Christmas Conundrum Part 2: The Ham

Seeing that this year is our first 'own Christmas', this year is also my first time in my entire life buying Christmas ham.

I'm Malaysian, and in Malaysia there is no concept of Christmas Ham because it's a Muslim country. So buying the Christmas Ham is usually The Man's duty--he knows what he wants and how to get it.


But he has been working 80 hours week for the past two weeks, and I thought I'd surprise him with a Ham all picked out and ready. So I went to Coles, and within 2 minutes spotted this GIGANTIC ham for, wait for it....$17! 

SWEET HALLELUJAH SON OF GOD!

Congratulating myself on a job well done, I waddled off to the self-checkout.

To my shock, the GRAND TOTAL FOR GIGANTIC HAM: $113+.

Me: What the! There is a mistake here, hello, hello, customer assistance dude! Yoohoo!
Coles Staff: Yes, ma'am?
Me: This ham is supposed to be $17. :(
Coles Staff: Sure is, ma'am. $17 PER KILO.
Me: ...................OOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!!

My, don't I feel like an effwit after that! :)

Christmas Conundrum, Part 1: Hobbiton Tree

The Man and I have been together for 5.5 years now and yet this is our first time Christmas-ing on our own. By ‘our own’, I mean we’re not over at our families…his mainly in Mackay and mine in Malaysia. 

This year, we have decided to have a quiet one. 

So I was excited to be organizing Christmas on my own this year. However, it was not smooth sailing as I had expected it to be…

First, the tree. 

We used to have a Christmas tree…one we put up every year just for the sake of it. It was about 150cm, not too small but not too big. Adequate. What happened to it? 

This happened to it. 

Cleo is a Bullmastiff x Neapolitan Mastiff. When she came into our life, she lit it up like a bonfire on Guy Fawkes' night. 

She also kinda made it chaotic the first 6 months. 

Everything was delicious to her, and I meant EVERYTHING. I had to stop her from chewing the blinkers off my car one day, would you believe that? It didn’t help that at 6 months old, she was already weighing a toddler and so instead of the usual puppy destruction, we had a puppy times ten magnitude of destruction. That picture there is Cleo at 3 months old.

Cleo ate our tree. No jokes. 

I came home from work one day to find the garage looking like Grinch’s torture room. Tinsels and ornaments were everywhere. Christmas tree twigs strewn across the garage floor. 

Cleo looked her best to act as if nothing was amiss, but it’s not easy to do this particularly if you have glitter all over your fur, bits of tinsels hanging from your jowls and the telltale sprigs of artificial pine leaves all over you. 

So this year, we had to buy a new tree. And by ‘we’, I mean ‘me’.

I had asked The Man what our Christmas decorating budget should be. Now bear in mind that all these years we put up our tree, we have been using ‘recycled’ stuffs from way before I was in the picture. Perhaps it was his ex’s, or his old housemate’s…I’m not sure, but the bottomline is that this is the first time we’re actually starting from scratch and spending money on decorations. 

Neither of us have any concept of how much this would cost. 

So when he pulled a $50 figure out of thin air? I said “bring it on!”

Being a frugal person combined with this challenge, I was determined not to spend a fortune on a tree. I wanted something like our old tree: not too big, not too small, just adequate. Surely, since everyone needs a tree, the law of supply and demand will be on my side, no? There will be a huge supply of Christmas trees to cater to a may-or-may-not be huge supply of demand, and the surplus will result in cheap trees, yes? 

That is how you always think when your degree is in Business. 

Anyway, I found a box of Christmas tree for $7. SWEEET! 

Far from it being a warning sign to me, I thought I had scored. The box said it was 90cm…which is great, no? I’m 149cm on a very good day (lol), so a mere 50cm less than my height is good, right?

I’m thinking that 50cm the length of my face? Yeah? 50cm is not THAT much. The box is small though….but even the 2 metres tree comes in a small, although bulkier box. Ah, with the advance of packaging method nowadays, you really cannot determine the size of something just from the box, can you? I mean, look at IKEA flatpacked stuffs!

I might have to remind you again that both my degrees are in Business and Finance. We don’t usually deal with lengths measurements. 

When I proudly showed The Man the box, he remarked with that usual Aussie straight-faced-dry humour: "Did you returned to the Shire today to buy this Hobbit tree?", I still didn't get the clue. Well, I sorta did, but he towers over me so anything else is easily Hobbit-ish to him now, would it? 

At least, that was how I saw it.

Therefore, this happened:

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the awkward moment when your Staffie puppy towers over your tree on his hind leg. 

You can't see the tree? Neither could Cleo the Mastiff, who knocked the tree over just minutes after this picture was taken...and she looked so surprised. Like, "Wha....how the...how did that got there?"

So I went to Mordor and shelled out $49 for a proper tree. 

And it turns out that the length of my face is 20cm or thereabouts.

Shut up.

[FIFO Notes] Emotional days.

Today is 19th December 2012. The Man is still working, the company he is working with is rushing to finish off the project before next week.

I have been wrapping presents for our nieces and nephews, packing the presents off to Mackay. I left his present to last.

I absolved him from buying me a Christmas present this year, because he has been supporting me in my one year off. I reckon that's a big enough present already, and what else do I need really? All I need in life that I cannot get more of seems to be chocolates (lol).

