Hunger Games Party How To's (with Free Printables)

Here is the post you've all been waiting for - the answer to "how did you do that Hunger Games Party?" and "How can I do that myself???"

For those of you planning to host one yourself, here are my ideas, tips and printables (the post on How NOT to Kill a Mockingjay Cake will come later in a separate post. Haha).

Mockingjay Stencil

The Mockingjay symbol is a key feature of the Hunger Games, so where would our party be without it? I used the symbol as a stencil three ways:
(1) I stencilled tote-bags with the symbol (for prizes)
(2) I stencilled the symbol on the backdrop (as part of the decor)
(3) I used the stencil on the birthday cake, as a fondant cutting guide (tutorial to follow in a separate post).

<---------- I've set it up ready for you to print on an A4 page (left). Simply click on the image, then right-click, save to your computer and print three copies.

To turn the printed image into a stencil, use a craft knife to cut away the unneeded portions as follows.

1. Cut away the white areas inside the symbol; Cut out the arrow head and wing tip which protude beyond the circle in reverse (see picture below for an example)
2. I found black nylon swimming/sports bags on TradeMe for around $1 each.
3. Position the symbol stencil on the bag and hold in place with one hand; Dip a clean soft cloth into a metallic gold testpot and carefully dab the colour onto the bag
4. Make sure you get colour in all the areas; hold the stencil firmly in place to prevent "bleeding".
5. Remove the stencil and Voila! A gold stenciled Mockingjay symbol on your gear bags.

 [Cut out the arrow head and wing tip which protude beyond the circle in reverse]

MOCKINGJAY WALL DECOR
Cut out another stencil this time cutting the black symbol out completely. Hold the symbol stencil in place (on wall, backdrop, sacking - wherever you want the symbol) and dip another clean cloth into leftover house paint (or poster paint) and dab the colour on and around the symbol as shown.

Creating "The Hob" in our backyard
"The Hob" is the Black Market in District 12; Katniss finds her Mockingjay pin and sells the game she shoots here. I chose to create our version of the Hob in our backyard's covered outdoor area, which enabled me to use and re-use old found objects and rusty broken things from around the place, resulting in next-to-no-cost party decor...

Decor Printables
To set the scene in our "Hob"* I created some simple printables which you can also take and use.

"MELLARK BAKERY" SIGN AND BREAD WRAPS
Click on the image, then right-click, save to your computer and print in colour. (They are all set up to print on an A4 page). I put the sign in a chunky wooden frame I had, and trimmed the bread wraps and wrapped them around baguettes (which we ate with sausages grilled over the fire).

 

DISTRICT SYMBOLS LABELS for drink bottles
I printed and cut these symbols out and then glued them onto my glass mini milk bottles, so each person could keep track of their drink. (Each person was assigned a district in a "Reaping"). The labels peeled right off afterwards.

 

(right click on the image, print and then carefully trim
each label then attach to bottles with a glue stick)

They were also cute as favour tags on the black mesh gift bags, each containing a Mockingjay pendant...

(You can contact Donie on Etsy directly if you want to find these charms to make the pendants)

OTHER DECOR:
I used coffee sacks & hessian, building paper (backdrop), rusty cans, along with old pallets, tree stumps and anything old and rusty I could find to create our "Hob"....

The "Fresh Rabbit (shot by Katniss this morning)", "Refreshments (no tesserae required)" and "The Hob" signs were made from crusty old decking, lettered roughly with leftover white house paint. Cost = Zip.

Activities:
We had one main activity planned for this party: an epic "Hunger Games" water battle, complete with our own "Reaping" to assign districts, and a cardboard Cornucopia.

DISTRICT REAPING SLIPS:

For the "Reaping" each guest's name was written inside a District slip ahead of time, then drawn out and announced. Each guest then received their "life" wristband with a metal-stamped "district" tag attached. The black bands were found in packs of 12 at a dollar store; the metal tags were from Mister Minit in St Lukes, where the guys there did me a great deal and supplied the tags complete with the thingy to attach them. I stamped the district on using my metal stamping set and a hammer.

