Today we are six weeks old
The first six weeks:
How cool is that. The achievements to date are:
- Your arrival not triggering a complete mental breakdown on my part
- The family unit feeling so much stronger, so much tighter, so much more real. Like less than three offspring suddenly seems like we were just pretending.
- That 8 hour sleep thing - you can do that, at night, any time and and as often as you like.
- The smiling - oh my LORD that gummy, open mouthed smile that melts my heart and makes me laugh out loud every.single.time.
- The very early recognition by you that when it's dark outside - lets get this feeding thing over and done with quickly. Keep that up. That is good. Maybe you could have a quite word with Oscar that 5am, or infact 4.53am is NOT a time for him to be starting his day.
- The loving of the breast. This is good. But I have to warn you, a surrogate will be involved soon. It won't be as squidgy, or as warm and you won't be able to take it in your little fists and hold on for dear life, but there will still be a smiling face staring down at you - it'll probably be your dad so don't freak out too much. He may have man boobs but I promise that's my milk in the bottle. It also won't attempt to drown you either as is often the case with the Real Deal. I'm pretty sad about this, that's it's going to be a necessity in a couple of months and well, that's just life.
- The loving of the bath - how you throw your head back so far you get water in your eyes and blink and blink and kick and kick.
- The definite different cries. Thank you for so clearly differentiating between the hungry (that weird little panting thing you do is very cute), tired and oh-my-God what did you eat I'm in pain cries. I never got this with your brothers and really, it bothered me. I'm feeling very smug knowing your cries and how to react.
Things I really need you to work on:
- The screaming in the car. Is it because you're facing backwards? Because quite frankly that would freak me out too but Dude, you have THE comfiest, cushioniest, plush, deluxe seat out of anyone in the car. Just kick back, relax, and stop.the.screaming. I'm already imagining the trips to and from work/daycare in p.e.a.k. hour three days a week and feeling the early onset of a monumental headache.
- The screaming post bath. We've done it enough times now for you to know I am going to put a nice clean nappy and clothes on you. I'm even going to give you a lovely massage with that weird massage foam stuff that smells so good and isn't greasy at all. Is it the 3 white Bonds Wondersuits in high rotation that you are retaliating against? You don't like blue? You're offended if I put you in yellow? Again, enough with the screaming.
- The skin rash. I realise and accept that unfortunately all three of you boys have inherited my big pored hideous skin. I am truly truly sorry. But enough with the rash already. You are so so cute, and the rash remnants and occassional breakouts really detract from it. Can't you have a quite internal word with your system and work it out?
So its 8 to 3 - I reckon that is pretty darn good. It's only been six weeks but my goodness, it feels like you've been here a lot longer than that, and none of us can even really remember how life was before you were in it. And that is a wondrous thing. :)
Well, after all, it's not rocket science...
we have daycare for Jasper.
It's not ideal, in that they can give me 2 months notice if an employee in the building its housed in (Sydney's first and I believe currently only 5star green building) needs a spot, but we have a place, in a good centre, walking distance from work.
The baby health clinic nurse told me not to worry about it, that miracles happen and to just keep in contact with the places I really wanted. And look what has happened.
A happy moment laden with maternal guilt and anxiety. Is there any other?
At last, kitchen pics...
Here it is, or at least bits of it. Sorry about the image but the digital camera is dying and only small images are acceptably close to being in focus...
Also featured are our new looooong dining table and my favourite jug. Just because.
It just dawned on me...and other random thoughts
that in 10 days it is my birthday. Next Thursday, 8 December. I'll be 33. Please note it in your diary for future reference.
Today I spontaneously bought two pairs of denim jeany things - because really, almost 6 weeks in trackiepants or equivalent is long enough. They're size 18 BLAH. Normally I'm 14 on the bottom half of my body, 16 on a bad day and for about six months leading up to turning 30 in a size 10 - TEN - something I'd never been in.my.life. Seriously, I just went from babywear straight into a woman's size 14, all with my Mum standing at the changeroom door saying things like "when I was your age I could meet my hands around my waist, it's amazing how you have no waist," or "when you're old you'll be one of those women who gets a skirt of fat around your stomach, you'll have to be so careful," or "oh no, dreadful. You look like a sack of potatoes, get it off." All said of course with great love and concern about my wellbeing. This is also the woman who raised me to believe I could achieve anything I put my mind to, to never ever give up and to always stand up for what I believe in. Although those times I'd come home crying from school saying I was ugly (there were braces, very.bad.acne, glasses and real, not perceived, fatness) it would have been lovely if her reply had been a bit more than, 'but you have lovely eyes'. God, sometimes being adopted has a lot to answer for.
Anyway, they're an 18. They're actually too big, they've fallen off twice (I now need to buy a belt - don't you just love the whole retail viscious cycle) but the muffin top that would have resulted in the 16 was just too depressing. I am of course guessing about the muffin top as I had a baby wedged on my chest in the Baby Bjorn and a husband looking more and more bored so I just bought them without enduring the whole hideous this sure isn't Narnia world that is the change rooms at Target. That's right. Pants, not tried on, bought from Target. I know I know, the heady heights my life currently orbits in.
Tomorrow, or maybe Wednesday is the day of going to the Dark Side. Yes, you know what I mean, the Death Star to those of us who love to bake, eat and cook with oil and put butter on our bread - the G.Y.M. My employer is trying to keep us all healthy and worked out a deal with Fitness First, the mothership of all evilness in the realm of physical pain, yummy mummys, small dick weight lifters, bimbos, bimbettes and all those people who enjoy running on a treadmill and watching TV with the sound off.In a moment of complete I'm incubating stupidity I signed up. I figured its cheaper, it will be automatically deducted from my pay so I won't notice it (hah!) and that if I'm paying for it I know I'll use it. EVERY single normal person who has ever had a gym membership is now laughing into their second bowl of icecream for the night. The reason I haven't been a member of a gym in about 10 years is because:
- I have very obsessive tendencies, so instead of just going three times a week and walking on a treadmill, it won't take long before I get up at 5, jog to said gym, do a class, lift some weights and God knows what else. It is quite scary.
- the smell. That weird mix of gym socks, sweat, deodorant and god knows what else that just reminds me way too much of PE at school.
- Despite my ludicrously ample boobage, I have quite a masculine build and basically start to resemble a wombat - a dumpy nuggety lump of gristle - way too quickly. This is completely contrary to why I was there in the first place, to drop kilos and look svelte. I have never ever EVER looked svelte in my life. It is something I strive for. Forget world peace, forget career success, forget fame - if I could look svelte for just one day, no, one month, I would be such a happy woman.
