Odd Aussie Customs: Sooks and Socks

For the record, sook is actually a word.  A sook is someone who sulks.  Obviously. 

In New Zealand and Australia that is.  Apparently derived from old English/Scottish.  In the midwestern U.S, it is apparently used to call cows in from pasture.  Whatever.

Picture found next to the word 'sook' in the dictionary!

Amazing what you pick up at Friday morning tea.  (Amazing that folks are actually reading my blog, especially given my lackadaisical writing habits lately.  For you, I chose to do this today rather than clean the fridge and bathrooms as planned.  A hardship, I know.)

The other English/Aussie terms that are tough for an American to come to terms with mostly have to do with articles of clothing and car parts.  (A robot, for all you South Africans, is obviously just a secret code you people have to identify eachother.  The rest of us call them traffic lights.) 

Although she can be a love too!   (Look at that view!)

A bonnet is the hood of a car, not something to put on a baby's head.  A boot is the trunk of a car, not...well you get the point.  But we HAVE had to point and pantomime to learn that a tow-bar is a hitch and a float is a trailer. 

A ute is a pick-up.  Apparently not invented by Ford after all, just enlarged and Americanized.  (IF that is a word, it HAS to be spelled with a zee - not a zed - and certainly not with an s.)  You aren't a true Aussie unless you own a ute.  And yes, here in Queensland you can tie your dogs - mostly cattle dogs, sheep dogs and Staffies -  in the back.  Although new seatbelt laws prohibit you from doing the same with your children. 

Staffies are pit bulls.  No matter what you call 'em.   But I'm not saying that to the bloke in the ute with the "Fuck Off.  We're Full." sticker stuck on the back!

We've already been through the bathing suit, bathing costume, togs and cossie fiasco.  http://twintensity.blogspot.com/2011/05/bathing-whats.html

Aidan proving that the word 'sook' is gender neutral.

Jumpers are sweatshirts.  Tennies are sneakers.  Sports articles are different too, but somehow self-explanatory.   I believe they call sweatpants 'joggers?'   Or perhaps those are tennies too.  Hmm.  It seems that the same rules for understanding a foreign language apply to learning Aussie English.  Listen to it in context and make an educated guess.

Also realise that Australia is the only place in the world where grown men have no problem abbreviating long words into cute-sounding abbreviations.  Chrissy for Christmas.  Mossie for Mosquito.  Maybe because they've grown up in places like Toowoomba and Indooropilly that sound like Disney-Land amusement parks anywhere else.

Luke and Padme flanked by two "Ritter"

Important to remember that a cooler - to hold your beer, preferably Australian - is an Esky. 

Obviously.

Football is either soccer, rugby, Australian rules or, in last place, that woosy game the Americans play with padding.  But you call it footy.  And still sound like a man.  As in ' Have you got an esky for the footy tomorrow, mate?' 

Rugby is either league or union.  I believe the league is the one I like, lighter builds, more like touch-football.  Union are the guys with no necks.  Who play other guys with no necks from South Africa and New Zealand for some trophy noone else in the rest of the world has ever heard of.  Not to belittle it.  It's big.  Just tucked into the lower right hand corner of the map.

Rugby cool with or without the proper footwear.

I believe I might be getting the hang of it!

Enough to correct the twins when they come home from school sounding out B...B...B... cookie!  (Biscuit in English, Bikkie in Aussie - as in "Throw some bikkies in the esky for the footy, mate.)
Or L...L...L...candy!  (Lolly)

I gotta love a country that not only calls McDonald's "Mackers" but uses the abbreviated form in it's advertisements.  When in Oz.

Aidan pitches.

So that the vocabulary isn't at all as difficult to accept as this thing with the socks.

First off, you can STILL spot my boys as the only ones wearing socks with their sandals.  Honestly, I am trying to break them of the habit.  Secondly, you can spot them as the only ones WEARING sandals, with or without socks.  Barefoot is best, saves loads on footwear too. 

