Ten past eight on Friday. Airline lounge, cooling heels, waiting on a bing-bong to herald my departure to my Arrival.

Generally this is one of my favorite parts of any trip, whether it's a day or a couple of weeks. This is the space where I get to reflect on the time away, and what that time has held and imparted, before the buzz of a more normal life begins again.

This trip, this refelction, is somehow richer. The context is varied, but the main vein is rooted in a fresh revelation of what I'm doing, in a professional sense. This is more than just a job. My day-to-day impacts how people feel about the place they work, the people the work with, the work they are doing. It impacts how people feel about themselves.

This week I missed my girls incredibly. I missed hearing about their days. I missed sharing life. I missed the sparkle. I missed saving them from the yukkie bits of life. I missed the connection to home life that comes through folding laundry and cleaning the kitchen at the end of the day.

The void that miss-age created was filled, however, with a group of very interesting gentlemen. Ockers. Passionate salesmen who spend their days in some of the remotest parts of Australia, who love the work they do, and are frustrated by not being able to do it as they see best. How common is that story! Blokes who love their footie, their aussie reds, their families and the feeling that the contribute to something Big.

And talking to them over dinner was like being transported back 15 years to tobacco farms in Zimbabwe. The same issues. The same thirst to try and control the uncontrollable. The same philosophical laugh when we all agree at the end of a heated conversation that there are some things we should just accept.

I love how, in an ever changing, ever evolving world, that there are constants. To change, to grow to something new, there has to be a start point. A weird thought has just struck me, and it's hard to articulate. We spend our lives changing, but it seems that we're constantly changing from the same start point. We change, we evolve, we adapt, and then seem to come full circle back to some place of Constant, before we need to change, evolve and adapt again.

Is that true? Or is that pie-in-the-sky?

No clue. Worth thinking about though, and think I will. But now it's time to board a sophisticated tin can, and wing my way back to Haven Space.

Bing-bong.

Hmmmm...

The world outside is Sydney.

The Sydney Tower is right outside the hotel window. Like a giant cable-bound Peeping Tom, only about 70 metres too tall to bother me. The lights of the big buildings meld into the light of suburbia, and these twinkle away to the horizon north of me.

Inside, it's the same. A desk, a bed, a TV. Hotel room familiarity. The kind that breeds comtempt. The TV with a schedule of programmes that really is quite unsatisfactory. The hum of the aircon. The aircon that is always too cold. The hotel room art, invariably a numbered, signed print of an original. The bath room with no natural light.

Winge. Moan. My life is so hard. 5 star hotel. Shopping in one of the best cities in the world. There's a note on my pillow that says I have the choice of six types of pillows. I got up-graded to a Club Room. Down the hall is the Club Lounge, and according to my personalised letter from the General Manager, presented to me at check, I have full use of the club facilities. Free internet, free drinks, and nibbles between five and seven. My meal was a phone call away. I have a coffee machine in the room.

Sheesh - perspective is a hard, heavy thwack to the cranium.

I don't enjoy travelling on business, being away from home and the girls. I don't like missing Significant Moments. I don't like cooling my heels in airport lounges, sitting on tarmacs, or the whoosh-click-click of hotel room doors. But the truth is, this travel has its upside. I've seen some amazing places, met some neat people, collected a bunch of amazing airpoints and felt the thrill of coming home.

And I guess it's become a part of the plot of our story. Imagine what we would have been without the travel. A dimension of who we've become would just simply be missing. Dimension has cost. There's today epiphany. Dimension and depth carry a price tag. The richer the fabric, the more you pay.

So, a question begs an answer. The cost has been paid, the dimension bought, but to what end? What do we put our dimension to. Does the richness of our fabric serve a purpose, or hang on the wall like a tapestry.

Hmmmm.

Neat Week

Number of dead birds. Four. Three inside, and one on the front door step. Two in one morning. The girls found the carcasses when they came downstairs on Saturday morning, and bravely manhandled them into plastic bags. The plastic bags sat in the bath until I saw them, and gave the Big Ones the kudos they so very much deserved. Also found a dead lizard under the mat in the lounge. The cats are looking for a new home.

Number of “Where Mum?” Double digits. Mish will stop what she’s doing, look into the near distance and become suddenly aware that Someone Significant hasn’t been seen in a while. We remind her about the airplane and Mum will be back later. She agrees wholeheartedly and then gets back to whatever it was that she was doing. Today, while waiting in a queue at church, she had the conversation all to herself. “Where-mum-gone-in-airplane-come-back-later. Yeah.”

