Starting over

My lovely mom-in-law who I love just hit a big round number

2012-02-14T03:34:00.001+11:00

Dear Mom,

We wanted to surprise you today with one of those fancy custom cards. You know the kind, the ones where you get an adorable framed photo of your loving angelic grandchildren from far away, and it's all printed up real pretty with a cute message on the front.

We discussed it over lunch.

Sebastian felt like this about it:

But Jaime Kay felt more like this:

Between them, they managed this:

Later on, bathed and ready for the photo shoot, Jaime Kay decided that actually she was firmly feeling like this inside:

Which gave us this as the final version:

Very Special Birthday Photo

For A Very Special Lady

Many happy returns, Grandma!

We're all thinking of you and we really hope you have a wonderful day.

Honest!

New Year

2012-01-02T10:22:00.001+11:00

Wishing everybody a happy, healthy new year filled with fun, sunshine and good times.

Welcome 2012.

I'm glad we made it.

Using the powers of my own personal wish fairy, I will now ensure that you receive your heart's desire in the coming year.

No need to thank me. You deserve it!

Merry Christmas to all!

2011-12-26T08:55:00.002+11:00

My poor boy - he's been ill for days, and turns out, fever and aches don't end just because it's Christmas.

Meanwhile, my princess got the hang of Santa, no problem :)

A bit perkier...

Best horsey ever!

Christmas treasures

2011-12-12T09:49:00.001+11:00

Twinkle twinkle little star

2011-12-02T08:58:00.001+11:00

The Carter family's first ever nativity play experience happened tonight. American friends might be interested to read that this took place at school.

Apparently God has not been entirely banished from our education system here.

Not yet, anyway.

After a strong start, she flagged quickly, and by the time the above picture was taken of the grand finale, Jaime Kay was an overwhelmed starlet, and sought sanctuary in the teacher's lap.

A great effort for a first stage performance though!

Herm Island Part II

2011-11-29T08:53:00.001+11:00

Herm Island Part 1

2011-11-29T08:51:00.001+11:00

TV free zone

2011-11-28T07:45:00.001+11:00

One of the things they don't tell you about moving far, far away is that it will take forever before you are reunited with your belongings.

As a result, we have been compelled to struggle through a total of four loong months this year without watching television.

This has been surprisingly liberating.

We were never the sort of family to be glued to the box all day, every day, but I do like to keep up to date with international affairs (although this is mostly impossible with kids around - news content can be the stuff of nightmares for even the most world weary, let alone for a small boy with a huge imagination).

In addition, I have a shameful dirty, thirty year old British soap habit.

I've kicked that now, along, coincidentally, with my dependency on diet coke. My teeth are shiny and white and thanking me for this last, my long suffering husband overjoyed with news of the first.

Thus, I am currently bad habit free but naturally always on the look out for new ones to try, so do offer suggestions.

So, what have we been doing to fill the void?

Well, on the pretext of sharing with his sister, Sebastian has systematically revisited his entire library of kiddy DVDs - everything from Nemo to Monsters, Inc., via classic Disney and back. I've let him. You just never know, the rate at which my boy is growing up means it could well be the last time before they're all 'too babyish'.

Jaime Kay has eschewed Seb's well-intentioned screenings and will only watch Signing Time, singing the theme tune at the top of her lungs before carefully repeating each featured word after Rachel in her growly voice.

Jake and I?

Well, aside from following this is Jinsy when we can*, a satirical gem written by two blokes from this island that is unexpectedly growing in popularity and has featured all kinds of famous Brits to date, including Catherine Tate, David Tennant, KT Tunstall and Jennifer Saunders, well, we've also been learning yoga.

How you do.

On the first night, Jake declared yoga had clearly been designed for 'people with no balls'; a statement which, as you might imagine, interfered quite deeply with my own inner peace at the time.

And to be honest, quite a lot since.

However, we've persevered regardless and are now practically experts in a beginner kind of way.

It's all been very therapeutic, and my sanity is restored.

Well, almost, anyway.

*British Sky allows you to watch via internet if you have a friend with a password. And more importantly, a subscription...

Begin at the beginning again

2011-11-26T10:06:00.001+11:00

Turns out, after much wailing and gnashing of teeth, life goes on.

In addition, it's amazing how just a tiny shard of sunlight on a cloudy day, a flash of bright in the gloom, can change your mood completely and give you hope where only a few moments ago, you were sure there was none.

Final article for Insieme Down syndrome magazine, Switzerland

2011-10-17T08:55:00.002+11:00

Sally Carter is the mother of Sebastian (10) and Jaime Kay (3). Jaime Kay was born in Zurich, Switzerland and has Down syndrome. After 3.5 years in Switzerland, Sally and her family have moved to Australia for a year. She will be letting us know how they’re getting on ‘Down Under’.

Jaime Kay is growing up.

Her interests include colours and counting and letters and learning of every kind.

She’s also keen on dolls and dresses and pretend play and other kids.

She’s chatting up a storm.

Usually the first word we hear from her lips in the morning is Sebby (her brother’s name), and indeed pretty much the last thing she says every night is inevitably also Seb. She loves that brother of hers and is delighted if he chooses to read her a story or throw her a ball or play pretend with her, but she equally doesn’t mind if he does not; she just likes to know he’s around.

He, in turn, is a typical ten year old boy.

Sometimes he’ll be super kind to her and demonstrate his affectionate side. Recently he set up a little stall at the end of our drive and sold books and toys to passers-by on a sunny Sunday to raise money for an electronic game he wanted to get. Before he started, he’d already decided that if he should get extra money, he would buy a Sesame Street game for Jaime as well.

Another time, the pair of them woke up long before us and thick as thieves, he helped her out of her pyjamas and into her clothes before we found them sitting down for breakfast together.

But mostly, if you asked him, she’s just an annoying little sister who hogs all the attention round here.

Fortunately Sebastian has friends who understand his situation. Indeed, his favourite playmate knows exactly how he feels; this boy comes from a family which has become very close to ours in recent months. A family who also have a little girl with 47 chromosomes. Our girls’ birthdays are a mere month apart and they attend day care on the same days, sharing an additional care worker when they get there.

Naturally they are the very best of friends as well.

Indeed, I think for all of us, it’s been a very therapeutic, relaxing experience to be around people who share incredibly familiar family dynamics. It is as if we walk in matching designer shoes.

We are incredibly upset that our friendship is set to become an online one for now; in a most unexpected twist, it seems that we must leave the place we have grown to love during this short stay and return to Europe once more, in search of new adventures, and more extra special friendships around the globe.

31 for 21. Jet lagged start. Clearly.

2011-10-07T08:31:00.000+11:00

Hey there! It's been a while. Quite a busy while, as it goes. We arrived after a very long journey back to this side just a week ago.

I was worried about how Jaime Kay would take to her second change in hemisphere in twelve months.

Luckily it turns out that one beach is equally attractive as another when the sun is shining and you're playing in the water.

Incidentally, happy Down syndrome awareness month.

Expect great things, just a little less frequently than I would usually like, for obvious relocation related reasons.

Erased

2011-09-07T07:40:00.000+10:00

It's such an odd sensation, leaving a place before you are ready.

This week I've been feeling like we're living in some kind of horror movie. We've become paper thin and ghostlike, transparent in the sunlight. My boy is rapidly dissolving from the vibrant, busy background of his school; receiving homework assignments with deadlines that mean he will probably never complete them, and longing to attend events that will happen after we leave.

My girl has finally received a much sought after place at the private preschool we had hoped for her, and yet I must phone and explain that she won't be there.

We are invited to a party we can't go to, anticipate a new season we won't be here for, receive information about future shows we'd love to see but won't, and each and every time I have to explain our plight, another tiny corner of my mind crumbles silently into papery dust and scatters about my feet.

We have not been here long enough to be missed; our time here is only just beginning. My sudden appearance in a room has the potential to kill the conversation; what is there to say? Everyone knows I don't want to talk about it; and yet acquaintances are compelled to tackle the subject, to acknowledge my grief in some way.

The situation has been made more acute because we've collectively battled a horrid stomach virus which took turns to put us in bed for a week and has left us weakened and pale.

Jake's planned last weeks of intensive surf have been marred by fever and snot and sleepless sickly bodies; my renewed fitness program and ever lengthening must do list of sightseeing will have to wait as well.

At this point, if I could close my eyes and click my heels and wake up sitting on my mother's sofa with a nice cup of tea, then I would.

But alas, there is no end in sight. We are living in a never ending vortex of haemorrhaging funding and administrative nightmares. At least the furniture will begin its lengthy trip home on Friday; after all, a home and possessions are so overrated when you live at the beach.

Meanwhile, we wait at the mercy of the UK Visa department who seem to suspect an elaborate plan to smuggle my oversized American - from henceforth known as the Thai bride - into the country somehow. Fifteen years of marriage and two small children is a pretty comprehensive cover story. Apparently it doesn't count for much in the eyes of British immigration officials.

But ultimately, I will not lose sight of the fact that we live a charmed, blessed life. The sun is shining - 28 degrees yesterday - and the newly opened ice cream parlour on the corner has a buy one, get one free offer on.

Really. What more does a family need?

They speak English here. And there

2011-09-06T21:54:00.000+10:00

Brilliantly simple: 101 words and phrases I must endeavour to employ outside of Australia. The language here is colourful and varied and refreshingly honest after the ridiculous levels of political correctness elsewhere. Most of these can regularly be heard in all kinds of situations, not least as uttered by TV newscasters.

to duck out

Currently listening to radio show which invites the listener to describe accidental purchases made while ducking out for a smaller purchase. I gotta do more ducking out.

to hop in/out

For getting into or out of a vehicle. Noone gets in and gets out of the car around these parts. That's just too dull...

to nut out (the details)

Used everywhere, but particularly in senior business meetings and serious newspaper articles. Makes me laugh every time.

to rock up

Arrive. Why use one word when two can say it so much better?

Arvo

Afternoon. Because if it's short, it's pure and good. And if it ends in 'o', it's even better.

Bottlo

Off license.

Ambo

Ambulance

Povo

Poor

Coldie

Beer

Chook

Chicken. (But why?)

Garbo

(also known as garbologist). The bin man.

Morning Tea

Seb's early break at school is referred to as morning tea. Any snack taken before midday is morning tea. If I thought I loved the Swiss 'znueni', I love morning tea more.

Champ

Can be combined with above phrase or similar, eg. 'Keep it up, champ!'

Pash

What a fabulous alternative description for a common or garden snog. Love it.

Dag / Daggie

Nasty. I've been told to wear my daggiest shirt before now. Turns out I didn't own one...

Sausage sizzle

It's a common misconception that Aussies barbequeue a lot. What they actually do is sizzle sausages. Jake's become quite the expert in this area, helping out often at the school sausage sizzle which takes place every weekend to feed the masses who flock to the Sunday markets. And although when he's cooking they're great, other times the sausages may not always be the best, so beware...

Crook

Not well. This week, the Carters have mostly been crook, so it's topical, see?

Miscellaneous grammar items

The use of the word 'but' to finish a sentence. 'The forecast is for showers. It's not raining now but.'

The use of motion when enquiring after a person's well being. The standard Aussie greeting for all occasions. This is a requirement if you're going to fit in. 'How are you going' (pronounced owyagoin), or even 'How are you travelling?'

Departures

2011-08-30T19:56:00.000+10:00

We're leaving. Again.

There I've said it.

I've been avoiding the whole topic of our precarious Bondi existence for some time now; dodging questions on the matter; refusing to look the issue in the eye in the vain hope it will all disappear if I ignore it for long enough.

It hasn't gone away, and the moving company arrive next week.

