The Strawberry Shortcake Situation

Charlotte had brought the house down with a fantastic speech on lamingtons. Her mum had even brought in the classic Aussie dessert to share with the class. This week’s speech topic was “my favorite fruit” and not to be outdone by Charlotte and her lamingtons, Kenna decided to bring in some culinary bribery of her own.

She started work on her upcoming oratory six days ahead of schedule, meticulously making note cards and rehearsing endlessly in front of the mirror and any live audience that was willing to sit through her spiel on the joys of strawberries. The clever speech included descriptive diatribes, questionable facts, eye contact, and impressive vocal stylings. This was an A+ waiting to happen. All she needed was some culinary support and perhaps a carefully planted slow clapper at the end to intensify the electrifying response she was sure to receive.

To showcase the strawberry we settled on an all-American confection–Strawberry Shortcake. The novelty alone would win the hearts and minds of the natives.  I utilized imported Bisquick to create the pastry and purchased copious amounts of fresh strawberries from Harris Farms to make the ambrosia filling. I whipped fresh cream into a frenzy for the finale. The speech and its shortcake counterpart would no doubt become the stuff of legend. I finished the masterpiece with minutes to spare and headed to Roseville Public with Aunt Leslie and Chaylee to deliver the goods.

Leslie and I arrived just early enough to quickly assemble the shortcakes. Fortunately, the children were still in the main hall enjoying a bit of dance, so we had ample time to work our magic. We layered the tasty morsels in small plastic cups, leaving room for a dollop of cream. They looked beautiful and tasted even better. There was the small problem of having limited cutlery, but Leslie and I determined that most first grade classes came equipped with some form of plastic utensil for occasions such as this.

We could hear the children in the distance and the melodic though strained voice of Mrs. Burnside* leading the way.

“Come now children. Don’t run! Hats by the door! Take your seats! Quietly please…quietly 1B***!”

Kenna’s eyes widened with utter delight as she saw her precious strawberries displayed gloriously in the clever little cups! Her mates gathered round excitedly to see what “Kenna’s Mum” had brought them. They were clearly impressed.

“Mom, I will put on the whip cream as a demonstration okay?” I nodded with maternal confidence. I had done it. I had taken her speech from here (insert hand motion) to here (repeat hand motion with increased elevation).**

Mrs. Burnside approached and offered Kenna the option of going first or last. It felt like the coin toss at the beginning of a big game.

“First please.” She replied.

That’s my girl!

Kenna delivered her speech brilliantly and without error, and before I could deliver the slow clap, I was called upon to help serve-up the big finish. It occurred to me, however, as I approached the table that some key planning had not taken place. I had not brought napkins, nor had I addressed the cutlery issue with Mrs. Burnside.

“Mrs. Burnside, I only have 11 forks. Might you have some available?” Her already palpable stress visibly increased. “No, but you may be able to find some in the faculty lounge, Mrs. Pasley.” She was passively displeased.

I quickly ran out the door to do some fork finding while Kenna placed uncomfortably large portions of whipped cream onto the shortcakes. Meanwhile, Mrs. Burnside, noting our lack of serviettes, asked Max to run to the back of the room to collect paper towels. I raced back from my successful mission to find Mrs. Burnside crouched uncomfortably near Kenna and Aunt Leslie holding back nervous laughter on the sidelines. The children were hovering over the table of treats like little pugnacious vultures, fighting for flesh.

“I want that one!”

“I don’t like strawberries! I just want cake!”

“I don’t like the cake, I just want the cream!”

“I’m hate strawberries!”

“I want the big cup!”

“No, I get that one!!!”

“Mrs. Burnside, how would you like us to proceed?” I said, hoping some leadership would emerge amongst the chaos. I don’t think she heard me. She continued to attempt to bring order, correcting individual student transgressions like a flustered nanny.

Since the speech was only supposed to take three minutes, and it had already been nearly ten, I decided to just start handing out the cups randomly, not realizing that the napkin situation had not been brought under control. Max was running around aimlessly near the paper towels, clearly not meeting his objective. Leslie intervened but it was too late. The children had begun to eat before the utensils and paper towels had been distributed. That’s when things got ugly.

Mrs. Burnside was beginning to unravel—she was like a mildly deranged Mary Poppins.