Number of carpet stains. Too many! The grub mat seems to be The Thing to Be Missed. Actually, what happens is the child sits on said mat, whilst the food / drink / random staining agent sits on carpet. I can only think that the grub mat is more comfortable than the carpet, but isn’t good for placing a plate on...

Percentage of tasks accomplished. Oh, less than 50%. In don’t think I even got an E. Who cares. This week has taught me a lot about relating, about putting the task list to one side and doing whatever comes next. And as the week has progressed, I found more grace and capacity to do stuff, borne out of relationship with my daughters. I need to catch hold of this lesson, and let in create change in me.

Number of love treats for the Big Girls, from mum. Six each. One for each day mum’s been away. And they’ve wriggled and giggled with delight at the thought of the daily treat. Kenzie has a neat story about one of hers. I chose the biggest ones for Saturday, and popped them on the bed before we went out for the morning. Kenzie saw some new type of playdough in ToyWorld. Really wanted to get it. Decided against it. Came home, opened her treat (a mini set of playdough), and sat gobsmacked that her Mummy knows her so well...

Amount of tears shed on the first day. Gosh. A lot. We all had our leaks. Squeals of delight on the last day. Just as many as tears on the first. Neat feeling, being excited.

Number of nights slept on the floor in the walk-in wardrobe. Two each. We played coconut crack to decide who got the floor on the first night, and then rotated. Maddy’s very pleased that she gets to have the floor on the last night. That’s significant to our spirited one.

Baskets of laundry – five, and counting. And we’re still nowhere close to making a dent in the mountain. We wash more clothes in a week that most families on the planet actually own. That’s a gluttonous thought, right there.

Number of odd socks amongst those five baskets – 32. Thirty-two socks without a mate. That’s mind-blowingly stupid.

Fights mediated. Lost count. The inherent tension of the week, with the Big Ones acutely aware that their Mainstay isn’t here, has amplified the spikes in sisterly love and hate. One minute they are best friends, the only ones in the world who get what each other is going through, and the next they are at each other’s throat, not able to process what each other is going through.

Cuddles given. Heaps and heaps. Heart food. Mishie drops everything and runs in for a cuddle. Kenzie stops on the way past. Maddy asks for one, without using the words “can I have a cuddle”.

Number of times the first aid kit came out. Just one. K cut her foot on the washing machine, slipping on a damp floor in the laundry. Why was the floor damp? Cleaning up blood from dead bird fest...

Number of fluffies for Mish. Four. Or five. I can’t remember. She’s so sweet about it, and is a genuine connoisseur. The best of the week, Cafe Lounge in Freedom Furniture. Very cute presentation. I do wonder what we are creating in her. She’ll live in Ponsonby one day, no doubt.

Number of attempts at Mishie’s water spout hair-do. One. And it worked, and it held all day. I’m particularly proud of this achievement!

Number of nights I forgot to brush Mishie’s teeth. None. My life’s not worth it!

Number of times I forgot to brush my teeth. Two. Disrupted routine, and not wanting to wake the girls when I come to bed. Those are my excuses.

Number of airplanes spotted by Eagle Eyes. Lots and lots. The Little One can spot a plane before the plane even knows it’s there. She’s human radar. I see the prophetic in this – she’s always looking Up.

Number of cool mornings spent at school. One, but man, it was cool. The kids had the Book Week Parade, and it was a very neat experience. Everyone – and I mean everyone – entered into the spirit o the day. The Kauri Team teachers all dressed as Dalmatians. The principal and deputy principal were resplendent as fairies. Complete with tutu’s. Every single child was in some sort of character. Kenzie was part of a cast – her friends and her paid homage to Peter Pan – and Kenzie’s role was a modern day Wendy. Oversize soft toy, pillow, slippers and jim-jams. Very cute. Maddy went as one of the most original parts; Cinders. Not Cinderella, but Cinders, i.e. the servant girl version before the ball. Maddy was very committed to the part – she refused to wash her feet all week, so that they would be suitably dirty come Friday. Classic. The other kids came in the predictable. About a half dozen Pippy Long Stockings. Multiple Pirates. Disturbingly, several Grim Reapers. Fairies a-plenty. Princesses prancing. A couple of Indiana Jones. Very sweet morning, which ended with me and Mish joining in Jump Jam. Don’t stress, we were very circumspect, at the back and out of sight. Well out of sight of Those Who Would Be Embarrassed!

The male version of SAHM is, I guess, SAHD. That’s like sad with emphasis. But it’s been anything but sad – my week has been awesome. I’ve found a new way of relating to my daughters, a new appreciation for what Love gives to our Unit, and a peaceful grace and perspective that I’m looking forward to walking in. As much as this week has been a Significant Part of the journey that Love is on with God, looking back with eyes to see, it’s also been a pivotal week in my journey too.