There were choices. We could have made it work. Jake could have dumbed down his CV and taken 'just' any old job, I could have worked too to make up the difference, life in the Bondi bubble could have continued as if nothing had happened, and we would have grown old disgracefully in the sunshine as a pair of happy, aimless old hippies. Rather like many of the other inhabitants here.

But unfortunately, that's not our idea of reality.

We've got ambitions for our future. We've got two kids to look after. We feel a need to fulfill our potential in this precious life we're given.

It's been fun. But also exhausting.

So we're off to new adventures in Guernsey where we will give our fledgling business concept a fair go.

I'm still slightly devastated, but at peace with the plans, and looking forward to seeing family and friends again.

Besides, I can only deal with the concept of going because we're already making plans to return.

Older, wiser, and better prepared.

The first conversation

2011-08-24T17:09:00.001+10:00

My living room. Today.

Her (wheeling doll in pushchair from bedroom over to couch at speed): Hi!

Me: Hi!

Her: How are you?

Me: I'm fine Jaime! How are you?

Her (wheeling off again): Ok, I go now.

Coming hot on the heels of Saturday's 'I uv you', I'd say we're making some serious progress.

Did I mention we were on TV?

2011-08-23T20:55:00.000+10:00

We were invited to attend a live televised rugby match Saturday night. As VIPs. The whole thing was breathtakingly exciting and loads of fun, even though it was late and we did take the kids (as Jaime Kay got us the tickets, I felt reluctantly compelled to have her share the experience. Never one to break with bedtime routine, we were pleasantly surprised: she loved it, and couldn't escape either so it was perfect).

The Sydney Roosters are sponsored by a chicken company (logically), who have a charity nest which in turn gives money to children's charities, including Lifestart, the organisation which takes care of Jaime Kay's therapy.

As well as the free drinks and food and excellent company, we also did a lap of the pitch, hung out with the cheerleaders, and watched Jaime Kay's photo appear on the ginormous screens at each end of the field. Magical. It was one for the memory books...

Seb, Jake, Jaime Kay with her obligatory rice cake and Connie, who takes care of 'stuff' when not rattling a tin.

Sydney football stadium

Jaime Kay being held by the head of Lifestart, Jenny, a superwoman who knows everything.

Special sibs bonding over a good match

We're on the pitch! How cool!

Jaime Kay being gorgeous

A crash course for the ravers

2011-08-21T16:18:00.000+10:00

Due to unforseen pedestrians on the first go round, I passed my driving test the second time.

I left almost immediately after this minor triumph for London, where you have to be wealthy and / or crazy to own a car. The public transport system is overpriced, dirty, overcrowded and unreliable, but even taking all this into account, nobody drives. It's just too complicated.

At 23 I moved from London to Luxembourg and was accidentally drunk for at least the next two years so no need for a car there either.

One day, however, just after we met, Jake bravely went where no man has ever gone before: into the passenger seat on my maiden voyage driving on the right hand side of the road. At least six years after my initial debut, and with little or no practice in between, I lurched into the city traffic at rush hour and hoped fervently for the best.

Basically, I soon got the hang of it. Kinda. And what I lacked in experience, I made up for in speed. Not the greatest combo, but it worked for a while; at least until I ended up in court. As luck would have it, the case was dismissed as the workings of an overzealous police official (you wanna see the outfits on these poor guys in deepest Europe; if I was a bloke in knee length leather boots for a living, I'd probably err on the side of overzealous too).

And then you have kids.

My self confidence took a total bashing when I became pregnant, and so did my driving skills. I became ridiculously cautious; suddenly you're aware that you're not just zooming about alone, turning heads in a shiny red sports car; overnight, you've inadvertantly become responsible for a tiny passenger who makes his presence known by obstinately refusing to fit under the steering wheel to such an acute extent that you end up selling the shiny red sports car in favour of something suitably demure and mumsy.

Ages later I got pregnant again, and despite having recently perfected the five hour solo drive from Luxembourg across France to our new home in Zurich and back on multiple occasions, my driving ability seemed to suffer a further blow.

Fortunately Switzerland is known for cheese. Which is nice. And chocolate. Which is nicer. But also for efficiency. The public transport system in Switzerland has to be experienced to be believed, such is the myriad options, comfort and punctuality available for any proposed trip. Couple this good fortune with the appalling driving conditions that prevail for anything up to six full months of the year, and I began to loathe driving. Zurich city centre can be a frightening place when viewed from behind the wheel. It's tourist madness in the summer, icy danger in the winter. If you needed me, I'd mostly be on a tram or on my feet.

And now, here we are back on the original (wrong, incidentally; just plain wrong) side of the road in Sydney, Australia.

A full twenty years since I first successfully mastered driving on the left, I've had to relearn an old skill set. Now I shan't pretend there haven't been dodgy moments for all involved in this steep learning curve. Many cats eyes have suffered at the mercy of my burning rubber. Several times my hand has thrust deep in the side pockets of the car in a futile attempt to change gear. The windscreen wipers have been activated where an indicator might have been useful.

But in general, I've had to get right on with it, and today as I negotiated us through the heart of the city (twice actually), I noticed I'm actually enjoying the drive again.

There is something rather fabulous about heading down a crowded street, four lanes deep in traffic, surrounded by spectacular feats of engineering in the form of towering skyscrapers and office blocks.

Alternatively, there's one particular street near here that climbs very gradually to a peak and then takes you hurtling down an improbable gradient to pass the ocean front and then straight back up the other side in one perfectly giddy straight line - it is a fabulous rollercoaster of a road that makes me giggle every time, especially on the way back up; the functionality of my handbrake can be described as sporadic at best, and the gear box is often fairly reluctant as well. Makes for interesting times if there's any hill starts required.

Incidentally, we have also graciously accepted Sydney's offer of a disability badge which takes pride of place on the front windscreen and makes for an optimal (and often free) parking experience wherever we go; definitely a key benefit in this bustling city.

As my Dad pointed out, we just moved a heck of a distance and spent more than a small fortune in the process just to get confident on the opposite side of the road.

But it's sure been fun perfecting the skill...

International adoption

2011-08-16T21:35:00.001+10:00

Once upon a long long time ago, Jake and I began a journey to adopt a child from Africa.

Seb was about four at the time, and I suddenly realised that it would have been lovely to have had another child a good year previously.

Doh.

As you know, we've never been so great at planning.

A couple of trips to the doctors revealed some fairly problematic hormones. I have never been a fan of IVF. I feel you should probably work with what you're given, and there shouldn't be too much messing with it.

But there was an alternative solution here. Naturally, we talked about it long and hard.

We decided to go for it. There's a lot of time and effort goes into the adoption process; home study, psychological testing (I have paperwork to certify my sanity!), medicals, background checks, reams of paperwork. A lot of money.

The first child we lost was a little guy whose photo we still treasure. He had been abandoned as a baby in a doorway and taken in by a nearby orphanage. We had suitcases packed and ready to go.

Of course, the child being adopted also has to undergo rigorous testing, and the orphanages generally don't have the cash to carry these out up front; they're waiting for commitment before they begin.

So we waited.

And waited.

And then we received the news that he had fetal alcohol syndrome and was therefore no longer available for us to adopt.

It was fairly devastating news at the time.

Shortly after, we were shaken by a further disaster. Indeed, as I understand it, international adoption from South Africa has never quite recovered. Amid enormous controversy, Madonna purchased a child from Malawi. The impact was far reaching. Our paperwork ground to a complete halt. For months on end, there seemed no way forward.

Finally, we got word of two little boys whose cases went to court simultaneously to establish whether they might possibly be considered for international families to adopt now that the media furore had abated some. But alas, the answer was still no.

Meanwhile, Jake had been offered a job in Switzerland, about five hours from Luxembourg. We made the decision move away, even though it meant abandoning the last of our already dwindling hopes of a second child.

As I sadly recycled the last of our precious baby things and shed a tear over what was not to be, I had no clue that I was actually already pregnant with Jaime Kay.

It's funny how life turns out.

But I am digging up this old story for a very important reason tonight.

I have a very close cyber friend who is currently riding a similarly bumpy rollercoaster.

Having recently lost out on the possibility of one adoptive child, she and her family are paper ready and determined, while this little boy called Andriy is now waiting patiently for them to come get him.

The sooner, the better.

So if you have a moment, go visit this page and see if you can't spare a fiver or more towards the costs of their adventure, and if you'd like to read more details, please visit her blog.

Day trip away: Tamarama and Bronte

2011-08-14T21:07:00.000+10:00

Saturdays are lots of fun as we generally get treated to respite care. This means that a smiley Mary Poppins-type lady (one of two; they take it in turns to appear) takes over Jaime Kay's Saturday for a few precious hours, and me and him and the boy child get to hang out and catch up.

We live in Bondi. The next beach around the coast is Tamarama, and the one after that is Bronte. They are very close by, and in their own unique ways are almost, but not quite, as beautiful as my beach. They're also accessible by a rather spectacular coastal path which I've been bursting to have a go of. But never actually have, because of the negative stroller factor. It's all a bit too steppy, if you see what I mean.

It was supposed to rain today, and at the top of our list of things to do, we have a jetboat trip round the harbour (birthday gift to self - I know I'm going to hate it - palpitations at the very thought, but you've got to keep pushing boundaries even though you're old, right?), the Sydney museum which is mainly my choice again, as there's a photographic exhibition that I really want to see, and a(nother) 3D movie in case we move and aren't able to do the whole Imax 5 star comfort thing for a while.

Turns out, it was unexpectedly sunny, so much against the boy child's better judgement, we donned suitable shoes and set off with a camera in search of a spot of lunch.

Bronte views.

If Carlsberg made cemeteries for folk who loved the sea....

Seb found this. It was rather large. I'm glad it didn't move, or I might have been slightly afraid.

And for a boy who didn't want to go for a walk, he sure seemed to enjoy it when he got there...

Me time

2011-08-07T14:39:00.001+10:00

In the halcyon days of full employment, we happily ran up credit in all number of diverse places as a result of hasty purchases and other things.

So since we thought about leaving, I have been having a brief but indulgent field day using up all these vouchers and credit notes left right and centre.

One such spending opportunity was at the local community college, where last term's cancelled course turned into a delightful array of learning possibilities for this. I toyed with the concept of basic cooking skills (as I have done every year since I became a stay at home mom. In fact, this is the course that was cancelled in May. Who knows, perhaps my disaster zone culinary reputation preceded me and the teacher feared the challenge. I will learn this housewife business properly. But I've managed for the first ten years without. So if it ain't exactly broke...).

After consideration, I decided on a day long natural portraiture class with the excellent teacher I'd had when I first arrived in Sydney with my brand new digital camera.

The day was today, and the course was illuminating in every sense.

After much mind bending theory (I'm still struggling with my fstops, let alone my ISOs), we took it in turns to sit by the window and have our photo taken, experimenting all the while with reflectors and settings and shadows and light. My fabulous Canon 7D was the envy of our team, as a result of which, it became something of a group tool for the afternoon.

Upon arriving home, I discovered to my discomfort that there had been more than enough footage taken of my bad self.

I got one word for you darlings.

And that word is

WRINKLES!!!

Reality and bites

2011-08-04T21:56:00.000+10:00

'Course, it's all well and good making momentous decisions on a sunny day and counting on a happily ever after.

Our current reality is considerably different.

So far, we're now both working our tails off in a frenzied attempt to stand still.

Jake's working virtually (or should that be virtually working?! Hard to tell with this guy!) via Skype every night on a project based in Europe. Naturally, there'll be a small delay before we reap rewards.

He's simultaneously conducting extensive global searches for the perfect vacancy.

