Food fight

Terrible picture but I think it captures the moment rather well...

You know sometimes you have moments when you want to violently throw your hands up, storm out and fucking shout loudly "NOT MY PROBLEM!"? But of course you can't because that problem is in fact your nine month old baby, who of course you love dearly, but who right now is driving you fucking insane? Yeah, well that's me. Three times a day at the moment. Breakfast, lunch and fucking dinner.

Fletch will sit in his high chair for all of about six seconds before the performance starts. Everything and anything that is put in front of him gets picked up, looked at and thrown aggressively onto the floor. I actually just went to open the balcony door mid-writing this, looked down and found two menacing blueberries perched on the floor. Exhibit f'ing A. Anything I attempt to put is his mouth gets blatantly refused. Scrambled eggs, porridge, pureed fruit, pieces of fruit, vegetables, fish, chicken, toast. Bloody everything. Except yoghurt. Yoghurt he will eat. The only thing he will eat.

He has perfected the pouty head turn. The tantrum head smack against the table. The slam of the spoon. And even a 9-month-old-version of talk-to-the-hand. Just so he's sure I get the picture....Don't worry sweetheart. I GET IT.

Next he decides he's had enough of the high chair and in fact he would like to sit on the table. Which of course I don't object to if it means getting another spoonful of food into his mouth. But as usual, sitting on the table entertains him for all of five fucking seconds before he's had enough of that too. I have toys, spoons, TV remotes and the like at his disposal as some pitiful attempt at distraction. But of course, they all end up on the fucking floor. Of course they do. He'll occasionally dive head first back into his high chair or head first for the floor. At which point he'll find an unsuspecting blueberry and decide that ok, I'll give it a crack now. No hang on, it'll be more fun if I slam it into the floor.

Usually he'll then go for whatever I've got. Today it was my water from my water glass. His water bottle clearly didn't cut it, because of course my fucking water tastes better. So again, I don't object. As long as it goes down and stays down. And it does for the first few sips and then he gets overexcited and takes too big a gulp which ends up in him choking on his water, going red in the face, watery eyes, followed by a giant sized vomit containing everything I've just painstakingly attempted to fucking get into him.

He looks up at me with vomit all over his clothes, snot coming out of his mouth and a massive grin on his face. And all is forgiven. Somehow the frustration of the past half an hour disappears and all I see is my beautiful boy. And me, covered in vomit. I breathe a sigh of relief that it's over.

Until lunch, when we do it all again....

Shoot me now.

ps. Soz about all the swearing. Frustration levels were clearly high post vom this morning...

Restart

A friend in London emailed me last night and said "what happened to Tales of a Tai Tai?". She hit a nerve. A good nerve, but a nerve nonetheless. I've been asking myself that same question a lot lately. What the hell did happen? How do you become so entrenched, so passionate, so committed to something for over 18 months and then one day just literally lose interest? I don't know how, but I know it did happen. I lost interest. In writing, in blogs, in a world of no real faces, no hugs, no smiles, no tears, no clinking of wine glasses over a belly laugh and a chunky slice of cheese. I got tired of the commitment and the pressure I was putting on myself to blog. I became protective of my privacy, of my family, of my son. I wanted out for while. So I did it. I got out.

Lately I've been feeling the urge to jump back in. To write again. To start spilling all again. And my friend's email gave me the push I didn't know I needed. I don't know if anyone will even read this anymore but does that really matter? Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn't. I don't know. What I do know is that I love this reminder of the precious moments with my baby, with my family. A way to remember how I felt, on good days, and on bad. How my story played out. I want to remember that.

And at the moment, that, looks a little something like this...

WHERE DID MY BABY GO?!?!?!

The Pok

Amongst all the madness and sadness going on for those dear friends I talked about yesterday, life is actually pretty good for us at the moment. Our move out of Midlevels to the 'burbs has been exactly what we needed, and has given us a level of happiness and satisfaction with the status quo that I haven't felt for a long time.

