Adventure Mom

Finding Home 2 Moving In The Boyfriend, Pete, suggested shortly after I began my housing search that we move in together. "We could share expenses and I could help with the kids. We'd have more time with each other." He had me on that last point. After all, we don't know how long we'll remain in the same place. Both of us have a complicated set of financial circumstances tethering us to our home countries. One party will likely make an extreme sacrifice if we're to stay together. So The Boyfriend and I, while leaving all doors open for a joint future, are mindful of our imperative: Savor the here and now. If I could find a rental suitable for the four of us – Fiona, Finley, Pete and me, we'd live together. I looked at eight properties, which were either too grotty, too pricey, too small or got snapped up in a hurry by someone else. The Mount is a tight rental market. Take it now, or it's gone. I tour Property Number Nine on a Saturday morning. I f

Finding Home Part One – The Hunt I have just started "shacking up" with The Boyfriend, Pete. This might not be a huge deal, except for the fact I'm not the only one sharing space with my beloved. My first loves and numero uno priorities, Fiona and Finley, are, by necessity, shacking, too. This detour is a deviation from plan - a shifting of traffic cones and guard rails in life's construction zone. I started second-guessing our world tour schedule two weeks after the kids started primary school. "What if we stay in New Zealand a bit longer?" I thought. "What if the kids got to finish the school year here?" Be careful with "what ifs." What-plus-if can roll you down roads you failed to notice on your map. They're small, squiggly secondary streets marked in a thin black line. Roads only locals travel. During the time I was busy "what-iffing" rather than packing and boarding a plane back to Spokane, two major events colli

Not-So-Hot Yoga Get me Outta Here Beads of sweat emerge on my big toe. Sweat is not supposed to bead on your big toe, is it? It's so hot and muggy in here, I can't think. Left foot on right thigh? Right arm in front, or behind the left? Fingers laced, or not? This is most excruciating game of Twister I've never played. I'm sweating and moaning at the Mount Yoga Center. I'm here with my is-she-still-a-yes-I think-so friend, Louise. Louise is 27, blond and South African. She looks like a younger, smoother version of Cameron Diaz. She claims to be addicted to Bikram (hot) yoga and had asked me to join her several times. "It's amazing," Louise says. "You feel so good after, and it's good for you." I've heard of it, and read an account in O magazine that made Bikram sound interesting. It's been so long since I read the article I forgot the excruciating part. The morning before the class, I tell my flat mate, Amy, I'm going t

Birthday Week Before the World of Wearable Art Show, Wellington You've probably had a few birthdays that took you by surprise: Maybe you were somewhere you didn't expect to be, celebrating with people you never expected to meet, having conversations you never expected to have. Last year, I turned 40 in Paris. I walked to a tiny cafe called Le Comptoir (The Counter) in the 6 th arrondisement with my dad and his wife. I savoured salmon and the most perfect bowl of plump, pinky-red raspberries ( framboises , in French – a lovely word, n'est pas?). Raspberries at Le Comptoir, Paris This year, I turned 41 in New Zealand. I spent eight hours of my birthday in a Range Rover with The Boyfriend, peering at snow-capped mountains, green hills, gray mama sheep with their suckling lambs; and giant white wind turbines while driving narrow, winding roads from Wellington to Mount Maunganui.  We stumbled on dinner during a pit stop at the Rangitaiki Tavern (reknowed as a biker