And we're both working to complete all the different layers of complex paperwork involved in the set up of an Australian company which must be correctly organised so that it can take on his current visa which will enable us to stay here legally.

Requirements include a comprehensive business plan, a brimming bank balance, a full job description, and details of a feasible future training program for the employment of an Australian national.

The deadline for all this is the end of next week - no pressure, then.

In other news, I cleverly organised the termination of our lease, and also alerted Jaime Kay's daycare to our impending disaster (this would be the daycare place that we've waited for since last November, and were only given in July). Within the three days it took to get back in touch with the director, she'd given Jaime's spot away.

So we're homeless, and without childcare (again) which might have been useful should I have wanted to contribute to the dwindling Carter coffers, not to mention the tremendously positive developmental impact the whole experience was giving Jaime Kay.

Ya know, turns out it's not as easy as it looks, this living in the moment stuff.

The day we take an easy option will be a celebration indeed.

On the other hand, impromptu meetings on the sun drenched terrace of a favourite cafe in the company of the love of your life just have to be the best way to conduct business. Especially if the love of your life is Jake.

Even if he does devote much time to the potential employability of passing bikini clad lovelies.

Did I mention how fortunate we are?

Undiluted recklessness.

2011-08-03T22:18:00.001+10:00

Call it the return of a spot of good weather, but an atmosphere of raw, incredulous wonder originally caused by long, hazy summer days in Bondi has been reawakened of late.

We are struck by how familiar, and yet simultaneously how alien, every aspect of our new lives has been.

We have swapped snow for sunshine, the very heights of luxury living for boho shabby chic, skiwear for beachwear, security for adventure, a career for a dream, relative affluence for sky high living costs and mounting bills.

Stepping off the plane on that first day, we sloughed off layers of clothing until our lily white bodies glinted nervously in the searing sun.

In the crowded anonymity, everything seemed possible.

Our softened winter feet tentatively braved warmed concrete for the first time as we joined the short but popular pilgirmage to the beach.

Those first moments on the sand! Kicking off shoes and savouring the grittiness. Warm salt water caressing thirsty skin.

I am alive.

My hurts healed, my past obscured in the sand, all previous burdens gently lifted.

I am a clean slate.

All things are possible.

I made no secret; my heart shattered into tiny pieces at the thought of leaving. The grief consumed me for weeks, ate into my dreams, lay in wait for me to open my eyes each morning.

I just can't do it.

Not yet.

It's the last great gamble before sanity.

Like a demanding, recalcitrant lover, the city consumes me and will not let me leave.

I am powerless to its charms, and fortunately the family is enchanted this time with me.

We've decided to stay.

Joyful July: Ok how did we get into August?

2011-08-02T20:56:00.000+10:00

It's spring in Bondi.

For now at least.

Just last week, I met the neighbour lady early one morning and failed to recognise her, so bundled up in hat and gloves and hood was she. We joked, as we always do, about how incredible it is that I don't feel 'the cold' (I was in a tshirt at the time). She reckons it's been the coldest winter she can ever remember. Ever. It's certainly proven to be the wettest - Sydney hasn't had such heavy rain since 1959.

By the weekend, however, even she had to agree that the worst was behind us.

In fact, it was so fabulous, we spent both days on the beach.

Joyful July 27: Dance and the world smiles with you

2011-07-27T23:33:00.000+10:00

Turns out, blogging when your life's in utter turmoil can be really rather challenging. As an avid blog consumer, I know from experience that reading other people's complaints is a major turn off. On the other hand, it's fair to say we're having a tough time here in sunny Bondi, and the worse it gets, the fewer words are going on the page.

Times like this, I'm reminded of the wise words oft-repeated by a school friend. She went through a phase of reenacting a particular scene from Bambi, and she always took the part of Thumper, with a suitably squeaky voice. Because let's face it, less is the new more, and if you can't say something nice, dont say nothing at all.

Bear with me folks; normal life must surely return shortly. Mustn't it?

By way of compensation, I offer you this nugget of purest disco dancing gold, courtesy of Miss Cutie Pants Carter, accompanied by the muffled strains of the current Carter favourite tune.

Joyful July 26: A revisit of beach and boy

2011-07-26T23:26:00.000+10:00

Joyful July 25: Learning something new

2011-07-25T22:42:00.000+10:00

I've recently been attending the Hanen Program: It Takes Two to Talk. The course is designed to facilitate communication between a parent and a child with any kind of speech delay. The key premise is summarised by the acronym OWL - observe, wait, listen, and basically it really is that simple. It's also incredibly difficult. On the whole, the thing's been quite the eye opener, exposing a myriad ugly shortcomings in my parenting style and general emotional state on a regular basis.

This week's topic was books. No worries. I know everything there is to know about reading to kids. It's one of my very favourite pastimes. And besides *clears throat, puts on deeply dramatic voice* DoyouknowwhoIam? I was a full on salaried radio presenter and voiceover artist long ago in a past life. It's what I do. I'm good at that sort of thing.

Aren't I?

Sigh. Apparently not. Well, at least, not when it comes to creating interaction. It's a whole new ball game, and it requires a whole different skill set than just a pretty voice.

We were shown a sort of before and after video of a lady reading with her son.

It was the Hungry Caterpillar. In the first clip, she read it through with the boy on her lap. He enjoyed it well enough, but he looked fairly overwhelmed by the whole experience as all the different foodstuffs whizzed by in quick succession, as they inevitably do.

In the second clip, she was sitting on the floor with the boy next to her, face to face. She introduced the book with a smile and a sign (I'm particularly dreadful at this, I've learned as the course has progressed - more of your spur of the moment, launch right in kinda Momma, with not enough warning at all. I'm working on it...), and then they spent a long time playing caterpillars with their fingers, the Momma following the child's lead and crawling all around the living room, fingers aloft.

Eventually when the game was finished, she picked maybe two pages max, and together they thoroughly discussed every tiny element of each until there was nothing left to say.

Naturally the contrast was marked, and the boy was enthralled.

The class agreed that we'd all go home and try it out before next week.

It's music next week. Singing is the only other thing I do. Guess I should be preparing myself for a reality check already!

Joyful July 24: Life's a beach

2011-07-24T22:42:00.000+10:00

Look at me on the bike.

I'm getting really good at this.

Kinda had enough now though.

What, you're not gonna come get me and strap me back down in the stroller?

Great news! Right-o, I'm off then.

Sand. Are you sure this is still ok?

What about now?

What do you mean, not in the water?

Those other people there are in the water!

Water, Momma, water!

Fair enough.

But if that's how it has to be.

Race you up the beach Momma!

Joyful July 22: Pizza night

2011-07-22T22:29:00.000+10:00

Hey everyone! I love pizza!

Turns out, tonight was Momma and Daddy and Sebby's pizza night. I wasn't invited because I've already had my dinner ages ago, and besides, I'm supposed to be in bed.

But I love pizza! I can say it and sign it. And eat it!

In fact, I like to relax when I'm eating my pizza. Like this.

Wait, did I do something wrong Momma?

You mean you don't like it when I sit with my feet on the table like this?

No worries then. I'll remember for next time.

Honest!

Joyful July 21: Rainy days

2011-07-21T23:07:00.001+10:00

It was a rainy day in Bondi. I mean, properly torrential. The sort of weather that thoroughly chills you and you just can't get warm again. The wind has been howling through every crevice in our little beach house and deep into our very bones. Outside, the roads have become raging rivers that spill and splash up onto the sidewalk like the giant wild waves which have been ravaging the beach.

Perfect weather, then, to take a bus to town and run an errand with Jake.

I was drenched before I'd even reached the end of the drive.

In no time at all, the water seeped through my boots and crept up each pant leg. The water seeped into the hood of my waterproof and worked it's way down each sleeve. It is a crumpled, soggy mess that greets Jake in the city a good 15 minutes late, not the metropolitan chic I had been aiming for.

In the wintry light, Sydney seems an entirely different creature to the one I had loved so well in summer. The streets are stripped of noisy vibrance in the grey, and the very bones of the city are revealed. Rows of forlorn restaurant tables under giant parasols battered and dripping in the rain, sidewalks slick and glistening underfoot. From the safety of a cafe window I dry off a little and pause to observe the few who brave the elements.

They are still magnificent. The individuality of these people cannot be stifled by a spot of rain on a city workday. There might not be bikinis and floaty sundresses going on here right now, but the aura of sunshine cannot be banished from local souls. No. I see a flash of satin skirt here, a dash of vibrant colour there, fabulous lacy stockings, cheeky patent heels just a little too tall, a pillar box red raincoat, a magnficent pair of deliciously dangly earrings on an otherwise plain canvas, everywhere I look there are people flouting the conventional city dresscode of blacks and greys and navys.

Afterwards, we rush back through the rain as best we can to get to the station where I will catch a train home. Jake knows all the quick ways, and keeps us as dry as he can by taking a shortcut through his own office building. It is vast. And breathtaking. I didn't have my camera with me today. But believe me, I will be going back.

Until then, I urge you to check out this link for a virtual tour. Check out in particular the oppulence of the ceilings, and the magnificence of the vault. How fabulous it would be to sit patiently in one of those cosy looking leather lounges and wait for a mignon to count out your ingots. Sigh. I can dream....

Joyful July 20: The power of song

2011-07-20T14:13:00.000+10:00

So I'm standing in the bathroom first thing and the door's wide open and the radio's full on and the morning chaos is well, chaotic as usual.

I'm applying mascara (yes, FB friends, the same rubbish non-cry-proof brand as yesterday), and I'm already wondering why I'm bothering and if there's rules about sobbing before nine, and Adele is on the radio with that weepy 'Someone Like You' (because after all, regrets and mistakes they are memories made. And who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?).

So anyway, the pity party's still full on at mine, even though I'm trying with all my might to bring in the bouncers and get the place shut down, and I'm about to start bawling again, when in the mirror, entirely without warning, there appears the vision of a small wellingtoned girl brandishing a large green plastic shovel high above her head and screeching the words 'ike ooooooooo' at full blast as she trots by.

And then I'm laughing and we're hugging and it's ok and the day can begin.

Joyful July 19: Him indoors

2011-07-19T19:56:00.001+10:00

Talked about the girl, talked about the boy child, talked about the beach and the current international nightmare of it all.

Must be Jake's turn.

Here he is in all his be-wetsuited glory.

For better or for worse, apparently that's the deal, and believe you me, I've tried my very best to get rid of him over the last sixteen years, but alas, he keeps on turning back up every day, like some sort of reverse bad penny.

Here I am, wanting to close the curtains and wallow languidly in a small private pit of despair, and there he is, planning our first trip to our soon to be local beach, our first visit with family, our first day of trading in our brand new business. He's always been the shiny light to my default darkened position in all things, and heaven knows what would become of us all if his wheels ever dropped off.

Joyful July 17: Back to the future

2011-07-17T22:57:00.001+10:00

Ugghh.

I tire of feeling sorry for myself.

It's official: this pity party must come to a close, and fast!

To cheer us all up, I'm going with six little known, wonderful and exciting things you didn't know about our most likely destination.

1. My brother and his young family live there, as do my parents. We've never tried that whole family together in one place thing. We sold our home in Cheshire, England when I was 18. My parents and brother moved to Guernsey, while I chose London, so I've no real ties to the place except them. In addition, when I was growing up, I didn't have cousins to hang out with, so I'm excited that my children will have the cousin thing going on, and the aunt and uncle and grandparent thing, and Seb's so excited too. He's already requested a weekly (!) family lunch for everyone at our house (not that we've actually got a place to live yet - that's a whole other story).