“Sit Down! Place your rubbish on the table! I said, sit down! That is NOT where that cup goes. Place your rubbish on the table! Be more careful please. Sit down 1B!”

Strawberries were being strewn across the newly cleaned carpet and haphazardly crushed into the grey threads by wandering school shoes. The red chunks of pulverized fruit were accompanied by bits of shortcake and entrails of cream. Many a school uniform was compromised as well. It was a disaster. The clever little cups were no match for the little uncoordinated consumers.

Aunt Leslie offered to address one of the stains on the floor. Mrs. Burns accepted her offer with a sort of righteous indignation. I cowered in the back, intermittently eating left over shortcake, while frantically cleaning off sticky cutlery. I could over hear Mrs. Burnside instructing Leslie to address additional stains like she was Jane or Michael Banks. Apparently, there were many. Despite the guilt of knowing she was on her hands and knees scouring the floor, I could not make eye contact Leslie, knowing that one look would send us both into a hysterics. How could it all go so horribly wrong?

We collected our rubbish and left over samples and headed quickly for the door before Grace’s speech on Rock Mellon got underway. Evidently, she had samples too.

Words of the Day:

Rhyming Slang

Good thing I was not Pat Malone (alone) when I got into froth and bubble (trouble). Ta Les.

Poll:

Have you had any classroom debacles as a parent or child that you would like to share? Because I would like to hear them.

Points of Interest:

* Mrs. Burnside is not her real name. I decided to use an alias to protect her virtue.

** This famous saying is a Carolee classic but must only be used in conjunction with the    suggested hand motions

***Classes at Roseville Public are referred to by their year followed by the first letter of    the teacher’s name. 1B thus stands for Year One-Mrs. Burnside.

Family Not-So-Fun Fact:

We have been evicted. The landlord wants his land back by then end of November. It’s going to be an interesting Christmas. Maybe I can find a nice stable to give birth in. Looking forward to the life lessons that are coming my way. Or that’s what I am telling myself in between sobs. No really. I am okay. Not really. No, really, I am. Sort of. Hopefully this situation will get funny soon too.

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What’s Cookin?

I haven’t been sleeping well lately. The strangest things seem to keep me up for hours. Case in point. The other night, I woke up at 3am completely out of sorts. I was crazed; desperate to be interesting. Earlier in the evening, I succumbed to the crazy antics of facebook (sorry myspacers) and all of her minions by writing 25 Random Things about myself. I had been “tagged” by about 25 people, and the pressure was getting to me. So I quickly shot off the requested amount of random facts about myself, shut down the computer and headed to bed. That was my first mistake. Not leaving ample time between public reflection and bedtime. My second mistake was reading so many wonderful random lists right before creating my own. The stage was set for compulsive comparison. My third mistake was spending so little time on something I evidently cared about. Why did I care so much, you ask? Well, because, I want people to think I am awesome. That’s right…I said it. I want everyone I encounter to think me awesome. For at least an hour, I thought of all the random things I should have mentioned.

..q

..I know sign language

..q

..I miss living on Star Lake.

..q

..I like blue best.

“Not quite interesting enough,” I thought.

..q

..-I love scary roller coasters unless they dangle me upside down for too long. I require speed and dynamic loops to be satisfied…

“Ooh that’s good, and so true.”

..q

…I love the way Chaylee moves her shoulders when she dances and the way Kenna talks out of the side of her mouth when she makes a joke lately.

“Nice: remind everyone what a great mom I am for noticing the little things. “

..q

..I sang at the Stanley Cup when I was ten.

“Taking it too far.”

…this went on for some time…this internal madness…until finally I realized that if I did not act, I would not sleep. I located the laptop and made revisions.

I pressed Post. I went to bed. It was the temporary sedative I needed, but it did not quell the dull ache of rut-dom. (That’s a new word I made up, in case you are going for your dictionary). After all, life is good. I have the coolest husband in two hemisphere’s, two fancy daughters, and access to beach life. So why do I feel so uninteresting? Is it the yoga pants I wear day in and day out? Perhaps. Or could it be my monotonous domestic responsibilities and respective deficiencies? Is it because I am 30…+1? The answer is, none of the above. Yoga pants rule and domestic responsibility comes with the territory. Sucking at it is a little tough, but nothing I can’t overcome.

