Carpe Diem

There’s a saying out there that goes: “Seize the moment. Remember all those women on the 'Titanic' who waved off the dessert cart.”

Why do we ‘save our best china’ and put away those Christmas chocolates and scented candles for a special occasion that might not ever come?

I have resolved to make the ‘dessert cart’ theory my motto for 2016 but had already started living it, thanks to the influence of the tourists I have been hosting of late. They hail from all around the globe and each arrive with their own reason for travelling to this part of the world – whether it be work, a gap year, or to open their eyes to new experiences and become a better person. But what they all have in common is their get-up-and-go attitude. They are living. Of course the fact they have travelled to the other side of the world and are on a deadline plays a part but it’s contagious none the less.

As a result, and because they hang onto my every word, having asked for recommendations on local sight-seeing, I thought I’d better up my local knowledge by becoming a tourist in my own town.

One tends not to partake in the touristy things in their own neck of the woods – the Whangarei Falls? I cannot remember the last time I went there, Abbey Caves? Why, that was 1986 on a class trip! The Matapouri Mermaid Pools? I don’t even think I’ve been! In fact, it was my Belgium tourists this week who filled me in on their popularity. They couldn’t believe how busy our beaches were – a surprising statement considering the masses on European beaches – a combination of our good weather and influx in tourists who have flocked to experience their beauty this year, no doubt.

It takes a bit of work going to the beach with a young family – there’s all the thinking ahead and packing and then the unloading and washing at the other end, followed by the layer of sand underfoot all through the house until the next vacuum. But whenever I start to waver, I remember the dessert cart and an hour later, find myself frolicking in the ocean and playing cricket on the beach with my happy children.

And so it is that I am now armed with a whole lot more recommendations, other than my standard: “Drive out to the Whangarei Heads and you will have a multitude of beautiful beaches to choose from, then call in at the Parua Bay for a meal and a cold one on your way back.”

And so it also is that I will sign off now on a Carpe Diem note and head to the freezer for that Hokey Pokey Trumpet.

Christmas Spirit

It’s easy to get caught up in the pre-Christmas stress where everything becomes a chore: putting up the tree, buying presents for family and trying to fit in all those social occasions.

All year I look forward to this season and then, last week, I wondered why I was feeling so glum. When I scrutinized this feeling it came down to letting everything get on top of me and turning what should have been a fun time of year, into a martyrish occasion.

I decided to change my attitude and lap it all up.

Here is what I love about this season:

# Decorating the tree together while rocking the carols;

# Decking out the rest of the house in bling;

# Dusting off my favourite recipes for neighbours, teachers and friends – watching the kids delightedly skip back from the neighbours, having experienced the joy of giving and not just receiving;

# Watching the kids’ faces as they see their personalised messages from Santa – even my non-believer is still rather taken with this - (www.portablenorthpole.com);

# Attending Christmas in the Park – always a fantastic evening in Whangarei;

# Doing the lights trail on the way home;

# Making Christmas lanterns with the kids’ class;

# Hosting a pot-luck dinner with friends chez moi where we wear and serve only our finest – this is girls-only with Miss Seven waitress and chief photographer;

# Our annual girls night out on the town where you are likely to catch up with people you haven’t seen since the last one;

# Realising I have lots of Fly Buys points from my second home at New World to spend on fun stocking fillers to balance the practical stuff I have already put aside;

# Recycling the kids’ unwanted toys and giving to children who will appreciate them;

# The final, crazy supermarket shop where there is delicious food-galore and catching snippets of fellow shoppers conversations excitedly planning their menus for the big day;

# ‘Accidentally’ being a little heavy-handed with the top-shelf while making the egg-nogg;

# Watching the riveting season finale of Shortland Street as the fairy lights twinkle;

# The town a mass of rouge as the Pohutukawa trees bloom on cue;

# The communal generosity of giving as the Christmas spirit comes to the fore;

# Playing Santa;

# Lapping up the kids’ excitement Christmas morning;

# Drinking the egg nogg;

# Relaxing and unwinding in the company of all the family who have congregated and being thankful they are still with us.

Shattered Illusions

“Why does the queen get all the money?!” Miss Seven asked one day, studying the royal profile on a $2 coin. “It’s not fair, what about the King? He doesn’t get any.”

“Well I don’t think the King is as important as the queen,” I responded.

“But that’s not very nice. They should both be important.”

Ah yes, she was quite right but how does one explain monarchy?

I thought we’d left the whole “Why is the sky blue?” behind in the toddler years but, in actual fact, the questions just keep coming.

This will be Master nine’s first Christmas as a non-Santa believer and the twin’s last. 

When Master Nine put his theory to me halfway up Mt Manaia mid-year, I knew by the look in his eyes there was to be no bluffing this time. But he was told if he wanted to continue awakening to a filled stocking on Christmas morning, then he wasn’t to spoil it for the twins.

He’s kept his mouth shut.

However, Master Seven is starting to get suspicious.

“Mum, how can Santa fit down our chimney – he’s way too fat?!” he asked the other day.

Looking at our tapered chimney, I had to agree it was a ridiculous notion.

“He just climbs through our window,” chimed in Miss Seven.

There are safety latches on all our windows, rendering the gap as small as the chimney so I had to play along and point this out.

“Well then how does he get in?!” demanded Master Seven.

“Maybe I left the door open that night.”

A sharp intake of breath: “What?! But then the baddies will come in and rob us!”

Yes, it will be their last as believers and therefore the last year I can play the “Santa’s little elves are watching you” card when they are misbehaving.

“But where are they Mummy,” asks Miss Seven, looking all around. “And why do they have such funny ears and why would they just come into your house?!”

It will be bittersweet to finally come clean. Enough of the lies but the innocent joy that magical fantasy brings will be lost forever. I can feel the disappointment already. Only last week I had to shatter an illusion to my boys.

Every week while their sister is at Brownies, we do the loop together. The boys had scootered ahead and were enthusiastically carrying out a work-out on the gym equipment by the time I got there.

“When do we get our hot dog anyway?” I heard one of them asking as I approached.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“It says there, if you do enough exercise, you get a hot dog.”

I looked where they were pointing at the signs behind the gym equipment. It had a Health Guide stating that one hot dog equals approximately 40 minutes of moderate exercise. The word hot dog was illustrated with a tantalising picture of an American hot dog.

I had to break it to them that a hot dog doesn’t magically appear out of thin air if they do enough exercise. Their enthusiasm waned a little after that.