2. It's extraordinarily beautiful, think picture postcard traditional English village. In addition, there are several other islands in the vicinity that are possibly even more breathtaking. Herm Island is home to the most perfect beach in the world. It is one of the favourite secret places to which I return in my mind when the going gets tough (what do you mean, you don't have a happy place? I don't believe you. Everyone has a happy place. Don't they?).

3. I already have the beginnings of an extra special network, thanks to a girlfriend I met a couple of years ago (the last time we were considering this move). She has all the makings of a fab friend and comes complete with a pair of girl twins both with designer genes. I spoke to her on the phone tonight and she's so positive and enthusiastic, it's hard not to join in!

4. We're mostly going back to start a financial business. It's been in the planning stages for about two or three years, and we're gonna seize the opportunity and give it a go. The fact that we're so incredibly restricted here in Australia and can't set it up under our visa regulations is the key reason for our decision to leave. I'm wondering if I have to get a whole new wardrobe in order to be Jake's personal assistant. I think I probably should.

5. Inspite of my initial fearless protestations to the contrary, I'm quietly excited by the prospect of being just a little bit closer to friends and other family members. When we made the decision to come, I was sure it wasn't all that far away (I failed geography and ignorance is bliss). Besides, I reasoned, people would be flocking over to visit. Indeed they would, but sadly it takes a little time to accrue sufficient funds for the trip of a lifetime.... Anyone fancy a more affordable trip to the seaside? I'm looking forward to seeing you again!

Joyful July 16: Sharing the beach

2011-07-16T23:44:00.000+10:00

The giant wheels of Australian tourism never cease to turn, even in deepest winter. Exotic ladies and gentlemen pour fourth from the airconditioned comfort of oversized luxury coaches, often directly in transit from the airport, and stagger to a dazed halt on the sidewalk, blinking furiously in the bright golden sunshine.

Sometimes a number of these groups will move no further than the coach, preferring instead to employ telephotos from the roadside and retreat into the darkened bus interior as soon as humanly possible, as if unable to process the freshness of the air and the blueness of the sea. But the rest will usually saunter jauntily as far as the promenade, highly remarkable in their dark suits and fancy dresses accessorized with glowing cigarettes, and each proudly displaying the very latest in camera equipment slung with care around each neck.

This week, one particular coachload caught my eye as being somewhat younger and trendier than the norm.

These guys even made it onto the sand and were even seen paddling in the water - now that really doesn't happen very often.

Must have been something in the air on this particular day, because pretty soon, I spotted these guys who followed their younger counterparts and also made it onto the sand, right up to the water's edge.

Later that same day, and further along the beach, I spotted the brightly coloured leftovers of a European tourist crowd.

They have not only made it out of the coach, down to the promenade, onto the sand, but are currently nowhere to be seen. These guys are hardcore livin' the dream inspite of the wintry landscape; these guys are all the way out to sea.

Joyful July 15: Home sweet home

2011-07-16T12:01:00.000+10:00

There's barely an international being in Bondi who hasn't faced some kind of issue with staying or going at some point in their lives. We have friends with sick relatives far away, friends with children who've never experienced life in their country of birth, friends who have Australian passports but who yearn for life in Europe, friends who will leave this very month because they can't get permits to stay.

Thing is, all these people seem to have an identifiable home to go to. Their choice is here. Or there.

As an Anglo-American couple with one Luxembourgish kid and one Swiss one, we've spent fifteen fairly nomadic years together, and both of us left our home countries in the early nineties.

So now where?

First we thought about America. This would surely offer the very best opportunities for Jaime Kay, provided we choose our venue with care. Not so much for the rest of us, college drop outs that we are.

There are several good work opportunities for Jake in Switzerland (rather ironically). If that turns up, I shall be gritting my teeth, fixing my best smile on and counting my blessings all the way back to the mountains.

The UK is another excellent place for Jaime Kay, but employment for Jake would mean London for the rest of us. Never been my favourite choice for bringing up a family.

On the other hand, neither was Bondi.

Then there's Guernsey. I mentioned this as a possibility back in 2008. Beach, family, English-speaking, offshore banking industry. I have myriad reservations, but it might just work.

Meanwhile, we're pinning our local hopes on one last shot at Jake's career here in wintry Australia. It's a waiting game til we hear otherwise.

We popped out for lunch at the local burger restaurant today.

And lo and behold if I didn't spy this battered postcard while we were eating. It's an old cliche, but one which has served us well for many years.

No need to worry then. We're all just waiting for the next adventure to unfold.

Joyful July 14: Wizards and icecream

2011-07-14T23:47:00.000+10:00

The sun has been shining in Bondi again, and it's so hard to feel down for long when there's an ocean on your doorstep and the hulking love of a large American at your side.

And a small boy, growing fast.

This morning provided a brief, yet wonderful window on the past as the three of us stepped out unaccompanied for the first time in a very long time, leaving Jaime Kay in daycare for the morning.

Seb's call: Harry Potter, final instalment. It was incredible viewing.

I came away wishing I was a wizard.

Or failing that, I'd settle for the incredible talent of Dame Maggie Smith.

Coupled with the youth of Emma Watson.

Or maybe just a Mr. Whippy from down on the front.

Yeah.

That'd do.

Joyful July 13: Blog though your heart is breaking

2011-07-13T22:51:00.000+10:00

It's tough to blog yourself happy when you're not feeling it all that much.

At the same time, nobody wants to read a blog about a plain, middle aged housewife on a dull grey day at the seaside, having a spoiled child tantrum and throwing toys about left, right and centre.

Not that I'm exactly unhappy, you understand.

Just more than a little uncertain about the future venue of the Carter tribe.

Turns out, the large international bank that begged my husband, I mean, begged him to move halfway across the world, despite his many misgivings, accidentally did make a grave financial miscalculation after all and have shelved his project before he could even get started.

This is fundamentally not great news. At all. Without a job, our visa is invalid. Without a visa, well, we don't have long.

Jake is equally gutted. He'll never be a surf champion at this rate.

Me? I have already mentioned how I feel about the possibility, fast becoming probability, of leaving our current location.

And now, as the time we no longer have rushes by, words cannot describe the roaring waves of mommy guilt that crash into the corners of my conscience, dark and angry, threatening to consume me entirely at any moment.

There have been myriad unforseen issues facing every member of this family at every turn of this upside down journey.

But then, it shouldn't really have been a surprise as we were repeatedly warned not to pack up and leave the financial security and cosy familiar comfort of all we had worked for in Switzerland, for a whim and a dream of life on a beach far away, but I didn't want to hear.

It was irresponsible and immature and 'not what a proper parent would do'.

Has it been fun? For me? For him? For the kids? Absolutely. The chance of a lifetime. An adventure. Infused with golden sunshine and waves of purest blue, we have truly lived the dream.

No regrets then, just disappointment, hurt and bewilderment.

Sydney never loved us back.

Of darkened skies and chocolate mousse.

2011-07-12T23:44:00.000+10:00

I didn't write yesterday. Doesn't mean I wasn't joyful, mind you, it's just that we've got a lot going on around here.

A lot of reflection and thinking and planning.

And wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Oops.

In addition, last night was our monthly book club night which is always fun. We'd been reading a book entitled 'Caleb's Crossing' by Geraldine Brooks, which is about the early settlers and the native Americans around Martha's vineyard. I can recommend it. At book club, we're a funny mix of local and international, and at least three of us are currently battling visa issues of some kind, so the 'traveling, settling, who has rights to do what' theme rapidly expanded to consume the whole evening.

So that was yesterday.

Today Seb roped the whole family into another kitchen challenge; this one slightly more ambitious than any previous goals. He was making a simple chocolate mousse, but alas, among the many household items we haven't quite replaced since we moved is an electric mixer. It's kinda tricky to whip your eggs to a frenzy without an electric whisk. But happily, if there are three of you taking turns, you get there in the end.

As usual with Seb's creations, he was insistent on photographic evidence.

And also as usual, Jaime Kay wore her verdict all over her face.

Joyful July 10: Ice ice baby

2011-07-10T22:16:00.000+10:00

There's a bloomin' great ice rink in the middle of the beach.

It had to be done.

So today was the day.

Jake had a go too, and my girlfriend bought her two kids - her boy's best mates with mine.

I think he enjoyed it.

Jaime Kay was fascinated, although upset not to get out of the stroller and have a go too, but she's still sick.

Very cute with the whole illness thing, though, even in the depths of the night, when she was busy giving orders in her feverish state - 'gink', 'again!', 'bear', 'no, no no' (I gave her the wrong bear), and finally, 'seep'.

He's just so unhappy, this boy of mine...

Joyful July 9: health, wealth and happiness

2011-07-10T00:02:00.000+10:00

I had in mind to brag about how fabulously well Jaime Kay always is. Always has been. Born with no medical issues whatsoever, my little ox ploughs happily through life with a smile and a shake of her sturdy wee buns. She's a marvel.

Children with Down syndrome can have a huge range of medical issues; heart problems, digestive issues, leukemia, loss of hearing - the list is long and not at all pretty.

But for our girl, she's got the specs she's had since she was six months old; long sighted, but not too terrible, and she takes a tiny pill each day to regulate her thyroid. Aside from these, she's perfect.

Doesn't stop me being paranoid.

Indeed, we just put the poor girl through an overnight sleep study at the Sydney Children's Hospital.

Jake was diagnosed with sleep apneoa last year and we were certain she was having breathing issues overnight. It's very common in our children as all the passageways are considerably narrower than in other typical people.

I was both relieved and slightly appaled to discover that although the specialist did agree that her breathing was laboured at times, she has no signs of apneoa whatsoever. Phew! She'll have to repeat the test before she hits school, but for now the tonsils and adenoids are staying where they're at. It's all good.

Anyhow, she clearly read my mind this morning, and contrary sausage that she is, she fired up the mother of all fevers by about 10am. She seems to have some kind of tummy ache going on, but not awful enough to put her off her food - that would be a travesty.

It's gorgeously sunny and terribly blowy outside, so we dosed her up, wrapped her up, and attempted to blast her ills away with a good, bracing sea walk.

It worked for a while, and the views were incredible. We passed through an area of Bondi where we won't be living anytime soon. All rather top notch and waterfront. There was talk of a price tag around $130 million for the latest building on the market recently, although it did have it's own boat ramp. The only one in Bondi.

And ended up with splendid views of this - again - I don't know when I'll tire of it.

Joyful July 8: Expanding a girl's social horizons

2011-07-08T20:50:00.000+10:00

It's school holidays, and the Bondi Pavillion has a whole range of activities for kids going on.

Sebastian got stuck in to a DJ workshop and learned how to mix using a good oldfashioned turntable. According to Seb, the guy running the afternoon was a dead ringer for Uncle Robin. He came home believing he actually is a DJ and is merely biding his time until he can make a successful career out of it. Go ahead son, we're right behind you...

Meanwhile, Jaime Kay and I picked out a music and movement class, and took Seb with us as official photographer.

I think it worked out quite well.

Another thing that worked out quite well this week was Jaime's first time at genuine Australian daycare. She loved it, as we knew she would.

Joyful July 7: The neighbourhood

2011-07-07T19:42:00.000+10:00

I love our street. Our house is more or less in the middle which gives us the best of all worlds.

At one end, as I'm sure you've gathered, we have this (taken today - isn't it breathtaking? Wintry temperature of 26 degrees c in the sunshine - brrrr, etc.):

It was gale force today, so you'll note the plane top left over Ben Buckler's. They come this way when it's windy. I don't want to think about plane trips. Ever again. Yet there it was...

Moving on, here you can see that facing the view in pride of place on the waterfront is the Bondi Pavillion, which is currently festooned with enormous photographs as part of an exhibition.