But in the end, I am sort of getting a present. We're both upgrading our beat-up, utilitarian Nokia to a Samsung Galaxy SIII, so that we could video chat when we are apart.We have made a pact that we will video chat with each other at least 5 minutes each day. I know 5 minutes doesn't sound much but this way I wouldn't trouble him with bawling my head off...on the first day. I know myself. :P If I tell myself I only have 5 minutes or so, then I'd be more in control and focused on being...well, you know, normal.

This year, his Christmas presents consist of FIFO-useful item: a hanging toiletry bag. And two books to occupy his first 3 weeks. Not that he'd be doing much reading, I don't think FIFO is a walk in the park. 10-12 hour days...if it was me, I'd probably just come back to the donga and crash til the next morning.

But I'm blubbing a little as I wrap his Christmas presents. His birthday is on the 30th December, but I think that can wait a bit longer before I have to face emotionally wrapping those ones too.

Gotta remind myself that some FIFO and military families don't even have the opportunity to have their loved ones home this Christmas. Suck it up, G, suck it up.

BRB, gotta go man up. :(

As breezy as air-o-books.

This made me laughed so hard this morning. :)

I used to work with a Kiwi guy who had the thickest Kiwi accent I have ever encountered. I had to pay attention and really listen whenever he speaks, or I'd be lost. He is a hiphop dancer on the side as well, so we started chatting about that.

Me: I should get into fitness, y'know? I'm so unhealthy right now. And I've always wanted to try dancing...not sure if I'm cool enough for hip-hop at this age...
Kiwi: *laugh* No, it's sootable fur inny age. First stage is more like 'air-o-books'.
Me: Oh? Haha, is that a Kiwi slang? Learn a new thing everyday.
Kiwi: Pardon?
Me: You know, as breezy as reading a book?
Kiwi: What is?
Me: The first stage? Of a dance class? It's as airy and breezy as reading books?
Kiwi: .....hmm?

It was later revealed that he meant to say aero bucks...I mean, aerobics. :D


Hippy Monday, folks! :)

Would you like a serving of cement with that cereal, Miss Gee?

This is for me this week.

The Man and I only found out that he'll be doing FIFO for the past 2 weeks. It is hardly a surprise, really, seeing that he did applied for the job and that would mean we should be prepared for any instances that he might get hired, right?

Well, at first they sent back and told him that they are only hiring locals, which puts him out of the candidate pool because we live 6 hours away. So we went "oh, too bad then" and moved on with our life.

But then they called, telling him the job is his if he was still up for it. Surprise aside, in very quick succession came the medicals required for the job, the details of the job, the package, the start date, the accommodation arrangement...the whole shebang.

At first I was ecstatic: moving! New environment! New people! Challenges!

And then when I had the time to think rationally, it was clear that moving was not a very rational move. We don't have kids yet, which would make relocating easier, but we do have two dogs and a life here that is not that easy to pack up and leave. I worked hard all winter to start a bed for a veggie garden, and now that my veggies are growing, I can't just uproot everything and leave! Well, I could but...you know...

I recently graduated with a Master degree and would prefer to stay in the metropolitan area while I am still at this age, and to join the corporate rat race while I still have the stomach for it. I like my museums and well-stocked libraries, Bolshoi ballet would be touring Brisbane in May, our friends are here...

So, I'm not moving. I'll be here holding the fort while he rides his Qantas/JetStar steed to the battlefield. 3 weeks on, 1 week off starting January 9th, 2013.

Understandably, I was at first emotionally bummed. Or to put it in his words to his mates: "The missus was spewing!". I went through my reaction with my girlfriends as my ranting boards to spare him the hassle of having me rant to him when he's trying to come to terms with his FIFO as well. But here's the thing: I only rant to my friends who I know have not had experience with the FIFO lifestyle...while I conveniently did not attempt to reach out for those who have that experience. Telling, eh?

In any emotional crisis, you have to be aware that the first reaction and reaching out you do is not always the ones that are going to be the most helpful, particularly because at a raw stage all you're trying to do is looking for people who will justify your irrationality. Can I get an amen in here?

Now I'm calmer, definitely more rational and more able to put things in perspective. Like any techno-generation, my first instinct was to cope with information gathering through the Internet. There are a wide array of FIFO families forum, support group and resources out there, FIFO Families and Mining Family Matters to name a few.

Particularly jarring and brought me down to Earth was The FIFO Wife blog. Deb's family of three kids under the age of 7 and FIFOing for 13 years really, absolutely, definitely and almost ashamedly put things in perspective for me.


Firstly, the Man and I are childless, which means I am luckier than most of the families who are doing FIFO. I don't have to sit the dogs down and explain to them why Daddy is going away. I won't ever have to deal with them crying for Daddy. If they give me a hard time at night, I'll send them out to play in the yard. Somehow I feel this will be frowned upon if I send two human kids to the backyard at night...

Secondly, where he is going is not exactly bumeff nowhere. The job is in Gladstone for crying out loud, hardly a remote place where mobiles and the likes don't work. It's 5-6 hours drive away and a roughly an hour or so plane ride.

With us being childless and him stationed so close, anytime I feel emotional, I can just hop on a train or a plane and see him. I don't even need to scramble for a babysitter or arrange school runs for when I am gone.

I will miss him. 21 days is a long stretch. But putting things in perspective makes me ashamed of my emotional state only a few days ago.

Other families are doing it tougher in this FIFO game. I really need to stop being a donkey about it.

I need to keep calm and harden the eff up.

Allow me another week for my selfish reaction and I promise I'll be more thankful.