He Said, She Said and Getting My Just Dues

About a year after Jason and I married, we took a cruise. The trip was grand and I could post many a story about it. Maybe I will one day. Maybe I'll never get around to it. (Well, I know it's what y'all are thinking!) But I will share one with you. One that has affected our entire marriage to date. Funny how little things can carry through the years, huh?

We flew into Santo Domingo to meet our boat (like I said - whole other story). We spent a morning there and decided to kill time by walking down to look out on the vastness of the ocean. We took our camera of course. While sitting and enjoying the scenery and each other's company, I shot a picture of the water crashing on the rocks. It was a perfect scene, the resulting spray was glorious. And surprisingly (since you never know with my pics) the shot turned out beautifully! So a couple of weeks later, Jason and I are sitting in our Reese Road living room, skimming through the bajillion photos we had taken (only three of which actually had people in them) when I run across and recognize this rather perfect shot and say "Wow! I took a really great picture. Look at this one." to him. Only to have Jason say "What are you talking about? I took that shot!".

And so it began.

For years now Jason and I have been battling over who took what shot. It's rather annoying. For those of you who know me well, you know that my memory generally stinks. But the truth of the matter is, when I do remember, I remember well. There is generally no hem-hawing over how it went down. I know how it went down! Am pretty damn sure of it to be certain! If I say I took the picture, then you better believe...I took the picture!!! (Are you reading this Jason?)

But, as you can probably understand, it's usually easier to just say, "Ok honey, I was wrong. You took the photo and it's a great photo!". (Advise to wives - it's important to leave out any hints of sarcasm.)

But no more.

So what brought me to this point? The breaking point? The boiling point? The I Ain't Taken No More Photo Crap point? Sunset at Anzac Hill! We decided to take the family up last week and get in a few shots practice with my manual adjustment technique (which stinks by the way). We get back and, low and behold, what should happen when I download the pics but we start with the photo bickering. So this time I had one on him. Since Jason took only "Auto" photos and mine were manually adjusted, I could easily go back to the camera card and figure out who took what.

He took this.


And this.



Both are wonderful. I won't begrudge him his great pics!

But I took this.


And this.

And the one at the top. While they may not be professional photos, they aren't too bad. And they're MINE!! (Boy do I sound like a five year old or what?) Hey, I only want my just dues, man!

Man Above Men

This is my husband. Love of my life. Father of my children.



This is my husband in his recliner. I equate it to a good, long soak in a hot bath for a woman. Once you get in, you don't ever want to get out. You only have to run more hot water every now and again to make yourself more comfortable. Kind of like when he adjusts the pillows behind his back or scratches his butt.



This is my baby with my baby. Doing crafts.



This is what she made.



This is what he made.



And this. He made her very happy.



He's a good Daddy.

Some of you may have noticed his comment on my last post. If not, go look now so you can be fully in the-know. He's a bit peeved. Feeling unappreciated and put-upon. (I'll post one day about how that is now my favorite phrase..."put-upon", I use it quite a lot)

Let's go over the background why don't we? Last year, my husband got 2, count them 1 - 2, Father's Days. How? you ask. Well, that's because the Australians celebrate Father's Day in September. One of the many differences between our country. And of course one that would probably go unnoticed if we had not arrived here just before their Father's Day and right after ours. So he had two.

So this year, we joked (a long time ago mind you) that he would only be getting one this year. And that one would be the one that's celebrated here. Because I was certain that if we celebrated in June, he would be feeling unappreciated and put-upon come September when the whole thing takes on a roll here. So "When in Rome...", eh?

And truthfully, I didn't realize that Father's Day weekend had snuck up on us in the States. (Very sorry about that Daddy and Fred). Teresa filled me in when I was on the phone with her this morning. And Jason had no idea either until I (stupidly) mentioned it to him. So today has been filled with vague references to the lack of love and gratitude shown by his family.

