He said, She said...

On a wintry afternoon in May, I left our home and began the short walk to the local preschool to collect my daughter. Along the way, I stopped in at a neighbour's house to see if she wanted to accompany me. Her son is a fellow classmate of my daughter and we generally walk to and from the preschool together. On this particular afternoon we were exchanging stories about the funny things our kids sometimes say to us about the day's events at preschool. At some point my neighbour turned to me and said, "You know I think my James has picked up something from your daughter."

Me: Surprised and slightly worried as to what my neighbour could be referring to. Did she mean some kind of a bug? Or a bad habit? How did she know my daughter was the responsible one? I responded tentatively, "Picked up something? What do you mean?"

Neighbour: Elusively, "Yeah, he's started saying something at home all the time. I know he hasn't gotten it from us because we don't say that at our house."

Me: Oh no! This is terrible. What has she said? What has she taught him that he is now repeating in front of his parents? Crikey! How embarrassing is this? My mind is racing as I try to think what awful thing she may have taught him. Fearfully, "Oh really, and what would that be?"

Neighbour: "You're welcome."

Me: Huh? What's she talking about? Confused, "Sorry? What do you mean?"

Neighbour: "I mean our James has learned to say, You're Welcome, from your daughter. We don't ever use those words at our house, but he says it all the time. I'm sure he learned it from her. It's very sweet--whenever he does something for us we say, 'Thanks James' and he says, 'You're welcome.'

Me: Relieved. I was convinced this conversation was heading in a different direction and was preparing my apologies and looking for an appropriate sized rock to crawl under, but wow what a windfall! Turns out my little one was spreading the good words not the bad ones!! Thank goodness for that. I'm still a bit confused though, if they don't say 'you're welcome' then what do they say? Inquisitively, "So you think it's a bit odd that he says this? What would you guys say then?"

Neighbour: "Well it's just a very American thing to say, I think. That's why I am pretty sure James has learned it from your daughter. We don't really know anyone else who would speak that way. Australians would say, 'That's okay' or 'No worries', but 'You're welcome' sounds a bit formal to us."

Me: Feeling silly yet again, "Of course. I guess you are right. I never really thought about it. It's funny what you pick up on isn't it?"

Neighbour: "Yes, it is."

Me: "Well, I suppose there are worse things she could be teaching him. You had me worried in the beginning. I couldn't imagine what she might have said!"

Neighbour: Laughing, "No, give them time though. I'm sure they'll teach each other all sorts of bad things over the years."

When I arrived home, I thought more about what my neighbour had said. I guess it's really true that children are a reflection of their parents. Thankfully, in this case, my daughter reflected her mother's Americanism and good Southern manners instead of the colourful language I may somtimes use in heavy traffic.

Learn the Lingo
collect = to pick up
crikey = an expression used to express surprise
no worries = you're welcome

Vegemite? A mother's conundrum...

Ten years after my initial vegemite taste test, I'm happy to say I may have consumed vegemite in one form or another, usually by accident, only a handful of times. That's right folks, vegemite and I have yet to become friends. Most Australians are very understanding of the fact that vegemite is an acquired taste and they don't begrudge those of us who don't share their affinity for the very salty, and dark substance. I'm quite comfortable admitting that I'm not a vegemite eater and I don't think I'll lose any credibility because of it. It is my children's credibility that I worry about...

Vegemite was really a very small part of my life here in Australia, I mean very, very small. We owned a jar and kept it in the cupboard, and the Handsome Australian would bring it out once in a blue moon to have on his toast. Generally, he only pulled it out when we had visitors from the USA and he tried to convince them that it was the best stuff on the planet and that he eats it all the time. He would delight in seeing their faces screw up and eyes boggle as they tasted it. Yes, he does have quite the wicked sense of humour or perhaps he's just misunderstood:



Beside these intermittent and casual exposures to vegemite over the years, I never really gave eating it (or not in my case) too much thought. Then one day I found myself as the mother of a young toddler and everything changed. Each time I'd take my child to a playgroup, the other Mums (that's Aussie for Moms) would have little tiny vegemite and margarine sandwiches for their kids to snack on. I normally had savoury biscuits (that's Aussie for crackers) or fruit for my child. She seemed quite content with her snacks and didn't seem to be missing out on the vegemite sandwiches.

