There Are No Dangly Bits (20 Weeks)

The 20-week ultrasound. I've been waiting for this appointment with no small amount of anticipation. I (we) really want to know the gender and I always feel much better after an ultrasound. It helps to calm all my irrational fears, like, "How come everyone in my 'Due in early February online group' is constantly feeling their baby at 16 weeks and I am feeling NOTHING at 20?" or "I still dont' have much of a baby bump...is it growing right? OMG, it's stopped growing..."

Anyway, it's about an hour drive to the town where the ultrasound is done, and because we stopped along the way to get Beau a NZ driver's license (my idea) we were late to the appointment. I called them to let them know, and the woman said, "Oh, well try to get here when you can and we'll see if we can let you in."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, we DID get there (about 15 minutes late) and WERE allowed into the appointment (PHEW!). Immediately, the radiologist with a voice mirroring Jewel's said, "So, do we want to know the sex today?"

- "YES!"

"Okay...well, I can see right between Baby's legs right now, and there are no dangly bits."

- *pause* "So...that's a girl."

"Yes."

The rest of the scan went very well...the woman talking a mile-a-minute in that babydoll voice describing everything she could clearly see and I could cleary NOT. Once in awhile something would be obvious -- the spinal cord, a waving hand, but most of it looked like various grey blobs to me. I was just happy (and teary-eyed) to hear here keep cooing, "Okay, that looks great..." and "That's perfect," etc.

She also surprised me by saying that the (now) girl was moving around like crazy, waving arms and legs and twisting and turning around, kicking at my stomach. Fantastic! Just wish I could feel it all! But as Beau reminds me, "Soon enough you'll be feeling it constantly and it'll probably be PLENTY for you then."

Hooray! Now that we know the gender we can calmly hash out our names (our "girl" list is twice as long as our "boy" list) and get it fixed before the due date.

Surprising note: when Beau and I returned to work at his school the following day, all his students wanted to know the gender and were thrilled to find out...but when I told several older adults that we had chosen to find out, they were very clearly disappointed, a couple even brashly lectured me!

"How could you? It's supposed to be a surprise! Why would you want to know?"

??? Seriously? Maybe I'm not as much of a romantic as I think I am, but I do like the idea of planning out a name, getting the "appropriate" clothes (though JEEZUS, what's with the predominance of all things PINK for a girl???), and just identifying with it as "she" instead of "it." Maybe if this was my 4th child it would be fun to have a surprise (seeing as how I'd be stocked up on baby stuff, of which we have NONE atm, anyway), but for my one, and probably only, baby, I'd really like to be prepared. We're still basically living on Beau's one income and we are very slowly trying to accumulate all we need...we've already started buying diapers.

And, we've started something I find very fun. With the shortlist of names we have, each day when we talk to her, or about her, we call her by one of those names all day long -- just to see how it feels, if we really like it. The next day we pick another name from the list and repeat. I'm really liking it and it's already allowed me to eliminate one name.

Maybe this won't be a knockdown, drag-out fight after all. :)

17 Weeks - Holy Crap!

It's late and the rain is pounding on the roof. I was going to continue my previous post with the second part, which is way more exciting and filled with danger and intrigue. And then I just kind of lost interest. Basically, Beau and I drove through some terrifyingly deep flooding and snuck around road blocks and dodged some cascading rocks to make it back home. It seems kind of dumb now, but when it's late at night, you're only an hour from home (with a trunk full of groceries), the government is threatening to cut you off from the one road leading to your house for days and days, and money for a hotel is an issue as well, you do these things. It felt AMAZING to be home. Our dog, who while chained to her doghouse nearly always manages to get herself hopelessly tangled (and did so this time), was pretty thrilled we were back as well. Anyway...

We're in week 17 of the pregnancy right now. I'm feeling better, more myself. Well, about 80% my former self, which is nice. It's a lot better than being sick and miserable. My energy is returning and my sense of smell has thankfully diminished. Hopefully soon, I'll be feeling optimistic enough where I can start writing a journal for the baby. So far, all I would have put is:

Dear Baby, This blows. Please make February come faster. Your mom.

And then just copy and paste that every day.

