Never assume, as Silence of the Lambs so eloquently states - it only makes an ASS out of U and ME!

We didn't actually make it to Vietnam. Remember all of those amazing things I said about being super organised and particularly impressive when it comes to sorting shit out? Well I was a little bit wrong on both counts. Let's just say, you need a real send-your-passport-away-to-Canberra type visa if you want to travel to Vietnam, not just one of those cards you fill out on the plane. Not the one I assumed I would fill out on the plane, like nearly every other country on the planet!!

Grr!!

I went through the Seven Stages of Grief pretty quickly, and may have even added a couple of steps myself - definitely had bargaining, rage, depression, tears, anger, rage at myself, acceptance, and then a whole lot of embarrassment!

Yup...

So we are now holidaying in Langkawi, an island in the north of Malaysia, which is wonderfully hot and filled with jungles and beaches and food. The Bean is only really consuming chocolate milk, ice creams, chicken Twisties and lollies. Although, today (yipeee!), he ate two pieces of toast with Vegemite (bought from home - the Vegemite, not the toast, ew!) and nearly a whole bowl of Chicken Spaghetti bolognese! Hunger got the better of him, but I'm so stoked there is something on the island he's willing to eat. I, however, have found very little on the island I'm not willing to eat, today I got my hands on a Shawarma which made my day, and my dinner, the first of which I've eaten since leaving the lovely shores of the UK. Oh my holy lord and/or lordess I'd forgotten how ace they are!

I hired a car and we went on and ADVENTURE today. This is our new word. This is the word I'm using in reaction to our current situation and also to questions about The Ett Man. Hard to tell a three year old that his mother can't read properly and has therefore left him without his dream holiday of boats with eyes on it, 'lotsa people' and mountains in the sea (Halong Bay). However, in saying that, I have discovered that there may have been a chance that he wouldn't have really like the busy-ness of the plans I had for Vietnam. He is struggling a little here, and here there is nothing to do but walk around and hang out. Which is actually really cool. He plays with his cars. I watch him. We talk about important things like jungles and chickens and the ocean and I eat and he doesn't.

:o)

So we are going to hang out in Malaysia for a couple of weeks. We aren't going to fly back until we were originally going to fly back. We're not even really sure where we'll be in the next few daqys. I'm liking this island. Might go to another one, Penang, although I'm told that's a bit busy and a bit touristy and a little like Phuket, which I didn't really like, so I don't know. I might just figure that one out tomorrow. Or the next day...

The Bean has been playing with his cars, his dinosaurs and his new pink sunglasses. He chose them. I have no issues with gender orientated colour coding, but I'm sure there will be some backlash once we return to the sunny shores of Oz. Although I'm told it's ridiculously cold at home at the moment, might just go for a swim while I can!

I'm really liking warm weather and relaxation and the beach and hanging with The Bean and floppy cotton clothes and driving in a region where 60km/h feels REALLY fast and Shawarmas and Islam and friendly people and roti for breakfast and the Call to Prayer at 5am accompanied by a few dozen roosters singing in harmony, one of which The Bean was convinced was actually a leopard in the jungle not a chicken at all.

I really think I needed it. Maybe we both did.

Things The Bean has said:

Me: Get your finger out of your nose.
TB: No.
Me: Excuse me?! Get it out of your nose.
TB: Why, Mama?
Me: 'Cause it's rude. Will you just take it out?!
TB: Mama, I'm just getting the bugs out.

No More Sleeps!!!!

'We're going on a bear hunt...
We're going to catch a BIG one!
We're not scared...
What a beautiful day?!'

We head to Vietnam today. The fact that I'm able to type this blog at 9:30ish when Ninna and Papa are picking us up in an hour is indicative of the fact that I'm super organised. Super excited. And already been awake since 4:26am!!!!!

I have ticked off a major list of items since getting up at about 5:54am when The Bean said that he needed yellow glasses (assume goggles) to go swimming in the ocean (not 'Morning Mama' or 'NO MORE SLEEPS!!!' or even, 'I'm awake').

