Adventure Mom

Re-entry March 18 th , 2012, 7 am “Welcome to Honolulu, Hawaii, USA” We’re back. We’re really back. Air Pacific flight 852 has just landed in Honolulu, Hawaii from Nadi (pronounced NAND-ee), Fiji. A mere six-hour flight returns us to the U-S. It’s 7 am. As other passengers shuffle about the cabin, gathering their belongings, Finley and Fiona head for the restrooms, just a couple rows behind our seats. I have to go, as well, and no one’s moving inside the plane -might as well make a run for it.  As I slide the door closed, I hear Lionel Richie’s “Easy” over the speakers. Damn. He’s following me. Pete’s following me. What I’ve long considered “our song,” - because it’s always playing on the lite rock station we listen to; because we both like it; and because I saw Lionel in concert in NZ before I fell for Pete - I get a little wonky when I hear that song. And it’s the first song I hear when entering the States. The kids and I breeze through customs, where the officer asks if Daddy s

De-PAHT-nah Noun - Definition: The act of removing oneself from one’s partner. Often painful, even when the separation is temporary and the act is a choice. [editor’s note: not found in any dictionary] Auckland Airport, just before we left March 15 th , 2012 – the day of my de-PAHT-nah – the day I leave my partner to return to the States. I wake at 4:30 am, even without an alarm. I’m nervous, and want time alone to finish packing, finish clearing out our junk, finish a blog – finish anything. Everything feels undone. I steal a few minutes to watch the sun rise over the Pacific. It starts out muted orange then bursts into vibrant gold. Such a picture just outside our door! The rest of the house wakes around 7:00. Pete gives me a hug and a kiss and says,                 “I heard you get up early – before five? I figured I’d leave you some moments to yourself.” I’ve needed every moment. To re-check the list. To pack snacks. To take several last lingering looks at the beach across

Remove Before Flight “The elevator’s trim, rudder’s trim, mixture’s rich, flaps are at ten degrees…” Pete, the PAHT-nah (partner), is talking through a pre-flight checklist as we wait to taxi from the Tauranga airport. In the nearly 12 months we’ve known each other, Pete’s talked about taking me flying. Now, with my departure from New Zealand less than ten days away, the weather, schedules, and aircraft maintenance have obliged so Pete can fulfill his promise. The sky is overcast, but the cloud ceiling will allow us to fly at 2,500 feet; it’s the weekend, so we’re not competing with flight school students for air time; and there’s a new-ish plane (called FCO, or Foxtrot Charlie Oscar) Pete has enough confidence in to haul what he calls “precious cargo,” which is me. Pete checks the Cessna 152 single-engine propeller aircraft as I watch. He walks the plane’s perimeter, inspecting flaps, wheels, the rudder… He gives me a couple wooden door-stopper-looking blocks (called chocks). “Remo

Thank you, En Zed You guys are super! I came to New Zealand last January seeking a respite from traveling with two whiny American small fries, and to make new memories following the death of their father/my husband. I planned to stay 6 months, see as much of the country as possible, enroll the kids in public school, make a few contacts and return to Spokane to resume our irregularly-scheduled lives. Ha. Instead, we’ve stayed 14 months. We’ve traveled from Bluff, at the tip of the South Island to Cape Reinga, at the top of the North. We’ve stayed in the homes of Kiwis and ex-pats, in holiday parks, motels bed and breakfasts and a converted garage. We’ve borrowed baches (holiday homes) flatted, lived in a quasi-retirement community and finally, in the bottom half of a home where we can watch waves. Fiona and Finley have not only learned to read, write and do math(s) in NZ, they’ve also learned about the culture – they can perform the Haka (Maori war dance), say simple phrases in M

Transition Life is one big transition  - Willie Stargell (American baseball player) He was worth the effort It’s 4 am, and I’m writhing on the family room floor. I’m alone and hunched on all fours like a wounded animal. The pain crashes in waves – constricting each muscle in my body, then relenting, releasing. I nearly relax during the release, but the knowledge another round will grip me again locks in the tension. Oh, make it stop…make it stop. I fantasize about morphine. I’ve never had it, but I want it. NOW. I picture myself swimming in a trough of morphine. No pain, no pain… Drug fantasies are a hallmark of transition for laboring women. Transition is the last part of active labor, where your cervix opens wide enough to deliver a small county’s mail. Actually, just enough for your precious baby to emerge, bloody and screaming, already demanding an X-Box and an MGP scooter. The past two weeks have sent my head back to Spokane on October 14 th , 2005. After delivering my daugh

Ripped Off Disclaimer: Do not read this if you’re squeamish, a pervert or a family member. Thanks. The pretty blond in the white lab coat is going to rip my lips off. I’ll be a lipless loony. Thanks to Lauren. Thanks to me. This was my idea. Getting waxed was one of the items to tick off the list of things-to-do-during-final-days-in-New-Zealand. It’s not that I needed an emergency hair-offa-me; I’m not a particularly flocculent female. But I’d always been curious about waxing. I texted Lauren from the library, where I was writing a blog. She runs a small salon from a studio above her mum’s garage. I’d visited once before, for a pedicure. I wrote,             How much 4 a bikini wax? How much 4 Brazilian? (the wax, not the boyfriend J ) [Lauren’s boyfriend is Brazilian.]             Lauren: $25 for bikini/$40 for Brazilian             Me: How much does the Brazilian hurt? (the wax)             Lauren: I usually describe it like a bandage it hurts when u pull it off but then i