The more I thought about it though, the more I realised that all of these other children were being introduced to vegemite at an early age and were "acquiring" a taste for it. What would happen later on at school, I wondered, when all the children had vegemite and margarine sandwiches for lunch and my child didn't? Would she be able to survive a childhood in Australia as a non-vegemite eater? Is there such a thing? I'd only ever met a handful of grown up Aussies who said they didn't like it.

As a parent, I find it difficult to convince my children to eat food that I personally find disgusting. Luckily, both the Handsome Australian and I have quite adventurous and varied palates and there aren't too many foods that fit into that category, but vegemite was certainly there for me. This situation, however, required action and I had to put my own good taste aside.

I decided I would offer my daughter the opportunity of eating vegemite and margarine sandwiches so that she could decide for herself whether she liked it or not. I bought a new jar of vegemite because we'd had the same one in the cupboard for about 6 years (if she was going to try it I reasoned, she should be given a fresh batch). I made her first vegemite sandwich one day and she ate the whole thing. She loved it! There was no hard sell, no coaxing, she just ate it.

The next time we went to playgroup, I took along tiny little vegemite sandwiches for my child as well. We continued in this manner for months and months. Then one day one of the other Mums asked me what was in my child's sandwiches. I told her it was vegemite and she said, "Oh, she must like it a lot because the sandwiches look quite dark--like you've spread it on quite thick." I had. Wasn't I supposed to? I never taste tested her sandwiches because I couldn't stand the smell of the stuff much less the taste. Oh no, what had I done? Was I overdosing her on vegemite? Was I creating a vegemite loving monster?

That evening, the Handsome Australian set me straight. He gave me yet another tutorial, this time the topic was, "How to make a vegemite sandwich with appropriate amounts of vegemite." Apparently, less is more when it comes to vegemite. Most people like it spread in a very thin layer over their margarine. Who knew?

I can report that several years on, I now have a very happy little vegemite eater, who incidentally, likes it spread on quite thick. Yeah, don't know where she gets that...



Learn the Lingo
cupboard = cabinet or pantry

Mum = Mom

savoury biscuits = crackers

But Mum, I really wanted to watch the game...and other confessions.

"But Mum, I really wanted to watch the game." These are the words my beautiful four year old muttered in protest as she was being tucked snugly into her bed this evening. The game in question is Geelong vs. Port Adelaide being played in Adelaide as I write this. The Handsome Australian is still a die hard Geelong fan and he has made it his mission in life to ensure that any offspring he produces follow in his Geelong loving footsteps.

After the scandal I created by choosing to barrack for Carlton all those years ago, I think the Handsome Australian decided he needed to buckle down and make sure the rest of 'our family' went his way. I don't begrudge him this dream, I think every guy wants to pass the love of his favourite team on to his kids. In the Handsome Australian's case, this has been extremely important (particularly in the last year as Geelong has been cruising at the top of the ladder and actually walked away with the Premiership at the end of the 2007 season--but don't call him fair weather, he takes offense to that. Trust me.).

He began by teaching both of our children the battle cry, "GO THE CATS!!" This is what Geelong fans will shout out during a game in support of their team. The Australians have a funny way of adding a "THE" between the "GO" and "CATS". It used to sound extremely strange to me when I first arrived, but now it's just second nature. Our four year old has been able to shout these words at the top of her lungs for a couple of years now. Our nearly two year old made his "GO THE CATS" debut only a few months ago. I think it's safe to say that hearing the children chanting this phrase over and over at the dinner table makes the Handsome one's heart swell with pride.

Next he taught our daughter the Geelong Song--oh yes, there is a song! Did I forget to mention that each AFL team has their own goofy little song? Well, they do! When a particular team wins a game, their club's song is played over the PA at the stadium and all the supporters sing it. Once the players of the winning team are off the field and back in the locker room after the game, they form a circle and sing the club song at the top of their lungs. Don't laugh!! The fans take this very seriously and the networks actually televise this. It's a ritual.

