Homesick

We left home two weeks ago. We have been here for two weeks trying to turn this into home. I am tired and circumstances have caused me to slip into a temporary hiatus from my love of all things Australian. I am tired, no, exhausted, from this rain. The Gold Coast, just up the road from us, got 12 inches of rain in the last two hours. It's ridiculous. But I would give up just the possibilty of a dry day to be able to walk into a grocery store and see something familiar. Just when I had completed the trial and error process of trying every possible combination of food options available in the US I find I have to start over. Why won't children just eat?! And could someone please send a Starbucks over? I thought Starbucks had conquered the world. Don't they realize there is an untapped market here? 

I'm probably a little down because we have just returned from another trip to the mall. Rosie required an additional pair of man shoes for school on Wednesdays now that she is in Year One. She attends chapel on Wednesdays and this requires a bit of a wardrobe expansion. I really love her school. I am so happy she is going there. But I have to ask myself  - what kind of mother sends her child to a Christian school without having ever talked to her about God? Oh, maybe thats why I am tired….its not the endless drenching rain, its the late night questions about where the first babies came from, and whether or not mommy is friends with God. I guess that mother is the same mother that would put her child in the wrong grade. Or tell her children that crocodiles eat people. 

It seemed harmless enough at the time. I mean, I was trying to protect her. I just didn't want her to get too close. The cage seemed rather flimsy. 

But now in addition to the late night questions about the origins of life there is always at least one reference to the terrible fate that awaits her when she goes swimming. In the middle of the night I find its hard for me to be calmly reassuring and expertly knowledgeable at the same time. But I am trying. I keep thinking if she could get some sleep and eat some food then when I drop her off at school she wouldn't weep. Mike assures me she is fine. As does her teacher, who was even so kind as to call me on Friday afternoon to say Rosie was having a terrific day. Yes, thats great, but neither of them are there in the middle of the night when the terrible crocodile appears. 

Granted she has only had three days of school, and only two of them were in her current class, so knowing Rose she will be back to herself before all the parenting books I ordered from Amazon arrive. 

Mike started his new job last week and seems to be off and flying. But like everything when you start over in a new country there are some unexpected bumps. For instance, he needs to do some business in India. No problem, he has been there and done that before. But he can't get a visa for India here in Australia until we have lived here fore two years. So he has to fly to San Francisco to pick up a visa at the consulate before flying to India. Adds a few days to the trip but at least he can get a double tall while he's there. 

I bought  a copy of The Australian Women's Weekly the other day at the mall. It seemed to have it all; recipes, home decorating and garden ideas, a health section, fashion and beauty tips, current events and the arts. So while the girls were swimming with Mike at South Bank I lay in the grass and prepared myself to fall in love with Australia's cross between O and Vanity Fair.

OK, I don't want to disparage my host country (but I have already admitted I am on a temporary hiatus) but let me please share with you what the fashion editors advice was. Advice that took up an 8 page spread mind you. Here it is, and I will quote, "If you buy one new thing this season, make it a shirt."

I'm sorry, did you say a shirt? Yes, a shirt. Thats it. Not a tailored shirt, a structured shirt, a patterned shirt, a bright shirt, a color of the season shirt or even a versatile shirt. Just a shirt. Buy a shirt. While I love that this is actually fashion advice I can easily follow it strikes me as not really advice. The editor continues, "they're perfect for all occasions". OK, good to know. When I attend the newcomers club luncheon on Tuesday I now know that a shirt would be appropriate. Even with the heat, rain and cloying mugginess I should not attend naked. I should wear a shirt. And apparently any type of dam shirt I please, so long as its a shirt. Thats all this season in Australia will require of me. What a relief.  

We drove out to Valiant Furniture Hire this morning with the girls to rent beds, mattresses, sheets, tables, chairs, forks, lamps, washer and dryer and a vacuum cleaner. Our relocation consultant offered to take me there next week but Mike and I thought it was something we should do together. Seemed like a good raining day activity. But it was closed.

Which brings me to another exhausting difference from the US and my new home. Businesses here seem loathe to post their hours. There are wonderful websites full of all kinds of detailed information, except the hours and days they are open. I have run into this time and time again. Even when I call and listen to recordings listing their address, directions from all points of the compass and complete store inventory, they say G'day! without mentioning anything about when they are open. I don't understand it.

Desperately wanting them to be open I told Mike they were and off we went. 

In my contrition I agreed to be dropped off at the mall with tired and hungry children while he went and test drove cars. 

My mistake.

But here we are, back in our apartment with another pair of shoes that I can't really believe I have purchased. Really, is it any wonder Rosie is having nightmares?

I am looking forward to leaving this apartment. Even though it means living in a rental house with rental furniture and rental cutlery for a month or two (who can say when the container will arrive and clear customs) and then moving all the rental stuff out and our stuff in. Oh dear, I think I can feel myself slipping off the edge already.

But as much as I want to leave and get to our (semi) permanent home, I suppose a part of me will miss the apartment. Our first landing. Nostalgia and all that. Plus, I have just figured out how to store food in the fridge without some of it freezing solid while others things go sour. A happy balance of maneuvering the lettuce and milk just so. I have also finally mastered the elevator technique of loading all the bags of groceries in before it shoots up to heights unknown without me in it. It always comes back mind you, fully loaded with my groceries. You see how that could become endearing. 

What I will not miss is the key fob to get into the parking garage. In order to enter the garage, I have to position the largest car ever made that wasn't classified as a class 4 truck, about 1/10 of an inch away from a postage size sensor, wave my key fob at juuuust the right angle and juuust the right speed. God forbid there is someone behind me waiting to get in. Thankfully there usually isn't. That only happens when I have no idea where the key fob is.

With any luck we will get a copy of our lease on Monday. Then I will be able to pick up my mortal sized car with it's badly needed navigational system and stop getting so profoundly lost without the ability to park. We'll rent some crappy but useful furniture and move at the end of the week. Hopefully this will cheer me up.