Roles Reversed

Love jumped in a taxi this afternoon, and it carried her up the driveway towards a week of Amazing Encounter. Tonga beckoned, the unknown called, and Love began her response.

Between the both of us, the fact that our roles have been turned on their heads isn't lost. Usually it's me that packs a bag, trying to figure out what to take and what to leave behind, what will be used and what would be gratuitous. Usually, it's me that has to answer questions from the girls as to why I have to go, that makes the assurances that the time will pass quickly.

This, however, is a trip with a significant difference. My work trips have a reason. This trip for Amy has Purpose.

Mishie woke this afternoon with gurgles and giggles, as she normally does. When I opened the door she was playing on the floor, telling me that whatever she was doing, it was "like Mike-hall". While I was checking her nappy - no-poohs-just-wees - she asked "where Mummy?" I reminded her about the airplane. Her blue eyes looked into the half-distance, little synapses processing. Then she said, quietly, "yeah, airplane". And I bit my lip a little.

"Everything reminds me of mum". The wheels fell off Maddy's wagon not long after she got home. We knew that would happen. I was waiting for it. It happened on the trampoline. She was very sweet about it, but Kenzie and Mishie being on the tramp with us didn't help. Her eyes leaked, her mouth descended in her trademark way. She crumpled in my arms, then went stiff. Then crumpled again. Couple of other times she said it again, once in the lounge, surrounded by Mum-stuff, and again in the car, listening to a song on Rhema. (yes, I found Rhema on the big car's radio!). She's fragile, but she'll make it okay.

Kenzie is quieter about her missing. When she got home we shared a hug. I asked her if she was okay, she told me kinda. I squeezed her tighter. She's wanted to be close. No words, just proximity. I get that.

We did hedgehogs for dinner. When got in from getting K from drama (I'll pay the bill in the morning...), we went straight to the fridge, dolupted mash onto plates, and each of the girls went about creating their hogs. Then they systematically demolished them all over the grub mat. Licked clean plates. Literally.

I'm clicking away at this on the couch. It's 10.42pm. Mish went to sleep at eight. The big girls closer to nine, after we digested their new pop-up book - Edwardian weddings were never so interesting. They're asleep in our bed upstairs. I'm on the floor tonight. We played crack-the-coconut to see who got the floor first. Apparently, from the reactions of One and Two, I won. My prize is the mattress in the walk-in. Then we rotate, so that we get two nights each sleeping on either the floor, daddy's side and mummy's side.

The separation is very close to the surface, but after a few hours we're doing okay! So far, so good.

Thursday Morning

It’s an earlier than normal start today, in Singapore. It’s just gone 7.30am, and I’m up, dressed, breakfasted, awake (in that order), and have made my way to Raffles Place to start the day. I actually had good sleep last night. This is what it’s like to be refreshed in the morning!

So I’m here, in the heart of the business district, watching commerce stir and come together for day ahead. I’m at Starbucks in Change Alley, grande latte in hand, bashing out a quick post before the morning of meetings and discussions and e-mail and-and-and begins.

I love this time of day in Singapore. The air is muggy, but it’s not blisteringly hot. In fact, just at the moment large rain drops are falling, intermittently. Local reach for their hand bags and laptop bags and bring out their collapsible umbrellas. One guy in a very trendy black suit, tie and incredibly shiny hair-and-shoes ruined the yuppy image by unfurling a bright green floral number. I think it must have been his girlfriends.

Starbucks is the kick start for the expat community working around raffles place. There’s a steady stream of them. I recognise the one that’s just walked in from yesterday. Same order – no drink, just a ready-to-go cereal. Yes, I’m living the expat life. I’ve started each morning here this week with a fix from the Global Coffee Magnate. With my sleeps patterns, I’ve needed it.

The trickle of office worker is quickly building to a flood. With each passing minute, more and more folks make their way into the alley, up the escalators and onward to their stations where no doubt they’ll each make a Significant Difference. Singaporeans, in work mode, hold themselves with such purpose. I’m always so impressed by that. Well dressed, bright eyed, efficient walking, head-up. It’s a far cry from the Worker Trudge at Wellington station, for example.

It’s just started raining heavily – the promise of a few heavy drops has been fulfilled. The breeze has cooled, instantly. The white noise competes with more fervour with Starbucks Jazz. Workers are now running across Raffles Place.