As luck would have it, our daughter loves music and took to the song like a duck to water. Unfortunately, she couldn't always remember the words so I'd constantly hear, "Mum, can we sing the Geelong song again?" To which I'd have to oblige and sing the song for her--over and over and over again. I can sing the Geelong song backwards in my sleep hanging upside down from the monkey bars at the local park if I need to. Maybe that's a new party trick I should put on the resume...

With the team propaganda sorted and our children suitably brainwashed, the Handsome Australian began to explain some of the finer points of the game to them while he sat on the edge of his seat about three inches from the TV screen as Geelong played game after game. The four year old can recognise 'goals' as well as 'marks' while her younger brother is still clutching to basics like, "ball", "man", "running". Don't worry though, he's a clever kid and he'll get there.

About a month ago, the Handsome Australian decided that the four year old was ready to experience her first Geelong Game in the flesh. He picked an afternoon game at the 'MCG' (Melbourne Cricket Ground) on a dismal winter's day. It was about 11 degrees Celsius (that's about 51 degrees Fahrenheit) with patches of rain. I rugged her up in five different layers and sent a blanket along with her. She was beside herself with excitement at the prospect of attending her first footy match with her dear old Dad. The Handsome Australian was beaming too. They were quite the giddy little pair. The mother in me was concerned about the weather and my little one's exposure to the elements for several hours at what I might describe as a 'boring footy match', but I couldn't deny them this experience. So, off they went.

She LOVED it!!! She LOVED it!!! Upon returning home she informed me that 1) yes she was warm enough 2)no, Daddy did not buy her any hot chips (that's Aussie for french fries) but she did manage to wrangle a hot chocolate out of him 3) Geelong won the game and 4) her favourite part was when the mascots took the field at the beginning and when they got to sing the Geelong song at the end of the game. Then she proceeded to sing the song for the rest of the day...and the day after that, and the day after that.

She didn't want to go to bed tonight because she wanted to watch her beloved Geelong with her beloved Dad. She's four. Help! Imagine how passionate she's going to be when she gets older. Yikes. I wasn't expecting the Handsome Australian's brainwashing regime to be this effective. He's got skills I never even knew about.

Here's the thing though, all this Geelong stuff, it's starting to rub off on me. How can I look in the dewy eyes of my two little lambs and tell them that Mommy barracks for Carlton? They'll hate me forever. I think I'm quietly being converted to a Geelong supporter...did I just say that? Damn he's good! Whatever you do, don't mention this to the Handsome Australian. I'll NEVER live it down!

Learn the Lingo
barrack=root
mark=to quote Wikipedia, "A mark is a skill in Australian rules football where a player cleanly catches a kicked ball that has travelled more than 15 metres without anyone else touching it or the ball hitting the ground"
MCG= Melbourne Cricket Ground, affectionately referred to by most as "The G".
Mum=Mom
hot chips=french fries

Who do you barrack for?

Handsome Australian's Brother (HAB): "So have you decided who you barrack for?"

Me: Quickly flipping through the rolodex in my mind (or for those Gen Y readers out there, googling my mind) trying to figure out what he meant by 'barrack'. Coming up empty handed I had to ask what had easily become my most FAQ since my arrival in Australia, "Excuse me?"

HAB: "Your team. You've gotta have a team. Everyone has a team. Have you chosen a team?"

Me: It would be so nice if I actually knew what team he was talking about. It's quite obvious he thinks I know what he means. Look at his face...ahhh. I'm really not this slow, honest, I'm not. Team? Team? Team? Ok I give up, "Team?"

HAB: Disappointment on his face and a distinct hint of disbelief about my inability to understand anything he was talking about--like 'Is this girl for real? Where did my brother find her anyway?' "Yeah, you know, the footy. Have you chosen a team to barrack for in the footy?"

ME: Oh, the footy. Yes, the footy. Of course, the footy. The what? "I'm sorry, the footy?"

HAB: Slowly losing patience, "Yes, the footy. You know, Aussie Rules FOOTBALL."

