Lani Wendt Young's Blog, page 7
June 10, 2012
Does your child know how to pee in the bushes?
Warning - this post contains bodily fluids. Do not read if pee makes you uncomfortable. Don't say I didnt warn you either...
We SOOO need to move these children back to Samoa. Like, now.
There's only one bathroom in our house here in Auckland. Shared between seven people, that means, sometimes, people have to hop around, squabble, and yell at others to hurry up. If some of those seven people are little children, then it's highly likely that every now and again - accidents will happen. I expect that from my four year old Bella Beast. What I don't expect, is to come home and find that my nine year old Little Son has peed on the floor in the hallway outside the bathroom. Why?
"Because Bella was taking so long inside the bathroom and I couldn't hold it."
"So why didn't you go outside the back yard and pee in the bushes or something?"
Look of absolute horror and disgust, "Eww, I can't pee outside! In the bushes! That's disgusting."
No, what IS disgusting is that instead of taking the option provided by Mother Nature, you would think that it's TOTALLY ACCEPTABLE to pee inside my house, on my floor.
I really wanted to smack him up'side the head. Instead I made him scrub and mop with so much disinfectant that no doubt, his brain has been permanently disinfected forever. While I called up the Hot Man to tell him that this family needs to move back to Samoa. Right this peeing-on-the-floors-minute.
If you've ever been to Samoa, you will know that public toilets are disgusting pits of disgustingness. And most stores, halls, airports, restaurants have nasty bathrooms too. (Which is why McDonalds in Apia is the first place people head to when they need to use the bathroom because they usually have the cleanest option in town.) Which is why, when you need to take small children to town, you make sure they go to the toilet at home first. And IF they have an emergency, then too bad for you. Which is why, I was a sexist mother and happily took my first son everywhere and left my first daughter at home. Because when those emergencies came up, then my son was fine to just 'go pee outside in the bushes'...'go pee outside by the car'...'go pee outside by those trees'....The benefits of having boys. Now please don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying that I teach my children to run around peeing in public everywhere. (Im not THAT bad a mother.) No. I'm saying that peeing in the bushes is a skill that my children need to be cool enough/brave enough/wilderness man/ wildernesswoman enough to have for those rare occasions when a toilet is not readily accessible. I am sure that every Samoan kid living in Samoa has this skill. The fact that Little Son is missing this skill is very troubling to me. Because it may be a sign of deeper, even more significant things that my children are missing.
Like, what if these children can't ever bathe using a bucket of rainwater and a cup - because they've never lived thru the dry season in Samoa when they start rationing water. Or the wet season when all the reservoirs are flooded and clogged so they turn off the pipes? What if these children grow up bursting into tears when the power goes off? Because they haven't experienced the joys of random EPC power cuts? And don't know to always have candles and a torch on hand?
What if they freak out at the thought of riding on the back of a pickup truck? Without seatbelts?! Shudder, cringe, vomit. Everybody, at least once in their life, needs to sit in the back of a pickup truck, with the wind in their hair, bumping over endless potholes while you rattle your way along a dirt track to a plantation. Or a beach.
Or how about driving along the main road and having to look out for dogs that chase your tyres. Gigantic pigs that think they own the road. Chickens that stupidly take their babies for a walk along the tarseal. What if the only giant cockroaches they ever see are in a museum? Not ones that fly into their hair. Or scuttle for hiding the minute you turn on the light? What if they don't master the survival skill of always checking under your pillow, inside your shoes, scanning the shower wall before you shut your eyes to wash your hair - for psychotic killer centipedes?
What if they stare in horrified awe (like tourists do) when people have elaborate graves in their front yards? Graves decked with plastic flowers and Christmas lights. Graves with glass windows, roofs and mini-houses on them? Graves that people sleep on top of when it's hot?
What if they grow up thinking that fish live in cans. Mangoes come from Countdown. And bread is supposed to be paper thin and be so soft that it sticks to the roof of your mouth? (eww yuck) What if they never learn that real bananas on real banana trees are NOT that startling yellow color? What if they never ever know what a turkey's tail tastes like? Or a sheep's neck. Or a chicken's back?
It gets worse. What if they never get blisters from weeding prickle vao fefe grass because the only school detentions they ever know are 'write 100 times, 'I will not wear incorrect school uniform.' And they dont know how to sweep classroom rubbish with a coconut broom because 'that's what school janitors are for...' And maybe they won't remember to bow their heads when they walk in front of someone, or say 'tulou'. Or give up their seat on the bus when somebody older than them gets on.
The list goes on and the awfulness is just too much to comprehend. Suffice it to say - we really need to move back to Samoa.
So this boy can start learning how to pee in the bushes.
Do you know what this is? You don't? Aha - you didn't grow up in Samoa! See what you're missing...turkey tails.
We SOOO need to move these children back to Samoa. Like, now.
There's only one bathroom in our house here in Auckland. Shared between seven people, that means, sometimes, people have to hop around, squabble, and yell at others to hurry up. If some of those seven people are little children, then it's highly likely that every now and again - accidents will happen. I expect that from my four year old Bella Beast. What I don't expect, is to come home and find that my nine year old Little Son has peed on the floor in the hallway outside the bathroom. Why?
"Because Bella was taking so long inside the bathroom and I couldn't hold it."
"So why didn't you go outside the back yard and pee in the bushes or something?"
