Glamorouse

Where have the Glamorouse Women gone?

2006-08-25T07:41:00.000+10:00

In case you're wondering, Kim is playing over here at All Consuming and Bec is reclining in The Ladies Lounge. And yes, your Glamour Mums still love each other very much, but it's hard work being non-stop sex goddesses, celebrity chefs, five-star generals and international maternity idols so sometimes we just need a little time to think our own thoughts. So come visit, and feel free to update your blogroll, too! mtc Bec

seems silly to leave this lovely template to go to waste!

2006-08-12T15:50:00.000+10:00

You Passed 8th Grade US History

Congratulations, you got 6/8 correct!

Could You Pass 8th Grade History?

And who wouldn't brag about passing 8th grade US history?

mtc bec (otherwise at The Ladies Lounge)

2006-08-01T22:40:00.000+10:00

I'm playing over here for a while.

So

2006-07-11T22:03:00.000+10:00

it's been a while. Obviously. Glam has been sort of sitting here, staring at me for the last few weeks. Basically we've come unstuck. Bec and I are trying to decide what to do - regroup or shift to our own respective corners of blogdom. I know we'll reach a decision when we both aren't manic with life, trying to move house, parent, work, blah blah blah and actually talk to each other (as opposed to random text messages to assure each other we are alive and hey, what about you over there?) Apart from that I'm playing at being boss at work... and it's fun! I'm on my second round of magic pills and these ones seem to work a whole lot better although the jaw-clenching is still relentless but hell, if that's the trade-off for no more anxiety attacks, I'll take the dull toothache. And life is OK. There are two dogs in my world now who insist on pissing and pooing on the floor regardless of how long I stand out in our increasingly destroyed backyard with them saying "wee?" "Wee?" "WEE?". They are very cute and fight with each other so much it makes me laugh. And that, on anyone's scoresheet is a good thing. The boys are great, my husband is a media star (today's SMH's Good Living peoples - check.it.out.) and I still need a haircut. My legs are, however, waxed. Small miracles. And I am OK. Thank you to all of you for your words of encouragement and support. K

Hmmhahhurrumph

2006-06-21T21:46:00.000+10:00

Things I've noticed of late: - I really really REALLY hate anxiety attacks. They suck big time. - The irony of drugs that are meant to make you feel better making you feel way shittier for oh A WHOLE FUCKING MONTH is only kinda amusing for oh, a DAY. Tops. - This morning was the first morning in close to a month I woke up a) not shaking b) not completely nauseous - just slightly and c) not totally a bazillion per cent in the grip of an anxiety attack. I'm yet to view this with any level of excitement/thank CHRIST/insert any other expression conveying a sense of of PEACE. - the moon last week was absolutely remarkable - I'm losing weight and LOVING being thinner, feeling my hip bones and jaw bone again. But the being SO FUCKING HUNGRY is kind of boring. This is the ONLY good part of my meds at this point in time - that they make me feel so much like crap I don't really feel like eating. - We now own two dogs. I am both deeply resentful and absolutely fine with this - I see this as situation as perfectly acceptable proof I am probably bipolar. - WHY when you basically feel like topping yourself does everyone tell you how fabulous you're looking - is there some sort of suicidal glow of radiance? - I know my kids know all is not right in Camelot when they say things like, "mummy, what does overwhelmed mean?" and I reply "just watch me for a few minutes and you'll know what it is". anyway, that's all. I have been seriously thinking of not writing here anymore, I seem to have scared Bec off into a far more genteel of space over at The Ladies Lounge and it just doesn't seem I have anything to offer, but here I am, writing inane shit once more. Maybe the meds are finally starting to work...

Mop your way out of an early grave, fellas.

2006-06-15T06:35:00.000+10:00

Men should be dying to do the housework I had to laugh... this is just what Surfing Free has been campaigning about over on her blog lately - and now there's a rooly truly academic study to back up her case! mtc Bec

I wrote this the week before last

2006-06-13T22:06:00.001+10:00

before I got sick and worse.

My head doesn’t work that well. Sometimes it fires on all cylinders and I’m intelligent, witty, compassionate and productive. Other times it almost feels like its eating itself and I become introverted, paranoid, nervous, anxiety-laden, easily distracted, unmotivated and highly unproductive.

In the novel Miss Smilla’s Feeling For Snow, there is a passage where she retreats into her depression and refers to it as closing the shutters on her house, watching the light slowly shrink to a smaller and smaller point until she is left in total darkness. This is the best description I have found of what happens when my brain decides to turn on itself.

At the moment I am returning to anti-depressants. I find it deeply ironic that the side-effects of these little white pills are heightened feelings of the feelings I’m feeling that are making me a contender to be on them in the first place. It can take two weeks for the side-effects to dissipate. I’m a day off that two weeks and instead of lessening they have heightened in the last three days.