You can print out your own District Reaping tags here... (right click, save, print etc)

CARDBOARD BOX CORNUCOPIA
In true HG style had the various "weapons" & "survival supplies" (water guns, water bombs etc) were spilling out from the cornucopia, ready for the cannon to sound signalling the start of the Games.

Here's how to make your own cardboard box Cornucopia...

WHAT YOU'LL NEED:

• Two large cardboard boxes (the same size as each other)
• Two smaller cardboard boxes (one a little smaller than the other)
• Silver duct tape (lots of it)
• Metallic Silver paint (2-3 testpots from Resene or similar)
• A an extra pair of helping hands!

1. Open up your two large boxes and fit one inside the other with the flaps overlapping, to create a box "tunnel" (the main base of the cornucopia). 
2. Get your helper to hold the boxes in place while you tape them together with duct tape, on the inside and out where the flaps overlap.
3. Stand the smaller box upright at one end of your box "tunnel" with the new box's flaps "pointing up"
4. Tape the smaller box in place and then up-end the smallest box and place it in top with it's flaps pointing "down"; (make sure the smallest box is "shut" on one end as shown)
5. Tape the two smaller boxes' flaps together to create the end of the cornucopia
6. Tape the flaps at the other end of the cornucopia "open" as shown to create the open mouth shape.
7. Use a long piece of duct tape to pull back the top flap and keep the "mouth" open
8. Use more duct tape to patch in the gaps and help create the shape (do this til you run out of duct tape!)

... then paint the whole thing silver using your testpots...

It's certainly not picture perfect, but it does the job and gets across the idea of a cornucopia to incorporate into you backyard Hunger Games without costing heaps of money, taking heaps of time or causing heaps of stress. Which is all you really want aye?

Hunger Games Party Menu:

We kept the menu really simple for this party, and ate the food in two parts.

[Metallic orange and black Baking cups, silver Cola Rolla sweets and black'n'white paper straws from KiwiCakes]

FOOD PART 1: Afternoon tea/snack (before the Games began)

After everyone arrived and had time to hang out, we did the Reaping  - which allocated Districts (and drink bottles) to each guest - and then ate Flaming Coal Cupcakes, Nightlock Berry Bites, orange slices (chosen simply for their colour) and of course some chips; we drank  sugar-free-but-delicious Nightlock Punch (in those cute District drink bottles) and "Capitol" Water...

<------ FREE PRINTABLE Water Bottle Labels. 

Right Click to save to your computer, then print and attach to water bottles with their labels removed, using a glue stick.

FOOD PART 2: Hot food around the fire (after everyone got wet & could do with some warming up)

While the kids were still biffing water at each other and splashing in the pool we lit a fire in the brazier and brought out the "fresh rabbit" skewers and some pure beef sausages from our favourite butcher to sizzle over the brazier.

The rabbit skewers were actually strips of chicken, marinated in honey and soy sauce (soooo tender and delicious cooked over the fire).

The sausages were served in cut-up baguettes from "Mellark Bakery" (where else?).

They went down pretty well!

Then we ate birthday cake for dessert...

Tutorial (and the story of how I nearly killed the Mockingjay cake) coming soon.

................................

• Our Epic Hunger Games Party
• Personalised Hunger Games party invitation (listed as Battle Games for legal reasons but wording can be changed upon ordering)
• Nightlock berry bites recipe (refined sugar and gluten free)
• Sugar free nightlock berry punch recipe
• I have a 12 year old: Is this my last theme party ever for my tween? 

The Foolish Things (I'm one of them)

Last night I did something I haven't done for a very very very long time: I stood on a stage and spoke to a crowd.
With a microphone in my hand, trying hard not to show how much I was trembling, I told my story (or at least part of it).

Public speaking. Preaching. I used to do it a lot. (But that was a lifetime ago, back when that was part of my job description as a Pastor).