- the people who go to the gym scare me. There are never ever other oompa loompas like myself. Never anyone with bits that wobble or overhang. No one else ever seems to sweat as much as me. Ever. I feel like they're all looking at me, which is ridiculous because I know they're so busy checking themselves out in all those friggin mirrors they're not caring one jot about me, until they think I'm having a heart attack because of 5.
- I go very very red when i do any form of exercise. You can understand then, that with the wobbly bits, the sweating and the red face issues, I am NOT looking forward to gym outings at all. But it's that or the return of the black dog of body issues. It would also mean a whole new work wardrobe for which there is no budget.
So... its to the gym I go. It's enough to send me to the icecream without even worrying about a bowl.
In keeping with my obsessive tendencies, I've become a picture taking, comment checking manic. Sometimes I'll just log in while I'm waiting for water to boil. Just to see if there are new comments. I'm starting to take pictures of really dubious subject matter like fruit soaking for christmas cakes. I'd load the shot but Blogger is behaving very weirdly this evening. And even that is irritating.
that people counter thingy
says there are currently 8 people online.
Shall I put the kettle on?
How good is this word?
quidnunc \KWID-nuhngk\, noun:
One who is curious to know everything that passes; one who
knows or pretends to know all that is going on; a gossip; a
And look, while I originally posted this on Obgynorama, I can't resist raising it here. I'm just wondering if the God-awful red ITCHY rash that now marks the top of my legs (I know you know where I am talking about), my ankles, behind my knees, and sporadic outbursts on my legs is more attractive than the Bulgarian egg farmer hairiness that was there before. For our Bulgarian readership, I have it on good authority the egg farmers are particularly hairy. Robbie told me so.
Here are some pics from today. One is of my half sister, Hayley, holding Jasper and the other of my natural father, Len, doing the same. Despite my shocking inability to contact them in the 40 weeks preceding his birth and the 5 weeks after it, and the fact it was they who rang me apologising for the lack of contact and that on asking me how I was and me saying "we had another boy" and them replying something like "boy what?" (I was sure I had told them) , they dropped in this afternoon and brought cake.
Oh, and this morning - I got my first almost giggle out of the little guy. :)
It's here, it's finally here...
Some of you already know how long we have been waiting for this to happen. Forget the first design consultation back in June. Forget the complete re-design consultation in August. Forget the Final Order Confirmation in September...
In reality, this kitchen has been in-waiting ever since the twins started crawling and we realised that, in our wildest dreams, this little house could not sustain five mobile humans in its then configuration.
They crawled pretty early (much to the surprise of the baby health nurse who kept insisting on 'age-adjusting' them back three weeks because they were born at 37 weeks instead of 40 which? Hello? IS full-term for twins [especially twins who EACH weighed over 3kg or 7 pounds and had 9 and 10 Apgar scores; shit I hated that nurse, look how parenthetical she's made me!]) so that means almost three long years have passed during which time the Prof and I have considered:
- getting a new house
- turning bedroom 3 into a kitchen and knocking out a wall
- getting a new house
- turning bedroom 3 into a lounge and retaining the wall (did it)
- leaving three children to sleep together in one room forever because pre-twins, the Pea Princess used to hit us with her 'I'm the only one who has to sleep aloooooone' cry at bedtime
- leaving three children to sleep together forever as punishment for the Pea Princess daring to grow older and need her own space (dammit, why can't the Mummy get HER own room, hmmm?)
- getting a new house
- renting a new house and keeping this one to rent out to other, smaller families
- adding a new storey
- getting a new house, and, finally
- getting a new kitchen at the opposite end of the room it was in, bashing out the back wall, currently clogged by old kitchen, creating masses of space and light and a Tardis-like effect where suddenly it becomes feasible to have kitchen dining and lounge all in one 5m by 4m room...
Looking back, and knowing the Prof and myself fairly well by now, I am not really surprised that we took the most idealistic approach and made it happen by sheer willpower. Oh, and more debt.
The surprising thing is, it appears to be working.
I feel my adjectival skills are not up to the task of describing the Jack London snow white-ness of the cabinets, the dwarvish mithril silver of the handles, the lionwitchwardrobe-ness of the size of the corner pantry... So I will just promise to get new batteries into the digital camera today, and post a proper update a little later on.
One month and one week
I was deliberating on doing the whole "the baby is one month" kinda blog, but seeing as Bec is still refining her 100 things about her and seems to have gone into posting exile as a result, I guess I can fill the gap.
While the first two weeks just flew by in a flurry of pain, bleeding, engorgement and "oh my god, now this is tired" with the little sprocket everyone kept saying looked like AB's Nana, I don't have much to report.
Then I sort of started resurfacing - ie, occasionally answering the phone, sometimes returning phonecalls and using shampoo.
The last two weeks have been a blast. He's getting chubby and started smiling. I mean really, if the child isn't made in my likeness at least he behaves like me. How many people do you know have probably put weight on after the birth rather than lost it???
We had last weekend's hiccup of mastitis during which I became a blubbering mess and not much use to anyone. God bless friends who are midwives, frozen peas, heat packs and the world of homeopathy.
But seriously, he's losing that fragile woggly newborn look and moving fast into that realm where I really do know short of becoming a drug addled lunatic it'll be pretty hard for me to kill him. The other thing I've found is that - whereas with the other two I had NO idea what cry meant what, as far as I was concerned the kid was crying. All that guff about different cries and learning what they meant drew a blank for me. It was in that mystery land of motherhood with letdown, another phenonmenon I've only experienced and recognised with number three. But seriously, he has a hollow 'I'm tired' cry, a 'oh the pain' cry, and a 'for the love of god get that breast over here now' cry. I haven't got it down pat, but I'm pretty good at picking it. Do you know what that does for your confidence and sense of control at a time two such feelings normally flee my body? It's really quite lovely.
We've also had a weird return to cooler weather. This makes me inordinately happy as well, heat and humidity make me cranky, while rain and cold bring a smile to my face and a sense of contentedness to my being. It also means I get to dress the little guy in long sleeve all-in-ones and wrap him in lovely soft flannel wraps and gaze at him looking all snugly in bed. Sigh.
WHile the smiles have been around for two weeks, this morning, at around 4ish (when we were STILL up (from 3) as he either wanted to play or was preparing the poo that appeared at 7, and let me tell you, it had to have needed preparation to be what it was...) I got the biggest, longest and most stunning smile from my little munchkin.