It’s Formula One week in Singapore. Practice starts tomorrow night. Yesterday the streets being used for the race were closed off, meaning that traffic was bedlam. The trip from the hotel to the airport is going to be slow tonight, I think. The excitement levels on the island are really beginning to build. Singapore, in usual fashion, has embraced the concept of hosting an F1 race in such a coordinated way. The shops all have discounts and promotions related to the event. The Straits Times has pages of coverage dedicated to all thing race related. Where the drivers have been, what they’ve been doing, where the parties are, when the events start. The flip side too, how retailers in the race village area have to shut up shop for the weekend, the traffic disruption.

It’s hard not to run into the event. Some of the support crews are staying at the hotel. While out for dinner at Chijmes, a sponsors event was being held, and the BMW drivers were in attendance. In Bugis Junction, one of the race cars for the Porsche GT race has been holding centre court. Orchard has been F1 heaven. Later today, apparently, the Ferrari team is doing a drive past. Vrooom Vrooom. The little boy in me is very excited. And in case you’re wondering, yes, I am a little sad that I’m not going to be around for the weekend. But I’m still really chuffed that I’ve got to experience this week. The race will be on TV, and I’ll be watching. So that’ll be cool, too.

Time to head upstairs and join those Making a Difference. Half a day today. Hopefully a slow afternoon. A little tempted to head back to the hotel via Orchard. Vroom.

People Watching

It's a Public Holiday in Singapore. I'm not sure what the significance of the day is, but all the same it's a holiday in the Lion City. I arrived at about six this morning, and have spent the day really just whiling time. It's been fun, lonely, a little frustrating, tiring and a bit of a breath.

I've shopped. I've walked. I've slept and swum. I've worked. I've ironed my shirts for the week. I've called home four times. I've blogged. I've watched TV. I started reading a new book. Yes, Love, it's a good one. I took an hour and half to eat breakfast. I took an hour to eat a greek salad for dinner. I had both meals in the Olive Tree, kept company at breakfast by a copy of CNN Traveller, and at dinner, Newsweek was my dining companion.

And all throughout the day, I've watched people. At dinner, a young mum and her little daughter went back and forth between their table and the buffet. About eight times. The daughter was about two, a little chinese dot with a Strawberry Shortcake backpack. She tottered along behind mum, flirting with the other diners, and charming the space.

An elderly lady sat down with some dessert from the buffet. Very elegantly presented, she sat down, downed her trifle (a single one, in a glass), said thank you to the waiting staff and moved on.

At the pool, a family lounged on the daybeds. Mum, dad and a four year old. Two elederly couples sat together, but never said a word to each other.

The old man at the crossing of Victoria Street, from BHG to Bugis Street Markets, holding out packets of tissues. He had on a large green bangle.

Bugis Junction always gives me the sense of cosmopolitan buzz. Having the hotel as part of the complex adds to this, but the mix of shops and eateries is so electic. The clientele, fuelled in part by the hotel, is equally electic.

So here we all, some of us belong, some of us transient, some of us familiar with the place and some of drinking it for the first time. Some of can't wait to move on, some of us want to linger for longer.

It's the mix that makes it so very cool.

So now it's late. It's 9.24pm Singapore time. My body clock is on 1.24am. I've been up a long time, and I'm tired.

Good night.

A Two Year Old

I have this blessing. It’s called Fatherhood, and everyday I’m reminded how much of a blessing it is. It’s a gift so large and so intense that often I miss its presence, or can’t quite grasp the wholeness of it. Like the Taj Mahal, you only the fully appreciate its outstanding beauty and intricacy standing right beside it, reaching out and touching it. Marvelling at the inlaid detail on the marble. But at the same time, you miss the true majesty of the structure if you don’t stand back and get a proper perspective of it, of the layout of the campus, of the architectural wonder that it is.

The point is, like fatherhood, it’s very hard to experience the intricacy and the majesty of the Taj in the same moment. The best we can do is to have the head knowledge that each of the components exists. That in itself is hard, because as with everything that is locked in head-knowledge, our heads – our minds – can fail us.

Some days the blessing of Fatherhood is easier to access than others. My sweet Mishal turned two Friday last, and again I was reminded of the intricacy + majesty equation that Fatherhood is the sum product of. Without the appreciation of each measure in full, the outworking of fatherhood is incomplete.

We spent time together, the five of us, celebrating Mishie’s milestone. We started the day with the unwrapping of gifts, and as we finished the day on the beach and the sharing of a meal, I had a Taj Mahal moment. One moment I was close to Mishie, helping her around the playground, marvelling at her grown-upped-ness, at the intricacy of her smooth cheeks, her bow shaped smile and her bellicose laugh. The next moment she was standing on a bench on Mission Bay beach with her sisters, and I got to see her place in the majesty of God’s blessing for us.

Intricacy. Majesty. Beautiful.