Numbers game

Two stories are brewing in my brain at the moment.

The first one came from a friend. She was using a personal shopper at Nordstrom and complained to her about being between dress sizes and not wanting to go up to the next dress size. She asked the shopper to find clothes that fit her, but were in the smaller size (ie, designers whose clothing lines tended to run slightly larger). The personal shopper responded with "it's just a number, it doesn't define who you are". My friend was not swayed. If she loved everything about a clothing item (color, style, fit), but it was the larger size, she would not buy it. Ever. Period.

The second one came from a gossip piece I read about Kirstie Alley during her Veronica's Closet days. Rumor had it, she required the wardrobe lady to remove clothing size labels from all her clothes for the show and sew in size 10 labels. I have no idea if it's true or not, but it sounds believable in a harmlessly crazy Kirstie Alley kind of way.

Why am I currently noodling these two notions you ask. Australian women's sizes run two sizes larger than American sizes. I went up two dress sizes literally overnight (and by overnight, I mean in an 18 hour flight).

Starting a new job meant rebuilding my work wardrobe and I have been loathe to buy things two sizes larger than my size. Shopping has left me feeling fat and depressed (my new bra size almost brought me to tears, but that's a whole other story), even though my measurements are exactly the same and my clothes from the US still fit the same.

I know, it's ridiculous and irrelevant and a fabricated construct, but I carry a lot of emotional baggage about my clothing size. 

In my experience, most women do. We have that mythical number branded on their brain of "when I am a size *, I will be happy with my body and love the way I look." That number represents success. That number will bring confidence. That number means we can stop fretting and start living.

While I may not have loved my body and still worked towards improvement, I did like my number. I do not like my new number. I'm actually ashamed of it and I found myself hesitating to tell the sales ladies when they came to help me. Which, as I said before, is ridiculous.

Fortunately, clothes are so outrageously priced here, I think I can order from Nordstrom and have everything shipped in my proper size for less. Because that's a much better solution than addressing my lifelong demons around body image.

Or, I may soon be in search of a seamstress who will tiptoe into my closet at night and secretly replace all the clothing size labels.

How do you do that laundry voodoo

A couple weeks ago, I marked the six month anniversary of our move to Australia and the launch of my Australian (mis)adventures. Six months gone and I still have a long list of things to figure out. A few at the top of the list include driving (my international license expires in June), the education system (just learned we have to register M for "4-year kindy" when he turns two in April), the lingo and the medical system (oi, don't get me started).

Also at the top of my laundry list of "to do" items is laundry.

I know how to do laundry. I've been sorting and folding for 30-some years and I have the gist of things. The problem is line drying.

Every Australian has a clothesline. Not every Australian has a clothes dryer. I've never liked line dried laundry. It always felt hard and crunchy and rough. Additionally, I never knew anyone who used line drying to the exclusion of a clothes dryer. Sure, people would hang up towels and swimsuits and such in the summer, but real laundry required a real dryer.

When we first moved, we stayed in a holiday house. It had a clothes washer, but no dryer. I muddled through and tried to soften the fabrics up as much as possible and kept reminding myself it was just temporary.

Once we settled on a permanent residence, my first purchases were a refrigerator  clothes washer and clothes dryer. The laundry room didn't have space for a dryer, so it sits a bit precariously on top of the washer, but I was determined to make it work.

My clothes dryer and I have hummed blissfully along for several months, but now it's summer. When the temperature tops 25 C (~78 F), it feels wrong and wasteful to use the clothes dryer. When it tips over 35 C, it feels downright immoral (wasteful, irresponsible, etc.).

So, I've been trying really really hard to fix the things I don't like about line dried laundry, but I'm struggling and need advice.

1. How do you keep the fabric from feeling rough and crunchy?
Seriously, using a bath towel feels like I'm exfoliating my skin. I've experimented with different fabric softeners. I've tried periodically shaking the fabrics and fluffing the clothes during the drying process. Nothing seems to help. Y'all must have some secret laundry voodoo for keeping your fabric soft. TELL ME WHAT IT IS.

2. How do you hang large items?
Bedding? How do you keep it from touching the ground? I've resorted to pinning them in multiple places, creating a sort of draping effect, but this takes up lots of lines and limits the ability to dry much else at the same time. Are their special large item hanging tricks? Do you resign yourself to not being able to wash anything else on days you wash the bedding?