Look of absolute horror and disgust, "Eww, I can't pee outside! In the bushes! That's disgusting."
No, what IS disgusting is that instead of taking the option provided by Mother Nature, you would think that it's TOTALLY ACCEPTABLE to pee inside my house, on my floor.
I really wanted to smack him up'side the head. Instead I made him scrub and mop with so much disinfectant that no doubt, his brain has been permanently disinfected forever. While I called up the Hot Man to tell him that this family needs to move back to Samoa. Right this peeing-on-the-floors-minute.
If you've ever been to Samoa, you will know that public toilets are disgusting pits of disgustingness. And most stores, halls, airports, restaurants have nasty bathrooms too. (Which is why McDonalds in Apia is the first place people head to when they need to use the bathroom because they usually have the cleanest option in town.) Which is why, when you need to take small children to town, you make sure they go to the toilet at home first. And IF they have an emergency, then too bad for you. Which is why, I was a sexist mother and happily took my first son everywhere and left my first daughter at home. Because when those emergencies came up, then my son was fine to just 'go pee outside in the bushes'...'go pee outside by the car'...'go pee outside by those trees'....The benefits of having boys. Now please don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying that I teach my children to run around peeing in public everywhere. (Im not THAT bad a mother.) No. I'm saying that peeing in the bushes is a skill that my children need to be cool enough/brave enough/wilderness man/ wildernesswoman enough to have for those rare occasions when a toilet is not readily accessible. I am sure that every Samoan kid living in Samoa has this skill. The fact that Little Son is missing this skill is very troubling to me. Because it may be a sign of deeper, even more significant things that my children are missing.
Like, what if these children can't ever bathe using a bucket of rainwater and a cup - because they've never lived thru the dry season in Samoa when they start rationing water. Or the wet season when all the reservoirs are flooded and clogged so they turn off the pipes? What if these children grow up bursting into tears when the power goes off? Because they haven't experienced the joys of random EPC power cuts? And don't know to always have candles and a torch on hand?
What if they freak out at the thought of riding on the back of a pickup truck? Without seatbelts?! Shudder, cringe, vomit. Everybody, at least once in their life, needs to sit in the back of a pickup truck, with the wind in their hair, bumping over endless potholes while you rattle your way along a dirt track to a plantation. Or a beach.
Or how about driving along the main road and having to look out for dogs that chase your tyres. Gigantic pigs that think they own the road. Chickens that stupidly take their babies for a walk along the tarseal. What if the only giant cockroaches they ever see are in a museum? Not ones that fly into their hair. Or scuttle for hiding the minute you turn on the light? What if they don't master the survival skill of always checking under your pillow, inside your shoes, scanning the shower wall before you shut your eyes to wash your hair - for psychotic killer centipedes?
What if they stare in horrified awe (like tourists do) when people have elaborate graves in their front yards? Graves decked with plastic flowers and Christmas lights. Graves with glass windows, roofs and mini-houses on them? Graves that people sleep on top of when it's hot?
What if they grow up thinking that fish live in cans. Mangoes come from Countdown. And bread is supposed to be paper thin and be so soft that it sticks to the roof of your mouth? (eww yuck) What if they never learn that real bananas on real banana trees are NOT that startling yellow color? What if they never ever know what a turkey's tail tastes like? Or a sheep's neck. Or a chicken's back?
It gets worse. What if they never get blisters from weeding prickle vao fefe grass because the only school detentions they ever know are 'write 100 times, 'I will not wear incorrect school uniform.' And they dont know how to sweep classroom rubbish with a coconut broom because 'that's what school janitors are for...' And maybe they won't remember to bow their heads when they walk in front of someone, or say 'tulou'. Or give up their seat on the bus when somebody older than them gets on.
The list goes on and the awfulness is just too much to comprehend. Suffice it to say - we really need to move back to Samoa.
So this boy can start learning how to pee in the bushes.
Do you know what this is? You don't? Aha - you didn't grow up in Samoa! See what you're missing...turkey tails.
June 5, 2012
Release Dates for 'When Water Burns'
Release Date Announcement: Print Copies of 'When Water Burns' - * NZ/Australia/Pacific: June 25th, 2012. $24.95 NZD (plus postage) * USA/UK/World: June 13th, 2012. $15.95 USD
Print copies will be available via Amazon and Barnes & Noble worldwide. NZ ,Australia and Pacific wide readers can pre-purchase their signed copies using these Paypal links. Your books will be posted out on the release date. Please allow days for postage. There is a limited print run for the second book so be sure to get your order in early. Thank you for your patience.NZ Readers
Australia and Pacific Wide Readers
USA / Canada Readers
'When Water Burns,' the second book in the Telesa Trilogy.
“Maybe you’re not meant to manipulate fire the way I do. Maybe sparks are all you’re ever going to make.”He snarled, “Or maybe you just need to be a better teacher and give me more.” Before I could reply, he grabbed my hand, twisted and pulled me into a restraining lock. Body pressed against my back, he held me in a chokehold. I struggled. Kicked. Fought. Pain knifed me as I tried to free myself. He spoke and his breath was hot in my ear. “Now, fire goddess let’s see if I can make more than sparks.” Rising panic choked me, with it came rage. And with rage, came fire. Keahi felt it. He laughed as I strained against him. As together we both burst into flame...