For many many years now, I've been silent, my story untold apart from here on this blog.
Those who have known me for a long time know that back in my dim distant past, before marriage and kids I was a youth pastor, and I started a programme called CLS (Creative Learning Scheme) to reach/help educate at-risk kids. It started small, flying by the seat-of-our-pants in true Simoney-style, but now it's MASSIVE, the biggest alternative education programme in the country.

I won't repeat the story again now, (you can read it in detail here) but basically I began the programme out of response to a need. I was moved by the plight of lost, broken kids and I took the little that I had and put it in God's hands, and said "Use me, if you can."

[Some of the earliest CLS students, back in 1997-1999]

This month our church is doing a series called "The Revolutionaries", asking the question, "Can one person really change the world?"

I was at my (awesome) connect group on Tuesday night and we were watching the discussion-starter DVD they send out, when the guy speaking (Jordan, an old pal of mine) said, "A friend of mine was watching the movie Once Were Warriors and it moved her to do something..."

I thought, "Ha, that's funny, somebody else got moved by that movie as well as me..."\
But as he kept talking I realised, "Wait, what? He's talking about ME!"

In a few moments the girls in my connect group also realised he was talking about me and somehow I ended up telling them my story.

Later my connect group leader (my long-time friend Kathy, who also happens to be our pastor's wife) went home and told her hubby, the pastor, what I'd shared and somehow word got around and next thing I know the Pastor of our South campus is ringing me up asking me to share my story. And then Kathy txted me and asked me to tell it again in the City at night.

And that's how after fifteen years I found myself up on the Auckland Town Hall stage, microphone in hand, spotlights shining in my eyes, telling my story for the second time in a day, to a massive crowd
.

It was surreal. It was terrifying. It was thrilling. (I think I did OK).

There were two things I really wanted to get across to the people listening, which are the signature message of my life. If there's anything they can learn from from my story this is it.

THE FIRST IS THIS:
Use what you have, start where you are.
If we wait till all the ducks are lined up in a row, til we have all the i's dotted and t's crossed, til there is funding and structures and strategies and projections in place, well, we'll never get started. So we take what we have and we use it right where we are. We put what we have into God's hands and let him do a miracle with it - like the little boy who gave Jesus his lunch and from those five loaves and two fish a crowd in excess of 5000 people was fed.

THE SECOND IS THIS:
God chooses and uses the most unlikely people, rarely the clever or the wise.
I take heart from the verse which got me through on the occasions when I doubted that I had what it took, when I railed against the sky and wailed, "Why me?! Why did you choose a scared shy girl like me? I don't have what it takes!"

In those moments of self-doubt I was reminded of this:

"Oh yeah! That's why you chose me! (I'm one of those foolish things)...!"

It was 21 years ago that I watched the movie, Once Were Warriors, and spent the night sobbing on my couch, weeping over all the broken kids out there in my city, begging God to use me to help them.

He heard my prayer and took me up on my offer, though I was the least likely person you could ever imagine.

Shy, timid, scared of confrontation, white, never taken drugs, never been pregnant out of wedlock, never been in trouble with the law, never been abused. There was nothing in my background or my personality that qualified me to relate to  - let alone help - kids from the dark side of life.
Plus, I had no qualifications. I left school after sixth form, never went to uni. I wasn't a trained teacher, or social worker, or anything. AND I was dyslexic and didn't even know it.

But God chose this "foolish thing" to shame the wise (the experts who said it would never succeed).
He chose the weak to shame the strong (so nobody can boast this thing happened because of their cleverness).

[Grace, the character from Once Were Warriors who broke my heart]

It's amazing that CLS has become what it is today (a programme reaching hundreds of kids on a daily basis, making a real difference, changing lives and futures) from such a humble start.
It was a series of miracles - some may say "coincidences", but I know better.

See, God cared about those broken kids. He let me get a tiny glimpse of his heart for them that night, watching Once Were Warriors. When my heart was breaking, it was just a taste of his heart breaking. And he was waiting for somebody - anybody!- to volunteer. Once I put my hand up, he started sending things across my path - the right people, resources, funding. But I wouldn't have gotten any of that if I hadn't stepped out first, and used what I had, right where I was.