This winter I saw a barefoot teenager shopping with his mother.  Who was wearing Uggs.  With shorts.  Not only do we have the climate you can do that in - winter boots for cold toes at the same time your hot-blooded teenager is running around half-naked, but we have the attitude for it too.  Whatever.  They're your feet.

A bit nippy for all but the German-blooded!

I love it here.

The only thing the German in me absolutely, positively cannot deal with is the kids running around in their socks.  Outdoors.  Playing footy.  Of any variety.  Put on shoes or take off the socks.  It's so simple. 

Also apparently an outrageous request.

Noone else gets it.  What's the big deal?  Their feet are a bit chilly maybe.  (THEN PUT ON THE SHOES!)  Once again, we have that rare climate where one COULD run around in socks - grass is dry, dirt is dry, it's fairly warm.  The snakes and spiders not half as prevalent in the suburbs as one has been led to believe.

Matthew swings.

If you ran around in socks in Germany you'd end up with mud.

So that my poor kids are the only ones barefoot while the Aussie kids have socks on.  Honestly, who needs to add that to the laundry pile?  Buying new ones every week just isn't an option for this all-too frugal German mindset.

Call me a sook.  A sook about socks.  And I still love it here.

Zed

The kids at school still find me awfully funny, but I'm not sure they actually trust anything I am trying to teach them.

After the seasons and number of days in the year fiasco last month (still to be posted - turns out the seasons in Australia don't start on the same day as the rest of the world and um, yeah, there are 365 NOT 356 days in the year ANYWHERE on the globe!) the school is still letting me come in and volunteer in the classrooms.

Must be desperate for volunteers!

Yesterday was fun though.  I get to do writing with Andrew's 3/4 class.  The kids really inspired me with their fantastically imaginative descriptions of an ancient castle sitting in the middle of a misty lake.  (And yes, I had trouble writing that sentence after all the more evocative descriptions I read yesterday.)

I have definitely got to pick Sophie's mind for some of her stories.  Tyla too.  I'm thinking of a book of childrens' stories about the floods last year.

Then there's the poetry.  I'm sure it comes as no surprise to anyone in my former writers' group that the kids are way better at it than I ever was.  Never mind that they are supposed to be writing in complete sentences.  Correcting Samantha's free flow of words would have destroyed it entirely.  Beautiful.  She would have gotten an "F" in Germany - not a complete sentence on the page.  Here, we figure we'll work on the sentences later and recognise the thoughts and flow.  Work in progress and all that!

Spelling, for the most part, was not the strong point.  I helped the best I could.  (I know now, for instance that 'gray' is spelled 'grey'.)

When Connor asked me to spell 'frozen' though, we hit the latest snag.  He had the F and R so I continued with O and Z.  He looked at me as if I came from another planet.  Which, I guess I do.

Zee?  ZEE?  WHAT THE HECK IS THIS LADY TALKING ABOUT?!

Andrew, one row back, was probably snickering his little butt off - it's a running battle in our house and has been ever since Boeblingen English Playgroup in Germany.  (You have never seen the alphabet song become such a battleground, the Americans and - well, the rest of the English-speaking world - belting out their versions of that final letter at top decibel!  I have never been too committed to Americanisations - but fondly remember my mother and father battling it out laughingly over that same letter.  I choose to continue the struggle for the sheer fun and history of it.)

By the time I corrected myself to ZED, little Connor had convinced himself it was spelled with an S anyway.  Although I DO admit to mixing up Zed and S on a regular basis - Americanization, for example  (Is that even a word?!),  I am fairly certain that frozen is spelled with a zee.

Connor chose to look it up in the dictionary.

Which I like to think means that I am teaching the kids something after all!

Sooky

It's only recently that I've realised the twins no longer understand German. 
What's odd about this is that I continue to reprimand them in German and they continue to quiet down and behave when I do so.

Turns out noone is listening to what I say anyway.