With Nafanua and the Covenant Sisterhood dead, Leila and Daniel are finally able to love without fear of retribution. Or are they? As a malicious telesa plots her revenge, a mysterious stranger arrives on the island. Fuelled by hate and running from a fiery past, he looks to Leila for answers and she must fight to contain the fury of fanua-afi while trying to protect all those she loves. It seems that this is a battle she must wage alone, for Daniel’s ocean birthright cannot be denied and he refuses to walk beside her. Are Leila and Daniel destined to be forever divided by the elements? When it comes to Water and Fire, daughter of earth and son of the ocean, who will endure...When water burns?
Release Date Announcement: Print Copies of 'When Water ...
Release Date Announcement: Print Copies of 'When Water Burns' - * NZ/Australia/Pacific: June 25th, 2012. $24.95 NZD (plus postage) * USA/UK/World: June 13th, 2012. $15.95 USD
Print copies will be available via Amazon and Barnes & Noble worldwide. NZ ,Australia and Pacific wide readers can pre-purchase their signed copies using these Paypal links. Your books will be posted out on the release date. Please allow days for postage. There is a limited print run for the second book so be sure to get your order in early. Thank you for your patience.NZ Readers
Australia and Pacific Wide Readers
'When Water Burns,' the second book in the Telesa Trilogy.“Maybe you’re not meant to manipulate fire the way I do. Maybe sparks are all you’re ever going to make.”He snarled, “Or maybe you just need to be a better teacher and give me more.” Before I could reply, he grabbed my hand, twisted and pulled me into a restraining lock. Body pressed against my back, he held me in a chokehold. I struggled. Kicked. Fought. Pain knifed me as I tried to free myself. He spoke and his breath was hot in my ear. “Now, fire goddess let’s see if I can make more than sparks.” Rising panic choked me, with it came rage. And with rage, came fire. Keahi felt it. He laughed as I strained against him. As together we both burst into flame...
With Nafanua and the Covenant Sisterhood dead, Leila and Daniel are finally able to love without fear of retribution. Or are they? As a malicious telesa plots her revenge, a mysterious stranger arrives on the island. Fuelled by hate and running from a fiery past, he looks to Leila for answers and she must fight to contain the fury of fanua-afi while trying to protect all those she loves. It seems that this is a battle she must wage alone, for Daniel’s ocean birthright cannot be denied and he refuses to walk beside her. Are Leila and Daniel destined to be forever divided by the elements? When it comes to Water and Fire, daughter of earth and son of the ocean, who will endure...When water burns?
Release Date Announcement: Print Copies of 'When Water Bu...
Release Date Announcement: Print Copies of 'When Water Burns' -* NZ/Australia: June 25th, 2012. $29.95 NZD * USA/UK/World: June 13th, 2012. $15.95 USD
Print copies will be available via Amazon and Barnes & Noble worldwide. NZ and Australia readers can pre-purchase their signed copies using these Paypal links. Your books will be posted out on the release date. There is a limited print run for the second book so be sure to get your order in early. Thank you for your patience.NZ Readers
Australia Readers -
'When Water Burns,' the second book in the Telesa Trilogy.“Maybe you’re not meant to manipulate fire the way I do. Maybe sparks are all you’re ever going to make.”He snarled, “Or maybe you just need to be a better teacher and give me more.” Before I could reply, he grabbed my hand, twisted and pulled me into a restraining lock. Body pressed against my back, he held me in a chokehold. I struggled. Kicked. Fought. Pain knifed me as I tried to free myself. He spoke and his breath was hot in my ear. “Now, fire goddess let’s see if I can make more than sparks.” Rising panic choked me, with it came rage. And with rage, came fire. Keahi felt it. He laughed as I strained against him. As together we both burst into flame...
With Nafanua and the Covenant Sisterhood dead, Leila and Daniel are finally able to love without fear of retribution. Or are they? As a malicious telesa plots her revenge, a mysterious stranger arrives on the island. Fuelled by hate and running from a fiery past, he looks to Leila for answers and she must fight to contain the fury of fanua-afi while trying to protect all those she loves. It seems that this is a battle she must wage alone, for Daniel’s ocean birthright cannot be denied and he refuses to walk beside her. Are Leila and Daniel destined to be forever divided by the elements? When it comes to Water and Fire, daughter of earth and son of the ocean, who will endure...When water burns?
May 31, 2012
Fifty Memories of Samoa for Fifty Years of Independence
Flags flying in Samoa for Independence. Photo by Leone Samu.Today Samoa marks the 50th anniversary of achieving Independence. For me, the story of Samoa's last fifty years is also my family's story because my parents were married in 1962 and they celebrate their fiftieth wedding anniversary this year as well. My parents chose to stay in Samoa and raise their six children there, even though the lure of distant shores was strong. My mother came to Samoa from New Zealand, as a very new, very 'refined', very beautiful young bride ( wearing white gloves no less), and thankfully for us children - never left. One of the greatest blessings in my life, has been the privilege of being born and raised in Samoa - by parents who have always worked hard to strengthen their marriage and value their family above all else. I pay humble tribute to the land that nurtured me and to the parents who love me. Thank you. Here's fifty of my favorite memories of growing up in Samoa. There's a million more for each one listed and of course, each of you will have your own unique list!1. Weekends at Lefaga, staying in a house on the beach. Spending the day in the water (after doing all the assigned chores of course), showering at a rusty tap by the mangrove swamp, playing cards by kerosene lantern, going to sleep with the sound of the ocean (and mosquitoes), waking up and doing it all over again.