Continuing on the optimistic theme, yesterday I was completely thrilled when my fetal heart monitor came in the mail. I got it off of ebay after some research and have been checking for it eagerly every day for the past two weeks. I was surprised at what a shitty piece of plastic it appeared to be, and how it only took a generic-looking 9-volt battery. It came with a pair of headphones that you get with the $15 walkman you'd buy at Walgreen's. Isn't Doppler supposed to be somewhat sophisticated? Well, who am I kidding...I only paid $35 for the thing.

But it works! You have to be persistent, but then suddenly there it is -- the thrush-thrush-thrush sound that has come to sound like pure beautiful (reassuring) music to me. I could just lay there and listen to it like it's an iPod filled with 1500 songs. I'm still terrified that something will happen to the baby, and this helps a lot. My midwife was pretty nice though. At my last checkup about a week ago, she said, "Anytime you're in town, just text me and we can meet real quick and I can let you hear the baby through the monitor." But now I've got my own. Coolness.

I think I'll also feel better when I get that bump. At that same checkup, my midwife noted that I have just now reached my pre-pregnancy weight, so I'm basically where I started. Only fatter from here on out! And since my appetite is quickly returning, I don't think it'll be a problem. I can't tell if at those times when I stuff my face it's because it's the pregnancy or it's just me going "Woo hoo, I'm pregnant, I can stuff my pie hole!" I'm a bit nervous of the latter, since it wouldn't be too tough for me to become a fat cow through this. I'm trying to listen to my body and be honest with myself. I eat when I'm hungry.

Saw the midwife again today. She called me a few days after that last appointment and was worried about some complications I've been having. So I drove in, she did an exam, and said she was referring me to the obstetrician to be seen next week. Great. We think we know what it is now, which is much better than what it COULD have been. It has to do with the fact that I'm Rh-, which for those of you who have happily forgot your high school Biology, means that if my baby has a + blood type, and our blood mixes, I will develop antibodies against it and basically try to kill it. I've already had that shot for it, but it's a bit more complicated than that. (I'm trying to be informative here without being too graphic...).

Good thing I drove in too. When in town, I was told, "Did you know they're closing the road up the coast at 6:30pm until 6:30am tomorrow?"

WHAT? So, again I quickly bought some groceries and drove back, where on the way, I was stopped at one of the many construction sites where they're trying to repair collapsed parts of the road.

"Did you know we're closing the road at 6:30pm?" (It was now about 3:30pm).
-- Yes. Glad I bought groceries! *big smile*
"Well, it's closed all day tomorrow too...at least."
-- Oh.

When I got home, Beau was already back from work. He added to this great news.

"They said once they closed the road for 3 weeks before."

!!!!!!

We'd have to get pretty creative with our food. Should have bought some potatoes.

Let's hope for a speedy construction recovery. And that this rain pounding on the roof right now, stops...soon.

Act of God, Part I

Winter here in the Bay of Plenty means no snow, but it does mean rain. A LOT of rain. More rain than I have ever experienced, anywhere, including the flooding monsoon rains of Thailand which could soak you through in seconds or the day-after-day grey drizzle of Strasbourg, France.

The upside is that our entire water supply comes from rain, so rain = good. But as the saying goes, there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. Rain is romantic as it beats on the roof through the night. But when it's still beating down when you wake up...throughout the whole day...into the next night...it's a bit much. And if it goes on for days...flooding begins.

The only road from our place in the back country to the nearest town is a 2-lane coastal highway. Coastal highways are beautiful, but hardly practical. They're more for tourists to enjoy stunning glimpses of the ocean through the trees or to pull over and pose at the occasional photographic turn-off. And as gorgeous as this place is, it doesn't get a lot of tourists, except for some campers during the summer months (Christmas time). For the rest of us, it means an endless, windy road that takes twice as long to get to town than a road that aims for a more direct route.

"We told them," said the locals, in regards to when the government first came to build the road years ago. "We told them building here on the coast was a mistake....every time there's a big rain these hills avalanche. The road will be non-stop work."

