Author: Mrs Wilson of Oz

I emailed my Dad yesterday to ask him to send through some photos of me competing in some sporting events! Perhaps a hockey match, or a photo of me smashing it at the high jump.

I wasn’t going to post the photos I received, but here goes…..

My sporting debut started well, with my brother showing me how to leave the blocks correctly…

Then this tragic egg and spoon race, the lady in the background manically clapping and cheering, desperately trying to hide her hysterical laughter at my wonky legs, frizz ball hair and blatant lack of sporting potential…. (Thanks dad, these are just what I was after!)

Then this one came through. I looked and thought wow, I was good at cricket. I’m obviously waiting to bowl someone out? Oh no, sorry my mistake, this is the walking with an orange in your hand race. Can you see where this is going?

And to top it all off (no pun intended) my darling Dad sent this… This apparently is the topless Cup and Saucer race….Thankfully in my grandmother’s back garden so not in public. Looking at this today, I am honestly thinking this would be more fun now than at age 4. Anyone?

I think the fact that these are the most sporty photos Dad could find, proves that I wasn’t a sporting legend at school, college or anywhere else… Well……maybe I was, in grandmas garden.

I’ve always wanted to enjoy sport, but I’ve never been particularly good at any one thing! I guess I took part because I had to, or because someone else dropped out! I had an awful PE teacher (think Mrs Trunchball) who had really hairy legs, enormous hands and used to threaten to hang us from the ceiling by our toenails! (That is true!). Safe to say she never filled me with enthusiasm when it came to sport! I was always too terrified of letting her down, or worse, making her cross, that I don’t think I ever chose to join a team. I was pushed to do gymnastics which I was terrible at, forced to take part in athletics, in which I was always the loser, and hockey, well that’s just a sore subject! Not only that, all these sports were to be endured whilst wearing itchy, scratchy gym knickers. Mine were always missing (or hidden) so I could be seen trying to pole vault in my Marks & Spencers age 6 frilly panties. Oh don’t worry, it gets worse.  In Lacrosse I was always goal keeper, full body pads with a helmet on, just waiting for the 80mph cricket ball to hit me; terrifying is not the word! The older girls used to stand behind the goal singing the “teenage mutant ninja turtle” theme tune at me, laughing their heads off. I would dodge the ball every time it hurtled toward me, therefore letting the other team score. Oh how my teammates would sigh, Mrs Trunchball would glare and I would just carry on crapping myself! Maybe that’s why I didn’t really feel any love for sport. It was the teacher, the horrid girls and the awful outfits.

Since moving to Australia we have a lot more sport in our lives and I have been determined to get the children involved, and for them to enjoy it. The Aussies are sport crazy, and it seems we are becoming the same. Friday night footie, Sunday night sport, Tuesday night footie, that’s the TV not me. Poppy seems to be involved in lots more sport than ever before. This isn’t to say that there weren’t the opportunities back home, but here ,there’s no real way of avoiding your children being on a team! Aussie life is more sport than anything else, well maybe sport and coffee. I mean, the Aussies have public holidays the day after major sporting events!!!! That’s dedication.

For Poppy, I thought this new sporty life was never going to be easy! Two left feet, painfully anxious, and a real butter fingers! I was dreading the try outs, praying she would rather take up Algebra club.

After trying out for a few different things, I suggested she play netball outside of school! Mainly because indoor soccer was a bloody disaster, but also because as a child I was forced to wear the itchy netball knickers (scungies) and play in the drizzle, so I figured now it’s her turn!

Well, I am glad to report it hasn’t ended up being a negative experience for her! Far from it. Her coach isn’t hairy at all, doesn’t have gigantic hands and is one of the kindest people I know. (Secretly gutted, as I thought having a  ‘Mrs Trunchball’ would be character building). So, it turns out..  My daughter, who is properly related to me, yes my daughter, my flesh and blood,  is bloody brilliant at netball!!! (In your face Mrs Humphreys/Trunchball!!!!) I wish I could take some of the credit for that, but no, it’s all down to her hard work, and nothing to do with my “egg and spoon” prowess.

There are so many reasons I am thrilled that she’s a superstar on the court, not just because I was shit at everything. Mainly because this is the first experience for me where I have seen first hand, just what  team sport can do for a child’s confidence. It’s no secret that we have had emotional issues with Poppy! She doesn’t like to be away from my side. She has always been like it, even more so since moving here! It’s been such a challenging time for her, for me, for the school, for everyone in our lives! However, since joining the netball team she has completely come out of her shell. In fact, Mr W and I were only saying this morning she is almost unrecognizable from the girl crying in the car before the first training session!

The reason I felt compelled to write about sport was because it was the last game of the netball season at the weekend and I’m feeling all emotional about it coming to an end!  It was the last game of an incredible journey for my darling daughter, and for me too! When I say that, I don’t by any means believe that I put half as much energy into playing netball as Poppy and her team mates, but we have both had the best time. And now I have a new happy, confident girl, who is nicknamed “The Destroyer”, and some pretty awesome friends who I truly adore. Win, win…

As cliched as it sounds, netball has literally changed my girls life, and truthfully, that’s down to one person. The coach has loved her, taught her, encouraged her, been patient with her, corrected her, believed in her, supported her, praised her, put her in her place, and given her the confidence I think she needs to move further in netball and in her life. The coach has been everything a truly wonderful mother would be if we weren’t all too bloody busy with life.