So yeah. I think one person CAN change the world - or at least the part of the world they let break their heart enough to do something about.

It was a long time ago now,
I haven't been hands-on at CLS since 2000. Others picked up the baton, people with the skills and qualifications I didn't have. They could take it where it needed to go, to the point where it is now far beyond what I could ever have dreamed or imagined.
But I did my part, the part I could do. I got the ball rolling, and that's what matters.


TO READ MORE ABOUT THIS:
My Part in the Story of CLS

A Glimpse of the Future?

For posterity, I'm writing this story down, so one day we can all say, "We knew it! We knew that boy would go far!"

This is a Scrag story, a wee glimpse into his future and the man he might become.
Bear with me while I paint the picture...


"SCRAG THE SAVER"
Scrag is the youngest, and has only recently started getting pocket money, which we noticed him saving diligently and counting regularly.
When before our aunty and uncle from England returned home last month, they gave each of the kids $50, which Scrag raced to add to his growing stash.

He now had $80 saved - a lot of money for a six year old. We went shopping for a toy he really wanted, but he only spent $30, saying "I'm saving the rest."
(All this so you know that Scrag is a diligent saver who is careful with his money.)

[Scrag with Grandad on father's Day last year]

"SCRAG THE MATHS GENIUS"
Scrag is amazing at maths. He is two maths stages ahead of where he needs to be, so although he has to work super hard at reading and writing (which leads me to suspect he may have my dyslexia) he is amazingly bright, intuitive, canny and insightful as well as "a maths genius". The questions he asks and the things he intuits are really beyond what is usual for his age, and numbers just seem to make sense to him in a way that is a complete mystery to me!

SCRAG'S PREDICTION
The other day we were driving somewhere and out of the blue Scrag announced:

"When I grow up I'm not going to have a job working for someone else. I'm going to make my own job and be my own boss."

Wow. What six year old says things like that??? The thing is, when he said it his words had a ring of truth to them.
Scrag, I reckon you just made a true prediction. With your maths genius and canny brain, I can totally see you being an amazingly successful businessman, with your own company, being your own boss.

[Playing cards at Lake Taupo with our Aunty Irene from England - using the Hobbiton playing cards]

SCRAG'S GENEROUS HEART
Now comes the bit that melts my mother-heart.
Last night my parents were over for our Thursday Night Grandparents Dinner (woop) and they told me the story of a conversation they had with Scrag.

They were playing cards using our Hobbiton card pack, and my mum said something about how she wanted to go to see Hobbiton but it is so expensive so she's been saving her pennies, and her birthday money but her birthday money got all used up paying to get things fixed on the car, doctors etc so now it's all gone and she didn't get to buy anything for her birthday.

Scrag says to her, "Nan, wait here. I've got a birthday present for you."
He runs out of the room and comes back a moment later with his hands behind his back.
"Close your eyes, Nan, and hold out your hands..." he says. "Now open them!"
My mum opens her eyes, and there is Scrag's treasured $50 note, lying in her hands.

Just like that, he had run and gotten the money he had diligently saved and gave it away without a second thought.

(Mum went on to tell how after she gave him back his $50 and insisted he keep it, he said, "OK well I have another present for you. Close your eyes again..."
Then she felt his warm little arms thrown around her middle, with a "Love you Nan, Happy Birthday! And one for Grandad too!")

[We are loving our Thursday Dinners  with Nan and Grandad. NOTE TO SELF: Take more photos!]

So there we go.
A glimpse into my youngest son's generous heart, and I think a glimpse into his future.
I believe he will be a man who is good with money, but who gives generously of his resources.
A businessman philanthropist. That's my prediction. And now I've written it down.
Let's see if I'm right.

"The Squeaky Wheel Gets the Oil" (finding my voice)

Something's changed in me over the past year or so.  I've always been a scaredy cat, never one to rock the boat, speak up or make waves. Ask anyone who knows me. Unlike so many other Lioness Mothers who would roar if anyone stepped out of line round her cubs, I was always more of a Mouse.