They weren't just whistling dixie. Road workers have no fear of job loss as they are constantly on the road clearing piles of debris and shoring up the road. And just recently a new development. About 1/2 mile down the road from us, on the way into town, the road is, literally, falling into the sea. Well, okay, to be totally precise, the river. We live up on a hill that overlooks where a river meets the ocean. And as it continues to rain, the river gets higher and wider and has begun to take chunks of the highway with it on its rampant path.

This is very scary for me, for as isolated as I tend to feel up here in my small house in paradise, a trip into town, even the crappy little town that you hit first, is VERY much needed to prevent myself from going into a Jack-from-The-Shining suicidal state. Especially now that I'm not working so much.

The road was wheedled down to one lane, bordered by some cones and barriers precariously perched on its edge, just a foot or two above the muddy, rushing river.

Then there was a small lull in the rain.

The road crew hopped to it and spent over a week in large vehicles with various impressive implements moving dirt and rock, making piles. It appeared they were trying to re-route the river. It looked confusing, endless, and well...fruitless.

"What about when it rains again?"

Sure enough, a few days later the rains came, with just as much gusto as ever. Whatever intricate work they had done on the river bed area was now completely underwater as the swollen river rushed along. Oh well.

And it kept raining.

At the end of this past week, Beau said, "I really want to go into town, I haven't been for awhile." I was not as keen since I had already been that week to take the car in for repairs and since becoming pregnant, road trips can often = nauseated sick trips. But I took one look into our pantry and fridge to agree. We were running out of food and already getting cranky at dinnertime each night as we whined to each other.

"What do you want for dinner?"
*long pause*
"Well?"
- "I don't know...*sigh* What do you want?"
*perusing the pantry* "There's no food...pasta?"
- "No, not again."
"We've got potatoes..."
- "Ugh."

Then we just kind of walk away for an hour until we get even more hungry and more cranky and come back to the kitchen and start all over again until one of us gives in to the other's suggestion.

It didn't use to be THIS hard until I Thai-ed us out. We both love Thai food and I love to cook it, and since I can kind of go on auto pilot when making it, I usually prefer to. But I think we're getting a bit sick of it...especially stir fry which is my specialty, but can get hard to choke down EVERY WEEK.

In addition, since I'm not working so much, we are basically living on Beau's income which means being more frugal with food, which can be tough with a VERY particular, picky pregnant woman who lives off of can of mandarin oranges, jars of artichoke hearts, and piles and piles of fruit, often imported kind like grapes and cherries.

At Beau's work, where I was subbing for the day, they warned us. "Huge floods are coming. The rain's gonna start, and it won't stop the whole weekend."

"Huh?"

"Don't you listen to the radio at home?"

"Erm, no" (never)

We heard different stories from the rain starting that night (Friday) at 9pm all the way to 3pm the next day. The canteen lady plopped the newspaper down in front of me at lunch, and stabbed at finger at an article on the front page.

"Expected floods all throughout the Bay of Plenty this weekend. Civil Defence called out and ready."

Hrm. I don't know why a part of me can't take stuff like this seriously. Like the last two "tsunamis" or occasional earthquakes that make you giggle more than tremble. I'm not an idiot, I guess I just have never lived anywhere where there was any kind of real Act of God threat. Still.

"Let's go Friday after work," I said to Beau. "We can beat the rain."

He grimaced. "Then we have to drive home in the dark...and it may be raining. I hate that, and I'll be tired."

"But it said the rain might not start til 9pm. We'll be home by then."

"It's still the dark. I'd rather drive in daylight with rain than at night."

Hrmph.

So, we wait til tomorrow, Saturday, and take our chances with the rain.

Thrilled to be With Child, Hating Pregnancy

My life has taken a turn for the better..and the worse. The good news is that I'm pregnant again...about 15 weeks as I write this.

But like my last pregnancy, which ended sadly, this one also sucks. But it's finally beginning to ease up...a little bit. Basically, like before, I pretty much knew I was pregnant as soon as that sperm wiggled into the egg. I won't go into even MORE gruesome details, but basically something happens to me physically that's hard to ignore and bordering on painful, which is the clue that lets me know.

Beau and I have been back together for about 9 months now, continuing our fruitful yet expensive therapy, and pretty much content. We thought it was time to start thinking about having a baby again. We went and saw my GP (general practitioner, what NZers call their primary care physician), and we had that "What you should start doing to get pregnant" talk. We talked to the therapist, I began the vitamins, etc. Another year has passed, and I'm 37 now (Beau quite a bit older), so our ages are always a bit of a concern.