Who knew that so much could change from a season of netball? Who knew I would stand, teary on the sidelines as my previously anxious child is elbowing her opponents out of the way so that she can slam the ball toward the goal? Who knew I would make some precious lifelong friendships whilst cheering the girls on? Who knew how strong the teams friendships would become? Who knew we would feel so deflated when the last game had been played? Not only that, and most importantly for us, who knew just what an incredible impact the love and dedication of a coach could have on a child’s outlook on life? 

When we send our children out to play sport, I think we dismiss just what goes into coaching the team. We brush over the fact that these people are volunteers. We’re asking them to prepare our children to put themselves out there on the line for their team and to perform at their best, every week;  that’s a serious amount of pressure for a little one, and imagine the hard work that goes into giving them the guts to do it. I don’t think we realise how daunting that must be for some of them as we joyfully sign them up for umpteen clubs. We really must praise these coaches, even more than we already do,  for taking our children on this magical journey; praise them for getting them out there, every week and for being dedicated. Praise them for being the biggest part of the team, winners or losers, for listening, for teaching, guiding, caring, sweating and for doing it all in their free time. We need to show them we respect them, and love that they teach our little ones that it’s not all about the game, it’s so much more than that, it truly is about all the other wonderful things they can get out of being there.

This season really has been a heart warming journey for all of us mums watching on, watching the team grow. What a privilege to be able to witness the girls journeys too. To see the shy child completely come out of their shell, the child with no voice hollering for the ball, the naughty one turning it all around and becoming a real team player, the girl who has her head in the clouds becoming completely focused and nailing the game every week! 

I’m completely amazed that all this can be achieved in a relatively short amount of time. I am more amazed that all of this, really is down to one person. The person who gives up their free time, not once a week, but three times. She gets up extra early to train the girls, stays late to get that extra half hour of training in. The coach is by far the most awesome member of the team. She’s the one who puts all the pieces together, plans the games, leads the girls, not only that, she guides them in a way that maybe us mums just cant do. She does all this for our children for no reward other than awesome results and a huge amount of respect from us all. There aren’t many places you will find such dedication given to your children free of charge. Thanks to her, I can finally see myself getting my hands on an Olympic Gold, not mine obviously, but Poppy’s. I can see a great future in sport for my girl, I can see her sporty photos are already better than mine, and it’s all down to an awesome season of coaching.

So next time you’re cheering from the sidelines, next time you’re dropping your little darling off to sports so you can have an hour of peace, just remember all the little things “The Coach” is adding to your kids life. All the things that maybe we miss whilst we’re chatting amongst ourselves on the sidelines. All those precious skills that only a coach can teach, all those great life skills our children will rely on forever, and the lessons they will turn to over and over again.

As Magic Johnson (basketball ) once said “All kids need is a little help, a little hope and someone who believes in them”; and boy I am one happy Mumma that my girl got this and more from her coach! Here’s to our wonderful coach and to some proper Aussie indoor netball really soon.

I was thinking about my family today. The sun was shining, we were enjoying a beautiful day out, and I thought to myself “wow, what a lucky bunch we are”. Lucky because we are happy and healthy, and lucky because we are together. In this particular moment when I was thinking about my family, I was only really thinking of the four of us. I wasn’t thinking about the rest of the family we have. Then this evening, while I was sipping my tea, I got to thinking about what the word ‘family’ really means to me. Has its meaning changed now that I am a mother? What does it mean to me and anyone else who may be living far away from their relations? What does it mean to people who don’t have any relatives?
If you happen to look in the dictionary, you will see that the word Family is described as; “a basic social unit consisting of parents and their children, considered as a group, whether dwelling together or not”. This explanation doesn’t cover the extended family, the grandparents, uncles, aunts, great grandparents, all the other people we often refer to as family.

When you live away from your family, you very quickly feel the need to attach yourself to others. I guess this is the survival instinct embedded deep inside us all. We like to be around people, we like to be in groups. So how do we cope without having our family near? How do people get through tough times without their relatives? Am I just a very lucky person to have a family that I have become so reliant on?
It’s true, I am very close to my family. Before I moved to Australia, I would speak to my parents on the phone every day, often more than once. I would regularly talk to my brother, my grandparents, god parents, and my cousins. I may not have been calling for any particular reason, maybe just to connect, to let them know I was thinking about them, and sometimes to just ask mum to give me a hand with the pile of ironing sat in the basket! This is what you suddenly miss when you move away.
I can honestly say, I rarely considered just what I got from my family, until they were no longer within arm’s reach. They were a huge part of our existence until we couldn’t easily pop in and out of each other’s lives. Then suddenly, when we were separated, I began to feel a little perplexed, maybe even anxious, lost and I hate to say it…. alone. All those times I have called on my brother because he turns everything into a positive, all the times I have asked for help from my mother, because she never says it’s too much trouble, and suddenly it was just us four. This is when it hit me. This is when we truly needed to rely on our very new friends, like we would our family.

Moving abroad means we are far away from all those last minute helping hands, we’re far away from the ‘Grandparent time’ our children used to love, it’s all the little things we miss, and all these things we needed to find in someone else. So, not only have we had to build our new lives, we have had to go out and find our new family. We all need that group, those special people we are close to, we bond with and who we can turn to, no matter what. Now we’re asking our friends to help us in times of need, we look to them when we need someone to have the children for an hour, and for emotional me, I use their shoulders when I shed a tear, and I talk to them when I simply need someone to listen.

