Remember me aunty….

When we left for Australia my biggest concern was that my niece was going to forget me. At 10 months old her attachment and genuine recognition towards any person (exception of Lou, Ben and Oma) had been fleeting to say the least.

In the months since her birth I had been trying to get her to remember me and then one day it finally clicked.

She started to cry. But not just once. She cried every time she saw my face, day after day. HA HA! I thought, she knows whose face this is! Not the greatest triumph I may admit, having a face that makes babies cry puts me in the same category as the hunch back of Notre Dam and boil faced witches however, It was a success and one I was quick to latch onto.

So we flew out at the beginning of July, I with the sorrowful knowledge that in the 5 months we’d be away all my hard work with Nova would come undone.

Last Friday marked 2 months into our stint. A message flashed up on skype from Ben, saying ‘hello, are you there’ and then, ‘I have booface with me!’.  Before I had a chance to reply my pc started ringing and bens face appeared on my screen.

In the background I can see Lou with boo up on the bench in the plastic tub (that I was shocked to see she had nearly outgrown) splashing away happily, squealing, gurgling, content as a pig in muck.

‘hello Novaaaaa!!!!!’’’ I scream into the video camera.

‘Nova, it’s your aunty, how are you possum head, I miss you, BOOFACER!!! I grin my biggest smile. I’m shouting so loud people are coming out of their offices at work to see what all the commotions about.

She pauses in her splash and looks towards the noise coming from the opposite bench where the computers perched.

‘’boooooooofacerrrrrrr, hello, hello, hello pickle, hello possum head, can you see me, take the camera closer!’ I squeal to Ben, unable to contain my excitement at seeing my beautiful niece.

Ben dutifully drags the computer closer to the bathtub.

‘boofacer!’ I say with delight as her face starts to de-pixelate. She looks into the camera. Her smile crashes. Her eyes round in terror and she bursts into tears.

I clap my hands together and laugh with delight,

‘thankgod!’ I say to Lou, ‘I thought she might have forgotten me’ .

Gold Coasting….

Yesterday we drove down the coast to a funny little hippy café offering great grilled Turkish bread sammies alongside head massage and psychic readings. They had chairs made of fishing nets and driftwood and lanterns and flags everywhere and a gallery with some of the world’s most ugly artwork.

Pride of place was a bronzed statue of a man that had a genitalia made up from your regular bathroom tap surrounded by bunches of grapes. Pete was horrified as he hauled me over to look at it, hand to his mouth. The grapes looked like some sort of swollen fungal std. gross.

Above, pete enjoying the cafe before being scarred for life by bronze statue…

 

Weather in the Gold Coast has been crazy hot 28-31 degrees during the day and 20 degrees at night. It’s like being back in Bali. We have a ranch slider in our bedroom that we throw open at night to let the air in. Unfortunately we also have some CRAZY ozzy birds that sleep in the branches just outside our bedroom balcony and at 6am they start their incantations, crark crark crark CRARK CRARK CRARK!

Everything seems prehistoric here. There are white bodied black headed birds that wander about, could easily be mistaken for a toddler from the size of them and they all seem to have a set of lungs like Tarzan. The trees grow tall and thick trunked like they’re used to dino’s scratching their backs on them. There’s bourgonvillia everywhere, hot hot pink, red, orange. What should be shrubs tower over your head like the earth is full of steroids. There is one incredible plant down our road that has long thin branches with clusters of leaves on the end in green and yellow that look like they’ve been tied in bows. It’s very beautiful.

View from our balcony….

A couple of weekends ago we had our 2^nd brush with DEADLY OZZIE WILDLIFE!!! The first wasn’t really a brush, more a flutter, as we watched an episode of ‘Surf life rescue’ on telly filming a 3 metre long hammer head shark cruising the waters of the very stretch of coast line we’d swum in that day. Aussies are such hard nuts, when I recounted this story at work they mostly shrugged their shoulders and said it’s very unlikely a hammerhead would attack a human. Pah! Would you choose to go swimming with one!? I said, incredulous that my story had so little impact. Bloody Aussies.