"This could take awhile, we better get started."

Then I got pregnant that month.

Good job, Fertile Myrtle.

So since then, I've basically been unemployed, translation, a total bum at home. And every day has been hard, feeling like I've had rampant stomach flu, but without the whole puking thing. Feeling like I'm...just...about...to puke. My aversion to food, basically all food, was rampant, and I shed 15lbs in a way I would have been totally incapable of before. I had that typical pregnancy sense of smell that was overwhelming, to the point where I couldn't bear to make any bath products, except to make myself small bottles of unscented (Ha! There's still a scent!) shampoo and shower gel so I could shower. The ironic thing about this, is that the whole philosophy behind my soap, shampoo, conditioner and shower gel-making over the past year has been to make the smell VERY strong, like Bath & Body Works strong, since that's what *I* really like. Now, I cannot even stand my own product.

So yeah, waah waah waah. But when this does go on day after day, and you're not really working much, you have a lot of time to focus on your own misery. And it does get rather depressing. You just wonder when it will END. I was focused on the end of my first trimester like a dying person staring into the light.

The first trimester came and went...still felt like shit. Fuck.

But I'm not all depression and self-loathing. I realized that most women have to go to work during this time...even if they do feel dizzy, tired, nauseous, or sick. They still have to put in their eight hours and just manage. I get to stay at home and sleep in and watch Judge Judy and eat when I want to.

And I finally discovered that was one of the main keys. Eat....frequently. Like, every 2 hours. Even though I would rather beat myself in the head than eat a cracker, I've learned: EAT THE FUCKING CRACKER. If I make myself eat about once every 2-3 hours, it helps the sick feeling.

The other hyper-focus in my life was that first ultrasound. The one that tells you your baby is alive and whether or not it has a chromosomal problem, like Down Syndrome. My age gave me a 1 in 210 chance of the baby having DS. That's crazy! If that was lottery odds, I'd be buying up tickets! Also, it was the DAY of this ultrasound on my last pregnancy that I had the miscarriage. I thought, "If I can just make it to this day, it'll be okay."

Beau and I drove into the nearest town and met with the midwife first. She laid me out and took out a fetal monitor and suddenly there it was: THP-THP-THP-THP-THP-THP-THP-THP. The heartbeat! I couldn't believe it! I had never heard something like that before. Of course, I began to cry. I'm pretty sure Beau teared up, but he'll be sure to tell you it was dust in his eye.

Then we drove to the next town where the radiology clinic was for the ultrasound. I was liad out and BAM, there was the baby! Wow! But it was the end of the day, and the ultrasound lady was not in the best of moods.

"The baby's in the wrong place. Get up and walk around so the baby will move."

Erm, okay. I got up, walked around, went to the bathroom. Jumped up and down, jiggled. Came back.

She gritted her teeth. "Bad baby."

Hey!

"Go walk out of the lobby and came back."

I walked out, with the top bottom of my jeans undone and that smeary shit all over my stomach and clothes. People in the waiting room gawked. I twirled, I walked, I giggled, I bounced. Came back.

She was not amused. She was downright grouchy.

"Go walk around the block. I'm going to see another patient."

Geez, okay.

Beau and I went for a walk around the block. I did some more bouncing and twirling, even contemplated a cartwheel, then decided against it. We came back, and this time I was nervous. This ultrasound lady only comes to this clinic once every couple weeks and Beau had taken the day off. I laid down and got smeared again.

"Ahhhh good baby!"

Hooray!

Apparently, now it was in the perfect place, on it's back, looking up. She took all her little measurements, cooing happily. Then the coolest thing happened.

While we were staring at the screen, the baby on its back, it suddenly turned its head and stared right at us. Then, one hand came up over its head, fingers separated...and it waved.

Waved.

Pretty neat.

The lady captured the image. At this point, the baby looks pretty skeletal and gross, and since I was never one for looking at anyone else's ultrasound pics, I'll spare you mine.

Instead, I'll just post pics of cute little babies....