It’s often said that you can choose your friends but not your family; I’m not sure I agree entirely. When it comes down to being on your own, without the rest of your family, your friends very quickly become much, much more than just friends. They quickly become incredibly special to you. They become your new family. So, we did get to choose our family. We got to choose the people who we spend our precious weekends with, who we share meals with, who we depend on when we have an emergency, and the people we look to when we need comfort. We have chosen the people we trust to look out for our children, who we trust to care for them in the same way we do. This is our 2nd family.
You don’t have to move 10 thousand miles away from your relatives to have a second family; I am pretty sure at some point you’ve thought, “Sarah is like a sister to me” or “gosh I don’t know what I would have done without James over the past year”. We all have those friends, those special people that become family to us, when our real relatives are not available, not close enough, or sadly just not around anymore. This is what family really is. It doesn’t have to be blood; it doesn’t have to be all about your standard family trees. If we love them, if we feel safe with them, if we know they have our back, that’s what family is; whether we share a name or not, that’s what makes a family. That’s what family means to me. I guess what I am trying to say to you is; when you think of your family, when you record all your tales and share all your photos, don’t whatever you do, forget those special family members; the ones you have chosen, the ones who have chosen you; the ones who won’t be on that ‘family tree’.
 

I got a phone call at 8am, it’s always the same person at that time of the morning. You know the time of day when you are trying to wipe Vegemite off the sofa, make a packed lunch, and pluck grey hairs out of your fringe at the same time as trying to braid your screeching 8 year olds hair. Yes, Mr W always calls me at 8 am, and wonders why there is so much background noise, and why I am only half listening.

This mornings important 8 o’clock phone call was to ask me what I would like to do for my birthday this weekend. He’s a sweet man. More often than not he has planned a wonderful weekend full of treats, we go away, we go to dinner, I have my nails done, we talk to each other with no interruptions….. But, and its a big but,  we have moved away from all our full weekend babysitters, so this morning, at 8:05 he is asking what I would like to do….as a family.

So, I did what they do in the movies. I pushed the pause button on life, everyone stopped still, and I thought long and hard for 10 seconds. I want to go to a hotel, have some spa treatments, room service, read endless piles of magazines, paint my toenails without anyone standing on my feet, shave my legs without forty questions from Monty about what I’m doing, lie on the bed without someone jumping next to me. I want to walk down the street without someone hanging off me, or walking forwards while looking backwards…  I want to eat chocolate without sharing, I want to go to the shops without going via the play area, I want to drink endless gin and tonics without worrying about tomorrow mornings wake up call… Oh and I want breakfast in bed, I want all of these things… I want to be…… On my own for a whole weekend.

Is that mean? Can I say that to him? I can’t say I want to be in silence all weekend, with no bottoms to wipe or tantrums to deal with. I can’t say I don’t want to make any meals for anyone or wash any dishes….Can I tell him I just want to have some “me time?” Does that sound better?  Oh no, that sounds like I’m leaving them! Am I an evil person for wanting to go off on my own for a whole weekend? Who cares?! He did ask the question. I pressed ‘play’ on life and said through a mouthful of toast, “I don’t mind darling, what shall WE do?” (I chickened out!)

My husband is a legend. He is a superstar. I feel bad for even writing the above. He cooks, he cleans, he is fully house trained, he’s a wonderful, hands on father, he spoils us, nothing is too much trouble…. He brought us all to Australia for goodness sake. Yet, in the midst of all his wonderfulness, our lives are chaotic. Like anyone with two or more (why would you?) children with very little help around. So, although I adore my beautiful, noisy family, on my 35th birthday I would ideally like to be jetting off to Ibiza with my girlfriends for a weekend of fun, freedom, and fake tan, not forgetting all the other things listed above.

Turning 35 is a game changer for me. I am at the point where my dark hair is no longer attainable. I spend far too much time parting my hair in the least grey way. I have started to make too many funny faces in the mirror while patting under my chin, hoping to rid my face of wrinkles and saggyness. I find loud music in shops completely overwhelming, I can’t concentrate and run for the exit, looking at the skinny teenagers through jealous eyes while tutting as loudly as I can. (Used to die when my mum did that!) I feel like I dance like an old woman when I go out, I am wearing make up like it’s filler, and am terrified to even go to the gym without it on.. Yes! I am that woman…..  I don’t think I know who’s in the charts? Do they still have charts?  When we go to the park I find dragging the “flying fox” back up for the next kids turn completely draining and will avoid it at all costs. I tell the children to be quiet while I concentrate…. I say things like “you’ll catch your death without a sweater!” I actually sigh when I bend down to pick up the dirty undies that EVERYONE in this house leaves on the floor. I squint when looking at the number on the bus…. I squint…… The list is endless. I am changing. I am getting there, I am about to get to the brow of the hill where there is only one way off … and that’s down.

OK, OK, I know loads of you will be thinking “35 is still young” or “oh to be 35 again”, and I get that. I get that if you’re 60, then yes thirty five is still a spring chicken. However, it doesn’t mean that hitting 35 isn’t a bit of a shock to my system. I’ve never been this near to 40. I’ve never had to wax my top lip so often.

When my dad turned 50 (only 15 years away for me now (see what I mean)) we thought it would be hysterical to buy him all sorts of “elderly person” stuff. We bought him denture cleaning tablets, driving gloves, a beaded car seat cover, men’s hair dye.. Oh how we laughed, I think we may have even snorted… Looking back on that I can’t help but shout “How evil was that!!” Totally unacceptable, and I am praying there are no such jokes in this house at the weekend.