I've fed, clothed and re-fed The Bean, washed a load of washing, hung it out with the hopes that Mum will take it off the line for me while we're away, vacuumed the floor around where The Bean had breakfast, done the dishes, ACTUALLY put the dishes away, had coffee, toast, painted my toe nails, changed the bedding, repacked our toiletries, packed the various battery chargers, locked the backpacks, searched for one of the locks for the backpacks that The Bean was playing with (he said they were little 'bags'), cleaned my glasses, put the rubbish AND the recycling out, failed in finding the final lock for the backpacks, had a miniature panic about what that means and how to avoid copious amounts of Heroin/Crack/Ecstasy being snuck into my bags, although space is not permitting, had a little panic amount there being no space, had a little panic about the weight of the back packs and how I'm going to be carrying everything and at some stages, The Bean as well, attempted to stop panicking, started writing a blog....

The Bean has been relaying to me the things he has learned by rote.

1. Security

Me: What do you have to do when we are in Vietnam?
TB: Hold Mama's hand.
Me: When?
TB: ALL the time.
Me: Why?
TB: 'Cause there's lotsa people.
Me: And?
TB: You don't want me to get lost.

2. My attempt to make him understand a stop-over

Me: So what happens today?
TB: We catch a BIG aeroplane.
Me: And then?
TB: We stop.
Me: And?
TB: We have a sleep. We get up.
Me: When?
TB: Early in the morning.
Me: Then?
TB: We catch another aeroplane to THE ETT MAN!!
(He still can't get Vietnam out)

3. Cuisine

Me: What are you going to eat in Vietnam?
TB: Vegemite toast.
Me: And?
TB: Bananas.
Me: Why?
TB: 'Cause there's no Vita Brits.
Me: And?
TB: No fruit toast!

Things The Bean has said:

After he told me about the yellow glasses he wanted me to buy, at approximately 5:50am...

Me: NO MORE SLEEPS!!!!!!!!!!!!
TB: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!
Me: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!
TB: Are you ready?

Nautical Themed Bean (although I wish he was a Pirate!)

1. We live near the beach. So The Bean is definitely a sand child, which is good, until we get home and I have to wash his clothes, and my washing machine and all the carpet between my washing machine and the front door gets gritty.

2. He still fits into the laundry basket which for the past week has been sitting on my lounge room floor with a stick poked through the holes and a tea towel pegged to the top. He sometimes uses a plastic plate or a plastic coat hanger for the 'driving wheel', but it really isn't a very big laundry basket so this driving is 'space permitting'. It has interchanged as a sail boat, a tug boat, a boat with eyes on it, a reading boat, a pirate boat, a safe haven and a place to keep cars, dinosaurs, shoes, books and other items that NEED to be in the sail boat so they don't have to be put away.

3. He likes to walk on the 'fridge', which is really a translation of 'bridge', although, he really means 'pier'.

4. Whenever we drive anywhere and we actually see the sea, we both call out, 'Hello OCEAN!'.

5. We live near the beach in Melbourne so although sand loving, not so much into the whole water thing. It is terribly cold, even through most of summer. But it's not just that. I asked him if he was going to swim in the ocean in Vietnam and he replied with shock, and a little sarcasm, "No, Mama. The fishes will eat me in the ocean."

6. On Monday, during a moment of clarity, let's call it sunshine, we went for a walk to the beach and The Bean took a silver SUV of some description with him. Luckily, the tractors had recently graded the beach and made some very cool SUV tracks in the sand. The Bean lay down in the sand immediately to allow the SUV full use of said tracks. Despite it having rained a butt load the night before and the fact that although this clarity giving sunshine was out, it was a maximum of 10 degrees.

7. He still likes to have a bath, as do most of us. The problem with The Bean is that we don't live in a house with a bathtub. We have but a shower in our little unit, which is fine for stand up bathing, contemporary in a 70s kind of way and clean. The Bean insists on a bath, in the blue baby bath tub he had when he was, well, a baby, which sits in the bottom of the shower cubicle. He likes it and who am I to argue? He is a giant skinny little butt string bean, so the butt fits in, just not really the rest of him.