2. Reading Narnia books while sitting in a mango tree. Sticky sweet juice on your face. Hoping nobody finds you and gives you chores to do.
3. Getting dropped off at the Nelson Public library for the entire afternoon - the only place I was allowed to go all by myself when I was eight years old - and not worrying that a psycho child abductor was going to grab me. Really nice librarians bending the rules and allowing me to borrow twenty books at a time.
4. Hot German buns. Deliciously sweet, caramalized coconut insides.
5. Classroom monitor duty, sweeping classrooms with a salu-lima. Trying to tell naughty boys what to do because I'm just boss like that. (and because I was class captain. Don't mess with my power...)
6. Finding excuses not to play softball. Or netball. Because everybody shrieks with laughter when you make a mistake. And yells at you when you're awful. Samoa never believed in 'every child's a winner on the field'. If you sucked, everyone told you.
7. Glutting yourself on whatever fruit is in season. Making a basket with your shirt and filling it with mandarins. Or passionfruit. Or crab apples. Running really fast to escape the security guard. ( We lived on an agriculture Univ campus and students had fruit orchards everywhere which we weren't really supposed to be helping ourselves to.)
8. Hoping the neighbor's dog wouldn't bit you.
9. Hoping your own dog wouldnt bite you.
10. Picking frangipani so we could make ula for Culture Day at school. Sap sticky fingers, sore from all the careless needle pricks.
12. Sunday Toona'i at my grandfather's house. Getting to eat all the food that our palagi mum refused to make. Chop suey. Oka. Pisupo floating in oil. Taro.
13. Saturday morning cartoons at my grandfather's house because we didn't own a television and he got TV stations from American Samoa.
14. Eating red baked lopa seeds. Making a mess with all the shells everywhere.
15. Eating sugar cane. Making a mess with all the spit up, chewed out mouthfuls.
16. Eating lolesaiga. Making a mess with all the leftover seeds. Our mum getting mad everytime she stepped on one by accident.
17. The whole school practicing for hours in the sun everyday so we get our sasa JUST RIGHT.
18. Being in the B-group for Samoan language with all the palagi kids because we never spoke Samoan at home, because my Dad believed that English was the language that would take us places. At the time - he was right.
19. School detention for being late too many times. Mean prefects making you weed vaofefe prickle grass in the blazing hot sun. While they stood in the shade and watched. (So unlike Daniel who cuts grass BESIDE you when you're suffering through your punishment.)
20. Traipsing around after my big brother while he catches eels at Lefaga, using an empty plastic bottle, suctioning them out of their hiding places in the lava rock pools.
21. Practicing our lines for White Sunday. 'Children, obey your parents in the Lord for this is right.' Papa getting annoyed because the Mormon kids ( us) were really bad at memorizing scriptures.
22. Driving real slow everywhere. Stopping to allow really big pigs to meander across the road.
23. Swimming at Vaiala at least three nights a week. My Dad throwing me up in the air, silver spray scatters.
24. Ice-cream cones after swimming. Sitting in the back of the pickup truck, wet and wrapped in a towel, feeling like life cant get any more perfect than this.
25. Hot pani popo from Schwenke's bread shop. Rich, creamy and delicious. The tall cute boy serving behind the counter who I'm SURE had a crush on me because he always gave me EXTRA coconut buns. (yeah, you know it. Twelve years old and getting free coconut buns with my smile. Woo hoo!)
26. The heady fragrance of golden mosooi flowers.
27. Dancing the siva all the time. Getting called on to be the taupou every time my Dad had some kind of village matai event because the REAL taupou of the village ( aka, my big sister) was at school overseas. Somebody needs a taualuga? No problem, 'Lani, go siva.'
28. The dreaded report cards. The parent's responses, 'You only came first in THREE subjects? What about the other two?'
29. The high school socials. Held in broad daylight. Everybody dressed up with no place to go. Dancing in the school hall with sweat trickling down your back and teachers breathing over your shoulder.
30. Taking empty Coke bottles to the store so we could buy PK chewing gum.
31. Eating eleni and hating it. Even when its cooked a million different ways by our Martha Stewart mother. Eleni fishballs with sweet and sour sauce. Eleni 'meat' loaf. Eleni baked with aubergines. Yuck.
32. Three hours of church every Sunday. My little sister giving her Sunday school teacher a heart attack, telling her 'I've decided to be an aethist.'
33. Evening lotu prayers at Papa's house. Every night. The roads closing. All traffic forbidden from six to seven because everybody is supposed to be at home. Singing hymns. Praying. Reading scriptures. Or else you get fasi'd.
34. Visiting Great-Aunty Ita who named me, who tells everyone, all the time, that I'm going to do amazing things - become a nun, marry a pastor, or be a lawyer.
35. Visiting Great-aunty Ita who named me, always without my mother, because Aunty Ita called her a 'daughter of pigs'.
36. Reciting the Lord's Prayer at school. Every morning. Every day.
37. Working in our mum's shop every day after school . All day Saturday. Getting paid one tala for our troubles. Rushing to blow it all on lolesaiga. Or a fizzy Fanta in a glass bottle.