These, then, are our neighbours. Half Swiss, half Australian, 100% fun.

But at the other end of our street we have an enormous slice of bohemia going on which I absolutely love too:

In the summer months, this place is jammers. There are four or five little cafes huddled together here, and the clientele spills out all over the pavement and under the shade of the trees where there are benches in a row and old people and dogs and kids and strollers all jumble together happily in the sunshine.

We've discussed it, and it's not everyone who gets the opportunity to live half a street away from the most breathtaking beach in the world, while still enjoying the intimacy of village life.

Believe me, we are cherishing every moment of this privilege, even if it's just for a little while....

Joyful July 6: You, dear reader!

2011-07-06T20:18:00.001+10:00

A blogger's life can be a lonely one.

You're never quite sure if anyone's actually paying attention, while at the same time, I'm always completely mortified by the concept that someone actually might.

Anyhow, you seem to have noticed I've been neglecting this blog since our move. I'm a lazy beach bum now baby, simple as.

But I saw this joyful July challenge on a friend's Facebook page and seized the opportunity to write regularly again.

Thank you for reading - I don't deserve you!

Of course, there is an additional guilty back story to my sudden and dogged reappearance.

Aside from finally getting to grips with my fabulous camera, I should also be writing a test article for a magazine. I promised to submit it, ooh, at least a month ago.

I've started it, but it would appear that interviews, although fun and games at the time, are actually my personal weakness - to my shame, I realise it's not the first time I've written half an interview.

I figure further procrastination can only help in this case; my writing skills are slowly thawing, and any moment now, I'm expecting a flourish of phrase and a twinkling of wit and kaboom, as if by magic, the thing will be done and dusted.

I'll post it up when it happens. One day.

PS. Jaime Kay and I did some exploring in a different part of town this afternoon. More photos to come.

Same beach, different angle. See? Sea.

Joyful July 5: Thank goodness for little boys

2011-07-05T20:08:00.000+10:00

Another quiet day.

The boy child is lacking motivation right now. I guess it's fine - it's his holiday too. Did manage to pry him from the house for a couple of hours this afternoon; it was a crime to be indoors in such incredible weather.

We head to the beach, check out the ice rink and the skate park and continue walking. The beach is beautiful as ever, and empty today.

We, the Carter trio, look like this:

While we're out, Seb bucks up enough to experiment a little with the camera.

The fresh air seems to work wonders, and upon our return home, the boy and I launch into more frenzied kitchen activity, this time creating veggie soup, garlic bread and honey mustard chicken to go with enormous plates of greenery.

I'm so pleased he's showing an interest finally - apart from being an excellent skill to have, we've been told on numerous occasions that all this kitchen prep is one of the best solutions for fine motor / coordination issues.

Seb is so excited he sets the table beautifully, even breaking out the tea lights. He also insists on photographing his plate before he eats.

Eat your heart out, Masterchef!

Jelly July 4: Joyful

2011-07-04T20:06:00.000+10:00

First day of winter holidays for the boy child, and it's been hot and sunny, but also dull and rainy.

Sebastian is incredibly tired and couldn't be motivated to move beyond the sofa for much of the day, playing electronic games and watching old movies.

Jaime Kay, on the other hand, went down for a nap that never happened, and three quarters of an hour later, I swung open the bedroom door and was greeted by this view.

Not great.

So we set about a rainy day project. We're working on the words 'stir' and 'mix', and the phrase 'put in'. This seemed to tick all the boxes.

Willing volunteer 1:

Slightly less enthusiastic volunteer 2 (note the marvelous thornbc shirt):

And it seems the proof lay in the pudding.

Joyful July 3: Theatre

2011-07-03T22:32:00.000+10:00

I've always been something of a thespian, and by extension, a lover of all things theatre.

It's the roar of the greasepaint and the smell of the crowd, as my Dad would say.

In addition, I've never been a fan of running.

You may have noticed, I haven't been quick to update you on my recent half marathon endeavours.

I finished.

There were 10,844 people who finished with me.

But you know when you're sitting in a train at the station, and the train next to you sets off, giving you a strange sense of motion?

Apparently if 10,820 people run past you at the starting line of a race, a person incurs that same false sense of motion.

That is all.

Anyway, it turns out that if you're running for a fabulous team of charity peeps, and you do spectacularly badly, you get a prize.

My prize turned out to be two front row tickets on a night of my choice to see Hairspray the Musical.

Jake turned up his nose - don't know what's wrong with the odd oversized singing teenager and a large man in a dress, but fine - so I took Seb.

There was a small risk he'd be scarred for life, but luckily he loved it.

I shall make an actor of him yet....

Joyful July 2: Seasons

2011-07-02T22:38:00.000+10:00

So this is what deepest winter really should look like. All photos taken this very day...

Joyful July Day 1: Jaime Kay

2011-07-01T23:03:00.000+10:00

This gorgeous girl of mine deserves a post of her own because she is just so special.

She’s turned my life (and indeed, on occasion, my entire house) properly upside down.

Words cannot begin to express how fortunate I am to have her sunny smile to brighten my darkest hour, and now that her own words can and do express a growing list of items, I have been feeling more blessed than ever.

From her growly ‘don’t!’ to her quizzical ‘What is it?’ via ‘Momma!’, ‘cacker peese’, and a really fabulous imitation of me yelling for her brother to come downstairs, we’re loving every minute of her new talent.

And the singing! Did I mention the singing? It’s simply got to be heard….

School basics for momma

2011-07-01T18:31:00.000+10:00

I'm new to all this ‘additional needs’ lingo.

Still.

Three years down the line and I can scarcely work out my IFSP from my IEP, let alone envisage the finer concepts of the school life that is to come for my child.

So I was particularly relieved to attend a workshop yesterday run by an organisation called Family Advocacy, the aim of which was to assist us Mommas as we navigate safe passage for our little ones in the big wide world that is education.

Now I know this is some way off; indeed, the general consensus appears to be not to introduce our kids to school until the year they turn six; but it seems that now's the time to start planning.

I returned enthused.

There was nothing particularly ground breaking. But the opportunity to spend several hours actually thinking about this topic without the interruption of a little person or persons was incredibly useful.

And all the basic principles I knew to be good and true and sought after were explained in detail, so now I understand.

For example, I've always known I was heading for inclusion for my child. Indeed, I have been known to bandy the word around like a threatening weapon on occasion. But coming from a country and an era where such things did not yet exist when I was a child, I'd never fully understood what the word could mean.

Should mean.

It doesn't mean integration, where my child's simply sitting in the same room as yours, although this is a good start.

It means that time is taken to ensure that my child can play a satisfactory part in the lesson, even if she might not fully understand. That the lesson involves her, teaches her, as well as the other kids at the same time.

It means not withdrawing her to give her extra help, but incorporating the extra help within the classroom setting.

And inclusion does not have to mean keeping up. It means taking part and learning her own things in her own time as she does.

Simple.

But I feel so much better now they’ve spelled it all out.

Progress

2011-06-17T13:52:00.000+10:00

Time's rushing by here in sunny Bondi, and I really must update soon. Meanwhile, here is the latest article I've written for the Swiss Down syndrome magazine.

Winter in Sydney, and yet the sun still shines down on us most days.

Our lives are an agreeable cycle of work and fun since last I wrote. Jaime still attends open play, a weekly playgroup for children with special needs, and we have begun to make weekly visits to a wonderful pre-school where I hope she will go next year.

Meanwhile, we are offered a place on the Hanen Institute’s ‘It Takes Two to Talk’ program which, although intensive, is already successfully providing me with many new insights and ideas about communication for Jaime Kay.

Then, almost exactly six months since we left Switzerland, three calls in the space of a single week turn our routine on its head.

The first is from early intervention services to announce that they have found room for us in a group class. This is fabulous news. Jaime begins the next week, joining Zoe, Alicia and Dylan, all of whom she already knows and loves from playgroup. Headed up by an occupational therapist and a speech therapist, the full morning sessions incorporate speech therapy, ergotherapie, and fine and gross motor skills.

It’s clear from the outset that she’s going to thrive.

In addition, we are assigned a key worker with whom we can discuss our concerns regarding Jaime’s progress, and we spend time creating a formal ‘Individualised Education Plan’ outlining our main aims for the next six months.

We are thrilled.

The second call is from a Bondi crèche which already looks after Jaime’s closest friend (who also has Down syndrome). They offer Jaime a place, and she will attend for 2 days a week. They will secure extra resources to look after her, and then she will begin.

The final call is from disability services. I had enquired about the possibility of respite care. It seems we’ll be granted some. I’m amazed. We are entitled to four hours a week of extra help at home. Jaime’s significantly older brother is looking forward to some activities that don’t involve a little sister. We shall use the time to go out and ‘do big boy stuff’.

Love affairs.

2011-05-19T22:51:00.000+10:00

A little over 15 years ago, I fell in love. It was most unexpected, and the object of my affections was an unlikely candidate back then, to say the least. So unsuitable, indeed, that there came a moment of clarity I will never forget in the wee small hours of a hazy morning after the night before way back in 1995. We lay side by side on a dewy hillside in Luxembourg ville and I declared my love.

And then I asked him to make a choice.

The choice he made means he’s still around today and I’m incredibly grateful.

But the point I want to make is that I had reached a place where it no longer mattered to me what he would answer. I considered myself incredibly fortunate to have been there, experienced that. I was happy. I had known love, it would always be love, it will always be love and nobody could have taken away that certainty, that clarity, not even him.

15 years later, I’ve fallen in love again. Once more, the object of my affections is ‘not everybody’s cup of tea’. You either ‘get’ the Eastern suburbs of Sydney, Australia or you don’t. I live in an overpriced shoe box into which we hardly fit and can scarce afford. It is a busy street and we are surrounded by grubby backpackers who make a lot of noise in the middle of the night and nick your stuff if you don’t watch out.

Bondi is ridiculously overcrowded, outrageously expensive, smelly, dirty, bohemian, carefree, colourful, fun, inspiring and sunny. At any hour of the day or night, the beach is beyond stunning. I’m talking achingly beautiful. And two minutes away from the front door, which sure offsets the downsides nicely. I popped down there today (hey, pretty much every day, 'cause why not?) and even though it’s winter, the white sand is bathed in golden sunshine and the waves are purest blues.

I have never felt so at home.

However, right now Bondi is busy sending us a lot of signals that we shouldn’t really be here. We have a girl child that has now gone six months without early intervention services because there was ‘no room in the system’ for her. A boy child whom we have just discovered will not even be granted the opportunity to sit the entrance exams for grammar school because we’re ‘only’ visa holders, not residents.

But most urgently, Jake has been warned today that he has perhaps a month left before his company will be forced to cancel his contract due to budget deficits. As you might imagine, words can’t describe how incredibly angry I’m feeling about this right now.

After all, it’s not really every day you’re persuaded to move from one side of the world to the other, only to be let down upon arrival.

You know what though?

No matter how this turns out, I will always love Bondi.

And no one can take that away.

Running in perfume

2011-04-10T16:25:00.000+10:00

It's Autumn here in Bondi. In spite of the 25 degree + temperatures and sunny blue skies, the locals are unsuccessfully busting out their best jackets and winter boots and wearing them like fashion badges of honour in the shimmering heat.

Meanwhile, I'm still shambling up and down the beach every morning, hoping to compete in the Sydney half marathon which takes place mid-May.

I'm still very, very slow.

Ridiculously, old lady slow.

I-can-walk-faster-than-I-can-run type of slow.

But I set off with hope and determination bright and early every morning and pray for a miracle that'll ensure I'm not disqualified (I have to complete the first 11kms in 75 minutes. I did over 11 kms today, as a matter of fact, and it took A LOT longer than that). I could be kinda discouraged, were it not for the sunshine.

