Asian Traffic Rules [as Observed by a Cautious Western Driver]

I sit here channeling my inner Robin Williams as I wish you all a GOOOOOOD MOOOOORNING (from) VIETNAM!!! That's right, I have survived an entire month in Asia with my Swedish partners in crime Lina and Elin. And it's been a freakin' crazy ride. In slightly over a month, we've been to Indonesia (Bali, Lombok, Gili Air, and Gili Trawangan), Malaysia, Singapore, back to Malaysia again, and I'm now reporting (barely a)live from Hanoi. We've had a million and one adventures thus far--some that I can't talk about on a forum that my Dad can read until I'm safely home. Don't worry, when I get my book deal it'll be a tell all. Until then, everyone's just going to have to settle for the abridged, PG, sober, safe as a kitten version of what we've been up to.

Now, as you can imagine, going from (an ENTIRE FREAKING YEAR OF MY LIFE) in the easy-going Outback to Asia is quite the culture shock. Not a day has gone by where I haven't stopped at least once and said either to myself or aloud, "what the fuck??" Asia is scary, smelly, crazy, weird, hilarious, and there's generally a surprise around every corner. But the experience that I feel most compelled to share with the folks back home [and well, all other countries where I've befriended amazing people] is that of Asian traffic. My first experience with this fickle beast was in Thailand this June, where for the first several days I thought I was going to die everytime I stepped out even remotely near a road. And the hits just kept on coming throughout this last month. There is quite a bit of variation in how people drive in Asia, but the greatest common denominator is that it's friggin' crazy if you're from a Western nation and will make you shit your pants in the first several experiences with it. I'll try not to homogenize these vastly different countrie as I go along. So, here is, in my professional opinion as compiled throughout a month of keen field observation, a summary of Southeast Asian traffic rules**:

(**I'd like to take a serious moment to explain that I am in NO way trying to perpetuate or reinforce any negative stereotypes, and I certainly hope that I do not offend anyone with this post. This guy's just here to tell some funny stories and entertain the folks back home, so let's keep in light, people! Now buckle up (oh wait they don't believe in seatbelts here) and enjoy the ride!)

1) The first rule of Asian traffic is that there appear to be no rules. Seriously. Chaos is the name of the game. It might as well. be Aussie Rules Football on pavement out here.

2) The second rule of Asian traffic is, since there are no other rules, just beep your horn. In Indonesia, it appeared that whenever a driver was passing someone, driving on the wrong side of the road (a common occurance), driving on the sidewalk, etc., the best action to take is to just furiously honk your horn to let other drivers know that you're about to contribute to the chaos. Roadside entropy.

3) It's way more efficient to fit an entire family on 1 motorcycle. Common sightings in Indonesia and Thailand are squeezing 3+ members of a family on the same motorcycle (bonus points for fitting pets on there). Including small children and infants. My record sighting is 5. It's also quite enjoyable to see 3 grown men squished onto a moped or motorcycle, it's quite bromantic. In my head I'm always imagining that they're saying to one another, "dude, no homo[torcycle]."

4) Women should feel free to ride side-saddle on the back of a motorcycle at any point, especially when zig-zagging through traffic. Either physics just simply doesn't apply to these cobbled and pothole-filled streets, or they've got better balancing skills than a roided-out Olympic gymnast.

5) Got small children? That's cool. Just tie them either to you or your motorcycle, they'll probably make it there in one piece. Helmets will make your kids stupid, too, so it's best not to use one.

5.5) Helmets in general are stupid. Don't use one. Or any other protective gear.

6) One way streets? That sounds like an Evel Knieval stunt challenge! Seriously, I think you'd have to be some kind of evil genius to get a traffic ticket here, because in one day I've seen more motorcyclists acting like salmon driving upstream than I ever would have back home in my 24 years combined.

7) Don't worry about where pedestrians should safely walk; make sure that your motorcycle is safely parked on the sidewalk and blocking as many walking routes and exits as possible.

8) 4-way intersections must be treated as an intricate (barely) syncronized traffic ballet. I swear to god I ,don't know how there are not 7,239 head-on collisions per day in Vietnam. Yesterday I watched an intersection with my jaw dropping to the ground because drivers just seem to plow on straight through a fleet of other vehicles coming from left, right, and center. YET THERE ARE NO COLLISIONS! I certainly met my daily Asia WTF quota on that. My latest theory is that the traffic functions as a school of fish or flock of birds, in which each individual can sense pressure and electromagnetic changes in their personal forcefield, telling them which direction to maneuver in order to avoid colliding with one another. You come up with something better.

9) Pedestrians are just as well off crossing the street blindfolded. Seriously. The non-stop flow of Hanoi traffic is mind-boggling. There is never a damned gambit of space in which one can safely cross! The secret is this: you literally just walk across a road very slowly as if trying to sneak away from a herd of ornery rhinocerous, and traffic just moves around you. Doing this has caused me to find religion...as I now know what sort of faith the Israelites must have had in Moses and God when they walked through the parted Red Sea. HanOI VEY! My preferred method is to just leach onto a local. Know those intersections from Rule 8? I saw a Vietnamese woman with a massive cart of trinkits walk DIAGONALLY across one of them, completely unharmed. Champion.