So this is for him:

Jason, you are a wonderful husband and father. We love you. We appreciate you. You are strong, handsome and, dare I say?, virile. No man or father compares to you. Oh to be graced with such greatness in our own home humbles us. We are truly unworthy of you and your love. Thank you for your kindness, your presence, your knowledge, your patience and your understanding. There is no one more deserving of two Father's Day celebrations. We were wrong for neglecting you.
With all our love, Your Family

There, that should hold him until September. Now excuse me while I go throw-up. I Joke! I Joke!

Chasm Schmasm

Hurry Angie! Take the picture, I can't hold it much longer!

A cute picture of my boy.

After dance, lunch and a quick cleaning run through the house (still grossly lacking), we decided to embark on an afternoon adventure...a little outing to Standley Chasm. How exciting! I've wanted to go since I saw the beautiful photos from Fred and Jason's trip a couple of months ago. And of course, this would give me a great opportunity to play the photographer bit myself. You see, I'm trying to learn the tricks of the trade. After being gifted a nice digital Cannon that will let me manually adjust the settings, I've been diligently studying f-stops, shutter speeds and the camera's mechanics. But I haven't really had much opportunity to put it all to the test.

With visions of Fred's lovely photos dancing in my head, I eagerly anticipated the trip. Jason and I discussed ISO settings on the way up. You know Jason, seems to know something about most things, and even though I haven't seen him adjust any camera's settings in the 10+ years we've been together, I wasn't surprised that he knew what he was talking about. And of course he spoke to me with that authoritative voice of knowledgeable teacher speaking to lowly, uneducated student. Men!

Well, let me tell you, I was sorely disappointed. And since denial is a normal state of being for me, I blame the Chasm. And the lighting. And the camera of course. It could never, never be user error! That would be just too depressing!

I took lots of photos of trees (they all looked so cool when I was stumbling past) and plenty of my family's retreating backs (I was too busy constantly adjusting my settings to keep up). None really scream out at me. Most are too dark and the coloring seems a bit off. It's a mix of the overexposed, underexposed and downright uninteresting. But I had fun.

Double click to see the fruits of my labor. No laughing or tsk-ing allowed. Like I said, it wasn't really my fault.

Standley Chasm

Brady Gets Her Ears Pierced

Brady's almost 6 and she finally gets her ears pierced!

Picking out the earrings. Won't even go into how long that took.

Waiting to get the marker (texta) dots to mark the spots.

Janine - she was wonderful.

Here's where they'll go.

More waiting.

More waiting.

What we're waiting for (other than the earrings).

OK, here goes. So very, very brave.

Not so very brave anymore.

Yes, I'm dedicated to the documentation of this monumental event. But that's where the photos stop and Mummy's consolation begins.


And, later that night, the finished product.....

After observing all of this and on the way back to the car:

Gracie: Mom, when will I get my ears pierced?

Me: Maybe next year sweetie. When you're able to take care of them yourself.

Gracie (crying): But I don't want to get my ears pierced!!!

Gracie also refuses to every marry. She doesn't want to have babies. Says it hurts.

What to do on a lazy morning?

My husband cooked for me last night. Well, technically for the children too. But who do you think more appreciated the effort? And it was good. It put us all in a very pleasant mood so we decided to head out for Saturday night mass, even in the nasty rain. Mass was uneventful except for having to cross the alter when all three kids had to go potty. Having the restroom only accessible via the alter puts you in quite a position as a mother. You ask yourself "Do I take them during mass or just let them wet themselves?". Let me tell you, it's a tough decision. At first you kind of disregard the request, as if the whole urge will disappear. Soon though, you have to face facts. Take the bull by the horns and drag those kids up the alter or risk a puddle on the kneeler. Although I've seen people slip back there before, I still feel as though mass will just pause and everyone will stare at us. Or, worse yet, lightning will strike down from the heavens. Oh, and you have to time your flush. Better to do it when the music can drown it out, or else Father Raas' mic will pic it up and amplify it for the entire congregation to hear - just in case some of them missed you slipping up there.