8. He loves his fluoro green skull and cross bones pyjamas (my encouragement towards him being more Pirate-y).

9. When we empty the bath he says, 'Bye Bye water, thanks for giving me a bath!'

10. He loves his 'Max' book, 'Where the Wild Things Are.' As do I. And it relates.


Things The Bean has said:

A few days ago I noticed a little rash on the top of The Bean's thighs and a bit on his butt and tummy (don't worry, I don't think it's serious but I'll take him to the doctor if it's still there tomorrow).

Last night after he'd gotten out of the bath and we'd said goodbye to the water and we'd squeezed out the face washer and we'd dried the Allosaurus and the Tyrannosaurus Rex and the Minmi and the weird pre-mammal thing we don't have a name for, and after I'd wrapped The Bean up in a towel and eaten his face like a spring roll I checked his butt rash.

Me: Is it itchy?
TB: No mama.
Me: What is it? (more to myself than to The Bean, let's be honest)
TB: It's from the pumpkin.

Child

I'm not going to try and sound pompous and superior or even like I know anything at all, this is my disclaimer.

Today we had people come in and talk to our year 12s about road trauma and driving safely and being good young people with new licences. A quadraplegic. A paramedic. A police officer. A man with severe acquired head injury. And a man that talked about his son dying, over 12 years ago, when he was in Year 11. A few people died in that car crash.

And this wasn't the only car crash that they talked about.

But afterwards, when I talked to other teachers that were present, we all were affected by different aspects of the 70 minute presentation.

The job roles. The affect on families. The images of kids in pieces hanging out of the cars. The cars smashed up against trees, power poles, trucks, other cars. The images of funerals. And of white crosses and flowers taped to trees.

The bit that got me, was the man's son. And not because his son died. It was completely selfish. I was wishing, hoping, praying to a God I don't even believe in that my son would be safe. That nothing that awful would ever happen to him. But that man, thought the same about his own son. I'm sure.

We are oblivious.

And now I'm a parent.

I've sped before. I've texted when I'm driving. I've been in a car where I was scared. I've been in the car when the driver's been drug/alcohol/rage affected. I did dumb stuff.

The Bean will do dumb stuff.

Kids do dumb stuff.

How do we keep them safe?

I would never have understood the absolute pain in this man's voice when he talked about his lost son until I'd had The Bean myself. And here is where the disclaimer takes effect, I don't think anyone that hasn't had kids can imagine that. I don't think that these kids, and let's be honest, although some are 18, they're still kids, have any idea of that kind of concept. The hugeness that is losing, or even the thought of losing, your child.

At 18, they're still kids. At 17, which is what this man's son was, is still a kid. The kids in the car were all silly and made a few mistakes, that ended in the lives of kids being taken away. But they were kids! We were still kids then. Shit, I was a kid until maybe last week in some ways.

Yes, The Bean is a kid. But The Bean is MY kid.

And the moment he was torn out of the whole ripped in my stomach skin (let's be honest, sounds much more dramatic than Emergency Ceasarian Section), my life changed. INSTANTLY.

There was no fire, no passion, nothing else that mattered in the universe but him. There was no issue of bonding for me. There was the issue of severe and complete protection instinct. I'm a Leo, maybe it's my Lioness/Cub thing, but I would tear anything apart with my teeth if it tried to get to him.

That fierce, protection of one's own flesh and blood, literally, is something that you can't describe unless you have felt it before.

I do sound pompous and superior and like I know something, and maybe I do or not, but the love for your child is irrevocable, all comsuming, and I imagine, soul destroying if they were taken away.

How the man had the strength to talk about it, over and over again, is unfathomable.


Things The Bean has said:

Getting into the car from creche.

Me: What IS that on your pants? Is it play dough?
The Bean: No, Mama
(rolls his eyes - no joke, he rolled his eyes at ME)
TB: It's soup - look, here's a noodle.

