Craning for Glory

Many years ago I wanted to be a romance novelist. I wrote a story called Crowning for Glory about a dentist, his wife and his mistress. I submitted it to Harlequin Mills and Boon, without success. Perhaps they didn’t publish it because of the word ‘crowning’? I didn’t know what that really meant back then, just that it sounded like a dentisty term rather than a reference to a baby’s head making its first appearance.

I am now conquering this parenting thing with a new term, which I like to call Craning for Glory.

Let me tell you all about Craning.

Craning can be used anywhere and everywhere. It is a simple but lifesaving tool, you just need your arms and your hands and your best robot moves.

So how do you ‘crane’?

Simple.

Ask your child to pick up their toys. If they respond with a ‘no’, start your crane engines. Bend your elbow into your best ninety degree angle and start your reverse beeps. Head towards the first toy, and shape your hand into a grapple (Google if you don’t have a construction site-obsessed kid). Lower your grapple palm above the toy and pull up using your best rhythmic beeps (a little bit of robotic movement works well here). Release grapple and toy above the toy box and repeat. But this time get your kid to do the craning.

Craning can be used in many situations. Here are some examples:

• Tea time crane: crane food into mouth
• Bath time crane: crane your child in and out of bath. Crane water into cup. Release grapple over your kid’s head.
• Tantrum-on—street crane: use a full body crane and lean over your child and double grapple under their armpits. Move crane up and out and transport child swiftly to car.
• Planking on supermarket floor crane: this makes craning easier. Transform your crane into a forklift tray and scoop up under said child craning them up, elevation style. Ensure you use grunting sounds to show just how epic this move really is.
• Car seat crane: this is a bit of a specialty crane as it requires a lift and swivel. We start with a ‘cradle crane’ (carry child like a baby) and then move into the ‘circle of life’ crane (Lion King style when Simba is lifted high to the people), then a swivel and delicate swoop into the seat. Robotic arms help to add excitement to ‘straps-on’. Works best if your kid is holding a tiny digger.
• Change in direction crane – Great for when your kid wants to run the other way. Use your magnetic grapple and place this on your child’s scone. Beep to signal reversing.

So if you see me craning around Yarraville, popping reverse beeps in the local IGA or using my hand sized grapples, give me a wink as you will secretly know that I’m craning for glory.

The Barber of Seddonville

There aren’t many ‘men-only’ places left in this city. Apart from men’s toilets, a barber shop seems to be the only likely place you will find five bearded men sitting side-by-side, not saying a word to each other on a Saturday morning.

I’ve always found barber shops mysterious. As a female, I don’t really need to step foot into one, especially as I have a gazillion hairdressers on my door step. But there is something so intriguing about a barber shop. They’re so old school, so classy, so charming. And nothing has had me more intrigued then Doug Howie’s bright yellow barber shop in Seddon.

I’ve got an excellent excuse to visit the barber on this rainy Saturday morning. I’ve got a two year old son with a feral blonde mullet sitting on top of his flannelette collar. It needs a chop. I wait until 10am to head to the barber as I just expected most places open at this time. Not Doug. He’s open from 7am until 1pm on a Saturday.

When I arrive I’m struck by the scent of masculinity: I feel like I have stepped into an Archie’s comic book. I can smell my grandpa and Bryl Cream. It’s really comforting, but so incredibly manly. There’s already three men sitting in the shop on a 1960s tartan lounge surrounded by hundreds (literally hundreds) of vintage toys: a red ride-on car, a nineties neon Simpson wall hanging, a wooden Tiki mask, plenty of books on steam trains, and right smack bang above the central mirror, a poster of a powerful eighties woman donning a hi-cut bikini brief. I can’t take my eyes off her thighs. My son points to the poster and says ‘mummy’. I say, ‘I wish’. The seated men laugh, then look back down at their copies of the Herald Sun.

Doug is dressed just like you imagine a barber should be dressed – in a waistcoat and shiny shoes.  He’s superb when it comes to kids and cutting their hair. My son sits on my knee in front of the mirror which is covered with photos of Doug’s grandson Lachlan. He’s about the same age as my son and you can tell he’s the apple of Doug’s eye.

Are the toys for his grandson? “No, they are just my little world. I’ve been collecting them for years. They’re not for anyone else really, just for my enjoyment.”

Doug has been cutting hair in the area for almost 50 years. He completed his apprenticeship with a Swiss barber in the City, who he says taught him everything.  “He could have sacked me a hundred times, but he was too good to me. I owe him everything. I’ve been very lucky working in this industry.”