10) The more that you carry on your motorcycle, the better. Especially if that means that your load of goods is 2-3 times the height of the vehicle. Again, don't stress, because physics clearly doesn't apply to these roads. In the last month I've seen massive boards of plywood, huge burlap sacks filled with junk and piled 3 high, poles, corrugated roofing, and roughly 300 balloons being carried on motorcycles.

11) Much like coloring outside the lines, driving is always much more exhilirating when it's done outside the roads. Slight traffic build up? No worries, just drive on the sidewalk, the pedestrians will move!

Now, while following these aforementioned items, it's important for any driver in SEA to know that you can and should always supplement any one of these rules by talking or texting on your cell phone.

Not exactly sure how I've survived to this point (or if I'll make it much longer!), but somehow I have, and it's been a blast! ...when I haven't been stranded in a Vietnamese intersection with motorcycles flying at me like frat boys on a freshman girl with double-Ds, that is. Stay tuned for more updates and survival stories! :)

International Lampoon's Australian Vacation!

They said it couldn't be done. Well, technically speaking, Dad said it couldn't be done. But I'm sure that the majority of his acquaintances would wholly agree. What exactly am I referring to, you ask? Sarah Palin making a likable and successful candidate for US President? Dad deeming McDonald's inedible? A panacea to global climate change, mayhaps? No. The correct answer is "visiting [you] in Australia." That's right, when I departed for Australia a mere 11 1/2 months ago--YES, it has been almost a year!--Dad vehemently assured me that there was no possible way that he was going to come all the way to the other side of the world to see me. Pshhh. Yeah okay, ol' man. Fast forward almost a year later and here he sits next to me, reading a book. Easy peasy!

Okay just kidding, it was never that simple. It took me nearly 8 months of begging, emotionally blackmailing, nagging, and whining to get him to finally cave. Sure, no one likes to admit that they're talented and well-versed in such behaviors, but as the youngest of 4, I've had years of training leading up to that moment. Flash back to 1993, when the newest Barbie came out into stores and was all the rage: I needed it. There was no way I'd be able to keep up with that goody-two shoes bitch Kaylee at day care with her overly-impressive Barbie collection without it. Ever quick on my feet (coincidentally donned in light-up Barbie sneakers...SWAG.) and aware of my apple-of-his-eye status, I would grasp his hand, gaze sweetly into his eyes, and ask, "Daddy, have I been a good girl?" Obviously the response was always "Why yes, sweetie, you have! Why do you ask?" To which I would reply with a long and detail-oriented diatribe about the new Barbie product, and the merits it had over the one which had previously been purchased for me (incidentally because I had been a good girl then, too). I'm not so audacious as to claim that at 4-years-old I was as articulate and persuasive as Gandhi or Churchill, but let's just say that I amassed an impressive Barbie collection over the years. But I digress. Let's just say that in the past year, the phone calls got more convincing, the pleading more desperate, and the date I was to be due back home just kept getting pushed back farther and farther. We were at a stalemate, and the man finally caved. I may have to invest in a limited edition Global Travel Barbie to commemorate this occasion.

I am pleased to announce that on August 15th, 2013, that Gordon David Hughes Jr. arrived safely in Melbourne...not by his own, mind you. He enlisted my brother Jared and his girlfriend Sarah to join along and get him here without a breakdown in customs. But still! He did it! And I got to see my brother and meet his leading lady out of the deal!

Before I delve into the nitty gritty details of our trip, I need to provide an appropriate analogical framework for which to describe our family adventures for the last 2 weeks. I can think of none other than the National Lampoon's Vacation movies...which are of course Hughes family favorites anyways. I'm talking the whole series: Vacation, Christmas Vacation, European Vacation, Vegas Vacation. If you're unfamiliar with these cinematic delights, 1) you need to enrich your life and watch them and 2) you may not understand the next several reverences...in which case, refer to point #1. If by chance you are a well-cultured American citizen, please feel free to nominate me for a Nobel Peace Prize for having survived these last 2 weeks. Now, let's cut to the [Chevy] chase and go over the highlights of this epic family vacation!

1) Dad's arrival. Probably one of the most amazing days of my life having not seen or hugged my father in over 11 months. I won't say who cried more in the currency exchange line--but to be fair, the woman at the counter watching us is a contender in that contest. A mixture of pure joy, relief, excitement, and exhaustion. "HALLELUJAH, HOLY SHIT. WHERE'S THE TYLENOL?!"


To be quite honest, I'm not sure which photo depicts the emotions of the moment best...

2) Next, we hopped over the the extremely desolate Alice Springs and did a tour of the very middle of Australia with the lovely Lina. Fun facts: Dad did a tour here with Mom when they came out 30 years ago! Dad climbed Uluru, and Mom tried but made it up 100 feet, looked down, and panicked. I'm proud to report that I made it!