Holy Effing Crap!

I've been counting down the sleeps from triple digits. I've been busting my budgeting butt to the point where I think about the difference between the groceries I really need and the yummy things I simply want. I've been planning and saving and booking and reading my lonely planet. I've been printing off confirmations illegally at work amidst assessment rubrics and study booklets.

I bought a neoprene cover with velcro accents for my DSLR. I bought a new 4GB memory card. Both off ebay, sent from Taiwan. (See budget butt - above)

We have our passports. We have our backpacks. We have our travel insurance. We have our flights, accommodation, internal flights booked. I bought The Bean new thongs. We have shorts. T-Shirts. Wife Beaters. Bathers. Hats. New sunscreen.

I even have one of those little against your skin, skin colour baggy things to put all the passports and stuff in.

Organised doesn't even begin to describe it.

We are, in all essence, ready to go.


And now, SHITTING MYSELF!!!

The Bean gets sick if someone looks at him before they sneeze. I get panicky when The Bean gets sick.

What if he gets sick and I get panicky and there's no one there that we know to help?

What if it rains the WHOLE time?

What if he gets tired and we don't get to see anything?

What if I get tired but he still wants to keep going?

What if, and in all likelihood this is more a when rather than an if, he chucks a huge mental spaz tantrum in public and I get hugely embarrassed and people stare and I shout and the embarrassment, panic, anxious cycle spirals out of control?

What if I turn to take a picture and someone steals him away? I don't speak Vietnamese. Who would I ask for help?

What if he hates it?

What if I hate it?

What if, two days in, I just want to come home?

What if I'm a crazy person that just wants to come home?

What if all the things that I love about travelling, now terrify me?

When I was pregnant with The Bean I said, 'I'm gonna take this baby all over the world. It's going to experience things rather than want to own things, purchase things. Even if it's just the two of us and a backpack we'll have adventures and it'll see the world and learn that people are from different places and have different ways of thinking and all of that is amazing and special and true and life.'

What if I'm not strong or brave or rich or sane enough to actually go through with it???

Things The Bean has said:

The Bean: It's not raining anymore, Mama. Can we go to the big zoo?
Me: Not today babe, you're still sick.
Tears.
Beginning of tantrum.
Me: Why don't you go call your Papa and tell him it's not raining anymore?

Calls Papa.

TB: Papa, it's not raining anymore.
Papa: Hahahaha
TB: Papa, can we pleeeaaasse go to the big zoo now?
Papa: Um...

Gives the phone to me.

Me: Dad, you said it. He remembers things like that.
Papa: But that was days ago.
Me: You are not allowed to say things to a Bean describing some distant future. 20 minutes before you want to do something is the maximum.

The Bean at the window: MAMA, THE SUNSHINE'S OUT!!!! Let's go!!!!!!!!!

Musings of the Mama (Not so much about The Bean)

When I was a little girl, I had endless, repeated fairy tales recited to me. Over and over again, to the point of memorisation (is that even a word?).

These fairytales, according to folklore, have been around for centuries. They were derived from folk tales and wisdom passed down through the ages. They arrived at me - a blonde haired, grey eyed, big teethed, lanky thing in the early 1980s and they took my mind to places of enchantment and magic and love and danger. I poured for hours over second hand copies of Hans Christian Andersen stories. I even visited his house in Copenhagen. I saw the Little Mermaid statue. (See above)

I have always loved fairytales. Storytelling. Stories.

They taught me lessons.

They taught me about what I should do with strangers. That only real princesses feel bumps in the bed (I was never a real princess, clearly, I can sleep anywhere). That you should build a house, strong and sturdy so no bad guys come and eat you. About Ugly Ducklings. Beautiful swans. Frogs. Princes. Towers. Long blonde hair. Porcelain skin. Kisses. True love. Injustices. Torture. Evil. Magic. Feminism and patriarchal society (not so blatantly in the 80s but once I studied literature at university, it made WAY more sense). Desire. Status. Deception. Luck. Greed. Murder. Love.

