Goldilocks and The 3 Spatulas.

"Hon, it's 11:30.  Will you please [get up and] make me some butterscotch pancakes before I have to go to work?"

I get up.  I follow the directions on the pancake mix, which means I add water.  How hard can it be?

"Hon!  They won't flip!  What's wrong?"

"Did you add butter to the pan?"

"Yeah.  I think this spatula is too big, it's the plastic one."

"Try the egg flipper!"

I look at the utensils hanging above stove.  It's all ladles, tongs and BBQ supplies.  Except for what looks like a silver spatula that's bent in half.  I don't really see how it has anything to do with eggs, but at least I can scrape around the edges so they slide and then toss them up in the air.

The first two or three turn out great... as long as they're not too thick, then they splatter.

Most of them splatter.

But if they don't splatter, they end up flipping only halfway and look like a cross between an omelette and crepes.  Not one of them turns out right, and most of them are burnt from trying to stop all the splattering.  (Why I bothered, I don't know, the dog was loving it.)  

Melyssa starts to ask me about the smoke coming out of the kitchen, then sees the look on my face and stops.  I'm about to lose my shit as each pancake comes out worse and worse.

"Umm... how long have you been flipping them like that?"

"The whole time, I can't get the spatula to work."

"Why aren't you using the egg flipper?"

I am!"

"Umm... that's the potato masher..."



Too big. Too little. Just right!



The pancakes. If that's what you can call them.



My single perfect pancake made out of the last of the mix and with the ACTUAL egg flipper.

Over it.

Although this has been a week long trilogy, I think I can sum it all up best in one day.

Monday.

I was miserable and sick.

Kylan was miserable and sick.

And then suddenly Kylan had red puffy spots on his arm.

Followed by his other arm.

And chin.

And leg.

Decided to take Kylan to the Dr.

Car makes grinding plunking noise trying to back out of the driveway.

Car hardly makes it to the end of the street.

Decide to stop by the mechanics first.

If we can get there.

We literally have to rock the car up and down to change gears.

When we finally get there the mechanic asks us to drive it in and it stops working altogether.

He fidgets with it for 20 minutes.

Nothing.

Find out that it's the clutch.  The clutch that's not even a year old.

But it's under warranty as long as it's not covered in oil.

It's covered in oil.

And he's out of loaner cars.

Sick + Stranded + Sick Baby = NOT HAPPY.

We walk 4 blocks to the taxi stand.

For the first time, it's empty.

We call for a taxi with a baby seat so we can still make it to the Dr's.

20 minutes, and 2 more phone calls later, the cab arrives.

We miss our doctor by 10 minutes.

We see another doctor to find out not only do Kylan and I have a virus, but Kylan also has the chicken pox and Melyssa has contact dermatitis over her stitches.

It takes half an hour to get home on the bus.  

Without the coffees we'd been looking forward to all day.

Bird On A Wire.

About a month ago Melyssa and I did something really stupid and impulsive. We bought a beagle puppy.

Wondering why you haven't heard about it before now? Said puppy didn't last more than 24 hours. She ended up being more of a rent-a-puppy-to-find-out-just-how-stupid-you-are-and-how-far-you-can-push-your-mother(in law).

Melyssa's mum (rightfully so) lost her shit that we'd bought a puppy even though she'd made it very clear that the one we have is more than she wants. And what good is a fight that only goes one way?

There was yelling. There was screaming. There was crying. Doors were slammed. Somehow coffee ended up on the walls. And the floor. And the table. And behind the futon. (I really wanted that coffee that day too.)

At the end of the fight... or at least the pinnacle where one walks away dramatically (usually followed by the accusatory "Don't walk away from me!") Melyssa pushed her way through a swinging door by slapping it with her palms.

Come on. You know you would have done it too. And you probably would have felt satisfied and moved on and been just peachy keen.  The door probably would have even slammed satisfactorily into the wall, and at worst bruised your shoulder on the way back.

But you're not Melyssa.

Oh no. Not Melyssa. Melyssa hit a swinging door that decided not to open. Melyssa didn't open her palms flat. Melyssa is freaky flexible and had just the tips of her fingers bent. Melyssa broke the end of her finger.





