Rural backwaters

Tauranga is a great city. It's big enough to feel important, small enough to know every corner of it, and has great infrastructure. Supermarkets are never too busy, carparking is ample, but where it comes into its own is the roads.

Auckland traffic is the one thing the whole country agrees on. It's awful. Bad drivers, not enough parks, etc. Getting to work meant I swore black and blue before 8am.

It takes me 3 minutes to get to work here. Hilariously, they have a traffic report every 15 minutes. This is how it goes, verbatim.

"Cameron Road is clear. 10th Avenue intersection flowing nicely. Chapel Street also clear. AVOID THE BAYFAIR ROUNDABOUT AT ALL COSTS - there's a 2-car tail back. If you can't avoid it, add an extra 30 seconds onto your ETA."

It's brilliant.

Tick-tock

I am at present sitting in my sister's lounge, surrounded by the usual detritus that goes with a busy evening's babysitting - gin bottles, ear plugs, large animal crates.

Seriously though, my nieces are my favourite things. Stella is 1, and Amelie is 3. They were so well-behaved, eating up their mince and pasta, splashing in the bath together, popping on their winter jammies and making a pretend birthday cake for their mother (which is tomorrow - hence the babysitting favour). As I put Stella to bed, she grinned at me and blew me a kiss. It was all I could do to not pick her up and squeeeeeze her. Amelie snuggled in for a 2-book treat, then was out like a light.

I can't put into words how they make me feel. They're not even my own kids, but I would do anything for them. They make my heart ache with the strength of emotion I feel for them. I am So Lucky that I can , if I want to, see them every day.

It's funny how women get the urge to have children. I think there are a few reasons for it - everyone else is doing it, time is running out, Pumpkin Patch is having a sale. Being fairly late to have children, I've seen my friends go from social bunnies to being stuck at home with a newborn, to coming out the other side with a gorgeous funny toddler. They all have a different spin on how parenting is. At one end of the scale, it's a long dark tunnel that has a very faint light at the end of it. At the other end, it's wonderful days of love and cuddles and nothing ever goes wrong, tra lalala. I think there's a fair amount of exaggeration with each side of the story. I listen to all the stories. I've already read a lot of pregnancy books. And I still hear a loud ticking noise telling me to hurry up and get on with it, even after knowing about episiotomies that require an epidural to stitch, and infected boobs and meconium poo and never sleeping in ever again. I think it's nature's way to ensure you pro-create. I mean, you hear ALL the disasters, and you still go, yeah I still want one. You never go, oh really? It's quite hard is it? Oh well, that settles it then. Cocker spaniels all the way for me.

Yuss

There is nothing I love more in the world than being proven right.
In my last post, I talked about the issues I having with my hair, that it had started leaping from my head in large chunks, and I started to look like the Baldy Man. So I started taking Solgar's Hair Skin and Nails, and have been now for about 4 months.

Well. Have just been at the hairdressers getting a trim. Gosh! He says. You've got a lot of new growth here! What do you mean? Says I. Look! Says he, pointing at a big lot of fluffy undergrowth. It's my hair! About 4 months of it! Thick thick hair! About 2 inches long, but HAIR.

I could have kissed him. Don't you love it when something you do actually WORKS????

I am over the moon.

In other wedding and beauty news, we're rounding the corner on the inside gaining on the home straight people. It's less than 8 weeks till the wedding. Last night I put myself through the kind of pain that other women get epidurals for. That's right - the Brazilian.

For those of you who have never had a Brazilian, you should. If only so you can sympathise with other women. And when I say Brazilian, I mean the whole lot. Tail feathers and everything. Or dags, as we so delightfully call them in New Zealand.

I've had them before, and I like getting them because it just looks tidy, and what with going to Bali afterwrard, it means I won't have to worry about shaving my bikini line and walking around scratching myelf like a first year Uni student in a unisex dorm.

But the pain. Oh the pain. I took two mega strong painkillers about an hour beforehand. They were so strong I just about floated off the road on the way there. Did they work? Nuh-uh. I have - ahem - quite thick hair - and my poor therapist nearly has to yank them out one by one with pliars. At least that's what it felt like she was doing.

So there I am, lying on the table, legs akimbo, heart beating furiously, talking about our cats and their shenanigans, and she's faffing about in areas only someone who's prepared to wine AND dine me (yes I'm fussy) should faff about in. It certainly breaks the ice, let me tell you.

Richard came flying through the door after work. So? he says. What? all nonchalant. Did you get it done? What done? and so on. He's so easy to wind up!

Anyhoo.....so that's my hirsute issues over for the month. Feel free to tell me about your stories. Oh here's another one. In my past life as a beauty therapist, I once had this lady come in for a bikini wax. Now for those of you who don't do this, there's a certain etiquette. You shower beforehand. You wear clean knickers. And so on. This lady - a larger lady - came straight from the gym after what looked like a vigorous workout. She was wearing a g-string, bike pants, and a leotard. As she got undressed, the plant in the corner wilted.

And with that, I bid you adieu.