Tortillas at Midnight

We’re not even city folk. My husband and I are your bog-standard, run-of-the-mill suburban people. We could deal with the occasional cockroach and the tui who would swoop too low, close to brushing our heads. The tunnelweb spiders at our old place weren’t too pleasant and there were plenty of daddy long legs in the corners. Once, a daddy long legs (do you ever read the word “daddy long legs”and wonder if it’s actually a real name? I do.) even had babies up in the corner of our bathroom. And did I ever mention on here the slugs in the washing machine? It was as gross as it sounds. Anyway, us feeble vegetarians are very mediocre at dealing with creatures big or small, both if it involves us ducking and hiding, or doing the old jar-and-paper removal. And we definitely aren’t well-equipped to deal with rodents. It’s weird though, because both my husband and I had pet rodents growing up. But I guess it’s kind of different when they aren’t called Raisin and they freely run around your house ...

 Alright fam it’s time for more erasure poetry! It’s 5:52 am, what a ripe time to be alive and full of mild irritation at the New Zealand Herald, and more specifically, the people who love sharing their bigotry in the comment section. My favourite time of the day! Sarcasm aside, as soon as I read the headline I knew that the comment section would be a goldmine. And I have some pretty strong feelings about this topic too, so it’s a win-win from both the poetry and the rant perspectives. What a glorious niche this is. The article is titled Aussie mum refuses to let family touch baby daughter unless she gives consent , and this choice of title is a can if worms in itself. Obviously, whoever had the job of making the headline as inflammatory as possible did so remarkably. I love how it instantly centres the mother as the source of blame, presumably for not letting the elderly relatives ever bond with her daughter. And what’s even better is how clear it is that so many people don’t actu...

Honestly, if I had a dollar for every time someone said to me something along the lines of, “wow! You have your hands full,” accompanied with a slight smile/grimace and a light-hearted chuckle, I’d probably have at least $40. In addition, if I had a dollar for every time someone stared at me with a weird look of shock/pity/#goodgod, I’d have way more dollar bucks than just $40. And I can only imagine how many dollar bucks parents of multiples get in this imaginary situation. Anyway, I get it. I really do. I’m usually wearing the baby and pushing the toddler in the pram. I’m also usually trying to bounce-rock the baby to sleep and steer the pram with one hand. The pram is not designed to be pushed with one hand. I hate its small, useless wheels. At the same time, there’s usually at least one crying. I’m often also trying to shop or cross a road or open a lunchbox. So, I do understand. It’s a lot to watch unfold. But I never quite know how to respond to “you’ve got your hands full!” and ...

Our little temporary home is only about 50 sqm (and we think this is a generous guess!), but oh my there have been no shortage of happy things in our tiny, humble abode during the one week or so that we’ve been here. It really is true that there are so many more stars to see out here, beyond the city and suburban lights. And that makes each night something a little bit special. The sunrises and the big, wide skies are definitely something to write home about too. Living here is an adventure, that’s for sure. We’re so glad that we get to experience life on this smaller, slower scale while we wait for our build. While there is definitely less room, this lack of space has made us much more mindful about how we actually use space and what we fill it with. This weekend we cleared out some of the furniture and items that came with the rental (as the owners are very kindly letting us store it inside their huge shed), and just gaining even a tiny bit of extra space has been so exciting! As my ...

As if my first attempt at this wasn’t enough of an eyesore, here’s some more erasure/blackout poetry, crafted using what has been described as, “well this comment section is a predicable trash fire”. The article is titled Women tradies say their dealing with barriers including sexist comments, toilet access . So you can only imagine. I’m not going to go on any rants with this one (what a surprise, right? Since when have I ever given up the opportunity for a good old rant on here?), mainly because it’s 3:26 am and I just want to get to the poetry part. In short, the article is about a survey that found (wait for it) that there are numerous barriers women face working in the trades. These include having no designated toilets and experiencing sexual harassment, just to name a few. The comment section is predictably  divided into either: 1) mEn traDIes SufFER moRe!! We hAVe No ToiLeTs EitHEr aND can’T EVen mAke a Joke AnYmOrE!!!”  And my personal favourite; 2) “IM A WOMAN TRADIE A...

And we made it here. To our temporary home for the next indefinite number of months. It’s different here. And it’s oh so lovely too. It’s an adjustment. And it’s what we needed in a way, a little cosy space away from all of the ordinary things. If you look out the kitchen window, directly in front of you there’s a cow who in my mind is called Daisy. Daisy, dear sweet Daisy, is an ordinary cow rather than a limited edition cow (this distinction will become apparent later), and she shares her paddock with an ordinary sheep. I haven't come up with a name for the sheep yet, but I did see them grooming each other this evening which was very sweet. Maybe the sheep could be called Pamela or something. I don’t know. If you look out the living room window, you’ll see Humphrey and Co. Humphrey and the gang are Highland cows, with the beautifully long, shaggy red fur that you kind of want to bury your face into, but upon doing so you’ll realise how rough their fur actually is and that it’s be...

If you’ve been reading here a while, you’ll know that we’re moving house. And you’ll also know that I complain about it a lot. You’re probably sick of hearing about this by now, so I have some good news for you! This is our second to last move! For at least one whole decade! That’s right, at least 10 entire years without packing stuff into boxes and unpacking it all and stressing about tape and square meterage and forgetting the toaster. In a few days, we’re moving into a rental properly while we wait for our house to get built. So then we only have to move from the rental to our home and I am so, so excited you have no idea! My husband and I often joke that we’re a good match because if it weren’t for me, he’d be off floating in the stratosphere. And if it weren’t for him, I’d be way down on earth, probably content with roaming around some dark tunnel forever. We like to think that we’re a healthy balance for each other. We keep each other firmly above ground, but not too much above g...

It’s Easter weekend, and what better way to kick off the weekend than reading some deep-seated rage through the most perfect medium, The New Zealand Herald? I have to admit, I don’t follow The New Zealand Herald on Facebook (no reason needed, you get it), but occasionally I do head over there to read the comment sections while I’m up feeding in the wee hours. Is this what “hate-following” is? Except I don’t actually follow? Or hate? It’s more like I actively choose to make myself feel an odd combination of bemusement and mild rage, on a semi-regular basis. Anyway, while on my latest journey through The Herald’s Facebook feed, I came across this article:  https://www.nzherald.co.nz/lifestyle/nicola-alpe-why-i-wont-let-my-child-believe-in-the-easter-bunny/WBPOVGF646GFACMJ5QTY25ILTI/ And honestly, I read it just for the comments. I knew they’d be good. And just as I thought, the comments section was popping. It was worth it. Half of the folks were yelling that telling your kids the Ea...