But did she just break it? Of course not. She managed to break it and fracture it.



But this was a month ago, why do we still care?

Two weeks ago whilst she was at work one of the doctors got a glimpse in passing at how her finger was healing and immediately pulled her aside. Next thing she knew she had a referral to see a specialist in Sydney and the day off.

Since it was just a regular appointment, and we didn't want to juggle Kylan on a train for an hour and a half, Melyssa went up to her appointment alone.

And... found out that she needed surgery on her finger.

Fucking surgery.

And you know when they did it?  5 minutes later!  So while Melyssa was there all alone, expecting to be told to keep it splinted another couple weeks, she was having a screw put in her finger.



But at least it's all done and right and over and we don't have to worry about it anymore. Sure, 2 weeks off work when we shouldn't really be affording it, but it's a (forced) holiday! We'll enjoy it.

2 weeks later, and back in Sydney alone (you'd think we'd learn) Melyssa was due to have her splint checked and another x-ray done. So she's sitting there, in the hand clinic, and while she's waiting with a couple other patients she sees an x-ray up on the light board. And it is a GNARLY x-ray. The kind you want to get up and look at closely and be grateful that's not you.

Except this is Melyssa.

It was her x-ray. And her screw had moved. And she was back in 3 pieces. And not only that, the screw was now sitting in the middle of a nerve cluster.



By the way, nerve clusters don't show up on x-rays. Do you know how they find where they are in relation to a loose screw? They twist your finger around until it hurts.

A week later, and 3 weeks off work, we were back in Sydney.  They took out the faulty screw and replaced it with a long piece of wire.   And I mean LONG wire.  So long it's hanging out the end of her finger.

Hanging.  Out.



You'd think that's the worst of it.  But you have to remember, this is Melyssa we're talking about.

In 3 weeks, they're taking the wire out. Scratch that. RIPPING the wire out. With pliers. Just grabbing it and giving it a great big YYYAAANNNKKK!

I can't wait to watch!

Still curious? Keep scrolling...

Modern Living: Bomb Shelter Chic.

Don’t know if you’ve been keeping up on the Flickr photos over there. Couldn’t blame you if you haven’t been, they’re mostly for my family, but our little dynamo is now a crawling (worming), self-feeding (if you count the fluff off the carpet), and sitting (yeah right, that’d mean he’s still) 7.5 month old.

And, he’s still perfect.

Seriously. I know I haven’t caught up on the America trip AT ALL, but what other 5 month old could you take on a road trip up and down the California coast? And then follow it with a road trip to Vegas? Not to mention a kid who slept both ways on the 14 hour plane ride?

PERFECT.

Or... at least he WAS.

Ok, he’s still perfect to us, but he’s also shittin’ us something terrible. I can handle the carpet eating. The getting into everything. The preference for crawling on dirty surfaces. The days I spend turning him around, picking the dog hair from between his fingers, and scooping paper off his tongue.

But what I CAN’T handle, is mealtime.

Breakfast is usually ok, although it’s getting worse. And lunch pushes me, but I can get through it.

But I absolutely can NOT handle dinner time. ESPECIALLY when Melyssa goes back to work (next post) and I’m stuck feeding him every night (and every meal) 6 days a week by myself.

Feeding him at home just absolutely kills me.

First it was just that he wanted to look at the TV. Fine. I turned the TV off and haven’t caught up with my soap since.

Then he wanted to look at the dog. So I put her outside.

Then he wanted to eat his bib. So I took it off, and now we feed in the nude.

God forbid, then I dropped a spot on his high chair tray. And he wanted to play with it. So I feed with the tub of wipes next to me.

But then he wanted to look at his feet. The kids playing outside. The toy on the floor. That shiny thing behind him.

I’ve poked. I’ve prodded. I’ve begged. I’ve played airplane, and train, and dinosaur. I’ve put him in front of the TV so he’ll look forward. I’ve bribed the dog to sit next to me so he’ll look at us. I’ve coaxed, cajoled and resorted to holding his head.

NOTHING. WORKS.