If I had to speak up, whether to a teacher, a bully or a fellow parent I'd be shaking so bad I'd lose my words and feel like I was going to vomit. I just hated "confrontation".

But over the past year or so I've noticed that I no longer procrastinate and avoid confrontation. I've become better at speaking up with teachers, family and coaches (it doesn't even make me want to vomit anymore).

Instead of staying silent and hoping for the best, I've begun asking for what I want, because I've realised this earth shattering truth: The Squeaky Wheel Gets the Oil.

It started when one of my kids was struggling at school, miserable. At first I felt powerless and overwhelmed; I didn't know what to do but I knew I had to do something, talk to someone, so I gathered my courage and headed to school.

I remember sitting in the office of the department head stammering out my concerns about my child's anxiety and bursting into tears. Right there in her office.

This lovely H.O.D. gave me an hour of her time, listened to my concerns, handed me tissues and reassured me that they would work to support my child in a number of new ways.
It wasn't so hard, this talking thing.

A week later I met with her and the child's teacher again and she presented me with two charts, depicting my child's progress so he could see in colour just how far he'd come. When I told the H.O.D. later that he was calling those charts "my treasures" and sleeping with them under his pillow, tears sprang into her eyes.

I was learning that a little bit of squeaking will get your wheel oiled.
A little bit of asking will get results. It's not that hard, once I get over myself.
And if I don't squeak for them, nobody else will.

After all, the H.O.D. has hundreds of kids to think about; the teacher has thirty. I'm the only one with just my own kids' interests at heart.

In the sea of faces my child's struggle might not be apparent to the teacher he/she is trying so hard to please. The teacher doesn't see my child fall apart at the end of the day, after using all their energy working so hard to stay on task and just keep up. The teacher doesn't have to drag my child out of bed as they wail, "I don't wanna go! I hate school!" The teacher doesn't have to wipe their tears of frustration and talk them down from the bridge of self-doubt, patch up their shattered self-esteem and send them out to face the world again... I DO.

I have to live with these children, so it's worth being a squeaky wheel if it means happier kids who know their mama has got their back.

I may not like "confrontation" or "making waves" but there's a nice way to do things.
Being a squeaky wheel doesn't mean becoming demanding or difficult. It just means becoming my child's advocate and speaking up on their behalf, which I can do with a smile on my face. Being pleasant and reasonable-but-determined will probably get me further than being antagonistic and bolshy anyway!

I've now lost count of how many times I've been up to school in the past year. I rarely used to go up there, relying on school reports, and the inadequate twice-yearly parent teacher interviews.

No longer.
Now as soon as there's a ripple I'm there. Talking to the teacher, clarifying the situation, getting information, helping them to know my children and understand their needs,
I'm now one of "those" parents... in the nicest possible way.

The more I talk to my kids' teachers, the better the relationships with the teachers become and the easier it gets to talk to them. (And the more positively they'll work with my kids too).

This worked to the point last year where I knew Miss Fab's teacher well enough to invite him to come watch her perform in the church Christmas production - and he came.

It's so freeing, not being scared anymore. Having found my voice I don't just use it to advocate for my kids at school, oh no.

It translates into other areas of life as well.
Like I noticed that with life being so busy, we were hardly ever getting to see my parents. There was just not enough grandparent-time and I worried that if we didn't set aside some regular time to connect, one day I'd look back and regret that my kids never got to know my parents before they were gone.


I could sit around feeling sad and resentful or I could ask for what I wanted for my kids and take the risk that I might get knocked back...

So I baked some muffins, took my coffee machine with me and went to my folks to ask for what I wanted: dinner with them once a week. Regular time for my kids to spend with them hanging out, getting to know them.

...I wasn't knocked back. As of last week, every Thursday night Nan and Grandad will come for dinner. I cook, they play. Last week it was Monopoly Empire, homemade spaghetti and stories after dinner. There are plans for bike rides with Grandad, card games and more.
We all said goodbye at the end of our first night with a warm fuzzy glow, with the kids agreeing "This was fun!"; I believe it's the start of a beautiful thing.