So, my birthday weekend is nearly here, just the four of us. I wonder what fun is ahead. There will definitely be a cake of some sort, I wont be allowed to blow out the candles, and the children will definitely argue about who blew what and when. There are always lovely presents and cards, none of which will I be allowed to open, (I recall Monty telling me I was too weak to open my presents last year) and I am pretty sure I will get my lovely breakfast in bed, so I’m not complaining really. It’s more the number that’s disturbing me, than the crazy cats I get to spend it with.

I guess I would feel younger if it weren’t for the hair, the kids, the tummy that just won’t go flat again, the cellulite, the squinting and the desire to start a knitting circle. Maybe I should go to Ibiza! I’ll get my glitter on, dance like no ones watching, down umpteen crudely named shots and possibly try getting arrested? Maybe after all that I’ll be glad to get back to being 35 year old me, sorting laundry, doing the school run and stretching out my crows feet. That’s if I survive the trip…. Who’s coming?

Wow! I’m still trying to catch my breath after a morning of “oooohs” and “aaaahs” at the Webers Circus in Miranda. What a way to kill a few hours in the school holidays!

The show started and we were all very excited; the $12 we spent on fairy floss might have had something to do with that!  Ten minutes into the show, the cowgirls were parading round the circle in their teeny shorts and Stetsons and I was thinking it was a bit cheesy, maybe even a little lame, I admit it, I thought they could be doing a little more than posing and cracking their whips.

However when I turned and saw the children’s faces five minutes later, as the cowgirls were writhing up and down the ropes, I quickly changed my mind. They were enthralled, and the show got better and better!!

Webers Wild West Circus had everything a circus should have, and more. The big top was spectacular (and warm), the clown was awesome, he had the kids complete attention. The 51 year old acrobat was, well… a 20 year old until they mentioned her age. She was bendy, glittery and super slinky! (There’s hope for me yet!)

There were dogs doing tricks, Ponies playing games, and lots of incredibly muscly men back flipping, and making us all hold our breath as they did stunts on the wheel of death! The children couldn’t keep their bottoms on their seats, and I think I may have squealed once or twice!

Cody Harrington the world famous juggler came out and amazed everyone with his fire juggling, and his incredible 10 ring pull down trick. This was almost as mind mindbogglingly brilliant as the girl with twenty hula hoops whizzing round her body at break neck speed! It truly was spectacular!

After all the wonder of the morning, I still truly believe the best thing about the circus, isn’t the trapeze, or the clown, it isn’t the acrobats or the clever animals. For me it has to be the team work, the way everyone pulls together to make it all happen. No job is beneath anyone, everyone gets a chance to work and a chance to perform, and no one is left out! This is a great opportunity to show your children just what you can achieve when you all work together!

If you’re in any doubt, be reassured, there are cowgirls for the dads, cowboys for the mums and lots of fun for everyone.

Earnest Hemingway once said “The circus is the only fun you can buy that is good for you!”

Thanks Webers, we had an awesome time.

A wonderful public holiday weekend in Sydney! Well, as wonderful as you can get with two kids, who are going through an incredibly irritating stage of constantly bickering with each other and shouting “Muuuuum” every forty seconds.  Having said that, we are aware that this would be far more irritating if we weren’t living in Sydney. This city has everything you could ever wish for. A modern, vibrant, beautiful, beachy city, which makes for an awesome place to spend a long weekend entertaining even the most dysfunctional family!

The weekend started off well. Me in our local pub with some other Poms downing drinks, listening to a pretty cool band called 7 Days duo. I thought I had grown up a bit and knew how to handle my drink. Turns out I was very, very drunk, I stumbled on and off the courtesy bus (free ride home *WIN),  fell through the front door, slumped in to bed, headbutted Tim and then proceeded to whimper for about 12 hours, feeling terrible, hugging the loo. This kind of ruined our plans to road trip it up to Byron Bay for a few days. *Sorry gang!!!

About 2pm on Saturday, I dragged my sorry self out of bed, the world spinning, made myself a berocca and tried to man up a bit. We decided to head into the city for some dinner and another look at Vivid. We were pretty lucky and managed to grab a last minute table at Jamies Italian .

Dinner out for us always seems to be such a bloody nightmare. We had to wait ages for our table to be ready, so we bribed the starving, tired kids with a glass of lemonade and some polenta chips at the bar. *Epic move…. No….. This only made things worse. The sugar went straight to Monty’s head and he started tripping up waiters, blowing raspberries at passers by, and was generally cruising for a bruising. So, the 45 minute wait for a table, all 4 of us perched on high stools, felt like an age, and by the time the waiter showed us to our seats we all hated each other. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I wasn’t still too ill to have a glass of wine to ease the stress levels. . Good start to the evening.

We got the ordering over and done with fairly easily as there’s not a chicken nugget to be seen. Why is it that children will happily eat a “gonad burger” in a fast food restaurant, but offer them a healthy meal and they look at you as if you really have served up two gonads with a side salad.  It’s a mystery!  We awaited our yummy delights, both children holding i phones, faces glowing in the light, grunting at our sporadic attempts at conversation.

Our delicious dinner was gobbled in about 70 seconds, as Monty had finished his spaghetti, was bored, and about to blow. (I told you eating out was a joy). He had got to the point of being over tired, restless, and needed to be walked. Yes, he is like a puppy. We made our exit down the stairs,  Monty had a mini tantrum at the top, the whole restaurant stared, I waved and we went on our merry way.