38. Reading books while we're supposed to be working in our mum's bookshop every day. Missing it when a stealer grabs three of Mum's silk-screened t.shirts and runs out the door. Getting told off by our mum for being slack shop security.
39. Being scared whenever Evaliga came into the shop in her colorful assortment of draped fabrics and a red turban on her head. She would sit and read a dictionary for half an hour, muttering to herself while we wondered what we would do if she decided to take it. Fight Evaliga? Hell no. Breathing a sigh of relief every time she left the store. Without the dictionary.
40. Buying all the coconuts from Maria - the little girl who lugs a basket of them into the store everyday. Making her sit down. Giving her some snacks. Wishing you could pay for her school fees. And then regretting it a little bit when she comes back the next day with another basket AND three friends who all have baskets of cabbages to sell as well.
41. Being a 'young adult' and going dancing at the clubs - the Playground, Margeyta's, Evening Shades and even the Mt Vaea.
42. Having your boyfriend get hit on by very boisterous, very bodacious fa'afafine. Hoping he's not interested because daayuuum how can you compete with such splendors of fashion and dance?!
43. Planting a massive vegetable garden with your brothers and sisters. The nuisance of having to weed and water it everyday. The wonder of eating fresh golden corn on the cob once everything actually grew.
44. Buying a plate of BBQ from a roadside stand. Chargrilled mamoe, a chicken leg that seeps with redness, saka fa'i, and a dollop of potato salad. Loving it.
45. Peka ( our babysitter/Nanny, our other mother) crying those rare times our mother smacked us with the wooden spoon. Telling our mother she was never coming back to work again.
46. Feeding chickens and collecting eggs every day. Being scared of the psycho rooster that charges at people, wanting to scratch your eyes out.
47. My Dad doing the dishes with the lights turned off because he didn't want anybody to see him from the road. Because 'it's very shameful for all of you if people see the matai of the family is washing the dishes.'
48. My Mum lending her creative flair and fierce drive and determination to community service groups. Organizing stunning fundraising events for the local IHC. Dressing up as Zorro to 'kidnap' the bank manager in broad daylight and hold him for ransom. Wearing a fluffy skirt to dance the cancan on stage with eight other women. Lip synching 'Jump for my love'. Whatever my mum does - she does with style.
49. Making my little brother push me around in the wheelbarrow while I give orders to the little sisters as we make scarecrows to put in the yard. Which never scared any birds. (Nobody told the Samoan birds they were supposed to be scared of raggedy clothes hung on sticks.)
50. Waking up early on Independence morning to go watch our big brother and sister march in the parade. Eating homemade cinnamon rolls and drinking Milo in the darkness while we wait for it to start. Getting our ears and hearts blown to bits by the 21 cannon salute as another year of Samoa's Independence begins.
Happy and blessed Fiftieth Anniversary Samoa - and my Mum and Dad.
May 21, 2012
When Water Burns - A New kind of Telesa?
Her whole body radiated outrage. “I. Am. Nothing. Like. My. Mother. She is weak. And. I. Am. Strong.”
With each word, her voice climbed higher until she was shouting. And in fierce accompaniment there came a rushing, ripping sound. Like wind through the trees. Only it wasn’t. The air was still. So still. But all around us, tree branches whipped about, strained and heaved as if being pulled by some unseen force. Wood splintered and cracked. And then leaves and branches were raining down upon us and we were standing in a maelstrom of green.
As suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The ground was thick with foliage and Teuila was staring at me, aghast. Eyes wide. Fearful. She looked at the destruction around us and caught a muffled sob in her hands. And then she backed away from me and turned to run back to the Center.
When Water Burns.The second book in the Telesa Series. Coming soon.
May 20, 2012
Who's the Favoritest of them All?
I called up my Dad in Samoa the other day. I said, "Hi!"
He said, "Who's this?"
I said, "It's your favorite, most amazing, most splendidly talented daughter."
He said, "Oh, Rebecca!"
He may as well have taken a butter knife and stabbed me in the heart with it. Thanks Dad. Thanks a lot.
(And you just know, that right now, my little sister is reading this blogpost and dancing a little dance and hi-fiveing her own awesomeness.) Now I have blogged about this before - the conundrum of favorites in a family. So you'll already know that I'm from a family of six children and of those six, all four girls are 'Dad's favorite.' And until now, I was positive that I'm the favoritest of them all. Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the favoritest of us all?
To his credit, my Dad did try to retract the butter knife. From my heart.
I said, "I can't believe you said that. All these years, you told me I was your favorite daughter, your absolute bestest child. All my confidence in you as my Dad who loves me the mostest, has been dashed to pieces."
He said, "No,no I meant to say Lani. Of course I did. You're my favorite, most gifted daughter called Lani but your voice sounded like Rebecca's on the phone and I didn't want to upset her."
Aaah, that's what it is. My Dad is seventy-two years old and his hearing is a little shaky.
I know I'm still the favoritest. I don't need to send out the Huntsman. I'll just keep him right here with me, yay....
He said, "Who's this?"
I said, "It's your favorite, most amazing, most splendidly talented daughter."
He said, "Oh, Rebecca!"
He may as well have taken a butter knife and stabbed me in the heart with it. Thanks Dad. Thanks a lot.