We are now feeding in the cleanest, most un-stimulating, boring place on earth and he can still manage to find a thousand things he’s rather be focusing on than the food in front of him.

And fine. He’s not feeding himself. He doesn’t need to pay too much attention. But he needs to open his mouth! He needs to remove his lips from his chest! And his fingers from his mouth! And that damn pout from his face!

I could be feeding him in a sterile bomb shelter and he’d rather be licking the wall.

He’s gone from eating 2 large jars of baby food, a single serve of yogurt, and a package of toddler crackers for dinner (I know, that’s a lot, and he still takes a bottle afterward!) to fighting just to get him to finish a single jar of food.

But what do we do? We make sure he’s hungry, we make sure we’re consistent and have a routine, and we try our dandiest to make sure we don’t lose our temper... but I can tell you from personal experience it’s a losing battle!

Other than Melyssa bringing home a set of restraints from work, a point we’re not far from, have any ideas?

Second Chances.

Year 10. I'm getting on the (school) bus to go home and as usual, it's pretty full. I sit down next to a girl my age I don't know, and don't remember seeing before. She's wearing grey pants with a white Emily Strange shirt, the first one I've ever seen, and it says "Emily didn't search to belong, she searched to be lost."

We start talking. Who WOULDN'T talk to someone with a shirt like that. Turns out it's her sister's shirt. We each start talking about boys who have crushes on us.

Oh yes, crushes. And boys.

At the end of the conversation it turns out that we were both talking about the same boy. Who btw, is now Out.

That's all it takes to seal our friendship. She lives down the street from me, and is by far the coolest person I have ever known, with the coolest family. There's so much about us that's different, but it doesn't matter. We're best friends immediately.

We stayed best friends all through high school, even though I'm not really sure how she could stand me. I was depressed, and having seen depression from both sides now I can tell you that being around someone who's depressed can be SO annoying. Plus our senior year she started hanging out with a new crowd, and with that new crowd came drinking, parties, sex and piercings.

While that may sound like something I would have WAY been in to, at the time, I wasn't. I was Sheltered. I was Good. And I SO couldn't pull something like that past my parents.

But we stayed best friends, walking into graduation together in the 100 degree heat holding hands. Even when I went away to college, and she got a boyfriend (now husband), and I partied, and she studied.

You could easily say she's still one of the coolest people I know, and I have always envied her. She may have had her fun, made her mistakes, but she's always Stayed The Course. She always knew she wanted to work in the medical field. She's always had a job, always been in school, and was taking college courses already in high school to try and get ahead. She lived at home until she graduated college, and is now a very successful nurse.

She's focused. She's dedicated. She's a Planner. And although she doesn't always come across it, at least in those early years, one of the most loyal and caring people you could ever have in your life. She's who I am in my head, but not in my actions.

But I took her friendship for granted. I was always surprised when she was still there. Surprised that she was still trying.

And now I'm not surprised that because I didn't treat her the same way, with the same care and loyalty and dedication, that she's not waiting for me anymore. She always had faith in me that I'd find my way, but I finally floundered too long.

I can't blame her in the least. She gave me more chances than I deserved. I lied to her when I started dating my first woman, and she caught me. But loved me. I bailed on plans, I didn't answer or return calls, and when we were together she wasn't my first priority. Not even on her graduation day from college. The day that she'd worked harder than anyone I've ever known for.

It was somewhere in the year following that party that things just kinda... stopped.

There was no moment. No 'thing'. Just... not as many phone calls. Not as many returned calls. And why would there have been? I wasn't anyone's friend during that time.

Since then, I've moved to Australia. Had a baby. I didn't tell her about any of it, just expected her to notice through Myspace on her own. She's gotten married, to the same guy we always knew she would. The same wedding we'd talked about for years, planned with me in, and even when I noticed... I didn't say anything either.

And now she's pregnant. I can still remember sitting around with her and one of her sister's talking about having a baby with him.

She's living all her dreams. Without me. And it hurts.

She's about to go through this absolutely incredible experience, the same experience that changed my life, and things between us have dwindled down to that stage just above nothing. That stage where talking is awkward, where admitting wrongs is awkwarder, and any day now when she looks through her friends I may well find myself deleted.