...yeah ok, so maybe the falling wasn't as real as it was for one Clark W. Griswold, but my series of these photos created over the course of this vacation will make excellent gifts for Grandma! And although that may not have actually happened to us like in Christmas Vacation, there was a point where Dad thought that he had lost a significant amount of American and Australian cash from our hotel room (because as you can imagine, ATMs and bank cards are...challenging...):

It was a happy ending though, I assure you. BUT, back to more positive things. Being 67 and on a tour that included sleeping on the ground in the middle of the desert winter and 6 and 9km hikes through Watarraka, Uluru, and Kata Tjuta (the artists formerly known as King's Canyon, Ayers Rock, and the Olgas), saying that he did well was an understatement. Dad freakin' beasted it. The man was ahead of 80% of the tour group at all times, and completely smoked the other parents who were on the tour with their vagrant backpacking children. 

Yes, although Dad didn't whiz down the Olgas on a metal saucer sled greased with cooking spray, he whizzed up all the hills like a champion. Heartattack Hill at the beginning of the King's Canyon hike? Please excuse us, 20-year-old European smokers, while we make like Rocky and sprint to the summit. Maybe it was the fact that we were rewarded with cookies at the tops of many peaks, I don't know.  Whatever it is, I pity the fool who steals his baked goods or hallmark ornaments and tries to get away with it.

Oh, and in lieu of making a summary of our trip to the Red Center, I'll inform you that no trip with my father is complete without him compulsively making inappropriate jokes:

"Hey Ash, this must be what the aboriginals called "Clitoris Rock!"

3) After this lovely adventure, we jetted off to Sydney to stay with the wonderful O'hares (aka my Aussie parents). And of course, we couldn't go without visiting some national icons...

Fortunately the dynamic Hughes duo created no international incidents (that have been reported). AND I'm happy to announce that it was here in Sydney that I showed Dad how to use an ATM...because he's literally never used one before...ever...

4) Our last stop, and from where I'm reporting live, was Cairns--a delightful tropical location and one of the many spots to visit the Great Barrier Reef. Despite his many fears of getting swept off to sea and eaten by a shark, Dad was somehow miraculously convinced to get in the water and we had an amazing time!

...thank god he left his Speedo in Gilbertsville, though...

Sadly, today is Dad's last day in Australia, and the last time I'll see him before I come home (whenever that is). Unless of course, he decides to visit me on my trip to Asia. Daddy, if you're reading this, have I been a good girl...? Just kidding. I've had to deal with enough of your stressed out questions and anxieties in the last 2 weeks, and that's in a 1st world country that you already visited 30 years ago. You'll be happy to know that 3rd world travel with you is out of the question, sir!

But really, in all seriousness. I think that Dad deserves a round of applause (and the promise that I'll only put him in comfortable brand name adult diapers in years to come) for putting himself so far outside his comfort zone to make this trip possible. Pops, I know that this trip has given you a lot to stress about in the last couple of months, but believe me when I tell you that it means the [other side of the] world to me. I didn't realize how much I had missed you until I got to that currency exchange line in Melbourne, and can't tell you how much it's meant to me getting to share these last 2 weeks with you. It's given me some of the fondest memories of my trip thus far, and I'm so glad that I've got such an amazing Dad. I love you I love you I love you.

I'd like to make a big special thanks to everyone who helped make this trip possible. In particular, every member of G-ville and the tri-county are who replied, "um, duh, yes you should!" to Dad's musing of "Ash wants me to go to Australia, but I don't know..." Who said that peer pressure wasn't a positive thing?! Now I'll just ask one more favor of helping to keep him calm while I venture into Indonesia in Southeast Asia in the coming months. Wish me luck :)

Fifty Shades of Miscommunication

Once again, I find myself profusely apologizing for failing to keep the world updated on my shenanigans in the last couple of months. Lots of things have happened since then, including a vacation (from vacation) to Thailand and an eventful month-long road trip down the entire east coast of Australia with my friends Kat and Eloise. To answer some FAQs that I’m sure this brief update has evoked:

--“Ashley, how was Thailand?”: Awesome.*

--“Ashley, how was your road trip?” Epic. **

*Don’t inquire about ping pong shows.

**Especially don’t inquire about the rental van that I drove into a pole with. Or the $2500 security deposit. Too soon.

Alright, as I’m sure that these terse and smart-assed descriptions are a tease, I promise that I’ll make a solid effort to let the world know what kind of trouble I was able to get into in 2 different continents last month.

Now, back to the topic at hand: because this particular day of the week ended in a “Y”, something ridiculous and humorous happened in my life…yet again. To help lay out the roadwork for this, I’ll present you humbly with 2 facts:

1)   Melbourne has 2 airports.

2)   Swedes don’t know this. Or, at least one Swede in particular.