In general, though, turns out running gives me a lot of time to appreciate the scenery, observe the passers by, and to reflect on life to date.

As a matter of fact, the more observing of my fellow pavement pounders I do, the more I feel surprisingly at peace with the world, and myself. I'm staring down the barrell of the big four-oh, (thirty-ten, as it's sometimes known), and I'm ambling along like the unfit housewife I am in my husband's dirty t and my too short lycra shorts that reveal a rich and unattractive pattern of varicose veins to those unfortunate enough to notice, and yet I.feel.good.

What's going on here?

I'm facing a moment in my life that I've been actively dreading for at least the last 5 years, if not longer. I'm a month away from forty! That's, like, really REALLY old.

And it's true, I could be a carefree blonde twenty something, hanging out in my skimpies with my curves in all the right places. I could be that mysterious sprightly old lady in high heels who has turned up to mock me for years now whenever I exercise. But I could also be a grotesque caricature of youth like so many of the women around my age, shot full of botox, obsessively clothed in the very latest designer threads, perfectly tamed hair, reeking of expensive perfume and all of this, just to take a simple stroll along the beach.

I guess I've finally decided to take the me that I am...

The struggle for services

2011-03-30T21:49:00.000+11:00

Below is the second in a series of four magazine articles I've been asked to write for the Down syndrome association in Switzerland.

I've told it like it is right now today, but I'm fully confident that this will all turn round for us very soon, so don't worry on our behalf - we'll be fine in the long run, and in the meantime, we're ridiculously happy.

The idyllic hazy days of Australian summer are fewer now, and it’s time to start a new therapy routine for Jaime in our new country.

This shouldn’t be too difficult: after twenty years of living in a foreign language, I’m able to communicate in my mother tongue again. It’s been surprisingly liberating so far, and I’m looking forward to being able to discuss her needs in English for the first time.

I join Down syndrome NSW and hook up with the excellent early intervention services in our area so that we can get learning.

We go to a playgroup with a huge outdoor playground and lots of local kids, and we attend a second weekly playgroup for children with special needs - a great place to meet other friends with Down syndrome for her, and for me, the chance to share with lots of other mommas who do exactly what I do.

I also contact a shortlist of suitable crèches for Jaime.

Then I wait.

Nothing happens.

I get mad, and start phoning people.

Still nothing.

Instead of the streamlined, efficient system of IV and the thorough, caring doctors and therapy team we have been spoiled with in Switzerland, I slowly realise that one of the key reasons we chose to come here, the opportunity to access English speaking services, is an illusion. All the services are oversubscribed and underfunded, and so are all the welcoming, inclusive crèches.

We are consigned to an ever lengthening number of waiting lists.

Time to switch to plan B.

We access two private therapists as an interim measure so we can at least have some learning structure to our week – one speech and one occupational. They’re both excellent, but charge CHF80 for a half hour session which is going to be tough to do for too long.

In addition, I decide to draw up a rough timetable so that we are sure to cover the main aspects that Jaime needs to work on at home: drawing and painting, running and jumping, blocks and puzzles, letters and numbers, and lots and lots of reading.

While we’re waiting, we may as well be learning something.

Belated birthday love.

2011-03-27T23:01:00.001+11:00

Making friends and influencing

2011-03-27T14:43:00.001+11:00

It's been a while.

The Carter family immune system has taken a bashing recently. We've all taken it in turns to be ill on the weekend, week after week, and then we all collapsed in a collective heap on the sofa for an entire week of strep throat and accompanying fever. It's put us back some. I guess this is what happens if you move from one side of the world to the other and find your seasons upside down and a whole new germ pool going on.

We're all healthy again now though, even Jake, who likes to harbour an ongoing symptom or two if he can - let's hope it stays that way.

Meanwhile, I fear the neighbours may no longer be on speaking terms. Not that we chatted much before.

Jaime Kay.

She's always had her volume set to excessively loud, except when it isn't switched on at all.

Now is no exception.

What's different is how cosily close the houses are arranged here in Bondi Beach. We have a cleverly arranged garden that provides a screen from everyone and therefore visually conceals the fact that we're not alone, but you've only to tune in to the next-door neighbour but four's dog howling or the baby in the road behind us having a pre-feed meltdown to know that we're all rammed in super near.

This situation is not helped by the fact that the entire back wall of the house is a floor to ceiling folding door which is open all day and much of the night, letting our dirty washing and more air for all to hear.

So my current theory is that one of Jaime Kay's screechy days is actually clearly audible on the beach, and almost certainly drifts in through the open windows of Seb's school.

And her quiet days expose me for the complete nutter that I am.

The main requirement to facilitate speech in a non-verbal child is plenty of conversation.

Logic.

And you know I like a chat, right, so at home with the girl, I'm clearly in a good place to offer the best of my services.

It's only recently after many many odd sided conversations, that it's begun to occur to me how bizarre it must sound to those surrounding who can listen but can't actually see who I'm addressing.

Stuff that goes like this.

Me: Here we go. (humming Signing Time) It's time to eat, eat, what a treat!

Let's have something to eat, Jaime Kay.

Me: That's right! Eat! Eat, eat eat. EEEEEATTT.

Me: What's wrong?

Me: But when I asked you before, you told me you wanted beans!

Me: Well, you liked them last week and ate them all up. Have a little try.

Me: Alright, alright. Just toast then, and I'll eat the beans.

Me: Yumm. Delicious. Is it delicious? It's toast. Can you say toast? Tooasssst. Tooasst.

Me: Your turn! Can you try?

Me: What do you mean, down please? We only just got started!

Me: Well, then it's nap time. No, not playing, it's sleeping time. Do you need a drink before you go to bed? Yes? Slowly!

You get the idea. Even with prolific signing on the part of the girl, it still sounds pretty bizarre.

Fortunately, we are hearing a lot of new words as well, so other days, I could almost pass as sane, which is unusual for me.

In particular, we're getting a lot of repitition of whatever the last person said.

Today at lunch, I asked who all wanted to come to the airport to pick up Grandma and Grandad next week. 'Me!' said a very excited Seb, quick as a flash. 'MEEEE!' said Jaime Kay, much louder and more emphatically.

Who cares about the neighbours? I've got all I need between these four paper thin walls....

A week of much learning

2011-02-04T16:06:00.000+11:00

We have survived our first week at school. I say 'we', because I'm still sure these things are as tough for the momma as they are for the boy.

It's one of Seb's dream goals in life, the procuration of a very exclusive best friend with whom to buddy up and make plans, and he gets very frustrated when even basic friendships don't always form over morning break on the first day.

I really felt for him, middle of the week, when he finally realised that if A has been bestest friends with B for years, it's unlikely that either A or B will want to hang out with him to the exclusion of the other.

Well at least, not straight away.

You can only hope that A and B will both give him the time of day for now, which mostly seems to be the case so far, so that's alright.

Other than that, the whole week has taken on a surreal quality for us all amid the record temperatures recorded in Sydney; a sort of heat haze hangs about our daily lives, blurring the edges of fact and fiction.

For instance, can it really be true that on Friday afternoons, the class will attend surf lessons on the beach as part of the physical education curriculum?

Is the disgusting smell emanating from the half dozen live bodies trapped in Seb's lunchtime tupperware really the odour of real, live stinkbugs? I had no idea such things really existed.

But I know now.

And can I really see half a dozen brightly coloured parrots flying round the school yard?

I think it could be time for a mommy lie down. Or a stiff drink. Or both.

Which is lucky, as we've been invited to hang out with some moms and kids tonight, if I can get us from one end of this road to the other in one piece.

And there's a rumour there might be a beer involved.

We've been alcohol free since we moved here, bar a couple of beers one night with Gilly when he was over.

Another day, another new school

2011-01-31T10:31:00.000+11:00

You'd think, because my boy is in double figures next month, and because we've already done this a number of times before in a number of different countries and languages, that I'd find it a little easier at the school gates on this, the first day of the brand new school year here at Bondi Beach.

Instead, it was a whole lot harder.

The boy child is old enough to sort out his own arrangements apparently, and oh, how my heart hurts. I long for the old days when he was tiny and the Mommys were allowed to sit at the back of the class or hover in the corridor until the kids felt brave enough to tackle the day alone.

But instead, we were given 'a moment' in the corridor, and politely shown to the door, leaving him behind in the sunny, sweaty chaos that is our beach school of choice.

Good luck little big boy, I'll be waiting for you at three.

Jail break and other gross motor skills

2011-01-31T10:21:00.001+11:00

It's been a week of firsts for Jaime Kay.

The Bondi soft sand has clearly made an impact on the girl's chubby thighs (in addition to her momma's), and she's learning how to use those little legs like never before.

We invested in a furry set of monkey reins and celebrated our first successful walk to the beach (although not back - that's too much to ask just yet).

But I suppose the realisation really hit on Tuesday morning, when, still in pyjamas, we were hanging out in Jaime Kay's room, tidying up and folding laundry away, pottering together, that sort of thing.

Except the 'we' became an 'I'.

And suddenly the 'I' became all too painfully aware that I was all alone.

And a split second's investigation revealed that the front door was open, and the chubby legs had successfully negotiated the step and were waddling down the road unaccompanied.

Screaming down the road after her as fast as my mommy legs would carry me, I found her a good four houses down, clearly on her way to the beach, temporarily blocked by a young girl in a business suit who was looking most confused by the pyjama'd spectacle of it all.

That, my friends, was a close one.

The following night, we were joined in the living room at a terribly late hour by the same chubby legged friend, who has finally figured out that a big girl bed is actually quite easy to jump down out of.

And every night thereafter.

In addition, the dancing skills are coming on in leaps and bounds, with lots of concentration on shifting the weight to alternate feet, spinning round and round (thanks Seb for that move) and some mad arm waving which is all fun and games, specially down at the mall, when we have to stop outside every store in order to dance to the music blaring from within.

We get some odd looks as a team, but hey, when don't we? And besides, it makes for a fun afternoon.

Just don't ask me about the dancing with knives episode, which took place after I left the half emptied dishwasher momentarily to administer meds to my other poor child, who is suffering with a fever and general illness, just in time for school on Monday.

She's gonna be a handful, this one.

Just because...

2011-01-22T22:56:00.000+11:00

Back on line for real for the first time in two months. So before I hit you with the photo update, I thought I'd have a test run with this little tune to live by.

Bondi life in stats

2011-01-14T18:14:00.001+11:00

5 things I didn’t know until I moved to Bondi

The best tans on the beach are nearly always fake

Roaches don’t actually kill you – they just look as though they will

Pedicures should form a key part of the weekly routine of any self-respecting housewife; and all should respect the following rule: the fewer the clothes, the neater the feet

Sand fleas love me. This is not necessarily the best news I ever had

No matter how many clothes you own, you only actually wear half a dozen items from the wardrobe with any regularity

4 people I hadn’t imagined encountering here

Gilly from Luxembourg. Last seen in 2000 when he left to go home to Ireland. Met him on the water’s edge one morning last week, and together we all spent many a happy hour lost in reminiscence.

A random genuine person who spotted me coping with a Jaime Kay epic meltdown in Target one afternoon, and was kind enough to reintroduce herself a couple of days later in a sushi bar round the corner. Full of good advice and kindness and just the person we needed to help get us on our feet.

A bodiless disheveled head that appeared suddenly without warning from behind a towel draped over the back door of a battered estate car early one morning, startled me out of my skin, grinned, gave me the standard ‘g'day’ greeting and disappeared back under his towel. Made me smile all day.