(And you just know, that right now, my little sister is reading this blogpost and dancing a little dance and hi-fiveing her own awesomeness.) Now I have blogged about this before - the conundrum of favorites in a family. So you'll already know that I'm from a family of six children and of those six, all four girls are 'Dad's favorite.' And until now, I was positive that I'm the favoritest of them all. Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the favoritest of us all?
To his credit, my Dad did try to retract the butter knife. From my heart.
I said, "I can't believe you said that. All these years, you told me I was your favorite daughter, your absolute bestest child. All my confidence in you as my Dad who loves me the mostest, has been dashed to pieces."
He said, "No,no I meant to say Lani. Of course I did. You're my favorite, most gifted daughter called Lani but your voice sounded like Rebecca's on the phone and I didn't want to upset her."
Aaah, that's what it is. My Dad is seventy-two years old and his hearing is a little shaky.
I know I'm still the favoritest. I don't need to send out the Huntsman. I'll just keep him right here with me, yay....
May 16, 2012
The Problem with Aliens
Oh yeah - I know how you feel Sigourney...
One thing they never tell you before you have kids - is how your space, your room, your air, your thoughts ( even all the ones you havent even thought yet) - none of it will ever belong to you again. Never, ever.
Children start taking over even before they're born. From the moment that diehard sperm battles through overwhelming Hunger Games type odds to be the lucky victor. From the moment that feverish creation party starts happening in your uterus - your very body is no longer your own. Especially if you're the kind of woman who is lucky enough to puke for five months straight when you're pregnant. And sink into the abyss of depression because you're sick all day, everyday. Many times as I hovered over a bowl of vomit, alternately crying and cursing, I would refer to the speck of new life growing inside me, as "the alien...the parasite..." Even though I had knowingly, willingly chosen to grow a child - I quickly changed my mind once the puke took over. (If you've seen kick-butt Sigourney Weaver in the movie Alien, then you'll know exactly how I felt about my alien.)
The joy only multiplies when they actually emerge from the chrysallis. You can never ever leave the house again without taking that baby with you. Without taking all that baby's assorted ( but necessary) junk with you. When they're bigger, you cant even take a shower or go to the bathroom without that child trailing after you. Standing outside the door wailing. Arguing. Telling tales on their sister. "Muuum, she won't let me have a turn on the X-Box...muuuum...muuuum...can you hear me in there?" No, I've melted from the sheer misery of my existence and I'm swirling down the drain even as you speak. They sit beside you while you're trying to read a book. Watching you. Breathing your air. Suffocating you with their very presence.
When they're teenagers, they tend to stop following you about and instead they disappear into their rooms a lot - rooms which resemble pits of infernal darkness - but then your brain is consumed with worrying about them. Oh no, what if he has a girlfriend? Oh no, what if he never gets a girlfriend and is that loner that nobody likes? Oh no, what if she studies too much and never experiences life outside a textbook? Oh no, what if she never studies at all, fails everything, never gets a job and never leaves home ever? Is he sad/happy/depressed/contemplating shaving his hair off/ pondering the pros and cons of joining the Mongrel Mob? What does she REALLY mean when she stomps into her cave, snarling "I'm fine. Nothings wrong." Children of any age, possess and consume you.
Which is why 'me time' is so important for a parent. Those moments when you run away. Hide in a closet and read. Go for a powerwalk just so you can get away from them.
Which is why my ideal Mother's Day is having the Fab5 disappear for twelve hours.
Which is why I was so incredibly insulted when Big Son told me that "No, you can't come downstairs and work out with me in the gym. I want to be alone."
"Excuse me?! I want to train on the Bowflex machine and its too spooky in the garage by myself at night. I'll workout while you're there."
"No, I don't want you to. This is my me-time. My alone time. Time to myself. I need this."
Is this child really trying to talk to me about his need for ALONE TIME? For ME-TIME? Is he deranged? He's sixteen. Childless, job-less, flying solo, fancy free. And clearly clueless.
"Are you kidding me? You are too young to need 'alone time'. Have you ever grown a baby? Has your body ever been invaded by parasitic creatures that then take over your life, your every waking and sleeping moment? I don't think so. Is every minute of your day consumed by children pestering you for something?" And then I'm on a roll of epic proportions. "I gave you life." (No matter how many times I say it, this child just doesnt get it.) "I wouldnt NEED to workout if it wasn't for you and your siblings. I used to be beautiful once, until you all ruined me forever...blah blah."
He listens. To his credit, he tries not to roll his eyes at me. But I know my words are going in one ear and out the other and its infuriating. I shriek, "You have not earned the right to crave ALONE TIME. Or ME-TIME, you hear me?"
I have decided. I am going to stalk this child to the ends of the earth. Harass him with attention. Suffocate him with my presence. He is not getting any alone-time, ever. Not on my watch. Damnit all.
May 11, 2012
Tattoo Time: Digby Ioane
Last week, some super fabulous, super famous rugby players came out to support the Brisbane Launch of the Telesa book. It was great to have their vote of confidence for this fiery Pacific novel so of course, we should have one of them for our Tattoo Time Feature. Sometimes it's a little tricky to find photos of the chosen individual - that adequately highlights their tattoos. That was not a problem with this week's feature, Digby Ioane. Rather the issue was trying to decide WHICH photos to choose. Digby who's been called 'the Dark Angel of the rugby field' is a NZ-born Samoan who plays professional rugby in Australia.