They just know enough to keep quiet when I start yelling in any language.

Odd though that they follow directions in German too.  Probably just because when I'm screaming "ins Bett.  JETZT!" they already know the safest thing to do is to crawl into bed and be quiet, no matter WHAT it is I'm saying.

They still use some German verbs though.  Mostly when announcing their intentions to go to the bathroom. 

And, as wrong as I think it is to turn German into my language of fear and punishment, well frankly, I can't think of a better language for instilling fear and punishment.

You should have seen the look on the face of the women sitting in front of us at the Medieval Festival a few months ago when I broke out with   "Faire Attention!  Muss das sein!  You people are going to fall off the bleachers."  Yes, three languages at once.  Not one of which my kids probably paid any attention too.

Then I promptly forgot how to ask for the time in English and asked Damon "Kile ou genyen?"  which is Haitian Creole for  "Qui L'heure" or however it is the French ask for the time.

Multilingual maybe.  But still very few people who will understand me!

And speaking all these languages at home - I use "Je suis tres fatige" on a regular basis - just makes me realize that noone is listening to me anyway no matter WHAT language I speak.

At least I amuse myself.  J'adore francais.

We're also getting a big kick out of being multilingual in English.  Damon's "winching" was topped this week by Andrew patiently explaining a new word to us all over dinner.

Ryan was being 'sooky', he told us.  Sooky?  Yeah, he assured us, it means pouty.

Pouty? Sooky?  I thought about the accent, I thought about how an Australian would say it. And yes, I am fairly certain that 'sooky' is actually spelled 'sulky'!

Although I can totally see Aidan and Matthew's Scottish prep school aide pronouncing it 'sooky' as well.

Last week I had to write a note to Aidan's speech therapist asking her if she really thought he had a problem pronouncing his "o's" - as in dog and hog - because we found him quite clear and were wondering if it might just be an American accent.  Pronounce 'dog' the way a person who might pronounce 'sulky' as 'sooky' might and you'll be able to see the confusion!

Andrew still gets a German accent when giving a presentation in front of the class.  Just like his Opa.

And it's been suggested that a few of the Prep kids might be intimidated by me because they think I am famous.  You know, that glamorous Hollywood accent!

Last week Damon noticed the twins were singing in Spanish.  Shakira for 45 minutes on the way to riding on Saturdays.  Each way.

And the twins answer "ling" when I catch them doing something they shouldn't be doing and ask them what it is.  "Ling" is Chinese for 'zero' but I'll take it.

Am I raising my kids bilingually?  Heck - they're trilingual in ENGLISH alone!

And they are bright enough to ignore me in just about any language I throw at them!

What the BOX?!

I've been writing.  Honestly.  I just don't have the energy to fight with our old desktop and post the pictures. 

So here's a quickie.  Just to let folks know all is well.  Except for with our old computer.  (I firmly believe all the kids' games Ryan and Andrew find on the internet have done it in for good.)

Aidan blogging on Mom's netbook.

Yesterday Ryan met up with the rest of us after school carrying a large empty box.  For her stuffed guinea pig. 

That, of course, reminded Aidan that HE too had a box stashed somewhere in his Prep classroom.  He and Matthew came out dragging a box bigger than the two of them.

Proud box hunters

Oh yay.  Just what we need in a house I am continually trying to DECLUTTER!

Is it too much to ask that other families recycle their recyclables at THEIR homes and not at mine?!!
http://twintensity.blogspot.com/2011/04/recycling-prep-school-style.html
(April's blog on Recycling in Prep School!)
Sigh.  Aidan now has an announcer's booth - slash- drum set and Ryan's guinea pig has the largest room in the house, in relation to body size.

Rock star with stick guitar.

At least I got a cool blog title out of the deal!

Whinging

My first whinge being that I will never get used to that word.

"Whinge."  What the heck is that?  Besides one of those things that Harry Potter does every now and then - like snogging - that reminds us he is English after all.