3. Spiders?
How do you keep spiders from making webs all over the clothesline? Or, ickier yet, from making a spidie hidie hole inside your sock?

4. Time, time, time
I am blessed to be home full time with M and even sans professional job, I struggle to make time to get done all I need to get done in a day. Adding hanging, fluffing and bringing in of the laundry to everyday feels overwhelming. And I do several loads of laundry everyday. For the days when the summer heat isn't full on, I cannot line dry more than one load a day. I can't figure the math on this one. If one doesn't use a dryer, how does one ever get caught up?

Yes, I know this is whiny. And a first world problem. I'm open to doing more line drying, I just need a little supportive advice on how to make it work.

These pretzels are making me thirsty

I'm learning to make junk food I can't find in Australia. My latest conquest? Chocolate covered pretzels.

Crazy right?! I think if Australians knew how awesomely delicious chocolate covered pretzels are, they'd demand them, but you can't miss something you've never had and, as far as I can tell, they've never had them here (I heard a rumor that Costco carried the peanut butter pretzels at one time, but no more).

So I made my own. I emailed a former coworker who would make them for the office every Christmas to get tips, looked up a few more tips online and, voila, I was on my way to dark chocolaty  salty, crunchy goodness.

While waiting for the chocolate to melt, I read the pretzel package (what can I say, I love words and I find content development on consumer packaging Riv-et-ing! For real.). And the copy on the Parker's Baked Wheat Mini Pretzels did not disappoint. They did a fantastic job tapping into Aussie sensibilities, in particular, the oft referred to/spoken of/blamed "tall poppy syndrome". It was explained to me that they want everyone to do/be well, but no one to rise above the crowd in terms of excellence or success. If someone does, the "tall poppy" risks being "cut down". (Of course Americans enjoy seeing someone come crashing to the ground in a hot mess of scandal and tragedy, but we also wholeheartedly believe in the American Dream and the ability of the every man/woman to reach the pinnacle of success through creativity and hard work.)

Make no mistake, Parker's Bakes Wheat Mini Pretzels are no tall poppy. They are a perfectly respectable pretzel ... and nothing more ... summed up gorgeously in one line:

"We've been doing it for over 15 years and by now we've really got the hang of it."

The first thing that caught my attention was they wrote "over" instead of the grammatically correct "more than", but once I set that aside, I pondered two things. One, that they've only been in business for 15 years (I think US pretzel companies lean more towards the century mark). And two, they're bragging about getting "the hang of it".

I know, it's contemporary and all "awe shucks-ie" and colloquial, but beyond that, it eludes the tall poppy police and communicates to the consumer, we're crunchy, we're salty, we're an entirely adequate snack food option ... if you're so inclined.

One other thing on the packaging drew me in and in four little words punctuated how totally different Australia is from the US. It was the "please don't little" message. I was so struck by it, I immediately took the chocolate off the steam and ran into the office where B was working to point it out to him.

Me: "Look at this. The stop litter message is 'help keep Australia tidy'. Tidy!! That's your inspirational, aspirational tagline? Help keep Australia tidy?"

B: Blank stare 

Me: "I mean, ours is 'keep American beautiful', it instills pride, it evokes emotion ... it, it ... it doesn't make you think of your mom telling you to tidy up your bedroom."

B: "No, it's good. It says, you know, if you can, keep things tidy, pick up after yourself, do your part. Besides, what about the parts of the US that aren't beautiful?"

Me: "Well, we can't help Texas. But the rest of us, we want to keep things beautiful, not merely tidy."

B: "Tidy is good. It's easy, it's simple, it's achievable. It isn't trying too hard; it's trying just enough."

Me: "And that's acceptable? Just enough?"

So, the US is Auntie Mame telling us to live robustly and fill up at life's banquet, while Australia is a mom telling us to always wear clean underwear in case we get in a car accident. 

And maybe they have a point. Maybe Australians are the tortoise to the American hare? Work/life balance is a real thing here. Antacids come in tiny little bottles (I used to buy the 500 tablet bulk pack) with only two brands on the shelf. Maternity leave is 12 months. People take vacations and don't work during them.They have universal healthcare and invest significantly in prevention and wellness (seen their cigarette packaging? Yowza). They never went into recession and their unemployment rate is hovering around 5 percent.