I hate it. I want more. And sadly now that I'm 8000 miles away, I'm ready to give it to her.

I just don't know how.

I emailed her sister whom I know well enough, and asked for her address since I couldn't find it listed. I want to make her something for the baby, I'm getting pretty good on the sewing machine these days, and send her a care package with a long letter like the ones we used to pass to each other between classes.

But she doesn't know what she's having yet, and the suspense in the planning is killing me.

I just miss her. The person she knows wouldn't cry over missing her... but I am. And that's all I want her to know. That she still means something to me, that I still love and care about her, but that I know we're in that awkward stage and wouldn't blame her in the least if she ignored me altogether.

Hence why I think a package and letter would say a hell of a lot more than an email over myspace would.

But what would I say? Do I acknowledge the awkwardness? Do I admit my wrongs, even though we've never aired them? Do I assume she knows nothing about me? Do I talk about how I've changed? Do I act like nothing has happened? Or does that sound as selfish and ignorant to you, as it does to me? Is sending her something overbearing or nice?

I just don't know. But I'm not ready to lose her yet.

(Oops, thought this was feeling a little familiar. Thought it was because I'd written this post everyday in my head since I found out she was pregnant but... that wasn't quite it.)

Stay-At-Home-Cuz-I-Can't-Get-Out Mom.

It keeps getting brought to my attention, annoyingly so, that it's about time I got off my ass and got a job.

Nevermind that we only have one car between us, and that two days a week that car is split between 3 of us.

Nevermind that while I only got comfortable driving a stick shift in the last 2 weeks, I still can't do a comfortable hill start which means I can't drive to Melyssa's work.

Nevermind that... I'm out of logical excuses but felt like I needed a third thing.

In the last week or so I've finally started applying for jobs, but I think my fallbacks are far outweighing my job experience... and that's just from my carefully worded resume, let alone when they start asking questions.

The majority of my work experience is either in retail, which I'm good at but hate, or banking, which I'm not comfortable going back into being as every single common sense thing about it here is different.

I'm a foreigner, with no job experience in the country, and no verifiable skills without an overseas phonecall.

My last job was in 2007.

I'm on a temporary visa, and although I have every intent of staying here permanently, there's nothing on my passport that says "It's only red tape! I'm here for good! I'm not going to waste your time!"

Said temporary visa expires in 2010. Next year. Sure, end of next year, but who's looking that close? It's still next year.

Otherwise, my resume is just like any other person applying for a job in which they have no experience... professionally bullshitted and boring.

Boring being the key word. Nothing about it stands out except all that crap I already listed. Hell, I wouldn't hire me, even if I took more than half a glance at my resume. It doesn't surprise me in the least that the most I've gotten is a verification email from the job search website that my resume was sent.

So, what do I do about it?

Just stick to it, maintain the professional route, and enjoy my time at home with Ky while still technically looking for a job?

Add a cover letter telling them how great I am and even though I look unqualified with no experience it doesn't matter because I'm great?

Or get their attention? Change the "objective" on my resume from professional bullshit to something honest.

"To find a company willing to take a chance on a hardworking foreigner so I can have some self respect and pay taxes."

"To find a job that will give me a reason to get out of the house everyday."

"To get a job that's not in retail so I can finally get a mortgage and do my part to boost the economy."

Hell, I could even make a totally honest cover letter and REALLY let it fly.

Let's face it, we all know once it comes down to the interview it's about whether they like you or not... but I have to get that interview first.

Ideas?

I'm blaming childbirth.

*Current recreation of said old photo.

*Scene: Melyssa and I are sitting on the lounge watching TV. Melyssa is looking through my archives and I see her pull up a picture. (Go look, I'll wait.) She looks at me, looks at the picture, and looks back at me.

"Hey hon, look at this picture. It doesn't look anything like you! Do you even recognize this chick?"

"Jesus! Who IS that?! Why do I look so different? Is it just the hair? And no glasses?"

Melyssa pats my cheek and smooths my hair looking at me sweetly.

"Aww... you look tired. You need a week off."