The landmarks - or is that milestones?:
10 Nov - first smile
21 Nov - started clasping hands
23 Nov - slept 9.30pm to 4am
27 Nov - first giggle
And that, as they say, is that.
This morning I've only got one boy and no mad rush to get them to tennis due to the rain. Felix has gone off on a play date with his best friend Liam - a first, and then a party afterwards. I think that means it's time to bake...
even the baby is shocked...
sometimes I am appalling in my ability to keep in contact with people. It comes from a general phone phobia (I'm adding that as 117 to my list) and just a bad habit of well time passing and me thinking "I must ring them, just after I do/go/finish...".
Sometimes the appallingness of this outshines all other appallingness.
Such as the fact neither of my birth parents knew I was pregnant, let alone the fact they are now grandparents for the THIRD time even though they're only 46 and 48 respectively. I'm not kidding. They were really naughty teenagers.
But, back to what I was saying. How BAD is that. Appalling.
My birth mother, Helen, and I had a chat the other day, and my birth father Len and his awesome wife Sharon rang me tonight - about an hour and a half ago - and we just got off the phone.
This is my way of making the most public apology possible. Sure, they weren't ringing me either, but I was pregnant - which is sort of worth picking up the phone and sharing with others.
There is so much I could write about the whole adoption/reunion thing, and will, but it just takes an energy that needs time, and pace and room.
Now, because it's been a few days:
1 month old
and just quietly, between friends... last night the cutest baby in the world, he slept from about 9.15pm to 4am. Which would have been even more blissful had Felix not woken at 1am (he NEVER wakes in the night) and Oscar at 3am.
This morning I had to go to Chef's Nana's community club monthly meeting. With heaps of thanks to Chef's Nana, because she put in for Oscar's support service, Lifestart, to be allocated some of the money they raise. So today, I got to stand on stage in front of a bazillion 80+ year olds, witness more many lucky door prize/raffle draws than I thought I'd see in my entire life and meet Jean Hay, the woman who runs the Northern Beaches, and talk about my kid. Can you imagine me any more like a pig in mud? The only thing better would have been in the Manly Daily photographer was there, because as everyone knows, if you make it into the Mazza Dazza you have made it.
Anyway, considering I had:
b) blow-dried my hair,
c) put make-up on - including lipstick and
d) ironed my pants and shirt
I had to capitalise on such industriousness. So we went into work to show him off. Where he proceeded to do two poos, need a feed, scream r.e.a.l.l.y loudly and generally put all the women of child-bearing age off doing so for a good few years to come.
It was so.much.fun. Weird huh, how on one hand I can not WAIT to get back, and on the otherhand, leaving my little guy is going to break my heart big time.
I did it! (Note: sidebar inclusion of my 100 things about me - I worked out the html thingy all.by.myself.)
So for those who underestimated me and then told me never underestimate myself, which is something I've never ever done in my entire life, Hah! to you too.
This was the grand finale of Felix's Summer Sunshine Celebration Christmas Concert at school this evening. Santa was the school principal, the top half as santa, the bottom half in board shorts and gumboots. Just as it was all coming to an end, five pelicans flew overhead in perfect formation. I thought it was all pretty cool and only almost cried about a hundred times.
Afterwards, all the families took their picnics, blankets and generally exhausted bodies to the large grassy expanse that marks the northern boundary of the school. The kids ran around feral as we all mooched around talking about the kids and how tired we all are. Jasper just blissed out on the picnic rug, happily staring at either the tartan pattern, the leaves or the sky.
Stop it, Kim, you're getting the googlers excited...
Our recent Google and Blogger searchers have been pretty tame lately, but we've got a couple of good ones just from Kim's 116 Things List.
Mostly, recently, thanks to the birth of the beautiful Jasper and his need to feed, we've been getting fairly innocently requested hits, like "boob milk" and "sore breasts" and "waters bursting gushing". And I'm sure Kim joins me in hoping that you ladies found the information you were looking for - er, assuming you're ladies, that is...
A quick check this morning however showed "is my boyfriend gay" from a reader in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. This took the poor tortured soul straight to Kim's #69 (how apt) :
I had my first kiss when I was fifteen. It turned out the guy was gay.
I'm not sure this would have helped Williamsport reader much, but it serves her right for not using appropriate punctuation and search protocols. I'm sure "Is my boyfriend gay?" would be a much more productive way for the girl to find what she needs. Of course, if Williamsport reader is a male, the torture must be even greater and hence the need for even more care with punctuation - see Kim? See how important spelling and grammar can be?
The other fun little search brought to us by Kim's 116 Things is from our old friends in the Middle East. Not a Saudi this time
, but a fine upstanding citizen of Dubai in the United Arab Emirates, looking for
wait for it
"strap on husband"...
Which led them to a combination of #19 ('husband') and #55 ('...broke the strap on [bra]...'). This, again, must have been a bit disappointing for the searcher and, again, shows the importance of punctuation. Doesn't everyone know that strap-on should be hyphenated?
Sorry Dubai, and I'm not even going to guess whether you're male or female (but it IS interesting to see that you work for the HSBC Bank).
Hang on a minute: Dubai - isn't that where Michael Jackson's living now?
I note Kim's current post (below) uses terms like "golden showers", "leaky bladder" and "whizzing bandit". Can't wait to check our visitors' log tomorrow...
If its just me who finds the Black Eyed Peas (lead singer Fergie The Urinator. The Whizzing Bandit. The Wet Spot. The Leaky Bladder. The Trouser Golden Shower. The Ninety Year-Old Urethra. with thanks to Go Fug Yourself for putting it so succinctly) latest offering - My Humps - not so much offensive but just the cause of much incredulity. even moreso that its debuted at number 1. Am I just getting old?
That it came down to Thunder Thighs over Luber Lips (the PR machine tried to make it out to be a battle of divas). Thunder Thighs (aka Bingo Wings) won in a shining tribute to Charlie's Angels hair, fake eyelashes, excessive make-up and just b-grade talent. Those in Australia know what I'm talking about.
Why is the ugliest bra always the most comfortable, the best and most long lasting?
This was meant to be 100 things about me...
but seeing as I'm a chronic over-achiever, its currently at 116. It's changed a lot just in its compilation, so don't take this as gospel.
- I am 32 years old. I was born on 8 December 1972. Sagittarius is the best star sign of the zodiac.