A young Chinese girl with Down syndrome, who was almost (but obviously not quite) as gorgeous as my Jaime Kay. Gotta love the global T21 family.

3 things I now own that I never had before

A bikini. With apologies to the unsuspecting general public, but it had to be done

A pair of flip flops / thongs /havianas. Never in all my (nearly) forty years. The shop assistant refused to believe me. I loathe them but am persevering stoically.

A proper grown up set of cutlery. Finally. Turning up on the other side of the world without any household goods has its advantages.

2 things that haven’t changed so far

Before we set off on this adventure, I had a strong gut feeling that this would be the right move for us, even though it seemed like madness from the safety of our gorgeous home and generous secure income in Switzerland. In spite of the potential obstacles on the horizon, I remain convinced.

However, I have remembered how much I dislike renting a home instead of owning one. Specially when the property in question has recently been vacated by three male Irish students. In addition the bonus posing pouch I found in a drawer was not my favourite moving in gift ever.

1 thing that’ll never, ever change

Still loving the man, even after the incredible stress we just created for ourselves and some would argue for no good reason to boot. It’ll be fifteen years this year. He’s an inspiration. A large, difficult, painfully illogical, hairy, contrary American who simultaneously drives me mad and keeps me sane. Years from now, will we sit in our matching rocking chairs and look back on this adventure and laugh about the time we lived in Bondi? I hope so.

The chat

2011-01-13T09:09:00.000+11:00

Jaime Kay has been incredibly poorly lately. She was running one of those fevers that can scare the bejeebies out of a momma; the kind that go on and on for days and long sticky nights and stubbornly refuse to be tamed by meds or tepid baths or ice drinks or cold compresses.

It was only a matter of time before the cause revealed itself; her first chest infection.

We were given the obligatory antibiotic and also an inhaler to prevent the accompanying asthmatic wheeze, and the doctor warned us cheerfully that she ‘may become a little hyperactive as a result’.

Which was nice.

So she decided to put this alleged hyperactivity to good use last night as I changed her, and suddenly without warning, she started to speak real words to me, starting with ‘dirty’, which I personally felt was a pretty astute observation of the situation at hand.

There followed a magical five minutes during which I fired all the questions I could think of; ‘Jaime can you say Momma?’ and she was answering each word back to me as clear as day. I called the guys in, and together we heard cow and moo, car and ball and cat and bed, Momma, Daddy, Sebby, blue and red, clean and dirty and lots more besides, until eventually I asked her if she was my very clever, beautiful girl, ‘yes’, she responded, smiling proudly and signing beautiful girl as she did, and then she announced that it was bedtime by signing tired and has yet to speak again, other than a quick try at ‘delicious’ over lunch just now.

But that doesn't mean the milestone fun's over yet; she saved one more surprise for me until today.

At breakfast this morning, wrestling the utensils from my grasp, Jaime Kay Carter made a very important decision. It seems that at nearly three years of age, it is time this momma let go and let the girl loose with her own spoon and cereal. Mostly she does feed herself at mealtimes, but it’s an alarmingly messy business on occasion, and cereal is not known for its self-cleaning properties, so it’s something I’ve continued to do for her.

Until now.

Expect reports of a midlife crisis shortly ladies and gentlemen; apparently my baby’s growing up.

Beach culture

2011-01-11T19:37:00.001+11:00

Bondi.

During business hours the place is brilliantly coloured cosmopolitan chaos – on a sunny day, doubly so. If you manage a glimpse of golden sand between the sunshades and towels and boards and bodies, you’re doing well.

There are coachloads of tourists shipping in for a once in a lifetime experience; stiff and awkward and distinguishable with ease among the acres of exposed flesh in their proper clothes and shoes and cameras. Incidentally, we Bondi dwellers find clothing overrated these days and regularly join our fellow residents in bikinis, boardies, budgie smugglers, wetties and rashies (we’re still mastering the local lingo, but it appears if you add ‘y’ or ‘o’ to the end of a shortened word and hope for the best, you’re in with a good chance of being understood).

The secret to beach life, we discover, is not slogging it out for a premium spot between the flags (where it’s safe to swim) at high noon with the masses. It’s the clandestine afterhours visit, when the greasy bus stop queue curls impatiently down Campbell Parade, and me and the kids slide by in the opposite direction for our daily sand and sea time, sly smiles on our faces and a handful of other locals for company.

Later still, the beach becomes a mile long work out zone, a hotbed of hope and testosterone and pumping musculature where people pimp and preen and do battle in the sand with the help of improbably built personal trainers who bark orders and take no prisoners.

But it’s early mornings when the beach is at its most natural. The sun is rising purposefully through streaks of soft reds and oranges, and the expanse of white is as yet relatively untouched.

At this time, there is a calm, informal order to Bondi beach which cannot be experienced by anyone but the early riser.

In spite of the early hour, or more likely because of it, regulars can already be sighted on the approach to the beach. The slopes of grassy park are dotted with lone martial artists, who close their eyes to the neighbouring exercise class, sometimes a big group, sometimes more select, but always supervised in their frenetic madness by a rippling rent-a-bod who spurs them on to never give up in the quest to achieve the ultimate prize: the highly sought after identikit Bondi physique.

In a recent study, Australia ranked within the top three most obese nations in the world. The members of the Australian public who gathered together to contribute to this statistic clearly do not live in the Bondi area or indeed, anywhere near.

Fortunately it would seem that Jake has become immune to the loveliness that surrounds him every day; initially a coherent conversation in public was proving very difficult between us owing to the wealth of distraction available; however like all sweet things, it would seem that eventually one can also consume too much eye candy.

Lower down on the promenade, you’ve got your regular runners with headphones and trainers and caps down low, and they share the space with the dog walkers. A typical Bondi dog, it turns out, is a breed of staffy with a short, silvery coat, squat legs, and an underbite, often, but not always, accompanied by a small child in a stroller. Failing this, you might get away with a French bulldog or a yappy terrier-type, but it’s got to be as short and squat as possible or there’s a danger you just won’t fit in.

This motley crew of relative normality gives way to a different breed of runner, more tan, more bling, fewer clothes, no shoes. These carefully presented types wear a circuit up and down the most ostentatious area of the beach; a stretch of infamous Bondi soft sand.

They in turn give way to a thin straggle of yoga lovers, either individuals or the occasional group, who are studiously bowing to the rising sun while balancing on one leg and that sort of thing. As a person who has never bonded with yoga (or any other form of physical exercise for that matter!), it all looks very impressive.

Then we’re at the water’s edge, where a similar circuit to the previous one is establishing itself in the firmer sand, only these are your more relaxed joggers and walkers who generally take it easier, and who don’t mind getting their feet a little wet.

Upon closer inspection, this area is also reserved for the Bondi resident more advanced in years, and for couples who look out into the middle distance together as they walk, and also for mother and daughter combos who link arms and chat as they go. Interestingly, for every mother and daughter combo wandering along with no purpose other than to enjoy each other’s company, there are the more extreme pairs who are looking competitive and running together (you’re safe mum, we don’t have to do this part until you feel ready).

Finally, we’re in the water and you’ve got your trusty invigorated morning swimmers (not that it’s particularly cold – the water’s temperature doesn’t seem to alter too much whatever the weather / season / time of day), and your pre-office surfers (Wait is that my husband? Why, yes it is).

And then in the blink of an eye, its eight thirty, maybe quarter to nine, and the first heavily laden parent hones into view with buckets and spades and a pop up sun tent, and here’s a quartet of wispy teenage girls gossiping behind uniformly oversized sunglasses, and the first kids’ surf camp of the day struggle forth beneath the weight of their boards and there, a group of boys with sodas and a soccer ball, and in the distance a double decker luxury coach pulls up at the kerb and the spell is broken and the new days’ chaos begins.

Carter travels part 1

2011-01-06T19:31:00.000+11:00

This is one of four articles I'm going to be writing for the Swiss Down syndrome association. It had to be short - hope it doesn't show too much!

Our journey from one side of the world to the other begins on a snowy day.

We watch as our worldly goods are packed into a container and then cram in a taxi to the airport, via Jaime Kay’s daycare. She’s been attending the Little Learners crèche in Witikon since June, and we’re sad to be taking her away from her friends who have prepared an enormous farewell card for her and have been learning about Australia.

We’re all very excited, but as Jaime Kay is something of a creature of habit, we’re also a little apprehensive about how she will cope with the series of dramatic changes to come.

We needn’t have worried; she adapts to each new situation with surprising ease.

We overnight in London and then our first major stop is Jaime’s grandparents’ in California.

My parents in law are already well loved by Jaime as they’ve spent much of the last three years helping us out in Switzerland, so naturally she’s very pleased to see them, and as an additional treat, she’s thrilled to meet her young cousins and her aunt and uncle for the first time.

We stay a happy week, and then fly on to New Zealand for a further week with good friends.

Finally, a full 15 days after leaving our home in Switzerland, we arrive.

We have rented a small furnished apartment overlooking Bondi Beach.

Jaime Kay takes to the beach and then to the ocean like a tiny mermaid, completely fearless despite the forceful waves, laughing, splashing, digging, tasting. Oops. We’re working on that last part.

Thanks to the worldwide web, it hasn’t been too difficult to contact a local Mom who has a child with trisomy 21. We’ve also emailed the Down syndrome association of New South Wales for information.

One day, we are greeted by a cheerful young man with Down syndrome working at a souvenir store here in Bondi. Another day, we admire a well-dressed young woman with Down syndrome taking a break from her office job to grab a bite to eat in the city.

We spy various tourists of various nationalities with family members who have extra chromosomes.

And then finally I have the good fortune to literally run my stroller into a lady about my age who is accompanied by the most perfect six year old daughter. I introduce myself. She is bemused but happy to chat. We get onto school recommendations, and she explains that her daughter is at a special school in the area as she has Down syndrome; at which point I’m relieved to admit that this is the real reason I’ve stopped her, gesturing into the depths of my stroller at my sleeping girl.

I’m so excited to meet her, and she gives me so much advice I am almost overwhelmed. I even discover that she actually knows my internet contact; their daughters have grown up together and are best friends. We exchange numbers and she promises to organize a playdate for us all to meet.

Hot in the City

2011-01-02T21:05:00.000+11:00

Jake is at home for two weeks. Apparently this is standard procedure for contract workers, who are all required to take off for the holiday period.

Perfect.

We've all enjoyed hanging out at the beach with Daddy for the first week - it's been idyllic.

But inevitably, I have found myself wondering about the world beyond the beach.

People keep asking if we have visited the harbour and the opera house and the bridge and the museums.

I mean, we are in Sydney after all.

So finally, after a call from a kindly colleague who wanted to show us around, I got Jake to agree to a trip to Sydney aquarium, right in the heart of the city.

Ever since we arrived, I have been listening to a nightly tale of woe about Jake's stressful daily commute to the grime of city life. Oh, the city. Such a grim place, full of banks and grey and dull and ugliness.

Today we discovered that this is not strictly true.

Today we discovered that I think I might just be a little bit in love with the most beautiful city I have ever laid eyes on.

Jake's work address

Jake's place of work

Seb in the park near Jake's work

Seb outside the Sydney opera house, opposite the bridge

Government House building in the Botanical Gardens

Australian chicken

Scary marine life - aquarium was mindblowing, if a little crowded

Full size lego shark (how you do).

In fact, the only person who wasnt' too impressed was Jaime Kay who was kinda sleepy in the heat....

Bondi Christmas 2010

2010-12-25T16:44:00.000+11:00

Random thoughts from (a long way) abroad

2010-12-13T20:29:00.000+11:00

Where to begin on the whirlwind adventure that has been the last few weeks.