Cue Lina Haglund. Some of you may remember this name, which has cropped up many a time in my saga this past year. For those who don’t know, we bought a car together, were homeless at Ikea together no thanks to that scoundrel car we bought together, worked at a nudist resort together (SHOUT OUT TO JOHANNA!). We go way back. After parting ways for 5 months to seek gainful employment, we’re getting the band back together and reuniting for the duration of my travels in Australia and our Indonesia/Southeast Asia adventure that will kick off in a month’s time.

SO, I’ve been in Melbourne for a while, and I’m back at one of my old stomping grounds an hour north of the city, where I’m going to be wwoofing for the lovely Kate and Emmy MacRae again until my globe-trotting family arrives next week! Lina has been planning to join me in this endeavour, and when she arrived on Thursday night I drove from Kate and Emmy’s to pick her up from the airport. When she and I had been talking about her flight details (what time she got in, which airline she was flying with, etc), I was clearly following the code of Aviation Fight Club:

Rule #1: You do not talk about the 2 different Melbourne airports.

Rule #2: You DO NOT talk about the 2 different Melbourne airports.

            Well, check (g’day) mate. After finding my way to the airport without any use of technology whatsoever (ok so I used Google Maps and then made a rough sketch in lieu of having a printer, sue me), I make my way towards the 1-minute pick up area at the perfect time. Since the arrival area is pretty busy, I decide it would just be the best and most efficient use of my allotted 60 seconds to call her and tell her exactly where I am. The following conversation ensued:

            Lina: Hey! I’m here, I’m outside waiting in the pick up area.

            Me: Awesome, I’m here too! Where abouts are you, I’m in the 1-minute pick up lane, directly outside of Terminal 2.

            Lina: Huh?

            Me: …I’m just in the pick up area. Where are you now, can you see a terminal number?

            Lina: The sign says I’m at gate 6.

            Me: …can you see the Park Royal Hotel, which the waiting area is in front of…?

            Lina: Oh shit.

            Me: Lina, what airport did you fly into?

            Lina: Avalon…is…is there more than one airport in Melbourne?

            Me: Lina, I’m at Tullamarine. And yes.

            Yes, she had in fact flown into the airport that was a good hour drive away, not to mention through the Melbourne city traffic of which I have a crippling fear. Lots of English and Swedish swear words were uttered in the five minutes after this conversation.

            But fear not! Being the quick-thinking and strategic genius that I am (shhhhh, just give me my moment in the sun), we devise a plan: Lina hopped on a shuttle to the Melbourne train station—the last one that evening, I might add, which departed one minute from when we hung up—then hops on another shuttle to Tullamarine…because she narrowly missed the last train leaving for Kyneton, where we’re staying. Shit happens. So, hakuna matata, it’s not a big problem. I just have to wait for a little over an hour for her to get into Tullamarine where I can pick her up and chauffeur her home.

            How did I pass this hour?, you may ask yourself. Well, despite my background in the last year—a lethal combination of homelessness and nudity…(that doesn’t sound prostitutey, does it?)—I dare say that I may have exceeded my own personal definition of shame. And THIS is coming from the girl who lived by the “NO SHAME NO DIGNITY” credo, mind you. I spent my time waiting for Lina Haglund to arrive at the correct airport in a small off-the-freeway airport viewing area, parked in a Subaru, surrounded by other parked cars (of which I suspect drug deals and fornication), airplanes taking off just barely over my head, and—here comes the kicker…reading Fifty Shades of Grey with an obscenely large flashlight. Like, a floodlight. ‘Cause that’s all I was able to do to entertain myself. And please don’t allow me to forget to remind you how severely all the windows of the car fogged up in the duration of that hour on this particular Melbourne winter night.

            So there it is, my new lowest of low. Sitting by myself, in a steamed up car, in what may as well be Melbourne’s ‘make-out point,’ reading an infamous and remarkably dirty novel with a flashlight the size of a dinner plate. I high-five myself only for being able to get out of that situation without having been discovered by a curious police officer knocking on my window. That would have been a riotous call into dispatch. Every time I reached another dirty sex scene in the book—which is on average every 5 pages—I would blush, giggle like a middle school boy, and then anxiously look around to make sure that no one could spot me in the blinding glow of my extra-large flashlight reading Fifty freakin’ Shades of Grey. I’m not sure whether or not to pursue a career as a lonely, perverted spinster or just keep it PG and be a crazy cat lady. Either way…this event was an excellent Square One to either of those options.

            Well, there you have it. Although there is not a police report with my name on it and a description of those events much like I have provided, I thought that this little gem of a story couldn’t be held captive by my journal. Whenever you’re feeling a little down in the dumps and like your life is just not going the way you want, just remember, you could always be alone in a semi-public area, furtively and awkwardly reading Fifty Shades of Grey.

The End.

Oh, and I guess it’s important or something to mention that I was able to safely collect Lina. Who is now sitting to my left reading Fifty Shades of Grey. Because I finished it in 2 days. There is incidentally a cat sitting between the two of us. Looks like I may have a partner in crime as a future crazy cat lady.