The answer is…I NEED AN AUDIENCE. That’s right. Children 5 and under are wonderful. Mine bring me great cheer, but they, in many ways, are a tough crowd. Witty metaphors go over like pork chops at a Bar mitzvah. Yet, merely utter the words “pee pee” or “poo poo” and get out the pull ups. It would be okay if I liked potty humor, but I am not a fan. The audience I seek will not require me to say “ca ca” to get a laugh.

Hence, the end of my tale. While watching an episode of “Ready, Steady, Cook”, it occurred to me: this show is filmed in front of a live studio audience….. the people in said audience are cheery and required to laugh and provide positive bio feed back to the contestants. I love to cook…..Ready Steady Cook is seeking contestants. And so instead of whining about my rut, I set out to do something truly interesting. I emailed the show and quipped:

“I am Ready. I am Steady. Let’s Cook”.

I called a fellow expat and friend to be my fellow contestant. We auditioned last week. If that is not interesting I don’t know what is.

I’ll keep you posted.

Words of the Day

Troppa: To go crazy or insane….

Rippa: Great Job….

I have been going Troppa lately but I think Ready Steady Cook will be a real rippa. ….

……

Trivia

Ready Steady Cook asks two contestants to cook with Australia’s best and brightest chefs while they go to battle with paring knives drawn. Each contestant brings a bag of their favorite ingredients to cook with. The chefs, with help of a trusty sidekick (that would be me) must make a meal with the provided ingredients in no less then 20 minutes. I hope I won’t go troppa under the pressure.

http://readysteadycook.ten.com.au/

……

Poll: What is the craziest thing you have done to get out of a rut?

……

Family Fun Facts

Chaylee is fluent in English. Kenna started Kindergarten, Drama Class once a week, and will be on the Roseville Rookie Soccer team as of next month. –Oh no…it just occurred to me…I am a soccer mom! Get out the scissors.

Wenlocks and Grandma Down Under Part 2

“Living without you, living alone
This empty house seems so cold” 

Oh Journey…you haunt me.

My beloved family has departed…leaving me to fend for myself on this massive remote island. I am closer in proximity to the Malaysian Prime Minister than my own relatives now. Best not to think about that too much.

Instead, I shall dwell on all the wonderful times we shared …once we got the nose situation under control, that is. We frolicked on the steps of the Opera House, danced to the didgeridoo at Circular Quay, played in the sparkling sands of Balmoral Beach and hid from a rainstorm under the bridge. We even ate Aussie food at an Irish Pub where Mick, the ball-busting waiter shared his displeasure with our Olympians…

“Tired of hearing your bloody anthem mate!”

Okay, now that’s just awesome.

Mom’s arrival brought even more bliss. We flew kites on the crystal shores of Bondi, caressed kangaroos at Taronga Zoo and attempted to enjoy the clowns and carnival of Luna Park.

Our first attempt was met with alluring lights, celebratory music, and a closed sign. Our second effort was thwarted by a recently revised ticket policy. No longer are visitors to Luna Park allowed to purchase individual tickets, only a pricey “ticket package”. We had to take a stand. It wasn’t easy convincing the little ones that our boycott was justified, so we bribed them with fairy floss (cotton candy) and festive clown encounters.
Lesson: Never trust an establishment that uses a creepy clown to welcome you.

There was also good grown-up fun. Mom and Kirsten and I had one heck of a night out on the town. Mom was a champ. She was willing to enjoy the nightlife even though the excursion would commence at 1am Pacific Standard Time.

We decided to take the train from Chatswood to Darling Harbour where we would locate an eatery worth eating at. On our way there we were fortunate to happen upon an Asian festival where a Celtic band was playing an obscure song called “Orphan Girl” that my mom recorded with my sister and I for her latest album. It was a surreal “Small World” sort of feeling as we Americans sang along with Irishmen at an Asian festival in Australia. All that were missing were some an African goat drums and a couple sombreros.

Once we arrived at Darling Harbour, we scoured the promenade with purpose, in an effort to find the perfect spot to imbibe and nibble on the finer things. We finally found what we thought was an ideal location; a seafood joint with outdoor dining and a water view. It was beautiful, crowded, festive and fricken freezing. The heat lamps were no match for the mighty winter winds that lapped up against our hungry cheeks. (That was my lame attempt at a more poetic writing style). Although we were pleased with our culinary options and our waiter, we did not feel like having frigid fun. So we took our drinks and headed inside.