- I’ve been married to Chef for 8 years. We’ve been together for 14 years.
- I was born and mostly raised in Sydney.
- We lived in Waco, Texas for about 2 years from when I was about 18 months old.
- My first home was a house Mum and Dad built in Albury.
- I am adopted.
- I have three children, one has special needs due to a rare genetic disorder.
- My parents are divorced
- 6 through 8 have been life-changing, personality shaping events that cannot be overestimated.
- My parents separated just before I turned 12 and were divorced just before I was 14.
- My birth parents live within a 15 minute radius of our house. I look a lot like my natural mother and have the temperament of my natural father. I wish I saw them both more often.
- I once saw my mum hold a rusty knife to her neck and in howling sobs threaten to kill herself as we packed up our house as part of the divorce settlement. So I ran away. To the end of the street. And hid in the bushes, watching her drive around screaming for me frantically.
- My parents divorce largely shaped who I am today in that it generated a fierce desire to be liked, to be good and to be the best.
- But it also taught me about being a fair and decent person and that there are always two sides to every single story.
- I have an adopted brother with whom I have nothing in common. He once voted for the Shooters Party. He is a complete mystery to me.
- I have experienced significant self esteem issues throughout my life. It has only been in the last three years, with a lot of therapy, that I have been able to leave them behind. For the first time in my life, I can honestly say I really like who I am – although I’m sure I’d like even more and be an even better person if I was 10 kilos lighter. And went to the gym.
- From Years 8 through 12 I was bulimic. Then again quite recently.
- Because of 17, I am a dentist’s wet dream. I’ve had three root canals, need three crowns and avoid the dentist at all costs because of the cost…and the pain. Every tooth that could have a filling does.
- My husband was my second boyfriend.
- We’ve been together since I was 18.
- We have three sons Oscar (7), Felix (5) and Jasper (1 month). I suspect I lack the ability to produce female offspring. This is not something I am sad about. On any level.
- I am intent on raising sons who are happy, decent, honourable human beings who treat women with respect, love and a level of healthy adulation.
- I get very very angry, upset and even lose sleep over political short-sightedness, obsessions about the economic bottom line with little regard for or indeed care about human lives.
- The only thing that makes me angrier is discrimination because of your ability, intelligence, skin colour or sex.
- Oscar’s the one with a rare genetic disorder. He has global learning delay, a profound speech disability and mild cerebral palsy. This has completely changed my place in the world.
- Every single day I grieve for Oscar and the challenge that his life is/will be. Even though he rises to that challenge every single day with good humour, tenaciousness and a capacity to love that takes my breath away.
- I absolutely hate the fact that every day I have to fight for Oscar for just basic rights that are naturally expended to the rest of us.
- Sometimes the relentlessness of being a parent, and in particular being the parent to a special needs child, overwhelms me.
- After Felix I had severe postnatal depression.
- I have suffered depression for most of my life, at least back as far as I can remember.
- There’s a tree on a road near our house that I would imagine driving into. I used to wonder what speed I’d have to travel to hit the tree hard enough to kill me but not damage the boys in the back.
- That I could ever think like that still scares me.
- I really really really want to be rich and famous.
- My mum lives upstairs.
- I used to think my mother was perfect. She is selfless, but in being so, is completely selfish. I don’t know how she does it.
- I love to write. And write. And write.
- There are lots of words in my head.
- I love order.
- I love hanging washing out, using two pegs of the same colour on an item of clothing.
- Food groups have set shelves in our fridge. I am not obsessive about this, but will correct it all from time to time.
- I have a photographic memory for every foodstuff in our pantry. And yes, that includes the herb and spice packets. This photographic memory does not extend into any other area of my life.
- I like structure and routine almost as much as order. And then get freaked out by all three and try to live a life of spontaneity and risk-taking. Only to fail as I try and plan that as well.
- Favourite foods include figs, cherries and stone fruit. I love good cheese, as in cheeses from Simon Johnson’s cheese room, but in particular goats cheese.
- My favourite meals generally involve eating with my fingers and rolling things up – Vietnamese spring rolls, Peking duck pancakes, burritos, etc.
- I hate sandwiches with loads of fillings.
- I love anything with noodles in it – laksa, Singapore noodles, hokkien noodles, spaghetti.
- I am currently addicted to couscous. This has been going on for several months, if not years.
- I love bircher muesli.
- I am a bit of a carbohydrate addict. This flies in the face of modern diet convention and does not comply with my active avoidance of exercise program.
- You may have noticed that I love food. Cooking it, eating it, reading about it, and then eating more of it.
- I am a really good cook but find having to think about what’s for dinner every.single.night. a big drag. So I write fortnightly dinner plans. This appeals to me. A lot.
- My favourite things to cook at the moment are a lemon yoghurt cake, couscous with lashings of mint and coriander – and for lunch dump a can of Sirena Pesto tuna on top, and beef stir fry with shiitake mushrooms. Go Figure.
- I am prone to lower back problems. I get sciatica all the time. I have it right now. It is really annoying.
- I have ginormous breasts that have been with me since I was 10 and a half.56. I noticed them one day in Social Studies in fifth grade (1983) - when we were learning about Dirk Hartog and the pewter plate in Western Australia – when they got in the way as I tried to write.
- I desperately wanted a training bra like every other girl. They didn’t come in my cup size. I made Mum buy me one anyway. I broke the strap on first wearing.
- My first bras were therefore big, beige and ugly. They still are.
- The first day I wore a bra, Dad came over. He pulled the back of it and flicked me, laughing that I had a bra. I was deeply humiliated and hurt. This was the nature of my relationship with him for many years.
- I got my period on the 11th May 1984. I was 11yrs 5months old.
- I didn’t shave my legs until Year 7, when Rebecca Johnson measured my leg hairs in maths.
- The only times I’ve ever bled as much as I did after shaving my legs for the first time was every single period during the first two years of getting my period and after having Oscar.
- I used to pluck my entire bikini line with tweezers.
- I have quick labours – 3hr15mins for Oscar, 45 minutes for Felix, 35 minutes for Jasper (although I’d argue it was more like about 1hr35mins).
- I dream of us, just us, living in a house, our house, all by ourselves. I know the reality of this is highly unlikely and that the convenience of having my mother live upstairs is something I intensely undervalue. Meanwhile, my children LOVE living with their grandmother, and I love that because I love the notion of what it would be to be a kid again and have my Nan upstairs rather than 2 hours drive away.
- I love a wedge of lime in a glass of chilled tonic water.