Happily, ever after.

For years I thought about these things.

Then for years I rebelled against these things.

But they were always there. These day dreams.They still are. The fairytales of how my life should be. Of how the world, according to centuries of wisdom, according to time immeasurable, should and has always been.

I am a culmination of, a product of, everything I've ever seen, read, heard, smelled, touched, experienced. Been exposed to...

And now, as a mother of a Bean, I wonder how much of these things I should teach him. How many of these stories I should tell him. Expose to him.

Am I setting him up for a life of dreaming of something that doesn't really exist? Or is that pessimism at its best?

Are there fairytales to teach him of fighting social injustice? Of fair trade? Of nature? Of climate change? Of war and famine and disease for the sake of greed and money and exploitation?

Do I want him to fear strangers when more often than not, violent crime is committed by someone known to the victim? Often known very well.

Do I want him to believe in 'happily, ever after' when the term really doesn't make sense? If someone is happy ALL the time, it is just as weird as if they are sad all the time.

It's unbalanced.

It's not any good.

But I'm reminded, I remember clearly, feeling wonderful when enthralled by these stories. I felt as though I could do anything, be rescued. From what? My life? These stories made my childhood. They just may have impacted more grossly on my adulthood that any unwitting adult reciting these stories could ever have imagined.

And I remember these words, from a visual fairytale. From a comment on day dreaming and reality and magic and love. Off by heart, I remember this...

'Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle, beyond the Goblin City, to take back the child that you have stolen.

For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great...

You have no power over me...'

Paradox?

My son is smarter than his years. He is wiser. He is cleverer. He is more compassionate. Understanding. Kind. Considerate.

When I'm sad he tells me to breathe, "Calm down, Mama. It's ok."

When I'm grouchy he says "stop shouting to me, Mama."

When I tell him to make sure his dangle is in the toilet he shouts back "It is, Mama. I KNOW!"

When other kids fall down, hurt themselves, get upset, he goes to their rescue. He'll put his arm around their shoulders.

He is kind.

At the park the other day he poked a little boy, much littler than him, with a stick. I didn't see it, I just came to the littler boy's rescue. Heard the tears and ran, not sure whose baby it was, until I turned around. No one saw the stick poking, just the tears of the little one. The stick poking happened inside the light house of the park near our beach, behind closed doors, so to speak.

The Bean was in the light house with his friend. After I rescued the little one, returned him to his mother, I went into the light house to ask The Bean and his friend what had happened. It looked as though the little boy had fallen down the steps inside. Made sense.

The Bean's friend looked down. Guilty.

I asked her what had happened again, she said she'd poked the boy with a stick. "It's our lighthouse."

Roar!

At The Bean - I don't tend to yell at other people's children, unless in a classroom type situation. Then it's a free for all! I love them, but I yell!

I talked again to The Bean later, he said he'd "Poked the little boy in the t-shirt."

We talked about it. Rationalised it. I told him how uncool that was. How we don't do things like that.

How I couldn't believe he'd done that.

How I never wanted him to do anything like that again.

Then I talked to a very wise person, a father of a nine year old. He said sometimes you've got to let them be kids. Do kid things. Make those kinds of mistakes. Luckily no one was really hurt.

Just me, really. Because I had forgotten that The Bean was three. I had assumed he would always do the right thing.

I know he chucks tantrums, chucks cars across my lounge room. I know he shouts and cries and is naughty sometimes.

But I always thought he'd do the right thing.

And it made me sad.

Things The Bean has said:
I recently met a man who makes me smile.A man who is funny and clever and kind and gorgeous. The Bean met this man the other day. We shall call this man 'D'.

The next morning, The Bean and I had this conversation.

The Bean: 'Mama, are we going to see D again?'
Me: 'Yeah, babe. Probably on the weekend. Is that good?'
TB: 'Yes.'
Me: 'Did you like D?'
TB: 'Yep... He's pretty rock 'n' roll, isn't he?'