Adventure Mom

Chasing Rainbows with Pete'66 Pete - in Tairua, Coromandel Peninsula I've been chasing rainbows – literally- in New Zealand with a Kiwi called Pete'66. His name doesn't actually include numbers, but his online dating profile did. "66" is Pete's birth year – it was a way to distinguish himself from other Petes on the Find Someone website (New Zealand is chock-a-block with blokes named Pete. I've met about a dozen so far). When Pete and I started texting each other in March, I programmed his name into my phone as "Pete'66." My flatmate, Amy, often refers to Pete by this name, too, sometimes calling him "66" (only when he's not around). You never know what'll stick. And yes, we're all glad Pete wasn't born 3 years later. Other than Pete's old online dating moniker, what else do you want to know? Here's the usual demographic low down: He's 44 years old (we already covered that in the "66"

I was sitting today among a small group of women who've enrolled kids in a program called "Seasons," for children who've lost a loved one through separation or death. As I talked about Sean and the new love in my life, I thought (again) about the conversation Sean and I never had – the one that goes, "Please, please find someone and love again after I die." I'd said those words to Sean, but can't recall hearing them from him. Of course he'd want me to be happy. But I also think about the tremendous gift we mortals give each other when we say out loud what our loved ones may someday need to play back inside their heads. Operating instructions, post-mortem? Here are mine: Love Well When I'm Gone Love well when I'm gone. Grieve for me, but not too long. I'll give you signs you should go on. I didn't live forever. Neither will you. Find someone worthy of affection and offer your heart. Someone who appreciates your gifts. Someone a

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Mums' Days We All Need an Example Mother's Day - Cafe 88 - Mt. Maunganui I've been thinking about the mothers we've visited around the world: Moms in France, Ireland, London, Luxembourg, Switzerland, South Africa, Australia, and New Zealand. I've sat at their dining tables, slept in their guest rooms, eaten their food, ridden in theirs cars and hopped buses and trains with them. I've picked their brains, vented frustrations and sipped a bottle of wine or 4. I've watched, listened and learned from these women. How do they discipline their kids? Who cooks the meals/cleans the house/does the laundry/watches the children? Do they work full-time/part-time/overtime only at home? I've witnessed all the above. These moms reside in happy marriages, troubled unions, the land of post-divorce, widowhood and separation. While each friend has a different way of organizing her family's life, she shares a common trait with other moms: fierce love for her childr

Goin' South- Part 2 Naughty and Nice in Nelson (cont'd) At Accents on the Park ("flashpacker's") We check into a "flashpacker's" (nice backpacker's) in Nelson called Accents on the Park. http://www.accentsonthepark.com/ Mellow, soulful music plays on hall speakers. Our beds are made up with sheets and laden with towels, neither of which we had to ask or pay extra for. After Wellywood Backpackers (a true "ratpacker's), this looks like the Ritz-Carlton. I pay $89 NZ/night, plus $6 for parking, which is about what I paid for a family room with scuffed walls and stained carpet at the Welly ratpacker's. An Irish woman at the counter checks us in. A sign says there's a movie downstairs tonight in the lounge. "What's the movie?" I ask. "Knocked Up," she replies. After putting the kids to bed, I creep downstairs to watch 15 minutes of Kathryn Heigl in labor -first, in a bathtub then, in the hospital. The m

Goin' South It's 5:40 a.m., and my alarm is sounding. Actually, both alarms. I was paranoid about missing our bus which would mean we'd miss our ferry to the South Island. Not a chance. It's a 2-alarm morning. I dress quickly, and Finley stirs. "Is it morning?" he asks. "Yes, honey," I say. "Time to get dressed." It's early, but could be a lot worse. I'm always reminded, during these early wake-up calls, about the time I got the kids up at 3 a.m. to fly to Mallorca, Spain. We'd crashed on our friend, Anne's, couch for a few hours before driving a half-hour to the Geneva, Switzerland airport with our friend and nanny, Chelsea. The early morning air stung our noses and chilled our hands -it was about 30 degrees (Fahrenheit) outside. Fiona and Finley were such troopers – I'd warned them about the early alarm, and they popped up without a fuss. I was stunned. They can be such pills, I forget to give them credit for the