- I love Piper Heidsieck champagne and sparkling shiraz. I’ve very partial to a cocktail, in particular a cosmopolitan. I used to only drink red wine, but now prefer a clean, crisp and dry white. It has to be excruciatingly hot for me to drink an ice-cold beer. Even then I’ll drink about half and give the rest to Chef. I think I could very easily become an alcoholic.
- I like the idea of pets. I find the reality of them highly irritating and inconvenient.
- I am loud.
- I tend to snort when I laugh and wee when I sneeze. I sneeze every day, about six times a go, at roughly 10.30am and 4.15pm.
- I had my first kiss when I was fifteen. It turned out the guy was gay.
- I had my first grope on my 18th birthday in a paddock with a guy who claimed to be his cousin - who was the smart and nice one.
- I lost my virginity at 18 and was convinced I would fall pregnant and go to hell, and not necessarily in that order. Instead I just got raging thrush.
- I've had one one night stand. He sung The Cure to me all night as he was so pissed he couldn't get it up. I still loved it. That was the most reckless I've ever been.
- I've smoked a joint and inhaled. The first time it did nothing but singe my eyebrows. The second time caused a severe depression. The third time I ate my bodyweight in pork ribs and earned the nickname Dino.
- I dream of being a size 12 and all that would come with such a clothing size – always looking good in photos, fame, money and happiness.
- I make an awesome pavlova and it is my favourite dessert of all time. Although old fashioned trifle comes a very close second.
- My kinda guy is of the Robbie Williams, Johnny Knoxville and Vince Vaughan mould – tall, dark, funny, wicked and just a bit unkempt.
- I quite like shocking people or at least making them think about something in a different way from how they normally would.
- I dream of eating out, at somewhere fancy, once a month.
- I love going to the movies on my own, with the biggest bucket of popcorn imaginable.
- When I’m not pregnant I get phantom baby kicks.
- I love the fact I could (and am) breastfeeding my children – and how big and healthy they grow drinking solely from me.
- If I had to choose – sorbet rather than ice cream, cup rather than cone, water rather than juice, wine over beer, porridge rather than eggs, pancakes with lemon juice and sugar rather than with maple syrup, savoury over sweet, vegies over meat, steak over chicken. Chips over corn chips. Lavosh over water crackers.
- I hate people who say they have no regrets.
- I intensely dislike people who don’t try or those who are just lazy.
- My favourite colour is green. It used to be blue.
- I’m currently loving music by Powderfinger and Coldplay.
- My favourite movie at the moment is Napoleon Dynamite.
- For me, a splurge is to buy Vanity Fair. I've never splurged that much and bought the air-freighted current issue though.
- I try to dress in a funky off-beat manner, but instead always come back to Sportscraft and Simona even though our financial predicament means I should be at Target. I do have a fundamental belief in spend the money once, wear it for years. I learnt this from my mother. It annoys me.
- I try and be more highbrow in what I like, how I dress and how I talk, but the reality is I am much more Family Circle than Vogue. This irritates me but also quietly pleases me, as an indication of my greater social conscience.
- I’m both a worrier and an optimist. This comes from having a Henny Penny mother who is a worrier and an eternal pessimist. I am known to refer to her as the ‘voice of doom’.
- I’m very aware of the power of the spoken word and how it can both lift the spirit or crush the soul.
- I would love to have a house in Italy. I hope we will one day have the income and budget to travel.
- I want to show my boys the world.
- I love, absolutely love, shoes and yet don’t own that many.
- I love the ocean but hate the sand.
- I don’t tan. I burn. Then peel. Then peel some more.
- One day we will own a holiday house.
- I love having fresh flowers in the house but then they die and you have to deal with the stinky water, fallen petals and pollen. I find that painful.
- I collect Fowler ware ceramic bowls and jugs. I went through a ramekin phase as well.
- I have an addictive personality. I love lists. If I have a drink I’ll have ten. Why buy a small packet of chips when you could buy the jumbo pack? Ebay is a dangerous realm for me.
- I carry all my weight on my stomach and arms. I have a great arse and legs.
- I love winter. I yearn to live somewhere where it snows. Properly snows. Everyone who does live somewhere it snows tells me it’s a drag and overrated. I think 30C heat and 98% humidity is overrated.
- I have every intention of learning how to sew.
- I would love to do a patchwork quilt, but know I don’t have the attention span to make it happen.
- When I was little I wrote my acceptance speech for when I would win an Oscar.
- I still wish I were an actress.
- I have quite a puritanical streak. When I was little I used to tie rulers to the back of my dolls to make them stand up straight. When I was a school prefect I was hated because I gave out blue slips to anyone, even girls in my year, who didn’t have their hat on outside school grounds.
- I am a big nerd. But never got the grades to prove it.
- I start lots of things and finish very few. I find this highly irritating.
- I would love to build a house on a headland.
- I come from a really large family but have no real desire to stay in touch with any of them.
- My friends are my real family.
- My girl friends are my foundation. I love them to the core of my soul and cannot imagine my life without them.
- I don’t tell them all that often enough.
- I love that life is a world of possibilities.
- I hate the phone. Hate answering it, hate it ringing. Badness is the phone. Think this and multiply it by a bazillion for what I think about mobile ones.
The Machine That Ate Summer - OR - "At least we'll be camping in clean clothes"
Here she is, the Samsung J845, replacing my valiant old Hoover front loader, which died last week after 14 years of sterling service.
Why did this machine eat our summer? Well, regular readers may recall that I had booked a holiday house for a week on the beach this summer, girding my loins for the joy of travel and arrival with small children.
The deposit was due last week and, well, I like to think of the picture above as a modern artform titled, Essential whitegoods: masquerading as 50% of a week's beach-house rental.
The Samsung J845 is Choice Magazine's current 'Best Buy' for front loaders and features - among other things :
- a wide opening door
- a 'stop and drop' button so you can add or subtract clothes after the wash has started without needing to cut power, wait three minutes before the door will open and then use buckets to catch the waterfall out the door of the machine just so you can drag that hot orange singlet out of the load of school-shirt whites
- a 4.5 Star Energy Efficiency rating and a AAAAA Water Saving rating
- a cheerfully melodic and not-at-all-annoying-yet "brrrrrrrriiinggg!" noise each time you turn it on
- a Child Lock (how did they know I'd need a child lock?)