Nothing to whinge about here.  Matthew his first week in Australia.

Mums - a word I can use when I have to - use it all the time with their kids at school.  As in, 'quit your whinging' or - turning in exasperation to another mum - 'have you ever heard such whinging in your life?'

The best was when Damon tried it out. 

Unsuccessfully.

As in "some of the guys at the bar last night were winching about....."

Winching about what, honey, the fact that you still don't know what tomato sauce is, let alone how to pronounce tomato?!

Americans, we bitch and moan, we might formally complain.  But we do not whinge.

I will make an exception this week though, to whinge about the weather.  And those damn friendly Aussies. 

"I got a whinge, Mom.  The surf's too high!"  Aidan.

Doesn't the sun know better than to shine ALL THE TIME?!  It's WINTER, for crying out loud.   What's up with 23C (low 70s F)?  (And this the coldest winter in a decade, they say?)  Friggin' cloudless blue sky. 

I'm trying to be miserable here.  I have a RIGHT to be friggin' miserable.

How am I supposed to do that when the sun shines for 12 hours a day, every day, in every season, all year long, 5:30 AM to 5:30 PM.  It's too damn consistent.  How am I supposed to go loopy here?  Where is my right to be SAD when I want to be?

For crying out loud, I don't even feel like taking naps here.

And then there's the Aussies.  I'm miserable over here, or TRYING to be, stop SMILING all the damn time!  I don't even know you, STOP BEING NICE to me!

School on Wednesday.  I told you I was too sick to come in and volunteer.  And I get a HUG and a "I hope you feel better soon?!"  STOP IT.  I FEEL BETTER ALREADY!

Aidan tries Japanese soup for the first time.  YUM!

Royal Brisbane Women's Hospital on Thursday.  STOP TELLING ME HOW GREAT MY ATTITUDE IS!  I'm miserable on the inside, really, STOP MAKING ME SMILE!

The Chermside shopping centre afterwards.  I know you are only trying to make sales, good-looking, friendly guy with the hair products, but do you REALLY have to rush over and tell me how beautiful I am?!  I HAVE LOOKED IN A MIRROR TODAY.  Crap, now you have me running home and putting on face moisturizer.  I DON'T WANT TO LOOK GOOD!  I am miserable.  Or is everyone too busy smiling at me to notice?!

Friday is the worst though.  Great, thanks guys.  As if I need to hear how bad EVERYONE ELSE'S week was too!   Is it the moon?  WHO CARES?  Stop empathizing (can you spell that with an 's'?) with me.  My...oh damn, too late, your husband is even worse than mine.  Yup, same thing.  God love 'em, it's just the testosterone poisoning and they can't help it.

NO!  NOT THAT!  DON'T HAND ME THE BABY!  DON'T YOU DARE HAND ME YOUR BABY!

AND they have rainbow icrecream!

And, when I whinge that you all are destroying the very blog I want to write on whinging, and when the jokes start and everyone starts laughing - laughing so hard my stomach actually hurts.

So that I really didn't need that telephone rep calling up five minutes with a sales pitch.  And telling me he loved my sense of humour.  (I'm married and I'm not switching companies, so STOP BEING SO DARN NICE!)

Friggin' A.

My only whinge about Australia is that it won't let me be miserable,

Where the heck am I going to channel all that negative energy now?!!

Sorry Mum, we love it here. 

Uh,  uh,  you people speak funny and you drive on the wrong side of the road.

I give up.

Just don't come to this %*$ country unless you're prepared to be happy.

My Kids, My Heroes

"Mommy says I look just like Daddy!"  Damon and Matthew

Khalil Gibran, a Lebanese American artist, writer and philosopher, said it best.

Your children come through you but not from you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life does not go backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as arrows are sent forth.

Krishan Chopra, in his book "Your Life Is In Your Hands: The Path To Lasting Health And Happiness" (from which I also picked up the above quote), explains it this way.

