No Whinging Friday

No Whinging Friday

I picked up the kids from school yesterday on a brilliant, sunny autumn (I just learned they never say "fall" here) day. I was excited to hear what Fiona and Finley did in school. "Mom," said Finn, "I need a shirt in my bag. We went to the beach and I was too hot." Fiona said, "I'm starving. I don't like ham sandwiches, and you gave me a ham sandwich – again." And I thought, "Oh my God. You ingrates. We're living near the beach in one of the most beautiful places in the world, and you're complaining."

Of course they're complaining. They're kids. Shouldn't grown-ups know better, though? I've sat in on, and contributed to enough gripe sessions to know adults are often no better than the tykes. We just register our grievances differently. What if we all had one complaint-free day a week?

I told my kids I was starting, "No Whinging Friday." ("whinge" is the Briticism for "complaint," and commonly used in NZ). I even taught the kids hand motions, which really got them going. Of course, Finley had to make up his own version, because he's, well....Finley. The slogan didn't stop the kids from whinging yesterday, but I love the idea. Maybe if we practice the moves long enough, it'll stick.

WHINGING

FRIDAY

No Whinging Friday

Comments

Remove Before Flight

Remove Before Flight “The elevator’s trim, rudder’s trim, mixture’s rich, flaps are at ten degrees…” Pete, the PAHT-nah (partner), is talking through a pre-flight checklist as we wait to taxi from the Tauranga airport. In the nearly 12 months we’ve known each other, Pete’s talked about taking me flying. Now, with my departure from New Zealand less than ten days away, the weather, schedules, and aircraft maintenance have obliged so Pete can fulfill his promise. The sky is overcast, but the cloud ceiling will allow us to fly at 2,500 feet; it’s the weekend, so we’re not competing with flight school students for air time; and there’s a new-ish plane (called FCO, or Foxtrot Charlie Oscar) Pete has enough confidence in to haul what he calls “precious cargo,” which is me. Pete checks the Cessna 152 single-engine propeller aircraft as I watch. He walks the plane’s perimeter, inspecting flaps, wheels, the rudder… He gives me a couple wooden door-stopper-looking blocks (called chocks). “Remo...

The Affair

The Affair Ohope Beach, NZ I had an affair last week. I’m not ashamed to tell you, either. It was sweet and sad. It made me laugh, cry, sigh and dance in my chair to James Brown and Rupert Holmes. My Kiwi PAHT-nah, Pete, even facilitated the tryst, though neither of us knew what to expect beforehand. Pete watched the kids while I was gone for five nights. Five whole nights. No kids. No TV. No partner. I enjoyed a dalliance with my late husband, Sean (though I should write instead, ‘dead husband,’ because Sean hated being late). It happened in a wood-paneled house across the street from the ocean, in Ohope Beach, New Zealand. I attended a writer’s retreat to work on the memoir. I revised six sections totaling more than 40,000 words. In the course of revising- subtracting old text and adding entries from letters Sean had written me when we first started dating, plus journal entries he wrote around the time Fiona was born - I fell in love again. With Sea...

Jumping Off a Cliff

I jumped from a cliff in Oregon last Friday. Actually, I ran straight off. There was nothing unpleasant about that particular patch of grass high above Oceanside. But standing with my feet planted on the ground was preventing me from completing an item on my “bucket list:” flying. Strapped to a harness, an emergency parachute and my instructor pilot, Todd, I launched into my first paragliding experience (for an explanation of what paragliding is, click here): http://discoverparagliding.com/Pages/faq.html#WhatisPG It was glorious. I sat against the back of my chute and felt the wind against my face. I felt birdlike, calm, free. Todd steered over the tops of pine trees and the roofs of houses. I waved to a man on his deck below. I listened to waves crashing against Three Arches rocks and inhaled the salt air. Flinging yourself from terra firma isn’t easy. I could’ve knit a sweater between my knocking knees, I was shaking so much. But the desire to soar triumphed over attachment t...

Adventure Mom

Search This Blog