ME: Light bulb moment, oh that footy. Of course, Aussie Rules. Yeah I totally knew what he was talking about. I just didn't know that I knew...okay I had no idea, and it was painfully obvious to both him and me. "Oh yeah Aussie Rules. That's like Rugby right?"

HAB: A smile creeping up on his face and then boisterous laughter, "No, no (in between laughs) it's not Rugby. Rugby is totally different. We don't follow the Rugby down here. In Vic (meaning the state of Victoria) we are Aussie Rules people. It's a completely different sport. Do you follow sport at all? I mean anything, basketball, grid iron, soccer anything?

ME: I was with him until the grid iron part...here we go again, "Yes, I do follow sports. Well I like basketball anyway and I root for the San Antonio Spurs. I'm a big David Robinson fan (trying to show I do know something about 'sport' as he calls it). I've even been to a few games. (Casually) What's grid iron anyway?"

HAB: Laughing to himself, slapping his knee and then putting on a straight face, "Um, can I give you a tip?"

ME: Oh my God, what have I done now? A tip? What kind of tip--don't ask so many silly questions about sport? Or even better, don't ask so many silly questions period..."Sure."

HAB: "Whatever you do, don't say 'root' when you talk about your support of a sports team here in Australia. It doesn't mean the same thing here that it does in America. It's kinda rude if you catch what I mean."

ME: Going red in the face. Oh this is so embarrassing. What have I said now? How can they call this English--there is nothing about it that's the same. Afraid to ask, but knowing I'm better off finding out now, "Rude? Do you mean offensive?"

HAB: Relishing this, "Yes, offensive."

ME: "What does it mean exactly?"

HAB: "Here, root means to f**k."

ME: Hands over my mouth, my face turning an even darker shade of red. So I just said the equivalent of 'I f**k the San Antonio Spurs.' Right. Is having a conversation in this country always going to suck this much? All I can muster, "I see."

HAB: "Here we say 'barrack' instead of 'root'. So when someone says, 'Who do you barrack for?' They are asking you which team you support. Which, if you remember now, was my original question to you."

ME: Yes, yes, yes, I do remember hearing that funny little 'barrack' word previously, but that was before I said I liked to f**k an entire basketball team. Surely he can forgive me for forgetting. "Yes, you did ask me that didn't you? Well, I think it'd be pretty obvious by now that I haven't chosen one, but judging by my previous statement, I'm guessing I'll be pretty popular when I do!"

HAB: Laughing really hard. "Bloody oath mate, bloody oath."

Learn the Lingo
barrack=root
root=f**k
footy=can refer to football of all varieties: Australian Rules, Rugby, Soccer, etc.
grid iron=American football
sport=sports
bloody oath=too true (in this case)

What's in a name? In Australia, not much...

When you first arrive in a new place, never mind a new country, you will begin to meet tons of new people you've never met before. Lucky for me when I first arrived in Australia I knew the Handsome Australian, but pretty much everyone else was a stranger to me. This of course meant lots of introductions.

First and most important were my introductions to the Handsome Australian's family. While the Handsome Australian was born and raised in Australia, his parents actually immigrated here from Lebanon some years prior to his birth. Yes, the plot thickens...So not only was I dealing with adapting to the Australian culture, but I had to take a crash course in the Lebanese culture as well. I would say the Handsome Australian's family were very assimilated in their adopted homeland by the time I met them, but there were many Lebanese traditions, values and beliefs that they still held very dear.

The Handsome Australian took me home to meet his parents and family on my second night in Australia. I think they were all intrigued to see what I'd be like--this American girl the Handsome Australian had met in Argentina of all places who'd come all this way to be with their son/brother. I wasn't sure what to expect myself. It's always a bit nerve racking meeting your new boyfriend's parents, but because of our situation, this particular meeting seemed more intense.

When we got to his house, his parents were both in the kitchen preparing dinner and his various brothers were in different rooms studying or watching TV. They were all very warm and welcoming to me. I felt at home in their house almost immediately. When the Handsome Australian introduced me to them he said, "So everyone this is Catherine*." And he went through and named his parents and all his siblings. They all greeted me with a kiss on the cheek which is an Australian way to greet friends and family and would have seemed completely odd to me had I not just spent a year in Buenos Aires where the custom was very much the same.