We walked to Circular Quay with the intention of viewing the lights of Vivid at the Opera House and the Royal Botanical Gardens, but Poppy was right when she said there were “a gazillion” people.  We decided a week night may be a better option so we pushed and shoved our way back to the train, with the children yelling out for glow sticks, and light up crappy wands, Monty well and truly livid in the buggy!

Sunday was a much better day, just the fact that I had almost completely recovered from Friday nights antics was enough to make me smile…  We packed up a picnic, threw the scooters in the boot, strapped the kids into the car and headed to North Sydney. We went to North Head Sanctuary . The Memorial Walk is very special, it honours those who have served and supported the defence of Australia in peace or in war.  The paved pathway links five monuments erected to remember the major conflict periods in Australia’s history. I would have perused these monuments in more detail, if it had not been for the ankle biters kicking each other.  In typical Wilson fashion Monty was upset because he couldn’t ride his scooter on the path (disrespectful little rat), and Poppy was away with the fairies, pushing her dolly pram, with dolly, blankets, baby bottles, nappies…. Every time she bumped over a stone the whole lot would fall out and we’d have to wait for her to pile it all back in, with tears welling up in her eyes (do you think its hormones?). To say this was frustrating is an understatement. What should have been a ten minute, peaceful walk, took 45 minutes, and I lost count of how many times I swore under my breath. We followed the path to the end, and took the short diversion to look out over Sydney Harbour from the  Fairfax Lookout. This is the most beautiful view, even with Monty burping his alphabet in the background.
  

  We even spied some Whales, way out in the distance. Guess who forgot the binoculars though…? Timmmmmmm.
  

We finished the morning off with Monty ensuring all other visitors had seen the sign, and were sure to check under their cars for Bandicoots before squashing them “DEAD”. If anyone needs a warden, Monty’s your guy!  We then made our way to the grass with our delicious picnic. Monty bypassed the sandwiches and fruit, and just ate popcorn. He insisted on dipping his licked finger in the salt over and over again, much to my despair. This backfired, as he was then incredibly thirsty, drank about a litre of water, and had to do several emergency wees in the back of the car, into my take away hot chocolate cup. Poppy obviously finds this “GROOOOOOOSSSSSS” and “EWWWWWW’, Monty isn’t in the least bit worried about peeing into a cup or the chocolate dust stuck to his nether regions.

Next stop:

Bower Lane-This beautiful little lane leads to Cabbage Tree Bay, where the locals drink coffee while the sea glistens like a huge blue gemstone. There are wonderful dreamy rock pools, filled with sea treasure for the children to discover, and a great walk down Marine Parade to Shelly beach. We diverted via Bower Street (due to storm damage on the parade), a nice (steep) walk, past lots of expensive hillside properties with stunning ocean views…*Not at all jealous. The unfortunate diversion was actually worth it for the swings on the way, the torture the children experienced walking so far, and the magical steps down to Shelly beach, through the trees and over the stream.

   
Bower Street Park

The Boat House Shelly Beach
This beautiful hidden gem is well worth a visit (without OUR children)! Whether you’re dining there at lunchtime with all the cool cats or popping in for a delicious Pure Pops Icy Pole and lashings of Parkers Ginger Beer, you must find a way to get to The Boat House!

It’s full of very glam looking “super mums” (with very glitzy looking kids) , young trendy couples, older trendy folk…. Just a very funky place to be… and then we turned up. Monty had a huge dirty stick, no shoes, only socks, and mud on his knees… Poppy was flopping about, swinging her arms, “dying of hunger and thirst” (although all she ordered was a chocolate milkshake.. Go figure..)  and Tim was losing the will to live. We ordered at the hole in the wall, the sweet peonies bursting out of the vase, and we took our treats out onto the beach so as not to cause too much disruption.

The food in The Boat House looked immense, although I was delighted not to have ordered fish and chips to go, as the “Acro Yoga” bunnies were out in force… Not a  great spectators sport when you’re covered in tartare sauce and suffering with the inevitable F&C heartburn. Tim did suggest we take up Acro Yoga, until I explained what he’d have to do. Think he’s happy to leave it to the experts for now. *Phew

After a long trip home, a few arguments about us not stopping for kinder eggs, and some fun traffic jams, we shoved the children in their beds, and sat down to gorge on chocolate. Hey, it’s Sunday, its the Queens birthday weekend, another family day tomorrow, and I still have the hangover munchies. Still loving the adventure…Tim cant wait to get back to work Tuesday!

I was at the park last week when I overheard a gaggle of mums talking about family holidays. I am such a terrible eaves dropper!! It’s a talent of mine. Tim and I go for a meal together and by the time we leave the restaurant I know all about the lives of the surrounding customers!  This particular conversation in the park had me hooked! (So much so, I missed Monty careering down the slide and face planting into the sand!). Epic parenting!

These four mums were talking about the horrors of family holidays. “Oh I won’t go anywhere that involves a plane journey”, “you have no idea the hell that Jasper created on the last plane journey”, “I don’t enjoy holiday’s away with the kids” (OMG), “we’d rather holiday without them”,(double OMG)  “the kids won’t remember the trip anyway!”, (OMG I give up) “I can’t deal with the packing, or the washing”, “my kids just won’t eat anything when we’re away”. It went on and on and on. I was tempted to butt in and try to convince them they needed to try again, then I thought better of it. I couldn’t listen any more!

We travel a lot with our two. Not because we are smartee pants, or because our children are delightful little creatures (far from it), we travel because we love it and we want our children to grow up loving it too!  Yes we get stressed, yes it’s hard work, yes I sometimes wish we’d left them at home.