Bill Cosby Was Right.

You wouldn't know it based on my dirty, grungy, hot-weather backpacking wardrobe, but back in the good ol' U S of A, I've amassed a remarkable collection of Cosby-esque sweaters from the Salvation Army over the years. What can I say, I'm stylish. They're brightly colored, have seizure-inducing patterns, and are, well, absolutely wonderful to be quite honest. Let me just say that sweaters are one of 2 things that Bill Cosby has definitely gotten right during his time in my humble opinion (of course, I know the man's a genius, but for simplicity sake let's keep it to 2 for now). The other? That Kids Say The Darndest Things. Anyone remember that delightful show in which Cosby interviewed young children with mundane questions and got ridiculous answers? Reality TV at its finest! ...but I digress. In my roughly 2.5 months of being a nanny to Maya (11) and Oliver (4), I have heard some absolutely GOLD things come from their mouths. Although I'm unfortunately unable to write down everything that's said on a day to day basis, there have been a few doosies that I have been able to save for posterity. And if the show were still on air, I think that these kids could definitely be nominated as contestants. Behold:

Ollie: I don't want to go on that playground. There are a lot of big kids there.
Me: Oh look, they're going back to class now, it's ok!
Kye [2nd grader whom Ollie idolizes]: Hey Ollie! How are you? You're pretty cool, aren't ya?!
Ollie: [excited] Hi Kye!!! [serious tone] You'd better get back to class now.

Ollie [interrupting a separate conversation Maya and I were having over which movies the song "Hallelujiah" were in]: What road are we on?
Me: ...the song is also in Shrek.
Ollie: Oh. We're on the Shrek road?

Maya [to me]: I got this Canada jumper at The Bay, which is like the Target of Canada.
Ollie: What Bay?
Maya: At The Bay, Ollie.
Ollie: Oh, you mean eBay?

Ollie: Hey look, it's the Ginger Turtles!
Me: ...you mean the Ninja Turtles? Yeah that's right!
Ollie: No, I think it's the Turtle Ninjas, Ash-uh-ley*.
*I've come to the conclusion that it must be a natural law such that any individual under the age of 6 adds an extra syllable to my name.

Ever the inquisitive child, over the course of several weeks Oliver became interested in which words are "bad words":
Is door a bad word?
Is darn a bad word?
Is Oliver a bad word?
Is my Dad a bad word?
Is fricket a bad word?
Is *insert random gibberish that I cannot fathom the spelling of here* a bad word?
Is pirate ship a bad word?
Is Hulk a bad word?
Is Hulk Smash a bad word?
Is fuck a bad word? *facepalm*

Maya**: Wait, what's an apocalypse again? I always thought it was a fruit...
(**top of her class, ladies and gentlemen :-p )

Faith (Oliver's BFF/GF): Ash-uh-ley, what does this shirt say? [points at a Guess-brand t-shirt]
Me: It says "Guess"
Faith: I don't know, I can't read that's why I asked!

Ollie: Ash-uh-ley, do you know what's Hulk's last name?
Me: Um, I'm not quite sure... maybe something like Smith or Jones?
Ollie: No, Hulk's last name is 'Smash'!

"It's so weird how the show Dance Moms only focuses on the cat fights between the moms, shouldn't they be spending more time on the stuff that happens to the dancers?" -Maya. But if anyone asks, NO we definitely don't ever watch that trash (cough *guilty pleasure* cough).

On April 14th, Winnie the Pooh was referred to by Oliver as "Pinnie Pooh" and "that pooey guy" in the same conversation. My inner 2nd grader was in physical pain.

"Text the mullet picture to my Mom, ok?" STRAYA.

"Awwww, cutie!!" -watching a video on a crocodile at the aquarium. 15 seconds later footage was shown of it savagely tearing apart a flamingo. Oliver seemed unfazed.

Ollie and I play a lot of Disney World on the xBox. He is also a relatively picky eater, but is luckily obsessed with basketball and the dream of someday being as tall as his 15-year-old idol, Harry (6'6"). He eats the most food when we tell him it will make him grow big and strong like Harry (or Hulk or Todd Blanchfield):
"What if my arms grow so big that I punch the TV when I play Disney World?"

"This lizard can see my boobies."

Now, having mentioned these little gems that have been said to me, it's not just the 4-year-old that is saying inane things. Claudia recently sent me this link: http://www.babble.com/kid/things-ive-said-to-my-children/ where a father makes posters out of all the ridiculous things he's said to his children. After perusing it, I've realized...I myself have said some stuff in the last few months that if taken out of context or heard by an eavesdropper in passing, I'd probably be considered bat shit crazy. If I'm not already, that is.


Ollie [while we did a color-by-number]: Hey there aren't many number fours on here...look it's only a little tiny four for me to color!
Me: Well that is a tiny four! One could even say it's a...petite four.
(my daily witticisms are lost upon this child. I'm freakin' funny though.)