I digress. This post was supposed to be about the fun morning we had since we didn't have to get up and go to church. Mid-morning we were still lounging in our jammies when my neighbor called. She had a couple of kids spend the night last night and was trying to figure out what to do with everyone to kill some time. She came up with face painting. And since I'm not one to be left out, and since I knew she would have coffee on, I crashed the party.

Here are the results.





One of the big kids did Grace's.



And no, I have no idea what kind of water splashing party her kids had to make the mirror behind Grace's head look so disgusting. But I do know she'll kill me if she ever finds out I posted the picture!

And since Jasmine (the big kid) got to paint faces too and none of the little ones could, I decided to do the only right thing. Offer myself up as a kiddie canvas!!!!!!



Yes...I need my roots done. And yes...I need a shower. But don't I look marvelous?

Dumb ol' American

ANZed


If I haven't mentioned it before, I will now. Sometimes living in another country just makes me feel like a Dumb ol' American. I am likely to actually be considered a Dumb ol' American by a lot of people, maybe even some Americans (I know it's hard to imagine - I'm so cool and all). Anyway, things that make me feel stupid? Well, let's see. The metric system. The metric system makes me feel stupid. I know, I know, it's just numbers. But when I start to get all confused (often), I just get flustered (understandable) and I throw the tape measure (or my shoe) at the nearest Australian (or non-metric-challenged individual)and scream "I give up".

The fact that I still find it hard to understand people who are speaking English, that makes me feel stupid. But they talk so fast. And I have this whole hearing issue when there is background noise (no really, it's not just an excuse). I constantly find myself saying things like "I'm Sorry?", "Excuse Me?", "Come Again?". That makes me feel stupid.

The fact that I have no idea what some of their words mean when I do hear what they say, that makes me feel stupid. Like when they tell kids to use their "Textas" (markers) or when that guy needed me to get him a pen and he called it something else (never actually figured out what) and he finally had to use sign language.

Or like when I live her for 9 months, always telling (probably hundreds of) people "You know, right down the street from the ANZ bank." Or "Across from the ANZ". Only to be corrected by my husband one day that it's actually the AN-Zed. They call Z zed here, as do most English speaking countries other than the US (gotta love Wikipedia), and I, being confident of and secure in my alphabet knowledge, was too dimwitted to realize it - FOR 9 MONTHS! That makes me feel stupid.

How embarassing.

Mrs. Wishy Washy

Entertainment News
In the small central Australian town of Alice Springs, Mrs. Smith's Transition class put on a production of Mrs. Wishy Washy today at Our Lady of the Sacred Heart College class assembly. Mrs. Wishy Washy is the gripping tale of a cow, a pig and a duck, jumping, rolling and paddling through the mud. Discovered by Mrs. Wishy Washy and wishy washied up, only to jump right back in again. Starring in the pivotal roll of "the cow" was the up and coming star, Brady Cavanagh. As you can see, her performance was riveting. I smell an Oscar.

(Keep an eye out - Brady comes jumping from the left)

Mrs. Wishy Washy

The Definition of Sacrilege

sac·ri·lege
Pronunciation[sak-ruh-lij]
–noun
the violation or profanation of anything sacred or held sacred.



Now before all of our Pats Peeps start getting downright belligerent, let me say that Brady loves, loves, loves this bandanna (aka doo-rag). She wears it on her hair because she has flyaway, static-y stuff and it keeps it out of her eyes. She also wears it on her hair because we won't allow her to wear it as a shirt - yes a shirt - that's how she rolls. We won't allow the shirt because it doesn't actually stay up and soon becomes a skirt - not cool when your 5 year old is running around outside with no shirt and a bandanna around her waist. She also likes to wear it because she know she looks cool.

Now when I wore my Tampa Bay t-shirt (you will remember these are goodies received from our wonderful cheerleader friends when they visited), Jason looked very stern and said (in his voice that brooks no arguments) "You do realize that this will have to stop don't you?" He scared me, he really did. So to keep the same from happening with my sweet little breakable girl, I am tasking the people of Mass. Find us a Pats doo-rag. That way we can get rid of the Bucs doo-doo-rag.

Man I crack myself up!