Our indoor accommodations were sparse. No jovial neighbors surrounded us, the wait staff was disorganized and disinterested, and the table was cold and barren. We had made a poor decision. We scanned the room and found a more alluring option. A booth, with a decorative bamboo backdrop and a better view…sort of. At least we could see something blue at the bar. Unfortunately, it was also home to a run away AC unit. It was like trying to have a drink in a wind tunnel. Since no one cared to feed us at that point anyway, we paid the bill and departed.

Then, it happened.

We found what we were looking for. We found Nick’s. Nick had it goin on; outdoor seating, effective heating elements, a magnificent menu and a friendly staff that seemed more than happy to take in customers on the rebound.

There was a minor martini incident…but other than that…

(The following clip contains some profanity. My apologies. It was my alter ego Delores…not me.)

The evening ended with the singing of a popular folk song called, “We Are Australians.” The song recently gained popularity in mainstream media due to a moving Olympic inspired commercial. We performed the song in three-part harmony on the streets of Sydney in hopes that somehow our melodious effort would ignite an impromptu Sydney sing-a-long, in the tradition of Fame or High School Musical. It didn’t.

Mike and James also had a night out on the town. They walked the Harbour Bridge and hit some of the famous Sydney Pubs. I hear much of the night was spent trying to feed Big James in a town that doesn’t believe in serving anything edible after 10pm. I believe the adventure ended with beer and pancakes. ???

There was more, much more, but since I am into the whole brevity thing we will fast forward to the airport…

I did what I could to not weep openly as they headed to the concourse that would lead them home. I am not an attractive crier. My nose and lips tend to swell and my skin gets very red and blotchy. Needless to say, I left that day in the aforementioned state.

In the somewhat altered words of Journey,
“Now that [they had] come back and
Turned night in to day
I needed [them] to stay”

Fortunately Mom and Mike were there with Open Arms.

We decided to head out to our favorite pizza joint to lessen the sense of loss and continue the fun. It was a good night. There was a minor incident involving mom, food aversion and a fever of 101, but over all…

Random Trivia: Aussie’s shorten everything…to an irritating degree. It’s not breakfast, it’s brekkie. It’s not lipstick, it’s lippie. It’s not flight attendant or air hostess, it’s hostee. I mean, Come on guys. Are you being a little ridiculous, or should I say, rickee!

Poll: Is Delores too vulgar?

Fun Family Fact: Mom and I discovered some incredible local hangs that we would like to take future guests to, including: Palm Beach, Whale Beach, Serpentine Beach and the Royal Botanical Gardens. What a grand time we had Momma!

Phrase of the Day: Choof Off: To leave or depart.
Why did they have to choof off?

Homework: Learn “We are Australians”

The Dinner Party

I was told to bring Hors d’oeuvres. 

I toyed with chips and salsa but then decided on something more impressive. Avacado Egg rolls with a Cilantro dipping sauce; a Cheesecake Factory recipe I seized from the internet. The sauce itself had a difficulty level of about a 9.5 on the Olympic gymnastic scale. As a safety measure I decided to throw in an easier dish as well; brie with honey, caramelized pecans and some sliced apples. It sounds fancy, but all you really do is throw a pricey hunk of brie in a frying pan with some pecans and dump honey on it. Easy. Delicious.

I started work on my contributions to the dinner party early in the day. The sauce was completed with time to spare. All that was left to do was purchase egg roll wrappers, stuff them gently with a mixture I prepared in advance, throw on some “glad rags”, and warm up the brie.

I decided to start my search for egg roll wrappers at Asian World. I perused each aisle with care. I found won ton wrappers, spring roll paper, and dumplings of all shapes and sizes but nary an egg roll ingredient. I asked several employees and a customer. All looked at me as if they had n2ever seen or heard of an egg roll before; as if somehow the concept itself was disturbing. Did I mention I was shopping at Asian World?

I would have to use won tons. Appetizers should be bite sized anyway.

I cooked up the first batch of miniature morsels without incident. However, round two was “a damn nightmare”. Chaylee arose with a passionate cry from her premature slumber. Mike intervened. A knock at the door followed: the teen babysitter arrived accompanied by a DVD of Sex In the City. I was thinking something more along the lines of Care Bears or perhaps Shrek. The wee one was inconsolable. I nursed her frantically and ask Mike to tend to the deep frying. He promptly removed the little guys from the lake of fire, but it was too late. They were visually disturbing and nearly inedible. It was 8:00. The guests were without their nibbles.