Ollie: Is Harry bigger than Hulk?
Mike: No.
Ollie: Is Iron Man bigger than Hulk?
Mike: No.
Ollie: Are you bigger than Hulk? Is Mommy bigger than Hulk? Is Poppa bigger than Hulk? [line of questioning continues ad nauseum through everyone he can name]
Mike: Oliver, no one is bigger than Hulk, Hulk is an apex predator!
(using ecology terms in the context of Marvel characters at the dinner table FOR THE WIN)


On the lovely Thursday afternoon of May 23rd, Oliver and I had a lengthy and in-depth discussion over lunch of which members of the Avengers would be present in Thailand while I visited there. Conclusion: Iron Man, Thor, and Hulk.

Maya and I became addicted to Biggest Loser: Australia. Oliver enjoyed watching it, but believes that it's called "Big Fat Losers." The season ended a few weeks back, and today we passed a billboard advertising a gym, with a large man in boxer shorts staring intently at the scale he stood on:
Ollie: That belly is funny. Is Big Fat Losers on tonight?
Me: Nah, buddy, the season ended a while ago, there won't be another on for a lot more sleeps.
Ollie: Why? What happens to the fat losers when the show is over?
Me: Well, it's over because they're not fat losers any more, they're skinny winners.
Ollie: So how will there be another show?
Me: They have to go out and find more fat losers.
...Thank god this St. Maurice-Brassard company isn't corporate, or I'd probably be facing a few sensitivity training seminars.

Now, if those little snippets aren't the "darndest things" that Cosby's always talking about, then I just don't know what is! It's hard to believe that my 3 months with these awesome and huh-larious kids is over. But you know what they say, time flies when you're constantly asking questions about the relative size of Hulk! I couldn't be happier with how wonderful both Maya and Oliver are, and as you can probably tell, they kept me constantly entertained. I truly am one of the luckiest nannies ever to have ended up with them! :)

...Now, on to the next chapter in my travels. Stay tuned for stories about my trip to Thailand that I leave for tomorrow!

My Very Reflective Mother's Day

            Following my mother’s footsteps to Australia has been one of the best things I’ve ever done for myself. Although sadly I can’t share with her any of my adventures, I’ve learned so much more about her and the person that she was at my age from my travels—and it’s been one of the most incredible and awe-inspiring experiences. Not only that, but it’s helped me cope with her loss in such different ways than I ever would have back home. A very wise Katrina Fahey told me several months ago (quoted from her very wise brother) that grief is not linear, but circular, and will always affect us in different ways and at different times. In this week leading up to mother’s day, I’ve found this to be more true than ever.

            It’s not just the general sadness of missing out on sending a homemade card and a phone call to say “I love you, thanks for letting me warp your body 23 years ago so I could exist!” like I used to in the past (in my defense, my cheeky attitude came from her side of the family). Well, ok I definitely miss that too. However, I’ve found that in the last 2 months of being a nanny for a couple of super awesome kids has made me miss her more than I probably ever have in the last two and a half years. Why? Because 1) I’ve learned just as much about her as I have myself this past year, and how much more like her I am than I’ve ever known and 2) it’s made me realize just what an amazing mother she truly was. Of course, I’d always known that—especially after I got over my bitchy early teenager phase and she did my FAFSA forms every year for college (if that’s not the definition of motherly love, then I don’t know what is…). But getting to help care for Maya and Ollie has brought back so many long-forgotten memories of things that my Mom and Dad used to do with me when I was a kid. Things like playing roughly 248 games of tic-tac-toe with Ollie in one day make me remember all the patience, love, dedication, and sacrifice that Mom and Dad put into their parenting every single day for 23 years with me.  Fortunately I’ve still been able to tell my Dad how much more I’ve come to appreciate his parenting style and general amazingness (again, thanks for putting up with the teenage years, being such a pushover when it came to playing/swimming/buying new Barbies/etc., taking me to that baseball game to get me out of the house/escape Mom’s disappointed wrath the day I got suspended in 11^th grade, and patiently playing “just oooooone more game of Candy Land!” even though it was during Monday Night Football). That I am so grateful for. I’m just a bit blue that I don’t get to do the same in return for my Mom.

            In hindsight, holy shit she was probably the best Mom a girl could have ever asked for. I’d like to think that I didn’t take her for granted, but c’mon. I think we all do as kids and teens, even if it is just a little bit. I am glad that now I have come to be truly appreciative of everything she has done and been as a mother, even if I can’t tell her face to face (or long-distance expensive international phone call to long-distance expensive international phone call like with Dad). For one, still loving me even though I fully charged through that small-framed woman’s birth canal on that fateful day of August 2^nd, 1989 is enough for a lifetime of ‘thank you!!!’s. But given the 21 years I got to have her as a Mom and the 21 years of unconditional love that she showed me since Day 1 has got me thinking: what would I say to her if she were still here? How does one thank her for the ~7,400 days of being the perfect parent? What do I miss the most about her?