Maybe ... but my 40+ years as an American makes it hard for me to think anything other than work harder, work faster, do more, be more, accomplish more, help more. Fill up at life's banquet.

And all this from a bag of pretzels  which, by the way, evolved from entirely adequate to sublimely yummy when covered with dark chocolate.

Making you feel bad

We drove past a quartet of teens yesterday parading down the street wearing, I assume, some of their newly unwrapped Christmas clothes. Bare skin aplenty. 

B, being the rabid sun smart advocate he is, commented, "the message just isn't getting through, is it?"*

"People aren't going to cover up completely until they have options for clothing that is fashionable, cooling and affordable," I replied.

His response? "That will never happen. The goal of the fashion industry is to make people feel bad about themselves. In order for sun smart behavior to be adopted, it's going to take a paradigm shift or legislation, like with bike helmets and seat belts."

"I don't agree," I said. "I find a well made garment that is cut for my body type gives me confidence and makes me feel better about myself."

"Maybe for today," he said. "But they want it to be short term. Then it's out of style and you need the next thing to feel good about yourself."

"Again, I don't agree," I said. "I think true fashion tries to be timeless and classic. Fads are a different thing. Fads want people to feel bad about themselves, not fashion. You want a wardrobe of classic pieces, then, if you feel it necessary, you can sprinkle in fadish accessories to freshen the look. If sun smart clothing could be made that was attractive and affordable, it would stick."

We went around and around like this for a while and came to no agreement. 

Wanna weigh in? Fashion as friend or foe?


*A bit of background: research finds full clothing coverage superior to using sunblock and B follows the Australian Cancer Council SunSmart behavior recommendations when the UV is above 3 (it's currently 12). This means hat, long sleeves and long pants between 9am and 6pm. Always. No exceptions. I find this unreasonable. Either one has to 1)stay inside, 2)be super hot and driven back inside, or 3)pay outrageous prices for clothing engineered to cover and cool.

A cookie by any other name ...

Currently, the Smitten Kitchen's ginger snap is on heavy rotation in 

my kitchen. Soft and spicy, and oh so yummy. Highly recommend.

... may taste just as sweet, but I feel like an idiot when someone is using another name and I don't know what they're talking about.

I like to bake. I don't know if it's the stirring or creating or smells of something yummy in the oven, but I find baking a great stress reliever (fortunately, baking is my #2 de-stresser and working out is my #1, because eating is a very close #3). 

Plus, people get happy when someone comes along with fresh baked tidbits to share and I like to be around happy people. One of my tricks for producing a tasty treat on short notice is to mix a batch of cookie dough when I have time, roll it into cookie-size balls and freeze them. Then when the need arises, just pop the frozen cookie balls onto a baking sheet, 12 minutes in a 350 oven and voila, you've got cookies. 

My stash of freezer dough has also come in handy for playgroup, too. 

M's Monday playgroup has a shared morning tea. Everyone brings a little something (fruit, crackers, cheese, etc.) and the snacks are served family style to the kids. I've raided my stash a few times when I didn't have anything handy in the pantry to take. Yesterday, out came the ginger snaps.

As the kids were eating their snack, one of the mom's asked, "who brought the bickies?"

I start going through my mental filing cabinet. Bickies, bickies ... need a definition for bickies (note, it could be spelled bikkies, I'm not clear).

Since no one claimed the bickies, the mom started asking people directly. She'd asked two people when the mom I had been talking to said, "Pamela brought them."

Shoot, I missed the connection. American cookies = Australian biscuits, which gets shortened to bickies/bikkies.

I stammer something about not knowing what bickies were. Yes, I brought the cookies. Sorry, I didn't realize that's what you were referring to. Everyone was very polite and understanding, even talking briefly about what American biscuits are, but I still wanted to shrivel up and disappear.

Oy. I've spent the last 24 hours feeling like a dolt. 

I wrote previously about how unnatural, awkward and fake it felt for me to use Australian words, but clearly I need to know them in order to fit in here (and maybe more importantly, for M to fit in here). Time to start studying an Australian into American English primer. 

Or start baking more to ease stress caused by my cringe inducing cultural faux pas.

USPS, yes!

I'm a big fan of the US Postal Service.