They both turn into little assholes when they’re tired, Monty gets violent and Poppy sobs , so imagine that combination long haul! They aren’t great at trying new food, so we bribe them! We don’t make them eat tarantula gonads or anything but we do insist they eat at least a small bowl of rice before gorging on cookies. We make them say please and thank you in the local language, they just want to learn to say toilet or bum!! Monty particularly loved that the Thai currency was ‘Baht’ because it rhymes with fart! He could quite often be heard asking in the market how many “farty bahts for that?”  These are the things that make our holidays so memorable, these are the things we laugh about for weeks, months, years! Tragic I know!

 I think one of the most awesome things about having a family is being able to go on holiday with them. No time restrictions, no work, no set bed times, ice creams after (or before) every meal, lemonade with a straw, buying loads of tat. Whether the children remember the adventure or appreciate the cost is irrelevant. It’s what they experience that makes them who they are, the sounds, the smells, the different faces they smile at, the many places they can have tantrums. It all goes towards making them the adult they will become. I’m not trying to convince anyone to spend an absolute fortune on flights around the world or to spend a year volunteering in The Gambia, Skegness for a week is just as awesome when you’re little.

Some of the best memories I have of childhood holidays are parking the car on the beach in Wales, on freezing cold days when the sand was whipping against our legs, insisting that mum and dad swim in the sea with us, when actually they just wanted to sit in the car with the heaters on, eating sandy sandwiches. Or staying on a farm, (again freezing cold) and being woken at 5am to milk the cows with the farmer. My brother and I just found the cow poo hysterical.

  
 We had awesome holidays and every one of them has a funny story that helps keep them firmly engraved in my memory!

Hong Kong- being dragged around temple after temple and all that kept me going (and kept making dads blood pressure soar) was my brother pretending to trip through every single doorway. (No recollection of history or facts)

Wales- mum literally riding her bike up the back of my leg because she had no idea how to use the brakes. I had tyre marks imprinted on my calf for months. (No recollection of exact location or year)

Denmark- a family friends child entering Lego land before it was even open! We just saw him scaling the fence and he was in, while we all looked on in horror, no, amazement!!! What a legend! (No memory of anything else Denmark had to offer).

You see, all these silly memories are the ones that still make me smile today.  I don’t remember the historical facts of the leaning tower of Pisa, but I’ve been up it. I don’t think I’d be very good on the slopes now but I was an awesome little skier when I was young.

My parents worked hard, so that we could play hard, and so that my brother and I had these opportunities to spend time with them, to enjoy family time somewhere different, to show us there were great things out there in the big wide world.

 I think this is where I caught the travel bug, and why I so desperately love exploring with my children.  I can’t wait to talk to my “teenage” children and about their hazy holiday memories, about daddy getting a holiday injury on the waterslide in Norway, or swimming with baby Sharks off the Similan Islands or watching Monty scream in terror at the Geysers in Iceland.  No matter what they remember, no matter how much they forget, like many things in life  it’s the taking part that counts.

If we don’t holiday with our children no one else will do it for us, if we don’t make them eat the sandy ice cream because we “bloody paid for it” no one else will, and if we don’t spend these work free hours exploring someplace new with them, we’ll regret it.

   
So buy a ticket for a train or a plane and show your children what’s out there, show them you enjoy their company (even if they are getting right on your wick), and if; God forbid it happens to pee with rain, the retro photos will be worth it!!

* Note to reader; nothing I write will do this country or its people, the justice it so deserves. Pack your bags, get on a plane and see for yourself!

Landing at Cambodia International airport was like landing in a private airstrip at the back of a beautiful Cambodian villa. We stumbled down the aeroplane steps, hollering at Monty to “keep walking” and telling Poppy “look where you’re going” , the heat hitting us like a train! It was about 38 degrees and really humid. I just love that first gulp of air in a new country, especially after a short flight on which the children have slept! *high five

The beautifully air conditioned arrivals hall looks brand new, shiny marble floors, beautiful teak tables for filling out your visa forms, and apart from my little darlings bickering it was peaceful. Nothing like arrivals at Sydney.

We dutifully filled out our visa applications, handed them over with our two extra passport photos and a wad of cash. A guy behind the counter spotted us and ushered Tim further forward. Pointing at me and the children he hollered “this your family?” (My heart sunk! Has Monty just peed on a shrine without me noticing??), Tim nodded and we had our passports taken off us and were whisked through to baggage collection and told to wait. Brucey bonus, we missed all the queues! We pointed and laughed at everyone else waiting in line and the children bickered some more while all our paperwork was sorted for us. We collected our bag, as the man scurried over with our passports. He looked at Tim’s wallet and said “tip”,  so we handed him a dollar and he skipped away, happy as a pig in mud! So, anyone travelling to Cambodia, fan yourself with your cash in the airport and hope that same little guy spots you!

The sliding doors parted and we were greeted by a beautiful, happy man who was waiting to drive us to our hotel. And what a drive it was. I have never been anywhere like Cambodia. The scenery, the smells, the people, the noise, everything about it felt magical to me. Within an hour of landing I was in love and just knew this was going to be a very special place.