P.S. I had to wait nearly 3 weeks for the results. When I finally called up the midwife, still worried about that 1 in 210 chance, she said, "Oh, the place that evaluates it said they never got the ultrasound. I just re-faxed it to them."

"Okay, how long do I wait now?"

"About another week."

ARGH!! But all's well that ends well. When the results from the ultrasound and blood tests finally came in a few days ago, my 1 in 210 chance of Down Syndrome had dropped all the way to 1 in 1800. A huge, huge relief. As of today, a healthy baby. :)

Update: Lunch Lady Land

Yeah, disgusted with myself for not posting regularly. I'd like to fill in some gaps.

The "emergency funds" for my one-on-one position with Trucker ran out, but I've still continued to work at Beau's school, though now it's mostly filling in for either the school secretary or the canteen lady. It's the latter position that has been the most interesting for me. I spent over a week by myself in a long kitchen-like room with a serving window. I played my iTunes, and danced around the kitchen making the requisite hamburgers, chips (french fries), fish rolls (fried fish sandwiches) and other not-so-nutritious snack bar-y things. I tossed cheese, leftover fish, and the occasional dead mouse (from the mousetrap) to the half-wild cat that lived beneath the adjoining building, and when I was feeling motherly, warmed the students' cookies up in the microwave. I actually enjoyed it my time there, though it wouldn't be something I'd want to do for life.

My working as school secretary or canteen lady lets me see (for the most part) the good part of these kids. In each position I seem to have developed a small group of groupies (though strangely, not the same kids) who hang out and talk to me, telling me how beautiful my eyes are and asking questions about Mr. Beau and I. ("How old are you? How old is he again?"). Beau just loves to be asked by the kids why I married him, and if he's secretly rich. *snicker*

Of course, the secretary and canteen lady can't be sick/on vacation all the time, so it's not the most consistent work, though I have managed to work at least one day every week, which helps. It would help more if the accountant didn't manage to muck up EVERY PAYCHECK I've made. Yes, it's true, 8 out of 8 paychecks have had errors (mostly, missing shifts), which has just about made me psycho.

Beau and I have also been taking a Maori language class every Wednesday for 3 hours at a time in our community. I was a bit worried that I wouldn't be able to focus for such a long class, but it's gone really well. Our teacher is an older woman who I completely adore. Shaped a bit like a weeble-wobble with more missing than present teeth and a loud, infectious laugh, she makes the class relaxed and fun. Except for Beau and I, the entire class are Maori, mostly women, and range in age from early 20's to senior citizens tottering on canes.

I have to admit, of all the languages I've studied, this class is the most supportive environment I've ever been in. In the past, there have been certain languages I've studied where the native or heritage speakers have shown a bit of reluctance in my participation, as if I was invading their secret world. This class totally lacks any competitiveness and there are frequent bouts of applause when a student speaks in class. Also, in true Maori style, there is a giant "tea" about halfway through each class where we all bring food and then stuff ourselves silly on smoked fish, fresh fruit picked off everyone's fruit trees, cakes and homemade soups. I've really enjoyed it, even if I haven't always felt like going.

Nothing too exciting, but that's about it for now. Hopefully this will egg me on to write more...and next time I'll write about when Beau and I spent a day in the local marae (Maori meeting house) with our class.

Update: Little House in the Bush

It seems to be a common theme with all my fellow bloggers lately, we haven't blogged. I could blame Facebook or real life, but blah, I just haven't felt too inspired.

But I've had a couple of emails from people who are (shockingly!) not glued to my Facebook page in anticipation of my fascinating status updates, so I'll do it here. As usual, I'll say I'll keep it short and fail miserably.

I'm back in the bush with Beau, and once every 2-4 weeks we travel two hours to a nearby "big" city, sit in the small room of a very talented, though very expensive therapist, and hash it all out. It's exhausting, difficult, sometimes even anger or tear-filled, but totally worth it, even if paying the bill causes both of us physical pain. Honestly, without it, we wouldn't have made it this far. That sounds dreary, I know, but it's really just the truth. It's also the truth that in some ways, our relationship is better than ever before. I find that I feel a lot lighter, in a sense.