We packed up our entire belongings into a small crate in the snow on 24th November, and flew to London as soon as we shut the truck doors.

The following day we arrived in Bakersfield, California for a belated Thanksgiving week (not the most salubrious destination, but Jake's family are fabulous company and generous hosts - it was exactly the wind down we needed after the super elevated stress levels of the prior month).

Fast forward a week and we all took a plane to New Zealand, where three of us got off, and one intrepid hero took a further flight to Sydney to begin bringing home the bacon in our new country of choice.

New Zealand was magical, more R & R, sunshine and friends. We all had a blast; Seb got on famously with Ava, Jaime Kay had fun in the sandpit and on the beach with Torin, and best of all, according to Sebastian I didn't stop talking for a week - so good to see old friends who know you well. Perhaps a little too old, and a little too well, but that's a discussion for another time.

And now we're in Sydney.

It's a strange thrill, having a mobile phone with only one number on it again.

To walk down the street and be safe in the knowledge that you'll recognise noone at all, so it doesn't really matter if you have scruffy, knotty hair to the point of dreadlocks and a super wide, sandy bum.

Parts of me have seen sunlight for the first time in fifteen years this week; turns out you can't really embrace beach culture without showing a little lilywhite skin at some stage.

Indeed, I'm thinking of profiting from the anonymity by having a couple more piercings and a tattoo while there's noone to comment on all that raw skin.

Also thinking of trying out that spray tan stuff on the basis that if it all goes wrong, I can be shiny orange in my own company.

But mostly, I'm just enjoying the sunshine and the kids and fresh fruit and the Bondi beach holidayness of it all.

In a few short days, Jaime Kay's gone from being a sand monster to an unstoppable water baby, and Seb's smiling, reading everything as usual, and learning to surf.

I wonder; can life get any better than this?

Thank you for looking after me, Lord, thank you.

Transitions.

2010-11-05T21:46:00.000+11:00

Living in a foreign language for twenty years has had it's advantages, as well as the obvious downsides.

As our moving date draws closer, I am savouring the last few days of relative anonymity, albeit greatly reduced now from our days in Luxembourg, that being the speaker of a minority language in a foreign land inevitably brings.

On our annual pilgrimage home to Blighty, I have often committed disasterous social faux pas, occasionally with violent consequences, as a result of one of my famous asides which inexplicably is no longer hidden within a foreign code that noone else understands.

So suddenly the words 'Oh. My. Goodness. Would you check out what she's wearing today?' in one of my special stage whispers can have an impact they otherwise would not in our daily life here in central Europe.

In general, we are blessed with an extra layer of privacy when out and about. Even here in Switzerland, where the people are genuine anglophiles and love to speak English whenever they can, the chances are, they won't be subconsciously tuning in to your intimate conversation over lunch.

We've also benefitted from the added advantage of picking up valuable words from other languages with which to supplement our own.

The word 'lues' meaning 'gently' when bellowed full blast across a crowded room by Jake has the desired effect on both the children, even though it's Luxembourgish and we haven't lived there for over three years.

Lately, nothing shows agreement more fully than the word 'genau' which sounds so much stronger than 'exactly'.

The children are 'gâté', the station's a 'gare', 'gaats?' is so much more succinct than 'are you ok?' and Jaime Kay loves her 'Krippe'.

There are fish we eat but have no idea of the English names (neither of us liked fish as kids, so only tried it out a few years ago. Now I can't wait to get my hands on a copious supply of fresh sushi...).

At nine years old, Seb can now say more rude words than I would like and in several different languages, and he doesn't necessarily understand the impact of the English ones in an English speaking environment. (After all, how could he? He's never lived in one!)

In addition, as there are no such things as 'radio edits' here, so all the local radio stations broadcast the latest English and American hits complete with the choicest lyrics at all hours of the day and night, which means the local kids think it's ok, nay 'geil', to replicate those words in the playground.

But being foreign can be incredibly useful when you need to play dumb to get out of awkward situations. Pretending not to know the local language can get you out of speaking to visiting religious fanatics, or politicians, or people asking for money (although I did try it once with a beggar only to discover that he spoke perfect English as well).

My father maintains that you need only to learn the phrase 'two beers, please', in any given language. This way, you have a beer for a friend, as well as yourself, and if there's no friend around, you have to drink both, but usually that's no hardship. Besides, better to have and not need and all that, so that's the way he's always done it.

Thinking about it, I feel this particular aspect of 'cultural life' should prove fairly straightforward. We are not anticipating any major issues in the beer department, so fortunately Dad will also get a break from the arduous task of perpetual language learning.

I wonder if, a year from now, we'll still use the phrase 'ay ay ay Papagei', or sing 'hop hop hop hop d'Roessli reit gallop' or 'alli mini Entli' to Jaime Kay? Will she sit at the table every evening as she does now, cross her arms expectantly and utter the exclamation 'so!' complete with German accent, like a little old German pensioner? Will Seb even remember the words to 'Frere Jacques'?

Meanwhile, this week I received my first phone call regarding my 'nagelneu' Australian bank account. I could scarcely concentrate on what the lady was saying because she kept referring to me by my first name. I haven't been called 'Sally' by a stranger for nearly twenty years. It was all very odd, but rather exciting as well.

Who could have predicted the potential reverse culture shock as we reenter life in our mother tongue?

Happy Halloween everybody!

2010-11-01T07:14:00.000+11:00

From Seb and me:

And from Jaime Kay!

Took the words right out.

2010-10-30T05:09:00.000+11:00

I was halfway through composing something completely different tonight when I accidentally read this instead.

Apart from being a humourous, fun read complete with some delightful photos, this particular post sums up exactly how I feel about the whole 'kid with Down syndrome' vs. Downs kid thing.

Better to be talking to me about my fluffy pink girly with added enhancements using any language at all, than blatantly avoiding me in case you offend me in some way.

We don't bite in this family.

Well, apart from each other occasionally.

Alphabet's finished. And so am I.

2010-10-29T05:20:00.000+11:00

Blimey.

You know when you have such a stressful time, that even when it's over, you're still totally stressed out?

That's where I'm at.

Here in Switzerland, we have to carry special passes with us at all times that say we're foreign (don't get me started).

We now need these passes to register that we're leaving the country, and with the paperwork we'll receive once we hand them in we can cancel various contracts (insurance, phone, TV, etc).

I have mine and Jaime Kay's in my purse as usual, but Jake took his and Seb's with him when they went skiing. I've been asking Jake to give them back for about a week now.

We finally got to looking for them yesterday, safe in the knowledge they were together with their passports.

Which we need for, ooh, everything we're about to do.

So that's alright.

A whole day of Carter family stressing did not uncover the missing docs.

But then my brother appeared out of nowhere, and he did.

Thank goodness.

Still left me feeling absolutely shaken.

And now we've got enormous 'For sale' signs outside the house (front and back) which have caused a queue of questioning, German speaking neighbours all afternoon.

I think I might stay in bed tomorrow, except Jaime Kay has an appointment at the university hospital for an eye test at the stunningly early time of 8.30am.

Perhaps I'll go to bed now guys. I think it's for the best...

Z is for Zurich, Switzerland.

2010-10-28T07:01:00.000+11:00

Zurich. The place we've lived for three years. The place where my baby girl was born.

And now we're packing up and leaving.

I was quite reluctant to come here in the first place if I'm honest, not least because of the vast amounts of snow I knew would inevitably feature in our new lives.

Never been a fan of the white stuff - it just makes day to day living so very complicated, and boy does it feel like we had more than our fair share of it since we arrived.

Ultimately, however, it was very hard to say no. I've always maintained that should Jake get a job offer he found attractive, no matter where in the world that may be, we should at least give the corresponding destination some thought.

And I've always known that deep down inside, my husband was a resting ski fanatic, so for him, living 45 minutes away from the nearest mountain didn't require much thought at all.

In fact, it was a no brainer.

So after a rather life changing start (being unexpectedly pregnant, giving birth, the diagnosis of my girl, that sort of thing), I have really tried to give it a go here in Zurich.

After all, Seb's reasonably settled in the village school (he only switched fairly recently from an English speaking private school when we made our initial (incorrect) decision to stay here permanently). In addition, Jaime Kay loves her therapists even though she might not always understand them, and she loves her creche and her friends too. And as a family, we're all involved in the ski club whether we like it or not, even those of us who still don't ski.

It's a beautiful country, we've made a few precious friends, we've had lots of visitors and we've worked hard to get together some treasured memories of our short, but rather intense, time here.

I feel guilty.

As the days rush by, I can scarcely contain my excitement at leaving. While I haven't loathed our time here, I haven't loved it either.

The chance for a fresh start is beckoning from afar, and I can't wait to begin my new life, even though I did just start one right here, only a few short years ago.

It seems so very indulgent.

After nearly twenty years in a foreign language, I am impatient to speak my mother tongue again.

And after these last few Swiss years, spent knee deep in snow for six months at a time, I can't wait to dip my bare toes in the sand.

Although this wasn't the wrong home for us, I'm hoping our next destination is exactly the right one.

For all of our sakes.

Y is for yuckiness. Jaime Kay yuckiness.

2010-10-27T08:29:00.000+11:00

Jaime has a heavy cold, poor girl.

I feel hugely responsible, in a mommy guilt sort of way, as it began just after I bragged about how she was never, ever ill at the doctor's last week.

We were at the doctor's in order to get a letter explaining how she's never ill in order to get health insurance for our trip, which in turn is key for our visa application.

But I always feel like if you hang out in the doctor's without sufficient reason, you end up visiting again shortly afterwards.

Annual check ups, for example.

Always ill the following week.

I guess it's like good luck or bad luck or large slices of cake. (Or is that last one just me?!)

Nearly always in threes.

Jake is home from work now for good after a brief 'meeting' with the boss yesterday afternoon, so he's spent his first day of freedom trapped under a snotty, feverish baby.

And all day long we've been fighting hard to keep out of the doctor's surgery and are hoping not to miss another precious day's school tomorrow as the patient has improved significantly by this evening, although clearly we don't want to 'spread the love' among her gorgeous little friends.

Anyway, she has to be better tomorrow, as my brother's coming to Zurich on a business trip, so she'll want to be at the peak of her career for her uncle.

Surely.

X is for Xray. And atlantoaXial Instability (AAI)

2010-10-26T04:49:00.000+11:00

Well of course. You'd imagine that X would be quite a tricky one to write about, but fortunately (or perhaps not, when you think about it!) it's actually rather relevant in our family.

Jaime Kay christened the xray machine at the children's hospital about 18 months or so ago when she decided that going quite blue around the edges was one way to deal with a virus. Fortunately, her lungs were clear, and the blueness vanished as quickly as it appeared.

Her next appointment with it will be to check the alignment of the top two vertebrae of her spine; the first one being referred to as the atlas vertebra and the second as the axis vertebra.

Low muscle tone issues in children and adults with Down syndrome can cause the vertebrae to become misaligned, and the situation is therefore referred to as atlantoaxial instability or AAI.

If you'd like to read a more comprehensive explanation than I'm capable of giving, please read this.

But basically this problem occurs in between 10 and 20% of people with Down syndrome, and in the States it's recommended that all children get an spinal xray around the age of three. If there is a suggestion resulting from this xray that the child has a problem, you're advised to avoid certain sports and activities either partially or completely depending on the size of the gap between the vertabrae.

We'll do this as soon as we get established in our new home. Meanwhile, I'll be watching Jaime Kay carefully to ensure that her head doesn't accidentally fall right off while she's bobbling about on the trampoline.

Or alternatively, while she's cleaning. It's child labour, I know, but I'm picking up some great new tips to improve my current technique.