According to the law of karma, a child is born to particular parents and a particular environment because his karma - the accumulated impressions of all his past actions and experiences - requires him to acquire certain physical and mental characteristics and have certain opportunities in this lifetime.  He does not get a good or bad environment because of his parents, but because his own karma places him in a situation in which he can, if he so desires, utilize his accumulated knowledge and abilities and add to them.

I like karma.  It places the responsibility for your life into your own hands.

Krishan is worth listening to.  Not only is his book a fantastic explanation of Hindu beliefs and values, he is obviously no slouch as a parent either.  His son, Deepak Chopra, seemed to turn out okay.

"Uh oh.  Mommy needs pictures for her blog again!"  Aidan and his sight words.

In essence, the concept of karma says that your children chose you as their parent for a reason.

I'm still trying to figure out what my kids are getting from ME, but I sure as heck am learning a lot from them.

This week the peer pressure on Ryan from the girls in her class got so strong that I finally spoke with the vice-principal.  Getting your bra snapped by anyone, even another girl, is bullying.  Although Ryan is no stranger to bullying - it was considered normal and routine in Germany - it was a welcome change to have help from an adult authority figure.  Guess what?  Not okay in Australia.  But even with help from the adults, this situation is not going to go away.  Ryan is not going to conform.  And the pressure - right now it is to join THE GROUP on a 3 day camping trip the school has planned in 5 weeks - is not going to go away.

And so Ryan has decided not to go camping. 

That kind of blew everyone away.

But why would she want to spend time with kids who are trying to control her and tell her what to do, who won't leave her alone, let her do her own thing and be her own person?

Ryan on Jack.  Now THAT's a big horse trying to buck my little girl off!

The adults are worried about her 'missing out' on a school experience. 

The kids will continue to pester her. 

And Ryan will continue to quietly walk away and do her own thing.
I have no idea how this confident, self -assured child came from needy, attention-seeking me. 

But I really couldn't be prouder.

She is so happy with her horses and her riding - this week she was the only one Jack didn't buck off in the field - and with her sketches and well, HERSELF - that she doesn't need the confirmation of others telling her that she is okay. 

Jack figures he might as well listen.

It would have made parenting her for the past few years a heck of a lot easier if she HAD wanted to please me.

From Ryan, I am learning to be my own person, to be less needy and more confident in myself.

Andrew is teaching me to be a better person as well.  And also to stick up for what I believe is right.  Maybe that's why I had to become a mother.  I doubt I would have stuck up for myself the way I will for my children.

This weekend Andrew was placed in goal for both halves, despite the deal we had with the coaches that he would play one half in the position he loves, in the field.   I wasn't there, it was Damon's turn out the door at 7 AM, but they were playing The Pythons, the strongest team in the league, and the pressure was on.  Losing 0-4 after the first half, even with Andrew in goal, the coach coerced Andrew into playing goal again in the second half, while Damon was away signing the volunteer register.

When Andrew protested the coach told him "You HAVE to stay in goal.  You need the practice."

Andrew was in tears, but he did what his coach asked of him.  And he did it well.

Andrew teaches his class about hip-hop.  (Mr. Biri on the right.  AND note the use of whiteboard and computers!  21st century in THIS continent's schools!)

Damon was furious.

I would have pulled Andrew off the field.

The coach isn't a bad person.  He just made a bad decision.  He chose points in a game over the joy of a 9 year old playing that game.  He broke his promise - and the rules of fairness and sportsmanship - in order to look better on a scoreboard.  And- although he doesn't know it yet - he's lost one of his most valuable players for next year.  Go and find yourself a goalie NOW!

What Andrew couldn't understand is how an adult could go back on his word.  But he played on anyway.  What a champ. 
How could I not, as a parent, step in and pull him from this kind of coaching?  He knows what's fair and he knows when he has been let down.  And now he knows he is worthy enough for his parents to stick up for him.