Best of all, there have been a lot of changes in both of us that seem to have stuck. That's really the key, being able to permanently change some bullshit you've been causing in relationships forever. It's pretty tough, because you get so comfortable in who you are, even the shitty stuff you claim to hate about yourself, and changing's a major pain in the ass. Luckily, the lady's good and we're willing.

I've started working at the school Beau teaches at. It's been wonderful in some ways. I began in the office, covering for the school's secretary (they still use that word frequently here, and it still makes me wince). It was a non-stop, go-go-go job, but one I could do with my eyes closed and standing on my head. The pay was about $5/hour less than Auckland, YIKES, but I was told that was "good" compared to other jobs around here, that some people took a 50% cut in salary once they came back to the bush. Uh huh. Anyway, I liked the contact with the kids, the ease yet energy of the job, and the short hours. Going home at 2:30 or 3:00pm every day ROCKS!

When that stint ended they asked me to serve in another capacity - a little difficult to explain. The colloquial term here is "tracker" though more knowledgeable people seem to take offense at it. It's similar to a "para" in an American school. Basically, I sit all day with one student, a primary school boy of 10 years whom I'll call "Trucker." Trucker's got some major behavioral and learning problems and a family background that would make you cry and dash over and hug your kids RIGHT NOW. Overall, he's a pretty sweet boy and my heart just bleeds for him. They've got him on drugs which I admit, I approve of. Not just because they're the same drugs that have been prescribed to me in the past for ADD, but when he doesn't take them, controlling him becomes "challenging" (a MAJOR understatement).

When Trucker does take it, I do my best to get him to do a little bit of work in each subject, learn something new, and not kill any other students. So far, I've been wildly successful and have received a lot of positive comments. And his absence rate went from 50% to zero. It's really all about him, though. He just needs a lot of love and a little push and he does just fine.

I've also LOVED getting back into teaching, though I'm being generous with the word. I find it REALLY hard not to just assert myself as a teacher, since I was one for 3 1/2 years and loved it, and feel like I know what to do. But I have to keep telling myself that I'm supposed to mainly observe, record, and help Trucker (or others if they ask), NOT run the classroom.

It's a weird situation - like a one-room school house from Little House on the Prairie. There are children in there as young as five and as old as ten years old. There's a main teacher and an assistant. The main teacher is quite good, but it's not easy teaching all these kids and all these levels at one time. The assistant's a really nice lady, but classroom control is not her forte. And there are several kids in there with some real issues that could rival Trucker's. Not to mention many come from MASSIVE pot-growing/gang homes. I can't tell you how many times a kid has told me, "My dad's in the Mongrel Mob, you better watch out!" (Mongrel Mob is the Maori equivalent of Crypts or Bloods in the U.S.). Parents will even send their kids to school dressed in the "colors" of their gang.

I've never seen kids like this though. Beau's been telling me for years, and now I see it in person. Teachers hearing a "fuck you" is a daily occurrence, and often students are just damn cruel, to each other, AND to the teachers. Kids are caught smoking cigarettes or pot EVERY DAY, and a couple of the little ones have even tried to hit me (it was the last time they ever tried that!). Destruction of property, especially the schools, is really just sad. Students will just sit there and snap pencil after pencil. And one that really pisses me off - rampant stealing.

Getting them to do any homework is a joke, and the absentee rate is shocking. It's not unusual for a student to miss a whole week, just 'cause. There's one kid who only comes to school every 21 days, with his mother's consent! She needs him there in that timeframe to collect welfare checks for him, but otherwise, she couldn't give a shit whether he comes to school or not. And he doesn't.

And I know kids naturally tend to scuffle, but these kids, from the wee ones up through high school, seem ready to tear each other's face off at the drop of the hat. They have NO fear. A five year old will jump a nine year old with no problem. I personally break up anywhere from 1-10 fights a day, though it's usually just little kids pummeling each other, followed by heaps of tears. Beau, on the other hand, has broken up several fights with high school students, and that's some scary shit sometimes, especially when several join in. Some of these Maori boys are NOT small and even tower over Beau, who is a rather large man.

It sounds like I'm describing the worst school ever, but overall it's not doing too terribly. It definitely needs some work, but the principal works his ass off and the teachers, though occassionally demoralized, are good people who work hard.