Monty spent about ten minutes of the journey yelling “bleugh I’m gonna be sick” and “muuuuuum my nose is bleedin'”, but nothing was distracting me from this beautiful place. It takes about twenty minutes to get to our hotel (Mulberry Boutique Hotel ), which was like an oasis, a beautiful gem up a tiny alley way, hidden from the hustle and bustle of central Siem Reap. It was only 8am when we arrived, we obviously looked exhausted, as the beautiful lady on reception showed us straight to breakfast. Ahhhh coco pops! Anything to fill their mouths right now!!  Tim and I went straight for the pad Thai, no regrets at all. Just look at it.

We managed to squeeze in a lot over the four days. Once we’d gorged on brekkie and had a swim, we headed into town.

The hustle and bustle was incredible. Every little shop like an aladdins cave, everyone shouting “hey boy” , desperate for a reaction from Monty. They didn’t get one!  The centre itself is easily walkable if, unlike Poppy, you look where you’re walking. We stood out like a sore thumb with Monty asleep and sweating buckets in the buggy, (giant British child) Poppy with a black eye (poolside mishap) and me trying to negotiate pot holes and Tuk Tuks without waking the snoozer. Safe to say the children have learnt the word “shit” this holiday. Monty even says it in the right context. #makesmeproud

We arranged for Mr Snar from the hotel to take us to the Butterfly Farm in his Tuk Tuk. This  was an astonishing journey, through rice fields, past road side dwellings with hammocks filled full of folk resting in the heat or mothers fanning their babies. There were chickens & dogs, huge pots bubbling on fires, lady’s selling fresh coconuts and piles of mangoes. There were school children riding their bikes to school alongside air conditioned mini buses full of tourists. And there we were, in our Tuk Tuk, us 4,  the wind like a hairdryer blowing in our faces, hurtling through this enchanting land.

After an hour we arrived at the farm. Our guide came to greet us, and took us through the mesh gate into butterfly heaven. The children were mesmerised. A huge black and silver beauty landed on my hand and crawled up my arm, the children’s eyes were like saucers. Our lovely guide was incredibly patient as Monty took 47 photos of each caterpillar, cocoon and the mating couple on the fence! For children who love ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’ you must visit. The conservation work they are doing is unimaginable out there in the sticks.

Day 3 was an early start and the only day we didn’t wake to the sound of the local school children chanting their work. (What a beautiful sound, I can still hear it now if I really try). We drove hell for leather in Mr Snar’s Tuk Tuk through the darkness to catch sight of sunrise over Angkor Wat. What a sight it was. I have never been anywhere so awesome, so ethereal, just so utterly spectacular.

Monty and Poppy were elated to be at the real Temple Run temple, (that’s how we kept them amused) and Monty spent all day asking where the Vulture Monkeys were. We nailed 4 temples in 7 hours, with a couple of pit stops to meet Mr Snar’s friends, who just happened to sell coffee in their tent and had a relatively smart bathroom. *Always go for a can of sprite rather than the coffee. This is by no means meant in a rude way, these are beautiful people, they just don’t make good coffee.

After 7 hours of incredible temple hunting, and watching big fat tourists ride exhausted elephants we made our way back into town. The hotel pool was more inviting than ever before. Gosh Cambodia was hot!

The next day  we managed to squeeze in a visit to the Cambodian Cultural Village, where we witnessed a traditional wedding ceremony with sighs and groans from two bored sweaty children, and a few shorter performances of crazy acrobatics, traditional dancing and some seriously bendy ladies.

There was a “museum” which was just 2 rooms. Room 1 was filled with terrifying stuffed animals; tigers, hog badgers, lizards, all with odd facial expressions and a little bit scruffy looking. Room 2 was  even more creepy; Cambodian wax works of people through the ages whose eyes followed you as you walked. This made Poppy cry, trip up and then have a sweaty melt down. We took the children outside to calm down and were confronted by a big chubby man running towards us, arm stretched out snapping photos randomly. We later found these photos of our shocked faces, (Poppy rather snotty and still snivelling) on little plates for us to purchase. I blatantly wanted one, Tim put his foot down .

  

Cambodia we genuinely love you. We ate delicious food, had wonderful massages, had exciting tuk tuk rides, made lovely friends and saw sights we couldn’t have dreamt of. All that and we didn’t get eaten alive by mosquitoes.

Note to travellers:

*Eat great ice cream whilst lying on a bed, skyping your friends at Blue Pumpkin

* For pizza and beer when you really need that fix, go to Belmiro’s on street 7!

*if you send your laundry to be done in Siem Reap, choose a laundry off the main road, otherwise your undies are on display for everyone to see! “Aren’t those your knickers mum!”

Title: “Good luck for you & good luck for me!” This was said to us time and time again in Cambodia💖

There’s nothing easy about travelling with children! Just going to do the school run is fraught enough, let alone 6 flights in two weeks! Here goes nothing! 

We have just taken off from Kuala Lumpar where we had an awesome time! We managed to squeeze in quite a bit over three days and we’re all pretty exhausted! Monty is currently catching flies in seat 23E! 

KL was about 43 degrees and really humid! I can honestly say I’m not sure I have ever sweat so much! (Note to self : cancel gym membership!) The humidity always puts me a little on edge as it tends to make monty’s nose bleed, but hurrah I still have a full loo roll in my bag! 

On the morning of day 1, Tim surprised us all and told us we were being collected at 10am and being whisked off to the local water park! The children jumped for joy, I sort of sighed! For those of you that don’t know, I am claustrophobic and it’s getting worse as I get older! The thought of one of those tube slides fills me with dread! I can already hear the children shouting “mummy’s a chicken, mummy’s a chicken”! 