For the past two mornings I’ve been woken by our youngest for his feed. He then goes back to bed and I retreat to mine to lie there at the hands of a massive anxiety attack. Adrenalin pumps through my body as my teeth ache at being clenched for so long and so hard. My heart is racing, and has been for what feels like the last two weeks. I know this isn’t the case but it still feels like it. My neck is so stiff that if I move suddenly a hot hard pain grips my neck and right shoulder. My skin feels uncomfortable. I’m so tired, so very very tired, even if I get a full nights sleep. I simply do not want to get up. I want to shut the door on my life and just make the world go away. The impact this would have on my family, on my boys, makes tears instantly spring to my eyes. I want and need to be near people but I hate being touched. I am craving solitude.

Food and my body become my enemy when I’m like this. I find myself completely repugnant. I’m not really hungry but I eat almost constantly. Then I hate myself even more. This goes on and on. I can eat the most healthy food in the most reasonable of portions, but I will still berate myself for needing to eat it at all. I am the compulsive gambler, the alcoholic, of food. I get to the end of a day when I have eaten properly and try to punch the air in victory, but I’m so very tired I will have the same fight the very next day.

Not many people know just how hard and long this war has raged in my head. I’m scared they will look on me differently. Not give me work because they don’t want to overload me. Not tell me a joke or share a story with me because they think I might take it the wrong way or will not be in the mood for such frivolity. Not come to me for support or advice because they don’t want to stress or burden me even more. (Even though all these things are critical for me as I claw my way back to normal brain-land.) My greatest fear is that they will make allowances for me.

I hate it when my brain decides to eat itself. I try to remember what I’m like when it’s well. When I write well, have great ideas, am proactive in all areas of my life, am happy. But it feels so far away and is so fuzzy around the edges I wonder if I will ever feel that way again. I have a deep undercurrent of fear that asks what if the little white pills won’t work? What if I’m going to have to battle my brain each and every day? And that is the worst part of all.

It's raining, it's pouring

2006-06-11T18:55:00.000+10:00

here. In so many ways. The quandary of a joint blog is that sometimes one is down and the other is up. And there runs the risk that one is seen to be raining on the parade of the other, and so on and so forth. Bec is in that place at the moment of about to endure the hell that is moving and the grief that is dealing with a bank but all for moving into a delightful home that will give her and the brood more space than they have ever had before. I'm so glad she's opened the Ladies Lounge because quite frankly too much talk of grevillias over geraniums or camellias instead of azaeleas and I would be a definition of narky never quite encapsulated by a human being before. But this week has been very very grim for me. The dog was the straw that broke my back, then I got sick. Then Jasper got sick. And all along there was a sub-plot of Mum upstairs being sick. And still sick. So just when I think I can't take any more, she comes down all "I think I need to go to hospital". And then let the feeling of complete overwhelmation; the absolute "I am barely holding it together for my family, I have no more to give and I just can't carry your load as well" feeling; the subsequent shit-heap of guilt at being so inept, selfish and incapable; the rolling anxiety attacks where I feel like my heart may burst from my chest, that I'm going to vomit (again) and my skin is absolutely on fire take hold. I believe this week is the closest I have come to a complete nervous breakdown. I came close once when Felix was a baby, but you know, such fond memories fade with time. Maybe this is what it is? Maybe I'm in the midst of one? I'm permanently cranky and on edge. I can't get out of bed in the mornings. I lie awake in the middle of the night feeling like my body is on fire as I am gripped by anxiety about nothing, I'm not even lying there worrying about how we won't ever own property, or about Oscar, or about Felix's literacy, or the latest round of bills, or that we will be living with my mother until she draws her last breath and if I can't care for her through gastro how the fuck would I do so if she was dying, I'm just anxieting. I have night sweats. I am crying all the time. I don't want to go to work. At all. I don't want to talk to anyone. Small talk makes my neck itch. I am melancholy, forlorn and have such a pervading sense of hopelessness sometimes it makes it hard to breath. See? Forget raining on Bec's parade, I'm a torrential floodwater warning dousing of relentless rain. I know I am taking measures to come out of it. I know it takes time. I know I need to see my shrink sooner than the 23rd, but after missing a whole week of work last week that is not realistic or feasible. I know, I know, I know. I'm closing comments on this. Just because.