And then it began....His father said, "Cathy what will you have to drink?" and I was thinking, Poor guy, he didn't hear my name properly and he's calling me Cathy. Instead of correcting him, I just went with it and told him what I'd have to drink. Then one of his brothers said, "So Cathy how are you finding Australia?" Again, I'm thinking, Wow this family really must have a hearing problem--I know the Handsome Australian said my full name as Catherine but they all keep calling me Cathy--or maybe they just really feel like they know me. I proceeded to answer his question and still didn't correct him on my name. Didn't want to create too many waves on my first night. I was trying to make a good impression after all.

The night carried on and things went smoothly. We were all getting along quite well, but as the night wore on, my name kept changing. As they got to know me a bit better I wasn't Cathy any more it was, "Hey Cath would you like some more wine?" My name had metamorphosed through the evening and was getting shorter and shorter by the minute. It was bizarre.

A few days later I went to meet the Handsome Australian's mates (that's Aussie for friends--but you already knew that didn't you?) down at the local Cricket club. Now Cricket players in Australia aren't known for their intellectual abilities and quite a few of these guys were a bit rough and ready, but they were friendly just the same. Again we went through the introductions, "Guys I'd like you to meet Catherine." Then as they introduced themselves to me, it went something like this, "G'day Catie, how ya goin'? I'm Haydo good to meet ya." Um, did he just call me Catie??? And what kind of name is Haydo anyway? Everyone at the Cricket club had different versions of my name--to some I was Catie, some Cath, some Cathy, some Caz, but no one called me Catherine. No one.

I'd never really had a nick name before and I wasn't that keen on the shortened versions of my name either, but it wasn't something it seemed like I had any control over. The Australians love to shorten everything, particularly names. Turns out Haydo is short for Hayden.

Names don't get shortened willy nilly either, there aren't any hard and fast rules, but there are some guidelines that are loosely followed:

Names with an "r" somewhere in the middle will have the "r" substituted for a double "z" and an "a" added to the end. Confused? I know, it sounds bizarre, but it's not that hard once you get the hang of it. Let's take Sharon for example, "Sharon" (a perfectly respectful name) becomes "Shazza" (respectful name taking a walk on the wild side). Now people that know Sharon really well will even drop the end of "Shazza" and simply call her "Shaz". "Shaz" sounds like an unusual name if you're just meeting someone, but really it's just run of the mill "Sharon".

The same rings true for "Barry"--it becomes "Bazza" or "Baz". Harry becomes "Hazza" or "Haz", Lauren becomes "Lozza" or "Loz". Warren becomes "Wazza" or "Waz".

Other common names will be shortened or changed by adding an "o" to the end. For example, "Dave" becomes "Davo". "Steve" becomes "Stevo".

The "ie" ending is pretty popular as well, although it sees more use with every day words such as breakfast, which becomes "brekkie" or biscuit which becomes "bickie".

Call them casual, call them laid back, call them lazy, call them creative, call them colourful (that's Aussie for colorful), but whatever you do, just don't call an Aussie by their proper name. And be prepared, because once you set foot in the country, your name will never be the same again either!

Learn the Lingo
mates=friends
brekkie=breakfast
bickie (short for biscuit)=cookie
Shazza=Sharon
Hazza=Harry
Bazza=Barry
Lozza=Lauren
Wazza=Warren
Haydo=Hayden
Davo=Dave
Stevo=Steve
colourful=colorful


*Note: My name isn't really Catherine, Cathy, Cath, or Caz, but I'm used to having a different moniker now that I live in Oz.

Australia in my dreams, their nightmares...

What's the hardest thing you've ever had to do? In my case many people would say, "Moving to the other side of the world and leaving all your friends and family behind must have been pretty hard." I suppose there is some truth in that sentiment, but harder than that even is telling your friends and family that you are going to make said move.

I returned from my year in Buenos Aires just in time for Christmas in the USA. My family was so excited to see me. So thrilled to have me back. Home. Where I belonged. It was great to be back although leaving my new found friends and adventures in Buenos Aires had been a teary affair to say the least. It was such an intense year, such a big learning curve, it was hard to leave all that behind and return to the comfortable, but all too familiar surroundings of home. I suppose it all seemed a bit easier knowing in the back of my mind that this was simply a pit stop and I'd be off again soon. I had a new destination in mind and I was slowly working out how to make that next journey a reality.

