After a decadent, last whirl before school starts morning tea at Max Brenner, I took Willow to get her hair cut by a real hairdresser for the very first time. It is still a little boofy (I smoothed it a lot before this picture) but she is very happy.

Stupid brain. It is not haircute, even though it is cute.

I guess it all began back in the ’80s when my friend Michelle Evans got her hair bobbed and permed. I DESPERATELY wanted a perm. I begged my mother and she took me to this Chinese hairdresser who was absolutely horrified and refused point blank to perm my hair. She gave me a bob.

So I have very fond memories of the concave bob and the one sided bob and also the short haircut that was referred to as a mushroom haircut by my friend Monica’s older sister.

Willow’s friend Poppy and her sister just had their hair cut into perfect little concave bobs and it has done something to me. It may be my undoing. I cannot stop thinking about the possibilities of “The haircut- Part II and Part III”, even though I have asked everyone to stop me if I ever consider cutting my hair short again. Last time, when it got a little too short (still below the shoulders), I told myself to remember how sad Maggie Q’s long hair made me feel. Now I’m thinking about her hair and … nothing.

There is a big long convincing argument about why this is a bad idea (my face is too round, a common Korean complaint, and too boofy) but all I can think about is that free feeling you get when your hair is suddenly short and you feel 10 kgs lighter. Physically and emotionally. It’s the Haircut High. Usually followed by a Haircut Low, but let’s not dwell on that.

I didn’t grow my hair out until Grade Six and then I got it bobbed again in Year Eight and Year Ten and when I finished Year Twelve. I’ve had long hair now for eight years (yikes) and that’s the longest that I’ve kept it long forever! That’s like, totally great English right there. 

So Finley is happy with her hair. It is still long enough to put up. It’s lucky for me that I can take out some of my snipping urges on her. She looks cute no matter what. I am going to talk with myself about this hair thing for a couple of days before I make any rash decisions.

The one sided bob. I’m loving these old family photos. A small explanation: I scanned these all for my Dad’s 70th (a couple of years ago) to make him a book and they’re too good not to share.

These two decided not to squabble over the bean bag and shared the lounge instead. On weekends they are allowed to watch TV before breakfast. It gives me a chance to sleep in. It often works so well that sometimes I can’t tell anyone what time I actually got out of bed. Unfortunately, I had to get up early anyway, because of busy-ness involving working with the JETS children and worship co-ordinating at church.

Another crazy hat that was constructed by Willow. Perhaps she should consider a career as a milliner? Perhaps not. She is still tweaking the design.

Although I had the entire season of Homeland to watch, I binged and all the episodes are suddenly all gone. Yes, it was that amazingly good. So I was foraging around the Channel Ten site for a show to watch on my treadmill and I found the first episode of the newly reborn Young Talent Time.

Now, to some people, a show featuring talented youngsters singing and dancing might sound unbearable, but it was cleverly edited with loads of memories of the original show from my childhood. I got quite teary. And the new kids were so great and so talented and so cute! I could even overlook the fact that they let Millsy be the host even though he is a smug bastard who once spent the night with Paris Hilton. Kid friendly? I dunno.

Leon just didn’t understand, because his mother never let him watch the show. I had to call my sister and tell her I’d send her a link. This picture of us is from right about the time that Young Talent Time was one of our favourite shows. It came on right after the Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday nights. It’s fitting because it was registration day at school for Willow, the same school where this photo was taken, which always stirs many childhood memories.

Paul was in Year Eight, I was in Kindy, Jodie was in Year Ten. Or it was a year or two after that, I can’t really tell. By looking at the teeth on Paul and I, you’d think we were hobos off the street. Our cousin Melanie hit him in the mouth with a tennis racket, accidentally of course. Jodie had lovely straight teeth because she endured braces for a while (making me think it is later than Year Ten for her?) but we are all fresh faced and glowing with youth in our Avondale uniforms.

Ooh, an ad for Pasito on TV! Another Gen X fav.

“Why do we have to read books when we already have a television?”

Leon’s response was something about something rotting someone’s brain. I guess it’s because how can you discuss the strength of a movie adaptation if you haven’t read the book?

But seriously. I have lots of books. A whole wall of them. I’m beginning to suspect that my kids are going to dump them at St Vinnies when I die and fight over the flat screen TV.