Twenty-six year old Digby was born in Wellington and moved to Australia when he was five. His gift for sports manifested early and he's been making a powerful reputation for himself on the rugby field since he first represented Victoria in both rugby union and rugby league.He plays for the Queensland Reds and has been capped 11 times for the Wallabies. ( Australia's National Rugby team - for those Americans who have no clue what "Wallabies" are. The animal or the rugby team.) Digby plays Wing/Outside Centre - which means absolutely nothing to me but that's okay because this blogpost has nothing to do with rugby whatsoever. According to Wikipedia, Digby is 5ft 10in. According to me, this is very true because I'm 5ft 9 and I towered over Mr Ioane while standing next to him in my super high heeled shoes. (I will not tell you how heavy Digby is according to Wikipedia because then I would have to tell you how heavy I am. How scary that Wikipedia can tell the world your weight, IF you're famous enough. Cross my heart and hope to die before I ever get unlucky enough to be famous and have a Wikipedia spy satellite invade my house when I'm next jumping on a scale.) Suffice it to say, that after taking one photo with Mr Ioane, I was desperate to get as far away from him as possible because it was making me feel very giantesque. In a Jolly Green Giant kinda way.
See what I mean? And he's standing on a step ABOVE me in this one...
Right, on to the good stuff. Digby's tattoos. He's got buckets of them and not just Pacific ones either. There's angel wings on his back. Which gives sports columnists the chance to say 'witty' things like 'Queensland playing on a wing and a prayer...'
He's got an assortment of motifs and patterns on the rest of his body.
Including verses of scripture from the Bible on his side. (Yes, you'll have to study that very closely to read all the words. Very closely. You wont want to miss any of those very important words.)
He's got sleeve patterning tattoos on his left arm. One is of the "woman who means everything to me - my Mum. I'm a mummys boy and always have been so what better way to show that then to get a tatt of mum." I like that. Too often rugby stars are in the news for beating up their wives, getting wasted and trashing bars, which is why its very refreshing to have those who are firmly grounded with a strong committment to their family and culture.
Digby is a very versatile athlete. He's at ease with ballerinas.
When his team wins, he does breakdance moves on the field. (If I'd known how interesting rugby had become, I might actually watch some games now and then. For the dancing entertainment.)
He's a professional juggler.
Heck, he even swims.
He's also known for being a hair style model. Please note the versatility of cutting edge styles that Mr Ioane is able to wear with style. And flair. (Note tattoo on side of neck.)
Mr Ioane has good taste in desserts.
And is great with children.
One more time for the tattoos...because this is supposed to be all about tattoos.
What impressed me about Digby though, is that, along with Quade Cooper - he was approachable, supportive of his friends, down-to-earth, friendly and patient with all the fans - AND he was happy to give up an evening to help promote a Samoan author with her first YA fantasy romance book.
Thank you Digby Ioane, Ezra Taylor and Quade Cooper for gallantly being 'rugby players who are proud to support Pacific romance books like Telesa....' (And the tattoos aint bad either.)
Twenty-six year old Digby was born in Wellington and moved to Australia when he was five. His gift for sports manifested early and he's been making a powerful reputation for himself on the rugby field since he first represented Victoria in both rugby union and rugby league.He plays for the Queensland Reds and has been capped 11 times for the Wallabies. ( Australia's National Rugby team - for those Americans who have no clue what "Wallabies" are. The animal or the rugby team.) Digby plays Wing/Outside Centre - which means absolutely nothing to me but that's okay because this blogpost has nothing to do with rugby whatsoever. According to Wikipedia, Digby is 5ft 10in. According to me, this is very true because I'm 5ft 9 and I towered over Mr Ioane while standing next to him in my super high heeled shoes. (I will not tell you how heavy Digby is according to Wikipedia because then I would have to tell you how heavy I am. How scary that Wikipedia can tell the world your weight, IF you're famous enough. Cross my heart and hope to die before I ever get unlucky enough to be famous and have a Wikipedia spy satellite invade my house when I'm next jumping on a scale.) Suffice it to say, that after taking one photo with Mr Ioane, I was desperate to get as far away from him as possible because it was making me feel very giantesque. In a Jolly Green Giant kinda way.
See what I mean? And he's standing on a step ABOVE me in this one...Right, on to the good stuff. Digby's tattoos. He's got buckets of them and not just Pacific ones either. There's angel wings on his back. Which gives sports columnists the chance to say 'witty' things like 'Queensland playing on a wing and a prayer...'
He's got an assortment of motifs and patterns on the rest of his body.
Including verses of scripture from the Bible on his side. (Yes, you'll have to study that very closely to read all the words. Very closely. You wont want to miss any of those very important words.)
He's got sleeve patterning tattoos on his left arm. One is of the "woman who means everything to me - my Mum. I'm a mummys boy and always have been so what better way to show that then to get a tatt of mum." I like that. Too often rugby stars are in the news for beating up their wives, getting wasted and trashing bars, which is why its very refreshing to have those who are firmly grounded with a strong committment to their family and culture.
Digby is a very versatile athlete. He's at ease with ballerinas.
When his team wins, he does breakdance moves on the field. (If I'd known how interesting rugby had become, I might actually watch some games now and then. For the dancing entertainment.)
He's a professional juggler.
Heck, he even swims.
He's also known for being a hair style model. Please note the versatility of cutting edge styles that Mr Ioane is able to wear with style. And flair. (Note tattoo on side of neck.)