Fletch and I braved the searing heat this morning and headed off for a walk. The Pok was looking pretty spesh, so I took a few shots to show you my hood.

Opposite our place. Nice.

The local cemetery across the road and a very clean (ahem) footpath.

The school opposite our place.

That's my apartment block there on the left. Stick out much?

That's our apartment again there on the left.

More on the insides of the apartment tres soon.

Candy strings and trampolines

Image

I've been in Sydney the past two weeks. Fletch and I went back for a last minute visit, to feel not so far away from the shit that's been going on. It was good. Good to be there. To be close. But after a few days, I felt far away....again. Because shit started going down back in Hong Kong. Dear friends, who don't deserve any sort of shit, had to deal with things beyond my comprehension. Shit that hurt. Lies that hurt. Stuff that unexpectedly changed the course of their lives. Meanwhile, more shit was still happening in Sydney. Recovery, cancer. That young guy who died in Thredbo last week was an old friend of my brothers. Heartache, loss, rebuilding. Hurt and pain for so many. 

You know when you're little you think the world, life, is candy on strings around your wrists, finding a shell in the sand, somersaults on trampolines. Bad stuff only happened in the news in places far away with names you couldn't pronounce. It was forgotten about as quickly as it was heard. 

I want back to that. Because this 'grown up' business where people get hurt, feelings are shattered,  people are sick, and die... I'm not up for it. It's shit and what scares me is, this is life. 

Bring back the candy and trampolines.

Nothing special but special enough

One of the best things about living in Asia is the food. Particularly that of the fried or steamed Chinese variety. Preferably that served on a big round white-tableclothed table, and preferably with a fully functional Lazy Susan. There must be tea, there must be boxes on the menu to tick. There must be spring rolls, there must be pork buns. There must be a waiter filling up your pot of hot water every 4 seconds and there must be inappropriate pop music in the background. 

It's just the way it has to be.

I give you....Saturday's feast.



Needless to say, I could have eaten more. But when you're husband is 6' 4", cracks a century, and he says he's had enough? You regretfully pull your pig-arse appetite in and vehemently agree.

The rest of the weekend we spent hanging out with friends, perusing some kids shops, swimming, spending time as a family with our little man, cooking portuguese chilli chicken burgers on the BBQ and sipping pinot on the balcony.

Our weekends aren't overly special at the moment, but they're exactly what we need. 
We've got special coming up in the next few months, so for now what is, is good.

HK doggy style

I can only imagine what sort of traffic that heading is going bring to my blog. A friend of mine shot this video down at Stanley on the weekend, and it cracked me up. It's just so Hong Kong. And so ridiculous! I think they call this "taking the dog for a walk". God I love the Chinese.

What a difference a year can make

We're in the midst of summer here which means cracking days full of blue blue skies and hot hot sun. It gets to about 32 degrees each day and the humidity gets close to 100%. Summer here brings typhoon season. We've already had a T8 raised which never ceases to be a novelty for everyone.

It's summer. In all its Hong Kong glory.

Watching the typhoon on its way, from our balcony. 

This time last year I was 14 weeks pregnant. I spent most of my days sweating it up in Midlevels, exhausted, trudging up and down that godforsaken escalator with my hand carefully positioned over my mouth in case I needed to catch what seemed to constantly be making its way out. I still had scars from all the doors that were slammed in my face while I was hunting for that illustrious job and I was yet to discover what on earth the attraction was of living in Hong Kong. I was bored, sick, lonely. 

What a difference a year can make.

The air is cleaner and cooler out here at The Pok. There's always a comforting breeze to take the bite out of the sun and being able to look out of the windows at the water every day instantly brings a relaxing feeling of cool. I spend my days hanging out with my beautiful boy at home in the air-con, in the pool at our apartment or at the cricket club, visiting friends or doing bits and pieces around town. We swim, we laugh, we eat, we learn new things about each other. I can call myself a freelance writer. I now see Hong Kong as home and can see what a life over the next few years here might look like. I'm happy, healthy, complete.

What a difference a year can make.