No, really, I am.

I think there's something magical about being able to send a card or letter from Alaska to Florida for less than the price of a Snickers bar.

I am also a big fan of the handwritten thank you note. If you've known me for long, worked with me or served on a volunteer committee with me, chances are you've received a thank you note in the mail from me. I believe a mailed note demonstrates putting more time and effort into the thank you than an email thank you. The USPS has been my partner in saying "thank you" for years.

The Australia Post isn't living up to the standards I've come to expect from my general mail delivery provider.

First, they DO NOT pick up outgoing mail from your mailbox. I know, right?! It took me a long time to wrap my head around this one. You have to take your letter to a post office or drop it into a postal box. I mean, the postal employee is already there, delivering your mail, doesn't it seem more efficient to have them pick up your outgoing mail?

Second, no Saturday delivery. You wouldn't think just one day could slow things down so much, but it does. I know the USPS is considering dropping Saturday delivery to meet budget constraints and I think this will be a huge loss.

Third, when we moved from the holiday house to our permanent home, I wasn't allowed to have my mail forwarded. You have to be a citizen with an Australian passport or have permanent legal resident status (and documents to prove it) to even request forwarding. On top of that, you have to pay about $20 for each month you want it forwarded AND it takes about four weeks to process your request.

Fourth, they don't deliver direct mail. Now, you may think that's good, but stay with me on this one, because I still receive junk mail ... lots and lots of junk mail. However, the publishers of the weekly store ads and such pay people to go around and deliver them to each mailbox. These various groups aren't connected or coordinated and I often end up getting "mail" delivered two or three times a day (this is in addition to the Australia Post delivery). 

Fifth, not only am I getting less service, I'm paying more for it. For example, the price of a USPS First Class stamp is .45 compared to .60 in Australia. To send a letter from the US to Australia is $1.05.  To send a letter from Australia to the US is $1.65. And I suppose that's the bottom line difference.  Australia Post appears to be a financially healthy organization by doing less and charging more. The USPS is facing major financial shortfalls and looking at major organization overhauls to stay viable.

Which makes me sad, because I really am and have always been a huge fan of the USPS.

Having a ball

I'm blessed to have several rather spectacular mommies in my life to watch, learn from and (try) to emulate. I've asked questions and gained tools to make mommyhood easier and less scary. Personally, I often still feel quite clueless and hesitate to offer advice to new mommies I encounter.

However, I do have one piece of advice I'd like to pass along: get a yoga ball. 

My trusty blue friend has served me well beginning with pregnancy through to today. To be honest, I don't know how parents manage it without one.

Pregnancy:
From about 28 weeks on, my joints ached ... a lot. Walking and sitting became very painful. I had been using my yoga ball for preggo yoga routine and discovered it was a more comfortable sitting option for my hips. Thus, I rolled it out into the living room area and it became my "chair" of choice.

When we wrote our birth plan, I included the yoga ball as one of the options. I wasn't particularly keen, but figured I'd rather have it available and not use it, than regret not having it. Of course, as is often the way with plans, ours went by the wayside when circumstances required a cesarean performed prior to me going into labor.

Newborn:
We found great success with the "Happiest Baby on the Block" method and M responded perfectly to the motion from bouncing on the yoga ball. We eschewed rockers and gliders, and bounced him to sleep.

Once we hit the six week mark and I could workout again, it was great to have the ball there to use to stretch my back or sneak in a few crunches in my few spare moments.

Baby:
I continued using the ball to bounce M to sleep for several months after we stopped swaddling and shushing. I gradually used it less and less, but kept it nearby for those times when nothing else worked.

The ball became a sort of baby massaging tool. I could place him on top-either on his back or stomach, hold onto his ankles and give a few small rolls. He loved it. 

Toddler:
Even now, when M can't sleep, he'll say "bounce" and he's usually out after two rounds of "Twinkle, twinkle little star". Granted, it's a bit more difficult to hold, balance and bounce a 19-month-old, but I like to think I get a quick core workout in while helping him fall asleep.

Plus, he has a giant blue ball in his room to play with. And what little boy wouldn't love that.

The ball may just work for me and M. I've never read or heard of anyone else using it as we did/do. But, who knows, maybe it's the thing you've been searching for and didn't know you needed. Consider or disregard as you see fit.