In goal.  But itching to get on the field and run.

I'm actually trying NOT to make waves the past few weeks.  The academic thing flew by with no issues.  The camp thing will have bigger repercussions since now other people are considering withdrawing their children as well.  But, for once, I am not doing any of this to make a statement or because something isn't right or because I can't have it my way.  I am simply doing what is best for MY kids given the present circumstances.  Am I going to change the peer pressure in Ryan's class?  No.  But I can help her not have to deal with it over a three day sleepover.  Do I want to have to struggle with Andrew's coach a second season?  No.  And so we change teams, and leave him to his decisions without trying to change them.

I copied a quote onto a sheet of paper once.  I'll have to credit the author - also of Indian descent I believe -when I find it again.  It goes like this.

You can't always change the circumstances.  But you can change your circumstances.

I was wise enough fifteen years ago to recognize that it should be written down.  But I had no idea what it meant until this week.

I don't have to change the world or fight for what is right in order to quietly make things right for ME, my kids, and our personal circumstances.  Things only change when you make choices for yourself, instead of worrying about making them for everyone else too.

My Brumbies making pizza.

Maybe that's what being a leader really means, not forcing everyone to follow you, but setting an example and allowing them to make their own decisions based on that example.

Ryan and Andrew have taught me to do things for us, for me, and for them.  Without worrying about what everyone else is going to do.  And being their mother - and seeing how strong they are - has made me strong enough to make those decisions.

How this crooked bow has sent out these straight arrows is beyond my compression. 

But I do strive to be more like them.  And am grateful that they chose me to be their mother.

Sheep versus Brumby

Although New Zealand is the country most renowned for its sheep in this region - 25 years ago the ratio of sheep to people there was 20:1, a number declining rapidly as sheep numbers drop - Australia actually has 100 million sheep to rival New Zealand's current 35 million.

In comparison, the USA has 5 million sheep, comprising a mere 1% of our livestock.  (We prefer beef - and have the useable acreage to support them.  Nothing like genetically modified, hormonally enhanced American beef.  Sadly, I jest not.  YUM!)

July 2011, Brisbane

But you've got to know me well enough by now to know that I am not talking about those sheep.

I'm talking about me.  (What do you MEAN, it's not about ME?!)  And I'm talking about most of us. 

C'mon.  You know it's true.  For the vast majority of us, life is way more comfortable in the herd, in a familiar field, surrounded by the picket fence we know than alone in the bush without any boundaries.  Bah!

I'm the worst kind of sheep, as it turns out.  I'm a sheep who wants to run around and do her own thing on occasion and then wants the herd to accept her back and love her anyway.  After she's pushed the boundaries and jumped the fences.  Love me.  Love me.  Accept me.  Bah!

So that I actually understand the girls in Ryan's class who are currently having difficulty understanding why she is insisting on doing her own thing.  What do you mean you aren't going to do the same thing as the rest of us?  How can you NOT want to join us on the playground?  You're in our group - if you do what we say.  You're ALLOWED to be with US - if you follow our rules.  How can you be comfortable enough in your own skin to rather sit and sketch horses?  ALONE?! 

Bah!  Bah!  Join the herd.  How can we be comfortable with ourselves if everyone else isn't validating us by doing the exact same thing that we are?

I am not mocking these girls.  I was these girls.

April 2007, Stylin' at Lake Garda, Italy

Ryan tells me the girls are 'the bad girls' and that she doesn't like doing what they do.  She doesn't want to get in trouble.  And, apparently unlike her former best friend, she is not interested in trying to impress these girls by joining them.  Even if they are encouraging her to.

You have to feel sorry for her friend who just doesn't seem to understand how Ryan can NOT want to join up.

I don't get it either.  How did a people-pleaser and joiner like me - BAH, BAH, - raise children who are confident enough to do what THEY want and not what OTHERS want them to do?!