And of course, I find I love being around the little kids. I'm just "gosh shucks awww"ing all over them. The little girls are all already in love with me, vying to hold my hand or give me a hug, and I frequently go home with at least one picture drawn for me. As for the boys, depends on their mood; they vacillate between love and hate for me, usually depending on what they think I'm letting them get away with. But I love them all. Even the little buttheads. Don't know how long it will last though. I'm there on some emergency funding which lasts for a few more weeks. Who knows after that? I would LOVE to get back to my book which has been snail-pacing along.

I still work nights doing that online text service thing, but overall it's been a pretty big disappointment and the organization is in a constant state of chaos. Seems every few days there's another memo sent out with another set of rules, more scolding of various employees, etc. And just recently, they LOWERED the rates they pay (We get paid for each question answered, not our time online). They have heaps of justifications for this, but really, in the end it's just bullshit. That wouldn't even be so bad if there were questions AVAILABLE to answer, but when you're scheduled for a couple hours at night, you're already tired from working during the day, and you sit there, staring at a blank computer screen (and there are 4 other "agents" on with you doing the same thing), it gets a bit annoying. Bummer, really. It's a COOL concept for a job, and great for me as I live out here in the Land of Nearly No Jobs, but we'll see what happens.

Being back here in the sunny Bay of Plenty (I don't know why they keep calling this region "sunny" since the weather seems rather uniform across the north island) is rather soothing. I miss Auckland, a lot actually, but I also love it here. When I'm outside walking around the grounds, with the green all around me and the river and ocean in the distance... I have Tonks trotting happily beside me, trailing behind her usually 2 of the 3 cats, and trailing even farther, the "chooks" (chickens) tottering along...I feel full. I feel just happy. I'm happy to be back with Beau and have a lot of hope for us. Part of me would like to stay here forever, but I also know I'd eventually go fairly batty. I need to be just a bit closer to active civilization, fast food, Asian grocery stores, movie theaters, bookstores and of course, restaurants that sell more than pot pies and deep fried fish.

For now, that's just a few hours drive away....

Rescuing Tonks

Our dog Tonks is pretty wonderful. She's super sweet and loving, loyal, obedient and will follow you to the ends of the earth. And as I've mentioned, there's just one flaw: every once in awhile she takes off anywhere from 30 minutes to a couple hours. It doesn't happen a lot, but when it does, we worry because of the highway below. As Jenn mentioned, (from when she was growing up), you kind of want the dog to have a happy dog life, to run around and just take the chance of the danger.

While I was in Auckland, she took off once and didn't return until 3am. Beau got out of bed to let her in, and told me, "I expected her to smell like booze and cigarettes."

I've been back here "in the bush" for about a month now, and she hasn't taken off once. I was kind of hoping her wandering days were over. Well, until yesterday. Around 7pm, she took off. We called and called, she didn't come back.

At first, it was not a big deal. She usually turns up a couple hours later, appropriately sheepish where she gets lectured and put on the chain to think about what she's done. Yeah, that works really well.

It was getting pretty dark and she hadn't returned. We kept going outside, calling, whistling,...which usually brings her crashing back, but no, no dog. This was our pissed off stage. "When she gets back, I'm gonna kill her!"

It was a coal black night, and I'm not exagerrating when I say you could hardly see in front of your face. With no city lights, no street lights, nothing but surrounding jungle and no moon, there's nothing to light the way. I got in the car and with the brights on, drove slowly down the road, back and forth. If it wasn't in the beam of the lights, it was total darkness. I saw a dead possum and a live possum, but no Tonks. At least I didn't see a dead dog on the road.

It was well past midnight, and several more attempts to walk around and call/whistle to her hadn't worked. Now I was at the worried stage.

"She'll turn up, she always does," said Beau, "She'll come up on the porch and wait for us to let her in."

I went to bed nervous and laid there half-awake, half listening for her return. After an hour or so I got up and brought my pillows to the couch which is opposite the sliding glass doors and porch. I laid down to sleep. Didn't sleep well, and when I finally got up, no Tonks.