            Well, for starters, I would first of all apologize for every flippant and sassy retort that I ever threw at her. It was the teenage hormones and influence of MTV, I swear…but thanks for not killing me for it nonetheless. After that, I think a lot of the things I want to commend my mom for are the small things. The countless clever arts-and-crafts things we did were just so cool…and I’m glad that you passed that creative bone onto me, because I still enjoy making flower petal handprints, and now I get to do stuff like that with Ollie and MayaJ I miss getting to be your little spoon when watching Disney movies…Sleeping Beauty just isn’t the same anymore. I wish I could tell you that now I even like coffee, and I like it the exact same way that you used to—but haven’t gotten to the point where I have to microwave it 3 times because I keep forgetting about it. I miss your sing-songy voice saying “rise and shine, morning glory!” when I stubbornly wouldn’t get out of bed each school day. I wish we could have a candid and hilarious conversation about how you without a doubt always knew the difference between when I was genuinely tired from college and when I was hungover, but you never said anything to give it away (seriously thought I fooled you…). I wish we could laugh at Dad when he gets frustrated about you working in your garden until 10pm even though you were unwell…especially because I now find weeding just as therapeutic and enjoyable as you did. Although I was always a Daddy’s girl growing up, I am definitely more like you than either of us would have ever predicted. I miss you slamming on the invisible break pedal and digging your nails into the passenger seat when I drove. I miss all your ridiculous and overly descriptive post-it notes around the house (I think using 5 to indicate that there was bleach in the sink was a bit of overkill; Dad and I are oblivious sometimes, but 2 max would have been sufficient). I would tell you that Dad and I have commandeered your perfect laundry system, and that our scientific endeavors have led us to conclude that separating whites and colors is bullshit, and as a united front we stand by the principal that our body heat will iron out our clothing. I would tell you that you made the best fettuccini alfredo. I would thank you for playing rugby (you are the original badass in this lineage) and therefore making me want to, because that was the best decision I could’ve made when I got to college. Thank you for always letting me eat that one big chunk of cheese that wouldn’t go through the grater when we had taco night. Thanks for calmly putting my ponytail back up when it fell out and I panicked that morning that you dropped me off at daycare. Thanks for drawing chicken pox on my doll with red marker when I had them, I felt like less of a leper when Nina went through it too! Like you, Dolly Parton’s “The Grass is Blue” album is still one of my favorites. Thank you a thousand times for demanding that I go study abroad in Australia despite my fears of your declining health…that fiery encouragement has forever changed my life. I would tell you that [knock on wood] I think I’ve dodged that hereditary migraine bullet; with any luck, my future 4-year-old will never stick a maxipad to my neck mistaking it for an icepack. Thank you for always being behind the camera when Dad and I did seemingly mundane things…I know that those photographs of us asleep on the floor in the living room and painting the front porch like we do every year are absolute treasures (sigh, you were right). I tried reading the Hobbit, and I couldn’t do it…sorry! Even though Dad always swore we were never getting cats again, you letting that stray one in against his wishes was the best idea ever. He and Punkin are now BFFs. And while we’re on the subject, Punkin wouldn’t have been my first choice of names had I been included in the process; she’s more of a Captain Americat or Lady Lovehandles.

            That list could go on and on with all of the little things that I’ve remembered so fondly about Mom and her terrific parenting. But what I think I would have told her most is that it was all of the little things that she did as a parent that added up and made her so special and perfect. Everything she did was always done out of love, and for that I cannot thank her enough and tell her how much respect and gratitude I have. She was amazing, and I’m so sorry to say it but no one else’s mom holds a candle to mine. Even though this week leading up to mother’s day has made me miss her heaps more and admittedly made it a very tough week, I’m trying not to dwell on the negative things about it. Instead, I’m hoping that all of Sunday I can just keep focused on all of the wonderful things that my mother has given me, and hoping that somewhere, somehow she receives the message that I love her, miss her, and respect and appreciate her now more than ever.

            Lastly, of course mother’s day is not just about the thanking and recognizing the woman who gave you half her DNA. I want to take this opportunity to thank all of the women in my life who have served as amazing, caring role models and have had a hand in raising me; especially those who have vowed to be there for me (and have) after my mother passed away. Thank you grandma. Thank you Aunt Robin. Thank you Tammy. Thank you Aunt Sandy. Thank you Aunt Diane. Thank you Aunt Debbie. Thank you Aunt Jan. Thank you Aunt Becky. Thank you Groggy. Thank you Aussie momma Sue. Thank you Myra. Thank you Karolyn. Thank you Mrs. Theis, Mrs. Lackos, Marna, Mrs. Wing, Mrs. Antczak, and Mrs. Butterworth. Thank you Barb Calamia. Thank you Mrs. Johnson. Thank you Barb Prostak. To anyone that I have missed, I apologize, just know that I am appreciative! And even though at this age we all cringe about the idea of a family and babies, thanks to all of my amazing friends—female and male—who have been a comforting and loving presence in my life, particularly in these last few difficult years. And last but certainly not least, even though Father’s Day isn’t until June, there would be no Mother's Day without a Father who liked it enough to put a ring on it. So thanks Dad for everything. Everything, everything, everything, and then some.