How did a sheep end up raising a Brumby?!  (Wild, Australian ponies, the counterpart to the American mustangs.)

And - as it turns out this week - it's not just Ryan. 

Princess and Pirate, August 2007, Herrenberg

Andrew too, is resisting, not peer pressure, but pressure from figures of authority, figures he respects and has been taught to listen to - ie me and his teachers - and gone his own way.

I couldn't be prouder.  (Although I'm still looking backward at the broken fences and wondering if it wouldn't have been easier to stick with the herd this time.  Bah!  Bah!)

This week Andrew and Ryan both chose sports over an academic program.  (Let's put this in perspective.  Isn't it wonderful that they have too many fantastic after-school options to choose from?!)  Honestly, I'm not sure why the teachers - even the sports teacher - seemed so surprised.  I did all those competitions in school too - but mostly to get out of regular classroom time - and mostly because it was the highest level of achievement there was and I was expected to.  Bah! Thinking back, I don't know that I can say I ever really enjoyed it. 

I was under so much pressure in school - even though I always did well - that I recall the ride home after my last day of fifth grade, sitting in the back seat, up the hill past Nick Rosen's house on the right.  The weight of the world dropped off of my shoudlers at the thought of almost three months summer break.  Literally.  My shoulders must have physically come down at least a couple of centimetres.   Knots unraveled as the tension eased.

Mind you, I was in FIFTH grade.  And a straight A student.

I also hated group work.  Because most of the time noone else got much of anything done and I ended up doing it all myself.  I felt obligated to.  By highschool it was more than self-imposed pressure.  The teachers EXPECTED me to carry the group.  I remembered getting reprimanded by an English teacher in 12th grade because I hadn't given it my usual effort and the project hadn't been up to my usual standards.  (We - horrors of horrors - got a 'B'.)  I told her that I was sick of doing everyone else's work - that I had done my own.  And she said "yeah, and look at how well that turned out." 

I am not making these things up.

March, 2007

So that when the teacher in charge of an extracurricular academic competition that runs for the next six weeks asked Andrew to give up his Wednesday afternoon sports program to join the group, well honestly, who can blame him?

Soccer.  Extra schoolwork.  Soccer.  Extra schoolwork. 

Ryan just met a 14 year old girl who wants someone to ride her 16.2 H, 8 year old Thoroughbred mare with her in the afternoons.  I would have suggested half the days riding and half doing the academic program but when the teachers insisted it was all or nothing on afterschool time, well, again, this was a no brainer for Ryan.  Honestly, I'm not sure I find it healthy to want the kids to spend ALL of their afterschool time on this program anyway, even if it is for only six weeks.  And how am I supposed to just drop all of our other commitments at a moment's notice?

I guess I'm less of a sheep than I used to be too.  Although I do keep looking back at that fence.

In any case, I would have had the kids do the program.  I had it all scheduled out.  Since Andrew has soccer on Tuesdays and sports on Wednesdays then those would also be the days that Ryan could go riding.  That left Mondays and Thursdays for the academic competition.  Fridays were  up for grabs.

It would have been an exhausting, logistical nightmare for the next six weeks - but not something I was strong enough to say 'No' to.  How lucky for me that the teachers insisted on unlimited commitment of our time.  (Once again, WHO can do that?!  And HOW?  I would really LOVE to learn how anyone can be not busy enough to on the spur of the moment just devote six weeks of their time to ONE temporary project unconditionally.  Not anyone I know personally.  It boggles the mind.)

August 2007

I'm obviously still struggling with the decision. 

"No."

Who knew that such a little word would be so hard to say?

And so easy to say for my kids?

So that I'm left chasing after my two Brumbies, still uncomfortable with NOT conforming to the expectations of others, but so totally psyched that they are both confident enough in themselves to follow THEIR dreams and not mine, or anyone else's.

August 2007.  Definitely their own people!

It's a wild ride with these Brumbies.  But I am learning more from them than I ever did as a sheep.