- a really fucking HUGE capacity, measured not so much by kilograms as by using triple the clothesline space for just one load
- A really amazing spin cycle that means even though I'm carrying triple the washing out to the line, it weighs no more than the pathetically tiny (sorry Hoover!) load the previous machine could do. Isn't physics wonderful?
- Quiet. Blissful, peaceful quiet. Which - since we're no longer running the world's loudest washing machine at 11pm each night - gives me even more ammunition to rattle the cage of the ex-junkie heavy metal drummer who's moved in next door.
So I miss old Hoover, who stood by me with outstandingly gentle and efficient washes when the rest of the world still believed in top loaders... who sat firm and refused to leave when evil ex-husband tried to demand custody... who washed every little baby sock and jacket with loving care... who entertained many a curious crawler with its foamy window of swirling fun, just before scaring the shit out of them by hitting the noisiest spin cycle this side of the Horsehead Nebula...
But while J Edgar may have the dirty laundry of my past, Sammy Samsung's washing my knickers tonight.
Welcome to my world
Not so glamorous...
I'd also like to take this opportunity to praise Nurofen Migraine - THE best pain reliever/temperature reducer/migraine reliever all in one.
Bec - what sort of washing machine did you get?
peas could be SO good. Forget eating them, just stuff them down your shirt for the best feeling ever. Next, cabbage leaves.
Some pics from yesterday:
The food...well, mains.
(Not the lurid orange caper behind the ham, I take no responsibility for it - its sweet potato topped with marshmallows - that's right, you heard me.)
The lunch, the people, the ambience.
(Oscar in the forefront of the shot heading inside for more of the marshmallow 'thing'.)
The New Recruit
(On his one month birthday in the arms of one of the day's Den Mothers, Karen, the one who runs/owns Urban Beauty in Dee Why and will be in charge of defoliation on Tuesday.)
Queen Den Mother, Janine and the boy
(Who felt my breasts and saved my life.)
The Den Mothers - Karen, Janine, Jen, Lynda and me - with the post-pregnant gut hanging out. Noice.
A couple of words for you to understand my day
what should have been joy filled, lots of fun, catching up with friends, showing of my one-month-old-today child was instead peppered by the following:
- aching joints
- boobs that feel like someone has put them in a vice and is turning the wing-nutty thing - or whatever the tightening device is called
- a back that feels like someone has hit me with a 2-be-4 (I have no idea if that is the right way to right that and I know every chippie out there is laughing at me, but indulge ok...) hurt
- Jasper feeding every two hours - for over 20 minutes on each breast
- it was, like, THIRTY degrees
- bursting into tears on a friend of ours who is also a midwife
- standing in a pretty pink five year old's bedroom with said friend feeling my breasts. No, not like that.
- sitting in the lounge room, with a house full of people, of which I knew approximately 5, with a bag of peas on one breast and an ice-pack on the other.
- crying when saying good bye to everyone, because even though I felt like absolute utter CRAP, it really was a glorious, wondrous, fabulous day of friends, great food, wine and laughter.
And now, as I sit here and type, there are two snaplock bags of peas on each breast and dear God nothing has ever bought such sweet sweet relief. If I wasn't feeling quite so off the planet due to lack of sleep and raging mastitis, I would engage in a discourse as to why ice is so good in moments of distress and pain, but I'm to over it.
Tomorrow, or maybe in a bazillion days when I feel a little more normal I'll post piccies of my first Thanksgiving feast with a great bunch of friends.
was not only a glorious drying day:
It was a day of baking:
- 6 batches of pastry
- 2 apple pies (well one has some strawberries and a hint of ginger in it as well, while the other a handful of sultanas and cinnamon):
- 2 pecan pies (that didn't look as good cooked as my gorgeous pastry rope half 'fell in' to the pie, but hey it looks rustic):
- A baked cheesecake (that got a little brown because I was showing off Jasper to a friend):
This is all kinda making the fact I've got the start of a migraine and I believe, mastitis, a little easier to bear.
A Friday night thing...
Here's the Friday joke, because:
a) I'm not game to post another riddle (here and then here and then here)
b) I already know Kim likes this one, and
c) She dared me to put this up at work, knowing I'd been humbled once recently already when the helpdesk discovered my blogging when I called them into a crashed pc emergency...
ok, ok, I wimped it on the dare and am currently operating entirely on domestic connections but still. This must count for something?
The Friday Joke
A Buddhist monk walks into a bar.
The barman says, "What can I get you?"
"Make me one with everything," says the monk.
(If it's taking you a moment, think Zen)
Probably when I should start worrying...
Felix has been getting braver and braver in picking up Jasper and well, just carrying him around. These occassions are perfect for seeing Jasper and his worried face in full bloom.
Today I was in our bedroom, which is at one end of our long narrow house, and suddenly Felix appeared with Jasper, who had been chilling on the floor at the other end of the house. I had to go and help Oscar on the toilet, and as I returned to the room heard the following:
"Here we go, flying Jaaaasper!"
If that wasn't enough to get a mother's heart racing I don't know what will. so naturally I asked Felix to re-enact what a Flying Jasper was exactly. It involves Felix reclining on the bed, then lifting Jasper above his head. I'm not kidding. Of course, its all about showing the world just how strong Felix is. Because the feisty one, he's quite prone to checking out his pecs already.
It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas...
Now I need to qualify that heading.
1) I am not, repeat, NOT one of those women who make their own Christmas cards/decorations/table arrangements/tree ornaments.
2) I do however make presents - generally hampers for family members and little bundles for others. These can include a range of things I've made - cakes, tarts, relishes, jams, shortbread, gingerbread etc. Some people say this is a cheapskate option, but having spent a staggering over $500 on groceries this week, and the only difference to other fortnightly/monthly shops was the inclusion of items for Christmas goodie baking, I would argue with that statement quite adamently.
3) The ONLY reason it feels like Christmas to me now (as opposed to my standard practice of doing everything, including making the Christmas Pudding (that should hang at least for a few weeks, but I argue in Sydney's humidity that's just a recipe for disaster) and buying presents for the kids, on Christmas Eve, or if I'm really organised, Christmas Eve eve) is because I'm not working fulltime and being a mother and being a domestic slave and being a wife all at once. I'm solely doing the mother thing at the moment and well, there's only one at home and he's not mobile yet, and the other two, when they are home seem less intent on destroying the house or engaging in physically dangerous activities than they used to, so I have time to do things like bake, and plan and well, stuff.
4) So, behold, the dry ingredients for my Christmas cakes. This year there will probably be 18 small ones produced, one large one and one middle sized one. That's the plan. Check in at Eat Me to see how it progresses.