Mr Ioane has good taste in desserts.
And is great with children.
One more time for the tattoos...because this is supposed to be all about tattoos.
What impressed me about Digby though, is that, along with Quade Cooper - he was approachable, supportive of his friends, down-to-earth, friendly and patient with all the fans - AND he was happy to give up an evening to help promote a Samoan author with her first YA fantasy romance book.
Thank you Digby Ioane, Ezra Taylor and Quade Cooper for gallantly being 'rugby players who are proud to support Pacific romance books like Telesa....' (And the tattoos aint bad either.)
May 8, 2012
A Day in the Life of a (Slightly Demented) Author/Blogger
(An alternate title for this blogpost would be: "Why You should Never trust Book Deadlines from Authors who have Five Children, especially disorganized, chaotic authors - because their books will ALWAYS be Late. Always.")
A Typical Monday
I get up at 5.30am, which I absolutely hate doing, especially if I’ve only just gone to bed at 2am. I then tackle the toughest task of my day – waking up my 13yr old daughter. She really does sleep like a log and if we ever got robbed, thieves could roll her up in her blanket, carry her out of the house and she still wouldn’t wake up.
6am. I drive my teens to Seminary which is a youth scripture-study class run by our church. It’s on 5 days a week for every school week of the year. While they're in class, I go for a run. Or more aptly, a ‘very brisk walk alternated with a shuffly, jiggly sort of jog.’ I’m terrified of killers and attack dogs, so I usually just go many times round the block or the parking lot. If it’s raining (or if I’m feeling lazy) then I take my laptop and cram in some writing time.
7am. Back home. Mobilize the troops for breakfast and family prayer, then teenagers take off to catch the school bus while me and the three Terrors attack the house chores. We rush through dishes, floors and lunchbox prep. (My 8yr old son is the fastest, bestest vacuumer in this solar system.)
8.45am. Take the Terrors to school. Stock up on Diet Coke on my way home. Spend the next hour doing vital life-preserving things like…laundry and shutting the doors to all my children’s bedrooms so I’m not confronted by their chaotic messes.
10am – Write stuff. And eat lots of snacks. I’m sorry to say that I often consume way more Doritos then actual pages written…
1pm – Emails. Update all social media. This can take anything from an hour to two spread out over the day and includes, updating my blog Sleepless in Samoa, Facebook author site, Twitter, Goodreads, skim thru publisher/author blogs that I follow.
2pm – Run work errands eg. Post Office to mail out signed book orders, drop off books to local indie bookstores who stock my book TELESA, that kind of stuff.
3pm – Get the Terrors from school. Try not to yell at Little Son for losing his shoes AGAIN, playing rugby in the mud AGAIN and ripping his school uniform AGAIN. Try not to freak out when Little Daughter asks, ‘Mum, did you ever like a boy who was older than you at school?’ Try not to crash the car when the 4yr old Beast is having a tantrum because I won’t detour to McDonalds.
4 to 6pm – The part of my day when I wish I could clone myself and have six of me. One to cook dinner and bake cookies . One to help Little Daughter with her homework. One to test Little Son on his spelling words. One to play with the Beast on the trampoline so she wont stand in the middle of the kitchen bellowing ‘Nobodys playing with me! I got nuffing friends.’ One to drive and get the teenagers from Debate Club and rugby practice. And another one to lie on the bed with earphones on, blasting Eminem and muttering This is not my life. This is not my life. Any minute now, Im going to open my eyes and be a stunning supermodel in a glorious mansion with Ryan Reynolds cooking me dinner. Oh, and my book would be all written. And at the top of the bestseller list. Any minute now…
7.30pm – Ideally, all small and filthy children will be showered and fed by this time. This usually involves lots of threats/blackmail/coercion/pleading/the muttering of curse words and the drinking of copious amounts of Diet Coke. (By me, not the filthy children.) Teenagers do dishes and then sneak off to do Very Important Things. Like Facebook . Text their friends that they just said goodbye to a half hour ago. Weights in the gym downstairs. And supposedly to do homework in the Dens of Darkness that they call their bedrooms…
8pm – I read stories to small and very clean children. And then they are supposed to go to sleep. Ha.
9pm – I read a book on my Kindle. Partly because when you’re a fiction writer, reading a revolting number of novels is called “RESEARCH”. And partly because that’s how I relax and not be too mean to my children.
10pm – I write some more. The bestest time to write anything, anywhere, anytime is when the house is asleep.
Midnight. Or maybe 1am. Or maybe 2am. Or 3am. – Sleep. **********************************************************And there you have it. A day in the chaos that is Lani's life. (So please don't be mad at me about 'When Water Burns' missing its March release date. It's with my editor and will be ready soon. I promise, with donuts, doritos and Diet Coke on top....)
In case you're wondering where the Hot Man is in this scenario - he travels often for work . Leaving the Fabulous Five Children at my mercy. *cue evil witch laughter*. In spite of my chaotic schedule I've managed to finish several books so far. Narrative non-fiction account ‘Pacific Tsunami-Galu Afi’, the YA Fantasy/RomanceTELESA series, and a short fiction collection 'Afakasi Woman' - which are all available on Amazon. If anyone has the secret for cloning one's self, I would sure appreciate it if you shared it with me because then I could churn out way more books with much fewer headaches. I think...