I'm so thankful that I've learned to speak up.
After all those timid years of being afraid of knock-backs or angry confrontations, it's a pleasant surprise to learn that I can still be me, but a bolder Squeakier version of myself.
After all, what have I got to lose really, by speaking up? If I ask for something and the answer is no, have I lost anything apart from a bit of pride?
No I haven't.
But I stand to gain so much for my kids when I lose my fear and find my voice.

I may not ever be a roaring Lioness Mother but I can be a Squeaky Wheel.

...........................

More Motherhood-Learning-Curve Posts

• So I Yelled... 
• Stuff You Learn at a Skate Park
• Ten Cool Things About Motherhood
• Getting Over Myself 
• To Young Me from Old Me...

R.I.P. Ethel (and HELLO Zippy Mr Terrabyte)

You can't tell, but right now I'm coming to you live from a brand new computer.
Ethel, my old dinosaur, finally gave up the ghost and refused to stay on for longer than 30 seconds, so she had to go.

Ethel has been a part of the family since before Scrag was a twinkle in his daddy's eye.
I started my blog on Ethel, and wrote almost every single post in my lengthy bloglife from her (except the ones where I blogged from exotic destinations like England and China). Every article I excitedly submitted to parenting mag was created on good old Ethel along with my Christmas book, my Etsy shop and every party, printable and invitation  I ever created. I was rather scared that when Ethel died she'd take all my precious files with her... (but thankfully a computer whizz retrieved them and saved me).

I should have known it was time to put Ethel out to pasture when I got the warning from Microsoft that Windows XP would no longer be supported as of a year ago. Yeah, that's right. Windows XP circa 2006. Even my Photoshop was a vintage 2007 Trial version.

Ethel was eight years old - which is about a century in computer years.

After such loyal and lengthy service, Ethel earned her rest, She's now gone to that e-Waste site in the beyond... and I have a shiny new hard-drive with room for ALL my photos, all my Photoshop documents and a brand new version of Photoshop.
Eek! The luxury of having more than one window open at a time! The bliss of knowing your computer won't suddenly switch off in the middle of a sentence...

All this by way of an explanation as to where I've been these past days. I've been computerless, actually, while I waited for Ethel's younger, sleeker replacement.

Actually it's just the guts that have been renewed.

The kids came home excited to see "the new computer" and stared, disappointed at the same old screen and keyboard. (They'll be replaced when they stop working. There's no retirement before death round here).

I was happy to have a prime example to illustrate what I've been trying to tell them for years: it's what's on the inside that counts!

On the inside of my zippy new computer is a terrabyte of memory. I didn't even know what that was. It's a million megabytes, apparently. Should last a while...??!

Anyway I thought I'd just check in, say hi, Let ya know I'm back, equipped with a brand new story-keeper and photo-holder; stories are oozing out my pores, itching to be told.

Now where to begin....? (give me a couple of days to figure stuff out. I'll be back real soooooon...)

....................

P.S. While I was computerless Instagram kept me connected (my favourite social media app). Photos up top include random gratuitous food shots, proud mama moments and the beginning of my foray in to SEWING. Follow me on IG here 

Bedroom DIY // A Room to Grow With

 For Christmas this year just gone, my girl asked for a bedroom makeover.

"Mum," she said, "I would really love to do up my room. My bedroom was cool when I was six, but I'm ten now and I really need a room I can grow with..."

In my mind it was only recently I'd done up her room in her then-favourite colours of green, pink and aqua, painting a magnet wall that was a mural of rolling hills... but actually it was over four years ago. And there is a huge difference between a little girl of six and a big girl of ten.

[ CONTINUE READING.......]

The Best Little Country in the World is my Home

Sometimes it takes a fresh perspective to realise what you've got. This summer we have been playing New Zealand tour guides, showing our aunty and uncle from England the glories of our little country. This amazing, beautiful unique country that I can so easily take for granted...

The clean water and stunning scenery. The green grass and warm sunshine. The easy-going friendly Kiwis who just love to welcome newcomers and show them why NZ really is Godzone (i.e. God's Own Country).