We celebrated Australia Day with three kinds of lammingtons. This is unusual for me, because growing up, we never really made much out of the day. Last year we went to Jodie’s and this year we went to Mum’s. So I guess we are making something out of it now. It is also unusual for me to eat one lammington (it is made of refined white flour and sugar, which are usually considered toxic to my body), let alone three. But Mum made some, Leon bought some and I bought some. All because we felt some strange urgency to make sure there were lammingtons for Australia Day.

I asked the girls why we celebrated Australia Day and Finley said, “We celebrate Australia because it is a really good country.” I explained how the Aborigines used to live here and then the white people came on a big boat on January 26, 1788. Later, I added that some of the white people who were very naughty got sent here as a kind of punishment, and Finley said, “Is that what happened to you, Mummy?” It is always hard to explain the difference between the olden days when I grew up and the really olden days. Speaking of which, Auntie Jodie used to sing “God Save the Queen” at school. She’s from the really olden days.

Jodie made all this fancy food and I helped myself to the privilege of sticking all the flags in. I let Willow put in a couple. We ate far too much; it was kind of like Christmas Day. Because I ate all the lammingtons, I ate nearly everything else and now I’m suffering. I am destined to be itchy but my mother scolded me into not being a party pooper. Dad and Leon even had steak. Under my supervision, it was cooked perfectly, which I was very proud about as my knowledge of cooking steaks comes solely from television.

The girls were kept quite occupied by the infestation of lady beetles on Dad’s cucumber vine. There were two kinds, and many of them were plucked from the vine and dumped into various plastic containers with a lot of leaves and grass. They had five or six each. Willow found a green caterpillar, which she loved for a little while but when we got home, she realised that it had been left, on a leaf, on Nanna’s coffee table.

This totally heinous outfit, circa 1990, totally ruins the cool factor of having a private lesson with Dr Suzuki. The acid wash jeans are a given, having just emerged from the ’80s, ditto the white sneakers. But my mother knitted this kangaroo jumper and I had to wear it with pride. I think she was probably worried that everyone would think I was Japanese and she was trying to stamp Aussie on me as much as possible. And the hair! I had my hair cut like a boy for most of primary school. It was easier for my mum to do in the mornings and I didn’t complain. Dr Suzuki wore a suit like this every day.

After dropping Finley off at her first day of preschool, Willow and I went with Mum and Dad to visit my old teacher, Megumi. She is here brieftly from Japan, and our old friend, Julie (legs seen in the photo) brought her up from Wollongong. Julie had to sit near me in all my lessons with Dr Suzuki because he always spoke to me in Japanese and no matter what I said or how many times I said it, he thought I was Japanese. So Julie was my translator, whispering loudly in English. Dr Suzuki didn’t seem to notice or think to speak English himself (he could). Clearly, the kangaroo was still not big or bright enough for Dr Suzuki to notice. He probably thought I was a boy too.

That was my first trip overseas without my mum. I was eleven. I can’t imagine letting my girls go overseas without me at eleven! But Megumi took care of me and Katie (13). It was winter and we lived in the snow (big novelty for an Aussie), walking in the snow to the bus and falling over on ice. Every day we had class with Dr Suzuki and other students, then after lunch we either had a masterclass with Dr Suzuki in his studio or just observed other private lessons. We did more practice at home. Katie always got a Coke from the vending machine at the Suzuki Institute and I had Grape Fanta. We went to the communal baths every second day (there was no shower in our house) and it was the first time I ever went to a Sushi Train. As Hello Kitty says, Such fun!

We got to catch up with lots of the old Suzuki family: Megumi, Julie, Takao (Saritha’s cello teacher), Mami and Itsuco (my old Suzuki piano teacher). Itsuco is 48 but she looks twentysomething. She used to be a ballerina and took it up again five years ago, and would like to perform a pas de deaux with the Suzuki orchestra for her 50th. Her brain is also still very young and clever, because when I mentioned that I couldn’t remember what level I got up to, she knew immediately (Level 7, formerly Level 5, in Book 7, Paderewski Minuet). This is after twenty years and dozens of students.

