Figs..and a little bit of Italy in Oz

On Australia Day this year (I posted about what it means to me here), we went out to different family events in the Bay. We spent a few hours in the sun trying to find somewhere where the Tornado and a little friend could have fun and we would not all end up with a melted brain.

It was hot though even at the fabulous shadowy playground at Wellington Point, so when finally we had enough of the heat and the crowd, and I had dropped off our friends, I sat with a buzzing head in the car driving back. Tornado said – remarkably – “we go home and we have quiet games now, ok Mami?” Oh, yes buddy, we will.

Then I passed by a handwritten sign on a fence where someone was selling the produce of their garden to people via their driveway. “FIGS NOW OPEN”
Hmmm, I thought. Fresh figs! I turned around and parked the car.
As I only have discovered fresh figs (as opposed to dry ones, or sugar soaked ones) in my 20s (moving south in Europe), I still consider them somewhat a special treat. I don’t need to say what an incredibly healthy treat figs are.

So I rang the old and battered hand bell that was attached to a table with a string. After what seemed an eternity – I was really about to go – a man who was easily in his late 70s if not more, came to the door. He was carrying little cardboard crates of figs by the dozen. And a big smile. The figs  looked gorgeous!

After a few words, I kind of already knew but I wanted confirmation : the old man’s Italian accent was so thick he could have been off the boat yesterday. Out of curiosity, I asked him how long he was living in Australia for.
He told me to take a guess.

Now I have met Italian and Greek immigrants of this generation in Australia before so I dared a cheeky “40 years!” and that made him laugh.
“55! ” he said. I told him where I was from. And : “About 4 years here now.”

He smiled and nodded.  “Issa grat-uh plaice, heh? Australee-ya!”

You’re sayin’ it, mate.  Great for all of the above and so many reasons more.
Ps: Figs tasted awesome!

Link: more about the common fig, on wiki HERE

The ‘School Run’– told in 140 letters

I used to walk to school. After a family ceremony on the first day, my big brother and me walked together, crossing that zebra crossing like little champs and arriving after 10 min at the primary school in our neighbourhood. Later I walked alone or met up with friends. At 10, I went to high school on my bicycle. For 9 years, rain or shine. Even in the snow. Yeah, I’m not that old, but those were different times in a different world.

So the whole ‘school run’ business is completely new to me.
Here’s how I went during our first week at Prep, in the form of SMS that I  have actually sent and could have sent to a friend of mine.

Sunday evening :
Prepared uniform, backpack, lunchbox. Early and successful bedtime. Child & mother EXTREMELY MOTIVATED. Bring it ON, Prep!

Monday am:
SMOTH SAILING: healthy breakfast, ready to go, clean & dressed, even time for some make-up & short cartoon on TV. Yay! We rock!

Uh CHAOS, school run indeed tricky as have to bring boy inside. Am PARKING FAR OFF & walk with the crowd. Cool Lollipop lady!

Monday pm :
Wow, so PICKUP IS WORSE!? Kids waiting in ‘zones’ for drive-by parents. In this HEAT! Still looks like ok system. well, next year..

2minLATE, but collecting cheerful child in class. & Odd certificate “Congrats! T SURVIVED his first day in Prep” uhm… Yay? (WTF?)

Stopping for PREGNANT NEIGHBOUR w toddler & new classmate. walking! in the heat! might just have ‘caught’ me a CAR POOL..

Tuesday am/pm :
Pretty much the SAME AS DAY1. Car pool Xtra motivation for the boy, not much hassle for me really. Happy to help &it’s on our way.

Wednesday :
AUSTRALIA DAY ! am wondering if this DAY OFF might kind of cut the new routine a little. but great day with big emotions and seaside fun!

Child not cooperating at all at bedtime. Now HATES SCHOOL as had HATED KINDY days. great. Am worried for the morning routine.

Thursday am :
Am using pregnant neighbour to get really CLOSE PARKING. Cool. New ‘best mate’ & Lollipop lady helping with grumpy boy.

Thursday pm :
Odd how he would not stop talking usually, now in car ANSWERS NO QUESTIONS about his day at school. A teenager at 5. Oh well..

Friday am :
Neighbour’s husband driving them, ok. Am parking hazardously, & mute into CHIPPER MOTHER CLOWN 2 prevent tantrum in class.

Mother clown EPIC FAIL. Rushing out HEARTBROKEN as child cries for his mami w real tears. Teacher firm & friendly w us.

Friday pm :
omg WHAT time!? FARK  this can’t be happening! SO LATE for pick-up! Argh! AM WORST MUM IN THE WORLD ! forgive me, boy!

(…)

 

He was alright. I arrived 10 min late (!), after running (in thongs) from an even worse parking spot (basically inside a round-about); when I got there, he came running into me – ‘Mameeee!’ – so hard that I almost fell on the floor. The teacher gave me an indulging look and also a telephone number to call in case of delays in the future.
Yeah. Good idea. In case there is a real problem, and this SAHM is not just wasting time on the internet. FORGETTING her child. Uhm..

So how did you go ? Ready for week 2 ?
If you see me at school, don’t stop me for a chat. Am probably late again.

Our Home is girt by Sea…

Aussie Worldless Wednesday

Linked up with Trish from My Little Drummer Boys – HERE.
(More photos of our day with just a few words below)

"Australyaday"–what it means to this expat in Oz

I should really blog about my first impressions of my son’s first days in prep school. In an Australian State School, which for me, who has gone to primary school on the other side of the world (and not in uniform!) is a very exiting – and exotic – world. For him, it’s just new and part of growing up, he is doing what all his little mates are doing and he seems to be integrating really well. All good. But tomorrow is a day off, of course, as it is “Australyday” – and he told me all about it. Oh, I know…

 

Picking up my son from his first day in school (managed to get there late! that’s how we SAHMs roll…), I found  Tornado sporting a sticker with an Australian flag and the words AUSSIE GROWN. Yeah well, I thought, not really..!
Not at all even, but then again : when you make your first steps and you speak your first words in a country and have all your friends there and your family, by blood or by adoption… how could he not consider himself Australian ? He knows that I am not, but he just assumes he is.