Before Christmas comes Thanksgiving. And while it so isn't an Australian tradition on any level, I have American friends. Some would say I was that shallow that I actively sought friendship with Americans for the chance to listen to an accent that makes my knees wobble a little, eat foods laden with saturated fat and tap into an unending source of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, but they are actually really nice people who have sense of humour and get irony, satire and that just because their homeland is the most powerful country in the world it doesn't mean they should have all the power.
So, tomorrow, some dear friends of our, the Doyles - who we went camping with - are having a Thanksgiving Dinner, for which I am baking.up.a.storm. Visit Eat Me to check it out. I'll be posting recipes and pics there today as the baking progresses. There will be pecan pies, cheesecake and apple pies...
It's bad when...
- for the second night of three the family has take-away for dinner even though there is a fortnightly menu plan and a well stocked cupboard and fridge...
- you are so tired because of nightly feeds and your day starting at 5am due to the eldest child's standard wake-up and a request to play the computer.
- but then there is figure skating on ESPN and well, I just love figure skating. It's a weakness I know
- you fall asleep on the lounge so your husband makes you go to bed
- you lie down in your bed and the New Recruit wakes up precisely F.O.U.R. minutes later for a feed
- when you go back to bed your husband has been there for about five minutes and is already snoring like a bastard
- you lie there and think of really witty things to fill your blog with
- you can't let it go because you know there will be visitors from the other hemisphere while you sleep and they can't miss just how witty and intelligent (as opposed to puerile and smutty) you can be
- when you get here you can't remember any of the witty stuff, just the end of an internal monologue joke that went "so something something something that I'd even giggle if someone said sixty-nine".
I too am caught out with visitors arriving and not a thing to be done with my hair.
Goodness, Kim, what shall we serve? Over here in the Inner West I can rustle up some wine and crackers and tarama, have you done any baking over in the Northern Beaches? What am I saying! Of course you have baking, and your baking is so gooooood that any first-time visitors are bound to come back for more!
So please, the place is a mess and we've just been through one of our monthly tit for tat see-how-differently-we-can-blog-from-each-other-on-the-same-blog phases, but you're very welcome to come in and look around and have a chat for a while.
Three kids apiece and one of them only 4 weeks old, you'll just have to forgive us for not having vacuumed recently. (and thanks, Ms Michele, we're touched.)
Good grief we have visitors...
this is always how it is for me.
I am never EVER one to shun the spotlight.
I constantly crave it, wonder why I don't get it, and then when I do it's always when I'm wearing the comfort clothes rather than the expensive suit, it's always on the non-shampoo-I'll-just-wear-it-up day, always on the day I think "Make-up? nah."
So here we are, me ranting about facism, promoting the ultimate poo story/toilet humour and generally being a loser. And Michele vaults us into the spotlight. Welcome to glamorouse. I'd love to think it was a lot more coherent than this, but really, this is about as good as it gets. From my half of the site/my side of the fence anyway. If you'd all come last Friday when Bec was posting riddles it'd probably seem a lot more, well, just better I guess.
Welcome to everyone!
While I'm feeling rather knackered today...
I've just got home from having tea and muffins O.U.T. with two wondrous friends. You know, where you just sit, in a coffee shop, pull your boob out for everyone to see, get a bit of spew on you that isn't your own, get tea on your sleeve and then unintentionally let it soak onto your shirt so it looks like your boob is leaking wee coloured milk, but drink two delicious cups of tea, a magnificent muffin laden with squidy apricots halves and just natter away on everything from brain tumours, holidays, husbands, children, clothes, industrial relation reform and school choices.
People, just so you know, this is my idea of bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss.
Now the uni stuff is out of the way, I have that divine feeling of space... and time... that I know is precious. So I just wanted to roll around in it for a while.
This was posted by Heather's husband, Jon, who looks a lot like Jason Lee (who I think is a big spunk but not in the imdb photo), loves his wife, has a sense of humour and gets the concept of right and wrong, as well as obviously being hugely capable in a technological way - anyway, he posted this about something Umberto Eco wrote on facism and I liked it. Is this my subconscious being worried I'm coming across as the Lennie to Bec's George in this blog? Maybe, but it could just be my frame of mind at the moment as I watch our Federal Government actively seeking to create a real underclass of the working poor in Australia while standing there all earnest and righteous saying it is good for the country. I'm seriously just counting the minutes until John Howard says it's unAustralian to not support his draconian, heartless, puritanical reforms.
making me laugh out loud and realise just how beneficial it would be for everyone if I would remember to do those pelvic floor exercises
four weeks ago today...
this came out of me! ME!
Most of the time he looks really worried that I'm in charge:
But every now and then he seems to think I'm A.O.K.
as I was typing - one handed and standing up jiggling a baby as baby was due a feed - a reply to a comment from Suse, I realised my toast was burning. So as I rushed and pulled it out, I threw the teatowel onto the stove, where it almost caught on fire as it landed close enough to the pan of water I had on to boil an egg to go on my toast. God I love my ability to multiskill with drama.
Random notes tonight, and accompanying them, this random pic that popped out when I was fooling with the Picasa 'collage' function. Some I've posted here before but some are new. I love the best buds one of the Pea Princess and her bestest friend, the Whale Rider (two down, two across). These two have spent much of the year in each other's pockets and are going through all the usual girly things that seven year olds do.
We recently had a WHOLE weekend without the Whale Rider coming over, or the Pea Princess going there, and the moaning, and the wailing was unbearable. Yes, remember the speculation I had recently about a fourth child? I'm thinking the real answer is to pick up a handy pre-approved sibling like the Whale Rider and just not send her back home this time...
"OW -Stop biting my leg you fucking monster."
- Also, Harry the Attack Cat? Yep, he finally makes an appearance here and obliged with a nicely evil slanty eyed glare for the camera. Is he as bad as we make out? Just how vicious can a big fat slob of a moggy be? Here's one of the most common ways we reply to those questions and I'll put it in a sentence that even the littlest kiddies can understand:
On to more randomness:
- Kim, you never had a lovebite? Never woke up the next day and scraped your hair over the side of your neck to get to the bathroom so you could cover it up with toothpaste? Never turned up your school shirt collar for non-preppy reasons? Never got that hot and sweaty as a teenager?
You have my pity, blossom.
- But on the other thing? The assignment thing - AWEsome. To quote that great spiritual leader of parents everywhere, Crush the Turtle, "You so totally rock, dude".