We arrived at The Dinner Party forty minutes late.

As we entered the room it was clear that we had come grossly under prepared. The table looked like an evening at Buckingham Palace. Each place setting had countless utensils, three wine glasses per person, extravagant candle holders accompanied by fresh flowers and linen napkins.

Our contribution? One deep fried wonton per person and a blackened brie pancake with store brand crackers and sliced apples haphazardly arranged on a bright green dinner place covered in crumpled foil.

Bon Apetite!

The next course, provided by the host, was a creamed corn fancy-naise of some kind, topped with seared scallops, spring greens and caviar. I suck. Thankfully, the martini and the three glasses of wine that I was obliged to drink for cultural reasons made it all seem okay.

Poll: What recipe do you use to dazzle? Do you have any plating tips to throw my way?

Fun Fact: Australians love to drink. They always have.

” All through Australia, in every class, it is not considered good form for a man to drink by himself. Very few even of the most hopeless drunkards ever do so. The consequence is, that when a man feels inclined to drink, he immediately looks out for someone to drink with” “At whatever hour of the day a mans meets another whom he has not seen for say twelve hours, etiquette requires that he shall incontinently invite him to come and drink. This is a custom that pervades every class in the colony, and cannot be departed from without something more than a breach of good manners.” Finch Hatton 1887

Words of the Day:
Tucker: food
That’s Bonzer: That’s great
That’s Bonzer, my tucker sucked.

Carless Whisper-Life on the Pram

I was going to use this venue to complain about my lack of vehicle. After all, it always feels kind of nice when people feel sorry for you. However, I have decided to take another approach. How have I grown over the last month of carlessness?

1. I have become more muscular from pushing 100 pounds up and down rolling hills several times a day in sweltering heat and dehydrating humidity.

2. My spacial relations skills have improved as a result of having to fit 13 bags of groceries into a stroller (pram) with two kids in tow.

3. I have become more resourceful. One has to be to get the aforementioned items home.

4. I have become far more brave. How could I not? You try pushing a double stroller in flip flops when suddenly a tropical thunderstorms begins to pelt you and your children with rain while thunder rolls and lightning strikes.

5. I have become a better liar. “I love thunder and lightning. Don’t you Kenna? I think this is really fun!” See? Who needs a car?

Word of the Day: Donk: Engine for a car or a boat. “I wish I had a donk on my pram.”

Poll of the Day: Would you be willing to go without a car for a month?

Factoid: The new Australian Prime Minister just held a National Day of Apology to the Stolen Generation…a generation of “half-caste” Aboriginal children who were taken from their parents to be assimilated into Australian Society. The PM, Kevin Rudd gave a breathtaking speech that was aired on every station in Australia. It was incredibly powerful. I was honored to be a witness to such a historic event in Australian history.

Movie Suggestion: If you have not seen it, I highly recommend the film, Rabbit Proof Fence. It beautifully depicts the true story of three such children.

Shout Out: Kirsten, my beloved sister. No one can possibly know how much I love you. How much you are a part of me. How much I miss you. Happy birthday sissy. There are no words to describe how grateful I am we were put together  in the same family. You are a musical genius and a brilliant sister. I LOVE YOU.

Hooroo

Part 2: The Hungry Caterpillar

That’s right, the fuzzy caterpillar from hell got me. Right on the wrist, where the veins are plentiful. It wasn’t a nibble actually, but a sting. Words of advice: don’t eat the mayo. It’s not mayo….or the cottage cheese for that matter. Whatever thatched roof cottage it was made in should be burninated! It tastes like chalk. The rest of the food however, is quite nice if you don’t mind Jenny Craig sized servings. If you are looking to diet this is right country for you. You don’t even have a choice really. You’ll lose about ten pounds of water weight in the first few hours and then comes Jenny. Maybe that is why all of the women at play group look like “after” pictures. They “apparently” have had children, but you wouldn’t know it. I am sort of the tweener shot at this point. You know, midway between the enormous pants and the bikini.