We drive hell for leather in the hotel mini bus out to  Desa Water Park. I’m not sure what I was expecting but it wasn’t exactly as I had imagined! We turned into the car park, bunny hopped through the pot holes and bumped through grassy ditches to a hut where we were greeted by a lady who looked like a member of the special forces! She must have done some kind of training as she had managed to use an upside down plastic garden chair to secure her table fan to the wall! She looked at our passes and pulled the string to open the barrier! 

The waterpark can only be described as looking like one of those spooky abandoned theme parks! That is no understatement ! If you have issues about E. coli, typhoid, D&V or any “cleanliness” related illnesses, this is not the place for you! Having said that, none of us were sick. ( Wretching  at the state of the bathrooms doesn’t count as sick does it? )  

  I don’t know what it is about my kids and water! They forget themselves and start ripping at their clothes before we can get into the changing room! Not that it really matters as we were literally the only people in the whole place, apart from the 4 lifeguards sheltering in the shade.  

 There were 4 or 5 different pools, the slides looked like they could disintegrate at any moment! The ropes were all rotten and the lifeguards chairs had been eaten by Mother Nature! The lazy river was the laziest river you have ever been in! It took about 25 minutes to get around the “water factory” and past the man hosing bird shit off himself! The wave pool was pretty spectacular considering! Although Poppy did get washed to the far end on her rubber ring! This was only ten minutes after she had managed to get wedged in the ring, bottom sunk down and legs in the air! Safe to say we woke the life guards up as Tim skidded through the the sludge towards poppy as she screamed “HELP, heeeelp, I can’t breatheeee!”  

   
14:30 (pick up time) came around a lot faster than I thought it would! The children had thoroughly enjoyed the day, even with me shrieking ” close your mouth” and “don’t swallow any water ” closely followed by “spit, spit, spit!” I don’t know why I was insisting they didn’t drink the water, especially as 10 minutes later they were gorging on luminous orange cheesy hoops and bright yellow lemonade!?!?

All in all a successful day of sheer bliss for the kids and an exceptional day of parenting! *high five! 

Day 2 was the sightseeing day! We couldn’t come all this way without visiting the Petronas twin towers! We hopped on the monorail, already sweating from the two minute walk from the beautifully air conditioned hotel! Three of us were excited to be above the street, screeching round corners! Poppy was whimpering, shaking and muttering “I don’t like heights, I don’t like heights”. This did not bode well for our trip up the highest twin buildings in the world! 

  The Petronas Towers are the sparkliest, shiniest most wonderful looking buildings! We saw them all lit up the night we arrived and it sent a shiver down my spine! You see these icons on the TV, it’s hard to believe we’re here! 

Once you have made it through the security checks at the towers, a hologram greets you to explain the tour and basically asks you to behave! Monty listened eagerly then slam dunked his sister into the couch! Oh Jesus! We cram into an elevator with ten other people in the green group and head for the 80 something floor! Poppy looks terrified so I try to lighten the mood by saying “gosh this is exciting! It’s just like Willy Wonkers Glass Elevator”, at which point Tim laughs and says “let’s hope it’s not going to shoot through the roof like in the story!” How does that man miss the point so regularly? Poppy is now heavy breathing and Monty (overtired) is growling while squashed up against some American woman’s backside. The doors opened and we finally got to see the view from the ‘Sky Bridge’, well, not until after the helpful guide told us that it’s not really attached, so it swings when it’s windy! Poppy nearly faints! 

The view is spectacular! “How did we end up here?” I think to myself! Kuala Lumpur is such a wonderful place. As I am daydreaming, Monty is being bollocked by Tim for climbing on the rails, right next to the bloody sign that says ‘do not climb on the bloody rails’, why do kids do that? Anyway he sees the playpark  down below and decides he’s had enough and it’s time to go! Monty likes to do what Monty likes to do, so he wasn’t best pleased that we were heading even higher up the towers! This led to a spectacular breakdown and the award for the worlds “highest” tantrum! Mummy needs a G&T. 

Tower done, awful family photo with superimposed fireworks purchased, and we had a sleeping Monty so we headed to the Batu Caves! 

Obviously when you travel with delightful children such as ours, they take in the wonders, they marvel at the majesty….. Oh no! If you were to ask mine about their visit to the caves they would tell you about the dead bird in the fountain and me screaming as a monkey launches itself at me to steal my shopping! Utter bastard! 

 We spent a couple of hours at the Batu Caves, even though the terrifying monkey assault had ruined monty’s afternoon! He did helpfully warn me that next time I should “kick them up the butt”. 

We found a sweet little cafe serving up fresh dosa and roti. Tim and I indulged while the children moaned and begged for more lemonade! It was a great spot for people watching. We had a right old laugh at the tourists trying to escape the flocks of hungry birds and at the scores of monkeys stealing people’s food. (Obviously when the rabid monkey was hurtling toward Monty and I, on a mission to steal my carrier bag, I was screaming for dear life and in no way at all did I find it funny).

So, we nailed the caves, no one contracted rabies and we made our way back on the air conditioned train, mostly in the ladies only carriage until we spotted the sign! 

After a very sweaty trip to the Central market and a walk round china town, Tim finally gave in to the screams of “I want I want” and spent a small fortune on a load of utter crap. So the children win again and we jump back on the monorail heading for the hotel bar! 

My only bit of advice to anyone travelling to a boiling hot country to sightsee, with two little darlings is: wing it, drink lots of wine and give them anything they want as soon as they want it! 

Next stop Cambodia!