Doug seems to have cut everyone’s hair, but the most famous being The Ink Spots, an African American group who rose to fame in the 1940-50s. They were touring Australia in the 1960s when they came across Doug’s hair cutting skills while he was working at a salon in Bourke Street.

Working as a barber in a salon on Somerville Rd, as well as in Newport and now Seddon, I’m interested to know what changes he has seen in the area over the past 50 years.

“There used to be a whole lot of factories and warehouses in the area, so I always had customers seeking short back and sides. When The Beatles came into fashion, barbers almost went out of business – not because blokes were growing their hair, but because unisex salons popped up. I’ve been very lucky, people always need to get their hair cut. Short back and sides has kept me in the business for a long time.”

Recently Doug was told that his lease was up and he would have to move out. The iconic yellow building would be turned into apartments.

But, at age 70 he’s not going to retire. “This is life, I just move on. I’m going to find somewhere nearby and set up a shop. I’ve got another 30 years left in me. If I go longer I will, if I drop dead I can’t help it.”

I ask the blokes sitting on the tartan lounge why they keep coming back. The tough looking guy reading the train book quickly responds: “Doug’s been cutting my hair since I was five. My dad used to bring me to see him. He used to cut my dad’s hair too. It’s what he did and what I do.”

My son’s cut is complete. He has a little quiff, like Tin Tin, his hair parted with a comb on one side. I think it’s the first time he’s had any product in his hair. His head smells like California, coconut, rum and Old Spice all rolled into one. He’s become a tiny man.

At $10 for a kid’s cut – short back and sides – I will be tracking down Doug’s new barber shop. At the rate my kid’s hair grows, I hope to be seeing Doug once a month for the next thirty years.

Doug Howie’s Barbershop is located at 65 Williamstown Road, Seddon. You can’t miss the bright yellow corner building. Get in quick as it won’t be there for long.

Photos by Paul Large.

This article first appeared in The Westsider.

Boys have a penis and girls have a vagina

It’s a famous line in the Kindergarten Cop flick

You know the one, where the little boy’s so slick

When he states to Arnie, in the classic one liner

That ‘boys have a penis, and girls a vagina’.

It’s stuck with me for all of these years

A line that’s shouted with peers and beers

But now with my two-year-old boy in tow

He thinks it’s something that everyone must know.

While standing in a very long bank queue

My son (who is also fascinated with poo)

Went up to a stranger, and pointed at his dacks

And shouted ‘doodle?’followed by sniggers and cracks.

The man looked at me, unsure what to do

I explained that my son had just turned two

That he was curious about the thing in his nappy

But talking about it seemed to make him happy.

The tantrums themselves are awkward enough

But how in the hell are you meant to handle this stuff?

There’s a time and a place for this chat, to be frank

But it’s not the time, nor the place when we are in a bank.

It’s no different at all when we go to the zoo

Where there are plenty of doodles and a whole lot of poo

We explore all the gardens and eat picnic feasts

But it all gets exciting when we check out the beasts.

Just last week, we watched the elephants play

My son glued to the fence on this rainy day

Then a male elephant weed and boy it was a hit

And on top of that he took a massive shit.

Oh the squeals of delights, from my son and other boys

Who were all lined up, attracted by the noise

The other parents and I all rolled our eyes

I was thankful that the excitement was no surprise.

In my household filled with blokey gents

Where it’s rare if anyone is wearing pants

I feel left out because I’m ‘missing a tail’

But at the end of the day, I’m proud to be female.

This ode first appeared on BubbaWest.

Mother's Day sucks pom poms

It sucks balls.  I dread it every year because it’s yet another reminder that our family is not a normal nine-to-five family where everyone sits around the table at the same time telling tales about bigfoot sightings and camping adventures. We’re a tag-team family who work hours unbeknownst to many, and sometimes our hours clash and we panic.

Mother’s Day is a day that I avoid all family locations – zoos, lunch spots, picnic areas, day spas (ha) – because I want to cry my face off when I see parents together with their kids celebrating all things mum.

The Tunnel of Youth

I turn 33 next week. For some odd reason, it dawned on me, only today, that I was reaching the end of my ‘early thirties’. Shit. I’ve really enjoyed my early thirties, even more so after today.

Alfie and I went to Yarraville Gardens. We were a bit sick of our regular park, with its basic-but-still-awesome playground and wanted to stretch our legs. I’ve always been funny about the playground at Yarraville Gardens. It’s pretty high, and having a slight fear of enclosed spaces, I was pretty terrified of the tunnel slide.