I'm still technically on deferral of the remaining almost-two-years of a three-year Masters that I thought I'd be able to accelerate while on maternity leave with the Pea Princess, now seven. Did you hear that? A-C-C-E-L-E-R-A-T-E. Yes, make go faster. As in, take extra units while baby slept under the desk. Ha! And again, Ha!
- Our washing machine died. Sigh. It's almost the last relic of my first marriage and was the subject of a late custody bid by my ex-husband who, having destroyed my self-esteem, bank account, family relationships and any chance of a decent run at my 20s, then apparently thought it would be okay to renege on the agreed whitegoods split and hit me for the washing machine and drier since his parents bought them for us as a wedding present. Sadly for him, he left his bid a little late and enough of the self-esteem had crept back in to tell him to get nicked. And no, he couldn't have the special crystal dolphin bowl that his weird work friend bought for us in Japan, either. So there.
Still, since the machine is no good to me any more, and since it's going to have to go out on the street when I book the council clean-up, maybe I'll just let the ex know the date and address and tell him he's welcome to it now?
- My lovely Friend, mother of the divinely cute Alexander, has done a huge load of our washing - much more than I had intended she should do when she offered (ie, the Pea Princess' four school shirts) but there, that's what happens when you leave a bloke in charge of such social transactions (Yes, Prof, that means you - consider yourself glam-o-roused upon).
She is the Laundry Goddess and I remain mere lint in her rinse cycle.
No more randomness from me. Am in bed at stunningly early hour, must be something in the blog tonight hmm Kim?
I just emailed off my two assignments.
I love how when I pull my finger out, I really pull my finger out. Two assignments, about 5,000 words in two days.
I'm going to lie on the lounge now. We're having fast food takeaway for dinner tonight and I'm going to bed closer to 8pm than ever before...
Now I can play. (Bec, let me know if you're having a day off this week or next.)
This Saturday some dear friends of ours - the Doyles, who we went camping with - are having a Thanksgiving dinner. I'm making Maple Bourbon Pecan Pies.
PS - and Jasper, who basically cried for the better part of the last day and a half cried for about 3 minutes before going to sleep at around 1pm, and is still asleep...
A day in the life...
1) one assignment down, one to go...
2) 3.5 hours sleep, broken into one lot of 2hrs and the other 1.5hrs...
3) an almost four week old who's come over all, yeah yeah I could go to sleep, but hey its so much fun lying here yell yell yelling!
4) a phone call from Oscar's school saying his knee hurts and he's not coping (this is the same knee that hurt on Friday, that involved a trip to the GP who seemed to think it was fine. Me thinks its either related to the plantar wart that may now be infecting his blood or something (melodrama explanation) or that the correction his superlegs are providing are making his joints ache (more probable) or because he's walking weird because of the plantar wart his knee has been thrown out (also in the running)
5) realising I'd have to walk down to collect him as Chef has the car at a meeting to discuss the New Exciting Venture
6) realising if Oscar's knee is out, he won't walk the four blocks home
7) so, to pick up said child from school involved digging out the old double stroller, cleaning it, getting jasper up, who was just waking for a feed, walking down to the school carrying a screaming Jasper and pushing stroller, pushing Oscar home, carrying Jasper who was half sleeping half tring to suck my neck into a big teenage hickie (not that I've ever had one of those. e.v.e.r. I was such a good Christian girl)
8) getting home - Oscar crying as I put new GP-issued weird paste on plantar wart, Jasper screaming for a feed
9) post screaming bliss - one child on lounge eating lollies, pumped full of Panadol and watching Peter Pan, other child having best feed in last 12 hours, a little play, a relatively short scream, and now sleeping, three loads of washing dried and in before the big windy/rainy change blew in, Chef on his way home with orders to collect comfort food for me on the way, a cup of tea, a blog post and then second assignment completed.
10) off to achieve the last part of point 9 now...
|Your Blog Should Be Orange|
Your writing has a star quality - it's charming, bold, and flamboyant.
You write what's on your mind, without fear of embarrassment later.
You are one of the most honest bloggers around, and people appreciate your daring persona.|
Funny, how getting uni assignments finished for tomorrow was an impossible task today due to Jasper, Oscar's orientation session, getting Chef to a meeting on time and getting a quote for divine plantation shutters that would cost more than the entire baby bonus, so that now, as the Offspring sleep, I find this sort of crap to amuse myself by instead of actually finishing the assignments...
how to make me laugh out loud...
Feeling bad...the opposite of ebullient, which was yesterday's Word Of The Day...
Firstly, I feel I should apologise to Bec. This realm is as much hers as it is mine and therefore, she should be allowed to come over all nerdy and riddle-ridden here if the mood so takes her. Even if while she's all "oh goody, a challenge" the rest of us are stricken "oh God I am as stupid as I thought I was".
Secondly, the title is a confession that I can too be a nerd (if the fact I have a need to be liked and simply didn't get into trouble at school, except by Mrs Dunlop in Year 11 Geology when Sarah and I finally cracked under all the pressure of the 'this is going towards your HSC which - if you don't do well - will end.your.life.as.you.know.it.' mentality that our school bathed in. Seriously, we were primed for it from 6th grade. I remember one teacher going ashen when I mentioned I might like to be a chef - the only thing worse than a girl not doing her HSC would be a girl going on to study a T.R.A.D.E. - anyway - we got in trouble and were separated and told 'never to sit next to each other again' which I recall lasted about three lessons) and subscribe to things such as a word of the day kind of email. Recent words I've liked include:
ebullient - which sounds a lot like effluent, and really, that just appeals to my puerile sense of humour
puissant - see comment about sense of humour above.
nosegay - which despite what you may think actually means a bunch of odorous showy flowers. But here's my question - what is a showy flower - I know there are people out there, sad, lonely people who think a carnation (the 1960s redbrick suburban house of flowers) is showy.
subfusc - again see comment about sense of humour. (it means dark or dull in colour and henceforth any post by me about a poor frame of mind will be headed as such...)
susurrus - which means a whispering or rustling sound, and well, I have a soft spot for words that sound like what they mean.
This morning, Oscar had an orientation session at the school he's going to next year in a mainstream class. Oh, to see his excitement and happiness and involvement in that classroom! Oh, to hear the teachers say how lovely he is (and express their surprise/relief that 'there's no behaviour problems', as if every special needs child has behaviour issues - but I'm not mounting that high horse today...) it's V.E.R.Y. exciting indeed.