I went back to bed and crawled in. I thought if I could just make time pass, I'd wake up and she'd be there. Shortly thereafter, Beau woke me up.

"I'm going to go look for her, want to come?" I immediately ogred out of bed and threw on some clothes. We drove up and down the street, much farther than we thought possible for her to travel, crossing the river far to the other side. No sign.

"There's no way she wouldn't have returned by now. There are no good reasons to be gone this long: hit by a car, injured or someone took her." (I'm always worried she'll be kidnapped since every pig dog owner within a 20 mile radius has eyed her lasciviously and commented on what a good breeder she'd be. Wonder how long it'd take til they figured out she's been fixed).

The day continued. I walked our land calling her name and pausing to listen for a possible whimper. I returned with soaked pants but no dog.

The day passed slowly. By now I was resigning myself to the fact she was gone, most likely hit by a car and bounced off the road. It's weird all the strange stuff that goes through your mind from regular sad feelings to bizarre practical thoughts. How depressed I felt because I really love that dog, but at the same time I was thinking things like, "Aw, she's just a dog," and "Well, I guess we won't have such a hard time getting a new place without a dog..."

For some reason, I grabbed our binoculars and walked to the picnic table that sat at the edge of our property before it dropped off like a cliff. Straight ahead (west) is the ocean. Directly to the left (south) is the river. The river meets the ocean in the southwest. Also right there is a long sandy strip that narrows or widens depending on the tide, and is always populated by some hardcore fishermen. Except for today.

Today is Saturday and you're not allowed to fish there on Saturdays. In 1900, 16 Maori children of a nearby village were being ferried across this very river by two men in a canoe. They attended a school on the other side and it was the only way to get there. It's not certain what happened, perhaps a flash flood, but all on board were washed away and drowned. The village lost all its children in one terrible accident. So to this day, you cannot fish there on Saturdays or the 12th of the month.

I climbed on top of the picnic table and stood on the edge. I raised the binoculars and looked out at the strips of sand orphaned from the river and ocean's embrace. I scanned a little and suddenly....there she was!

I couldn't fucking believe it. Beau was out on the porch watching me and I started calling frantically at him to come over. I looked again, there she was, tiny even in the scope of the binoculars, marooned on a thin strip of sand surrounded by water. WTF!? Beau took the binoculars and looked himself. "Tonks!" he shouted out. Her head snapped around and looked in our direction. Thank god she's a red dog, otherwise she would have been imperceptible amongst the endless stretch of sand and rocks. She must have ran out there and somehow got stranded by the tide.

We tore out of there and sprinted to the car. Beau careened down the winding driveway. "Beau.." I said. "Sorry," he grinned and slowed slightly. We hit the highway and after a minute had pulled off of it near the entrance to the beach. It's the same entrance those children used 110 years ago. A natural stairway stomped out of the roots of trees and hardpacked mud, so steep in some parts you have to practically climb down from one step to another. Beau and I scampered and skidded downward through the dark foliage.

We finally hit the beach, which is made entirely of rocks and driftwood. We crunched and wobbled over the ground. I couldn't see her, but Beau kept leading me forward. "There she is, there!" he pointed. I squinted. I couldn't see her. "Look over my shoulder and follow my finger," he suggested. I planted my chin on his shoulder and looked. There was her tiny form.

"She's trapped," I said. I had taken Tonks to another part of the river just a week before and as she and I had crossed a part that was about 3-feet high, the current had scared her as she swam across. Now she was surrounded by water. I wondered how long she had been there.

After walking around some more obstacles, we finally got to her, water separating us. "She looks hungry," said Beau. We took a few steps into the water. It was too deep for her to walk, but didn't seem too swift to swim in. "The tide's coming in," said Beau.

"Come on, come on, Tonks!" Beau called out to her. After prancing back and forth briefly, she dove into the water and started swimming toward us. I sloshed toward her, hoping to meet her halfway in case. But she made it alright, shaking off the water next us. I was so happy I burst into tears and had to sit on a large piece of driftwood. The dog was ecstatic, dancing and wagging away. I felt emotionally spent. "I thought she was dead," I said.

We walked back and heaved ourselves up the path back to the top where the car was. And now we're back, and it's as if it never happened.

Weird.