I never really mentioned the Aussie mystery man to my family when I met him in Argentina. I kept the whole thing under wraps. Initially, I wasn't taking the whole thing seriously myself. I mean I was American, he was Australian, we were in Argentina--can anyone say "Holiday Romance"? The kind you remember fondly, but is exactly that--just a holiday romance. It doesn't last longer than the holiday itself and is just a bit of fun. I was having great fun with this Aussie guy, but we had different schedules, different reasons for being there and I don't think either of us were really looking for anything lasting to come from it.

Also, I didn't want to raise the alarm at home unnecessarily. One of the last comments my Dad made to me before I left for my adventure in Argentina was, "Now don't go falling in love with some Argentine guy and end up staying there forever." To which I'm sure I just rolled my eyes and said, "Please Dad! As if! Sometimes you say the most ridiculous things." (He probably wishes now that I did meet an Argentine guy--hey Buenos Aires is only an 8 hour flight from Miami. I'd be much closer to home than I am now.) Knowing that my meeting someone in my host country and staying there forever was a concern for my family, I thought it better not to mention the Aussie--I didn't want them to stress, especially when I wasn't sure myself what the 411 on the whole situation was.

Once it became clear that this thing with the Aussie was serious and that I was thinking of following him home to Australia, I only had a few weeks left in Argentina. At this point I decided I'd keep the news to myself until I returned home where I could explain it all in person. Not sure that was the best move ever, but that's the choice I made at the time.

To be fair, I think my family had some inkling that there was someone on the scene in Buenos Aires and I also think they may have known he was Australian...how else could they explain the mail I was receiving at my Texas address from the Australian Embassy in Washington, D.C. with my visa applications. Yes, there were certainly clues.

Nevertheless, telling my family that I was just in town for a few months while I sorted out my Australian visa and then headed off to Oz was not easy. I think they were happy for me to have found someone I was obviously so keen on, but I know there were reservations. I'd just been away for a year and here I was leaving again. And who was this Aussie guy? They didn't know him. They didn't know anything about him. I had photos...that really wasn't enough. How did I know this was a real relationship? Why was I chasing this guy across continents? What would I do when I got to Australia anyway? Does he even know you are coming? (Yes, my Dad actually asked me this). These were all valid questions and I'm not sure I had the best answers at the time, but it didn't seem like a big deal to me. I would go and see what happened..if it worked out, it worked out. If it didn't, it didn't. I remember having a pretty casual mindset about it all. I think I was more concerned about how I would feel if I didn't go. If I never gave it a chance. If I missed the opportunity. It would always be one of those, "What ifs" and I was certain I didn't want to have that resting on my conscience.

I listened to their questions. I did my best to address their many concerns, but I really couldn't understand what the big deal was. It was only Australia, and it wasn't forever. I just wanted to go and see how this whole relationship played itself out. Though there was much worry and concern on the part of my family, I can't think of a single one of them who told me not to go. I'm sure they would have preferred it if I stayed home, but no one came out and actually asked me to do so. I give them all a lot of credit for this. Especially now that I'm a mother myself...I don't know if I could be so big about it all. Did I mention my family is amazing? Well they are. They were willing to support this dream of mine even if was probably one of their biggest nightmares come true. This was truly one of those, "If you love them, set them free" kind of moments.

My friends on the other hand were pretty cool about it all. I think everyone recognised the new adventure that lay ahead of me. My girlfriends were fascinated by this Aussie mystery man and of course they would miss me, but what girl doesn't like an exotic love story? I think most of them were caught up in the emotion with me. If anything, most of my friends kept telling me how brave I was to take such a chance. I didn't see it that way at all. I would call myself a risk-averse person, so I guess throwing caution to the wind and heading over to Australia on a wing and a prayer doesn't really gel with my personality, but I guess I was blinded by love at the time because I had no fear and didn't see the potential pitfalls.