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.

Lipstick on an American

I don't wear lipstick.

Since I was a teen, each time I apply lipstick, I feel like a fraud, like I'm playing dress up in my mom's clothes.  I feel foolish and clown-like and pretentious, all at the same time.

I see women wearing bold reds, soft pinks and warm browns and they look gorgeous (and completely absent of clown-like pretensions). I'm tempted to make another trip to the cosmetics counter, because I want lips that look like that. And generally, once a year I submit to temptation. I usually wear it daily for the first week. Then, I put it on if we go out at night. Then, I forget about it until my next make-up bag purge of old, expired products.

This is similar to how I'm feeling about using Australian English.

At our Monday playgroup, we have a communal tea at 11:00. Each family brings a little something (crackers, fruit, cookies) and it's served at the table, family style. A new mom asked me how it worked and what I brought. When I said, "cookies", she corrected me and said, "you mean biscuits". She wasn't being mean about it, just making a little fun of my accent.

The thing is, I know they're called biscuits here, but I can't get myself to say it. Nor can I say lollies (for candy), petrol (gas) or mobile (cell phone). I can't make myself call a squash a pumpkin. Or a cantaloupe a rock melon. It feels like I'm pretending to be someone I'm not. Like I'm "putting on airs" (for lack of a better cliché). 

I'm also struggling to us metric measurements in general conversation. For example:
Playgroup Mom: "Do you have far to walk home?"
Me: "Not at all, just a little over a mile."
PGM: giggling "A mile. You're so funny. A mile."

I know exactly how many kilometers playgroup is from the house (2.2 kms - my iPhone gives me driving/walking directions in km, not miles), but my mouth refused to say the words. 

So which is better, to be the "silly American who refuses to adopt our culture" or the "silly American who thinks we don't know she thinks a biscuit is a cookie"?

Either way, it feels like putting lipstick on an American.

Sure it's wireless, but plenty of strings attached.

I know, I know ... there's no such thing as a good cell phone company. And I'm not demanding perfection, just a willingness to work with me and make things right.

In the era of electronic bill pay, I assumed managing things from the southern hemisphere wouldn't be too terribly different. But, you know what assuming gets you.

I've had several issues. Some companies, like State Farm, have been incredibly helpful (problems researched and answers given within 24 hours). 

Some companies have been maddening, like US Bank. First, when I called to change my mailing address, I was told it couldn't be done over the phone and I had to do it online. I went online, couldn't figure out how to do it, sent an email and was told I had to do it on the phone. Called again and was told, again, it couldn't be done over the phone. In the meantime, they locked me out of my online banking account and it took five emails and four phone calls to get it fixed. Fortunately, the absolutely wonderful person who finally did fix it for me also updated my mailing address ("they can do it on the phone, it's just a little more difficult with international addresses, so they probably didn't want to"). Unfortunately, I just received a notices that they changed my mailing address back to my previous address and to contact them in writing to make further changes. Grrrr.

And some just make me wonder why they put customer service processes in place that take into account neither the customer, nor service.

Here's where Verizon joins the party.

1. Verizon overcharged me because the company failed to correctly process my request when I cancelled my account and moved to Australia.
2. I was sent notice of a statement in mid June, but couldn't view it online ... again, because my request to cancel was processed incorrectly by Verizon and I couldn't access my account. Had I been able to view it, I would have known I was overcharged and not paid it.
3. I made multiple attempts to work with Verizon's support to view and pay the balance, however, as I did not want to be late in paying the account, I went ahead and paid it without seeing the itemized statement.
4. I requested confirmation from Verizon that the final balance was paid. I still couldn't see the itemized statement.
5. I received a response in July that Verizon billed me in error (again, the cancellation was processed incorrectly), my account would be credited and a refund would be mailed.
6. I requested the refund be credited to the credit card used to make the payment as I live in Australia and wouldn't be able to cash a check from the US.
7. Verizon responded that refunds were only given in checks, but I should be able to cash it, because, after all, they're a US company.
8. In August (about four weeks later), since I hadn't received the refund, I requested Verizon tell me when it was mailed.
9. I was told it had not been mailed and would be sent in four to six weeks.
10. So, here we are, another four weeks later ... and nothing from Verizon.

Nice.

The magic of ordinary things

I jettisoned a lot of stuff before our move to Oz. I miss a few big things (my car, the purple couch, the lavender in my yard), but I expected that. It's the little things I didn't expect to miss.

I suspect it's because I thought they would be easily, inexpensively replaced. Maybe with the newer, better, fancy-schmancier version of what I had in the States.

However, here I sit, mourning the loss of a simple $4 kitchen tool ... my pastry blender.

I think I've been in every kitchen shop on the Peninsula in search of a pastry blender. Responses to my inquire range from blank stares to "we don't carry electronics" to "if I were a pastry blender, what would I look like and what would I be used for?" to "will a potato masher do?"

Argh.

My explanation of "you know, you use it to cut the shortening into the flour to make a pie crust" is answered with "what's shortening?"

Argh.

B's sister and mom tried to offer alternative means to make a pie crust, but I long for the comfortable, the familiar.

I'm just a simple girl, wishing for a simple kitchen tool to come along and complete me ... and by complete me, I mean, allow me to bake a pie.