A struggle I am having: I have yet to make anyone laugh here, except for Mike. I believe they think I am nice and friendly, but funny? Not so much. I don’t know what to say. I start with, “Yes, I am from the States. My husband is working at Russell. I’m adjusting well. I love your country. How old are your little ones?” and then I completely run out of things to say. I start to panic and find a reason to walk away. Someone help me! I used to have people in my life that at least appeared to be amused by me…even entertained. I need some lines that scream; HEY you want to be friends with me because I am humorous and good natured! Maybe I should just be direct and tell them exactly that. I guess “she’ll be right”, (I’ll be okay).

Kenna starts preschool tomorrow. Three days a week from 9-3. I love my girl. We’re going out tonight to get her all of her supplies and snacks. She will be in the pre-kindie class.

A question for America: There is no yellow cheese here of any kind. My question is why do WE have yellow cheese? Milk is white. Cheese comes from milk. Talk to me about the yellow?

Word(s) of the Day: Fair dinkum : true, genuine Dinky Di: true, genuine

Daily Poll: Do you think I will be adopting either of those phrases? Why or why not! If you know me at all, this should be a no brainer!

Fun Factoid: We are called Yanks and the British are called POHM’s

(Prisoner of Her Majesty) As most of you know Australia began as a penal colony. The ships carrying criminals (most of which were petty thieves) had POHM on the hull. Those Aussies really know how to turn things around. Now they are a mighty nation and the Brits are POHM’s (Prisoners of her Majesty).

Goodnight America!

Pasley’s Down Under – Part 1

It is raining cats and dingos down here. I have never seen anything like it. We live in the suburb of Roseville, which is just North of Sydney over (or under) the Harbor Bridge. It is near Chatswood/Willoughby…in case you can’t find it on a map. It is a beautiful neighborhood with incredible gumtrees and palm trees all about. It is very green with a tropical feel and the weather to prove it. It is generally hot as sin or raining hard enough to inspire ark building. No happy medium. It is an amazing place to visit! But, I must be honest that life without my dear ones near by has been tough to adapt to. In the words of Chicago, you (all are) a hard habit to break. (Just a note: I think I will incorporate as many Chicago lines as possible into this blog, just for giggles…enjoy). Some bulleted observations.

  • > 1. Australians LOVE Australia. They like America. They like Fiji. But they LOVE AUSTRALIA. You will understand if you come here.
  • >2.They do not speak English here. It is a little known dialect called: Strine (say it out loud and you will understand). For example: The barber asked Mike if he wanted a hotel. Mike said, “No thank you, I live here now.”                                                                                                                     “Naw mate,” he replied, “Do you want a hotel?” Mike again replied, “No I don’t really need one, I am heading home after this…” “Naw mate,” the barber responded, “a hotel, you know like to put on your face…a hot towel?”
  • >3. There are two types of Australians as far as I can tell so far: the type that want you to be terrified of the creatures that live here and the ones that want to downplay the immense danger. I prefer the latter but my driving instructor was unfortunately the former.
  • >4. If you see a caterpillar while you are here, do not touch it. It is not friendly. It will sting you!
  • >5. Thought I saw a funnel web our second day here. I screamed for Mike and held Kenna and Chaylee tightly. (Now imagine a Western movie score playing in the background). Mike comes out of the bedroom carrying a drinking glass, a Bill Bryson book, insect repelling incense and wearing nothing but underwear and work shoes. He was armed, dangerous, and ready to send that spider from hell back to his place of origin.  It turned out to be nothing but a giant cockroach. At least Mike was ready for him. He is a man that will fight for my honor. He is the hero, I’ve been dreaming of.
  • >6. We have yet to purchase an automobile so we currently get about via bus, train or by foot. I generally push the pram (stroller) all over town in lieu of negotiating the bus. You all will be happy to know that my thunder thighs are trimming up nicely. I have been downgraded from a category 5 to a category 3.  Hoping to become a tropical storm by the time we leave.
  • >7. Kenna has made many little Aussie friends and has been trying out a new pronunciation of tomato (soft a sound). I have joined a playgroup down the street and have met some very nice mommas. We have tea from time to time.

Quick poll: When, if ever, should I introduce them to my rapping skills?  How will I know when they are ready?

Phrase of the Day: “Stone the flaming crow!” Translation: You’re kidding me!

Word of the day: Icebox

Translation: Popsicle

Love to you all. You bring meaning to my life. You’re the inspiration…

G’day

Heather