"O Pear"? "Oh Pare"? "Au Pair"? Forget it: I'm a Nanny.

Hello, people who follow my life on the internet. How ya been? Long time no updates, I know, many apologies! I'm sure that during that bloggatory hiatus several questions have come to your mind about my current circumstances (because I know I'm always on your mind):

1) Where am I? Townsville.
2) What am I doing? Au pairing.
3) Have I had any run ins with deadly Aussie fauna lately? Always.
4) Been dumb enough to invest in another $750 car again? Fuck no.
5) When the hell are you coming back home? Eh...

Good? Good.

Ahhhhh kidding of course! Allow me to elaborate in an itemized fashion:

1) I am currently living Townsville, Queensland (not to be confused with the Townsville of the PowerPuff Girls). Sadly I am no longer traveling with the loveliest Swedes that Australia has to offer...we had to separate due to creative differences. Well, ok it was more along the lines of needing jobs to replenish our bank accounts after we got swindled by our car, Johnny (still hate you).

2) "A job, you say? You, Ashley, are employable?? Even after all of your ridiculous and shameless exploits all over Australia?" Yes, yes I am employable and yes I do have a job! I am currently au pairing...but for those of you who opted to take Spanish in high school in lieu of French, that's just a fancy-ass way of saying I'm a nanny. Now that I've answered Question 2, I'm sure you've since come up with Question 2a: "WHO THE HELL WOULD LET YOU CARE FOR THEIR CHILDREN?!"

            2a) Canadians. I am now an American in Australia working for Canadians (Nationalityception!) I’m currently living with and working for the St. Maurice-Brassard family. They are an awesome bunch, a hardcore basketball family—Claudia went to the 2000 Olympics and played professionally for the Townsville Fire—always have Heinz ketchup in the house (only Americans in Australia will understand my tomato sauce plight), and the kids are pretty much the best and easiest kids to have possibly ended up with. Cast of characters:

-Maya: 11, my own personal hair stylist (seriously a prodigy and could have her own salon right now), super intelligent, has better fashion sense in one finger than I have in my whole body, patiently teaching me the art of basketball, Candy Crush wizard, is a TOTAL cheater at Skip-Bo (the Lance Armstrong of cards), probably going to be taller than me when I leave.

-Oliver: 4, iPad guru, thinks the reality show “Biggest Loser” is called “Big Fat Losers,” educating me on all Marvel superheros, asks ~691 questions per day, can make his arms grow several inches in one sitting after eating shepherd's pie, enjoys comparing peoples size and ages, can be talked into doing damn near anything as long as it’s a race.

I spend more time with Ollie than Maya since she’s in school every day,  so my day in a nutshell is this:

                   

                      Cruising around and servicing our "car"

Browsing the chair section of Bunnings Warehouse for an hour (the boy knows that time is money)

Solving the timeless debate of who's better: pirates or jedis?

Gourmet Playdoh feasts

                   

Sight-seeing: nailed it!

And of course, a date with a cute chick every now and again (his BFF Faith)!

Am I liking the new gig? Duh. I literally get to be a kid again every single day (with a certain level of responsibility, I guess...). Let's just say that I've rediscovered my love for Tom and Jerry, Crayola products, sword fighting, swimming races, and Disney movies (wait that never left). Oh and just when I think it can't get anymore awesome things like this happen:

Cooling off after netball. I'm going to be assassinated for posting this.

STRAYA!

3) Deadly animals? Well, since I'm in suburbia now the chances aren't so great of being killed every step I take, but hey. This is Australia. Damn near everything can kill or maim you! For example, the frangipani tree. Lovely flowers that everyone picks and wears in their hair, but BOOM! The sap that comes out of the leaves can blind you. Ugh, only Australia... Of course, there are lots of invisible and make-believe deadly creatures/monsters that I face on the daily:

...cause when you draw coral reefs, sharks come and attack you!

4) New car? Seriously, definitely still no. There is no need for an elaboration on that one.

5) America. Hmmm. Yeah I miss home and all, but ehhhh I think I'll wait it out for a little while longer. My tentative plans for now are Townsville until mid-June, Thailand until July, Australia road trip with Kat and Eloise until August, bailing Black Kat out of jail sometime in mid-july, DAD COMING TO AUSTRALIA IN AUGUST, aaaaand when my visa expires here I'll bounce the country and stay in New Zealand until they kick me out (or recruit me for rugby). Man, life is hard!

Well, there it is! Although that is only the abridged version of my life in the last month, hopefully everyone is for the most part all caught up on my whirlwind life. If not, I happily respond to all email inquiries within 2-5 business days. Cheers!

PS: if you see my Dad around, be sure to nudge him a little closer to the decision of getting over here. I'd like to compile further evidence as to why I'm the favorite child.