in Australia. I don't even know that I can't just get by with a temporary Australian phone and my sister's internet connection. But my iPhone is my precious, and I don't want it to think I didn't even try to keep us together. So they signed me up for some kind of AT&T World Explore & Swashbuckle plan for six dollars a month that gives me the privilege of paying $1.29 PER MINUTE for voice calls Down Under. Seriously. I don't think I'll be talking much. Also I signed on for the AT&T Sun Never Sets on Our Empire Plan for data, costing $25. I feel like I just got worked. They are probably sending me a fruit basket right now.

Then I arranged online to have our mail held while we're away. The USPS website is awesome. You can do anything on there. Anything. Go try it.

Then I noticed that Design Mom had a post about having arranged her bookshelves by color. I have been wanting to do this for the longest. Go look at it. But I need someone to come over and help me do it. Takers?

Then after lunch Frenemy Neighbor texted me and said, "Would Laura like P to come over and play at this time?" And I texted back, "Sure." And she answered, "Thank you. I can work in peace now." Great! Me, not so much. I was feeling bad, because the day after my last post about Frenemy, in which I gave vent to my frustrations with her, she got stung on the hand by a fire ant, and she's seriously allergic to them, and had to go get a shot and spend two days in bed. She showed up at my house with a puffy Frankenhand. So I'm not sure if this blog has the power to call down the wrath of nature on people, but it was not my intent.

I put Hank down for a nap. I didn't go to sleep in his room, though I really really wanted to. I did some work, a very little. Laura and P straightened up my bedroom for me. They like to do this, and it is adorable, except they hide the dirty clothes I've left on the bathroom floor somewhere in my closet.

At 3:30 I woke Hank up and we took Laura to her orthodontist appointment. The office manager wanted to chat with me the entire time Laura was with the doc, instead of letting me read Us Weekly. Sad trombone. There may be some detail of the Jon & Kate sitch that I missed, people. So the dentist is happy with how Laura's headgear is working, and gave us some extra rubber bands to take on our trip. I said, "Oh, you can't buy these at the store?" And he laughed, like, "Oh NO, you can't just buy those rubber bands." Because these are special or something.

It was nearly five o'clock, and I had no intentions of cooking supper. Then I remembered that Tuesday night is Kids Eat Free night at Chick-fil-a. I've written a paean to them before, those God-lovin' chicken cookers. (Amy's phrase.) I figure the play place would be a good way for Hank to get his ya-yas out a little. So we roll up to the Chick, and lo and behold, it is Cinderella night. There is a young woman in full Cinderella drag, smiling and hugging on the kids. Her wig made her look only slightly tranny. The excitement level in that place went to 11. Probably 20 little girls were there in their princess costumes. Laura was really into looking at Cinderella, but with an expression of bemused tolerance, like she was so far beyond all this princess nonsense. Hilarious.

Have I mentioned that at every moment of the day, it was 149 degrees? It was.

Perhaps that's why, when we got home, I was felled like a tree. I lay down on the couch and dozed while Hank watched the entirety of Night at The Museum. Yes. Please don't forget to nominate me for Mother of the Year, if you haven't already. You see, I had been up late the night before because I got sucked into that "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria" show on BBC America. It's like American Idol, only Andrew Lloyd Webber is picking the star of his production of Sound of Music, to play in the West End. It is what TV's are for, y'all. Look into it.

Then I got vertical, and there was more nurturing of children and some light housekeeping. Then when it was almost bedtime, Frenemy Neighbor called and asked if Laura wanted to go up to the pool for one last dip with them. That's what summer is all about, after all. So I hustled her out the door, and Hank into bed. And here I sit, refraining from eating all the leftover birthday cake.

Are y'all getting into your summer routines? Oh, and in my day there was lots of thinking, and thoughts, and a rich inner life. Don't know if that came across, the rich inner life part.

I'm humbly submitting this to Keely's Random Tuesday Thoughts.