Our barefooted children (apparently if kids walked to school in bare feet in England like they do here, social services would be called and it would be neglect, but here we call it FREEDOM).

Our lack of pretension and the way we all dress so casually EVERYWHERE, and how this is normal. And no one looks at you funny for slopping about in shorts and "jangles" (hehe, Aunty Irene, it's "Jandals" i.e. "Japanese Sandals").

The way we can all swim. Everyone. Ever heard of a Kiwi who can't swim? Me neither. Another thing we take for granted.

Our deliciously warm-but-not-too-hot summers. (And this one's been particularly good after a rather shaky start. But we won't mention December).

We have been wanting family from England to come and see our little slice of paradise for years, but it's such a long way, only Grandma was willing to make the journey... until now. 
Hubby's Aunty and Uncle planned what they thought would be a once-in-a-lifetime trip this summer, and we knew we had to pull out all the stops, make them fall in love with the place so they'll go home raving about it and MORE rellies will come visit.

Our plan is working - they are besotted. And even talking about maybe coming back and seeing the South Island next time...

They've been to Waiheke Island, Taupo, Rotorua, Mt Maunganui, Pauanui/Coromandel, Back to Auckland, spent a day on a boat moored off Motutapu and now have headed up to the Bay of Islands/Paihia.

And oh what fun we've had trying to teach our aunty how to say the Maori words!
Mt Maunganui = Mt Monnagooey/Mt moowagonny. Pauanui = Pannanooey/Poowarney. Waihi = Wee-eye. The lists goes on. Hehe. So cute, these tourists.

As I've driven around the place, telling stories, explaining the meaning of names, talking about the history, it's made me realise (a) how much I know about my country and how many Maori words I've absorbed in my lifetime and (b) how much MORE I want to know and understand. I've even (just quietly) considered finding a wee course in Te Reo.

I've begun to realise just how much our laid-back, friendly Kiwi culture owes it's thanks to our tangata whenua - our Maori people. Maori have a graciousness, a warmth, a generosity of spirit; they traditionally value people more than things and family above all. When you meet a Maori person, the first question is "Who are your people/where are you from?" not "what job do you do?" like us Pakeha.

Sure things have gotten messed up and Maori feature too heavily in all the wrong statistics, but it's my impression that this happens when they lose their sense of where they belong, their land, and their people.

Sometimes we Pakeha can feel awkward and vaguely guilty around Waitangi Day. It's meant to be our national day, but usually any celebrations are overshadowed by protests and shouts of "honour the Treaty!"

This year after playing tour guide all summer, I've found myself yearning to understand my country and my history better. The more I've talked about New Zealand to our beloved tourists, the more I've wanted to really know.

I recorded Mike King's series "Lost in Translation" (on Maori TV, Waitangi Day) and spent the last day or so watching every episode back-to-back. It was a beautiful thing.

Did you know that there wasn't just one Treaty signing? There were nine sheets sent out all around New Zealand. I didn't know that.

There was a lot I didn't know, but watching Mike King's (most excellent) programme I learned a lot. It gave me a sense that as country we have a truly unique and special history, which I want to learn more about.

Yes mistakes have been made, but as the programme showed, the spirit of the Treaty was well intended. I can be proud of our country's foundations. And I want to understand and honour the people who were here in this beautiful place first.

My ancestors came here fleeing poverty and repression in Ireland way way back in the 1840's. I am grateful they found a place here.

One of my ancestors on my dad's side was a nurse called Charlotte Speedy, and I'm told she nursed a Maori chief back to health from his death-bed and was made an honorary member of the tribe. I'm now on a mission to find out which chief, and which tribe. I would love to think that my little family could have ties to the "people of the land" ... honorary or not.

It's a stunning country. And in my humble opinion? The best little country in the world. (And I think our tourists would agree with me).

........

BEST KIWI SONG EVER: "WELCOME HOME"
Dave Dobbyn's song sums it all up perfectly...



Kiwis: What do YOU love most about Enzed?
You other poor buggers: When are you coming over?