Willow played with Takao’s cat all day, and right before we left, she complained that her eyes were really itchy and got hives over her face. We had to stop at a chemist and I got soaked in the downpour when I got out to buy her Claratyne. She hasn’t had such a strong reaction to a cat for ages, but she did spend a lot of time holding it and letting it lick her hands. It rained cats and dogs all the way home.

Leon took Finley after he picked her up from preschool to Estabar and she had strawberry sorbet and he had espresso and vanilla bean.

Karlie Kloss by Alexi Lubomirski for Vogue Deutsch December 2011

We sometimes call it Willow Land or Leon Land. Our family has a tendency to go off with the fairies. This morning I forgot to take the girls to Leona’s. I actually forgot that I had some time off because I was too lazy to get out of bed. The clock is ticking and I can’t seem to get through my to-do list this morning, even though it’s very short. I’ll blame it on that solar storm.

I discovered, at the age of eleven, that I could quite happily survive on rice and soy sauce. That’s almost all I ate for a two week trip to Japan and I didn’t feel hard done by. Now to some people, that might sound like torture, but my best Korean friend was kind of a fussy eater and her husband explained apologetically, “She just likes plain bap.” It’s just my undiluted, pure blooded Korean genes*.

Bap, the Korean word for food is the same as the word for rice.

Leon thought it was hilarious to sing kim bap to the tune of that annoying Hanson song and it now it just won’t go away. Koreans call sushi rolls kim bap and they won’t even entertain the notion that it “came from Japan”. It may be the only Korean language that my kids know. They are happy to eat it but today they didn’t want the kim. They only wanted the bap.

I didn’t encounter rice balls like this in Korea, only Japan, so I am probably disgracing myself in the eyes of some adjumma. I don’t know if I should feel guilty, being a Korean who loves Japanese things, but the Japanese did do some mean stuff in the past. Koreans make triangle kim bap, which is triangular with tuna or something hidden inside and kim strips on the side. Mine are just plain vinegared rice with sushi sprinkles on top. All Japanese products that I got from Coles. And we were all out of miso soup, or that would have been on the menu too.

I put their side dish-ies on one plate – homegrown tomatoes, slices of raw tofu (Finley loves it like that and I’m too lazy to cook it) and sliced carrot. In Korea, there would be small plates of each next to each place, plus at least one kind of kimchi. It was comforting to meet other ‘real’ Koreans who don’t like kimchi either. Although it’s as unlikely as an Australian not liking Vegemite, it is possible.

* This is just a laugh because there is hardly anyone without mixed blood in my family. In Australia, people are called racist if they show off about being racially pure.

Symphony in the Domain was on and I got to go! They didn’t actually play Eine Kleine but thank goodness.

Leon was hiking with his dad, leaving me on my own with the Sabbath morning rush. Mum and Dad went to another church but luckily Kristin brought her kids and it helped me enormously in terms of Finley staying in her room with them. We had lunch at Vanessa and Grant’s and then I dropped the girls off at Leona’s for their first sleepover there.

I was slightly dreading the long trek into the city, but it wasn’t so bad. It was just Kerralyn and me yakking my head off (reminded myself of my mother) and the trip went faster. When we got there, it wasn’t too crowded because it had been wet in the morning and a lot of people would have sensibly stayed indoors. We had three layers between us and the damp, and with a nice coffee, and rice and noodles from the noodle bar, we were all set.

I imagine it was a pretty cruisey night for the SSO, as the program included Strauss, Bruch and the 1812, but it was still fabulous and grown up and so civilized. Yes, it was everything my daily life is not. And there were fireworks. The girl playing the Bruch was featured in that school documentary, and she played it as if she knew it backwards. I remember that, being seventeen and (musically speaking) feeling so assured and confident because you could trust your fingers to find the notes every single time.

My memory of Bruch at that age is slightly tragic. I had a masterclass with this fancy Chinese teacher from Canberra but I had a complete mental blank after the first phrase and left the lesson in tears. Something about being awake partying with my friends into the wee hours and not practicing. The Chinese teacher was so kind and that made it even worse. He gave me his card and offered me another lesson but I didn’t tell my mother because who could be bothered going into that with her.

But the Bruch! So perfectly formed to express the let’s-throw-ourselves-into-the-abyss emotions of a teenager. Max probably had something different in mind when he wrote it, however.

That little girl with the bad left hand position doesn’t know it yet. But at least she has a cute outfit.