The second brush, well, I can tell you I certainly felt the tentacles of GRAVE danger! I’d taken Pete up to the National Park in Mt Tambourine, a stretch of mountainous rainforest that runs along the coast. We did the rainforest trek which only took about 15 minutes and so wandered off down another track to some waterfalls an hour away. On our way back we were approaching a group of Aussie walkers and they casually waved at us to stop.

What’s up? Pete said.

Theare’s a rid bellee blick snayke on the parth, said our fellow Aussie.

A red belly black snake, I said, they dangerous?

Nort the most poisnis, he said, but it’ll kell ya.

I looked at pete in terror as it slithered and undulated off into the bush. JESUS H CHRIST. WHERE WERE THE WARNING SIGNS!!! I distinctly saw, the ‘look at our fabulous rainforest flora and fauna, you might even spot some native birds’ sign. I’m nz bush smart, rocks leapt in a single bound, gorse pushed aside with my bare hands, bumble bees – got me antihistamines!

We could have died I said dramatically to pete as we scampered out of the bush. Yup, he said.

The following weekend we drove up to Lamington Park and stopped at an Alpacca Farm café for a coffee and as we walked through the gallery to the café out the back it stunned us into silence with this view. .. the Alpaccas were pretty cool too.

 

It was so quiet we could hear the Aplacca’s ripping up the grass with their teeth below us and we barely said a single word to each other, just sat there and gazed.

Today have our first real day of rain here. It’s lovely and cool and overcast. Funny how you miss changes in weather. Up till now it’s been hot and sunny, every day, hot and sunny. Still, hot and sunnies pretty good too!

enjoying the hot and sunny….

What's in a name...

As you may know, Pete and I are getting married in April next year which raises all sorts of interesting new topics of conversation to our dinner table here in Australia. The wedding for one, how soon after to have kids, getting together our home deposit and most recently who’s last name to take.

Last Friday after a couple of drinks with the team at work we headed down to a cracking restaurant in Main Beach for a bottle of wine and some of the best pork belly money can buy. The name issue is raised. Funnily enough, Pete wants us all to have Harrow, my counter offer is to blow off tradition and all take Connolly, Pete looks at me like I’ve just farted in his mouth. I attempt a softer approach, why don’t we stick with our original surnames and I’ll concede the kids to be Harrows. The farts still there. Fair enough I think, let’s try and reason this one out.

Why do you want to keep Connolly he says?

I could give you a thousand reasons I reply,

well just give me 5 he says. Ok I think, easy.

It’s part of my identity, everything I’ve done since I was born is attached to Amber Connolly, every award, sporting achievement, first bike, first kiss, was as a Connolly, I like Connolly, Amber Connolly sounds better than Amber Harrow I says.

While I’m talking he’s holding up his fingers counting off my points. I get to the end of my blurt and he’s waving 3 triumphant fingers in the air.

I gave way more reasons than 3 I says!

Nup, replies pete, the first 6 were all the same reason.

Fine! I say, give me 5 reasons why I should become a Harrow that aren’t just to do with an ancient tradition that has no place in todays society.

Easy he says. Holding out his finger counters again he begins.

H…he ponders….H is for happiness, the happiness we will share as a married couple under the name harrow, he smiles broadly at his cleverness. A… A is for awesome, the awesome children we will have that will all be called harrow.

I see where he’s going with this, and return his smug smile, clever you I say counting off the letters of H-A-R-R-O-W on my fingers, at the end of your acrostic poem you’ll have six reasons.

We laugh and take another sip of wine.

P, he says, P is for parents, the great parents we will be…. WHHAAAT? HOLD ON!

I put up my hand, there’s no P in Harrow I screech! Pete looks confused, he looks at the table then up to my face again and says sheepishly, I forgot what I was talking about, I thought I was spelling H-A-P-P-Y he says and smiles goofily.

BAHAHAHAHAHAAAA I laughed so hard it was boarding on hysterical and tears had collected on my lashes, ‘Now that,’ I squeak between guaffs, ‘is a reason worth taking harrow for’.