The Ladies Lounge is Open

2006-06-11T12:17:00.000+10:00

The Ladies Lounge. We visited the new house again yesterday and it made all the recent trials and tribulations worthwhile. What trials and tribulations? Well you may ask. But I refuse to live through them all again in print so let me sum it up thus: Bankers are Bastards. Nay, Bankers are Stupid Bastards Who Can't Even Make Sure the Right Papers are Sent to be Signed When You Take Half a Day Off Work Because They Say They are Ready to Finalise EVERYTHING. But we're getting it all fixed so, as I say, I refuse to dwell on the recent myriad acts of bastardry in print. Back to the new house. And a warning, and an invitation. We visited the current owners and they gave us some time alone (in which the Prof madly tape measured and I hastily took photos, because it seemed kinda icky to take photos of someone's wardrobes while they were there) then came back and talked about their renovation and what all the cable points were for and how the air conditioning works and what colour paint was used on the walls - half-strength Dulux Milk Cup makes the perfect cream! - and all the time I kept thinking... How can you live in a house on a big block of land with really close neighbours for SIX years and not plant a single thing in your garden? I'm afraid (here's the warning) I'm going to be quite obsessive about plants and landscaping and gardens and houses generally for quite some time, so I have set up The Ladies Lounge to take all this obsession to its own special place. I want to record all the different ideas I have for the house and garden and keep track of the changes and save up all my plant and outdoor links in one spot, and look back to see how different it all is, one day, from what I had originally planned! I'll still be here, but I'll be there too. Isn't the internet fun? mtc Bec

Where and oh where can she be?

2006-06-11T12:16:00.000+10:00

Hey Kim, hope you got the phone messages - thinking of you and hoping you're improving, even if slowly. Let us know how you are soon, ok? mtc bec

2006-06-07T08:56:00.000+10:00

would post but am sick. The sickest I've been since I was sick in the early few weeks of Jasper's pregnancy and was bleeding (and everything ugly that goes with gastro and possible miscarriage). I haven't eaten since Sunday. I've still got a temperature. The vomitous action finally shifted last night from one end to the other, but in a very off-guard oh-my-god kind of way. I know you all know what I'm inferring. Jasper has been screaming fairly constantly for two days. He hasn't slept more than 1hr 4mins in a go since Sunday. I worked out a really good way to really fuck with my mind-if life wasn't doing it already- and that's just to quit taking happy pills cold turkey because a) you're either too sick to remember or b) you take them and OHMYGOD the vomiting. I also worked out a really good way to wean a baby. G.A.S.T.R.O. And yay us for being here a whole year and sharing this kind of joy with everyone who needs to know their life really isn't that bad after all.

Happy Birthday Dear Glamorouse...Back to where it all began

2006-06-06T21:32:00.000+10:00

Now Kim and I had some plans for this birthday week, honestly we did, but you know what they say: life's what happens while you're busy making plans. So while there's every good chance Kim will still show up here sometime between now and midnight, I can't risk leaving this momentous day uncommemorated (is that a word? help me Suse!). Inspired by the long note I got today from our twins' pre-school, about the 'reflective practice' in which the carers were 'engaging' to 'enhance your child's learning voyage', I thought a little reflection was a nice way to spend this Glam birthday. In black text: the first ever post on this blog; in plum italic text, reflective notes to enhance your blogging voyage... Working from home in Marrickville, only the pilots can hear you scream June 6, 2005 A quick note here to once again thank the lovely Angie for making this blog so darn purty now - it's a long, long way from the original! Today is Monday, as they say on Playschool, and on Monday Mummy works at home. On most of the other days Mummy (that's me, Bec) works in an office. Offices are quiet, controlled and have ergonomic chairs for my enormous bottom. On Mondays there is quiet only during Playschool and naptime; the only control is the power my two youngest children now have to extract any form of snack food from me when I am on the phone (the old point and shout method, an important developmental milestone in most child-rearing texts); and the chair focus shifts to the opposite side of my bottom as first one, then the other, two year old inserts him or herself onto my lap in order to "Hep you wiff your wurk". These days I don't work at home - I finally worked a deal where I finish early on Monday and Tuesday and pick up all three kids at the end of school/pre-school and deal with media calls on the mobile without having to pretend to be productive in my home office... The working from home thing became increasingly impossible when the Gorgeous Boy and Sparkle Twin dropped their afternoon naps. For the first time in my working life (with a history of doing excessive hours in every job I've ever had) I feel like I'm working towards some kind of balance. Oh, but the bottom? still enormous, and the GB and Sparkle still want to be between me and the screen. Good news: they have mastered the letter 'l' in help. In homage to the first blog of the most wonderful Heather Armstrong (http://www.dooce.com/), here are some of the reasons that I should not be allowed to work from home. Can no longer read Ms Armstrong, although I'm sure she's still wonderful at what she does. The last couple of times I tried I was so bedazzled by the jetsetting life that blog fame bought her that I nearly puked with jealousy and I quickly skipped back to real life. Shallow, I'm all about the shallow. It's 12 past 4 in the afternoon and I'm wearing the yoga pants I slept in last night. I've been wearing them during several highly complicated, professional phone calls.I kept them on when I went out for the pre-nap wear-out-the-toddlers walk, too. I may still be in them tomorrow.It's now 16 past 4 and I have lost count of how many times my littlest girl has watched the Hooley Dooleys today. The yoga pants would be on right now except they're 3/4 length and it's colder than a witch's tit here right, with apologies to any warm-breasted witches who may be reading this tonight. Between television, snack food, pre-nap walk, nap, more snack food and more television, the three of us somehow get through this Monday each week.Sometime in the next couple of hours my husband will walk through the door with The Pea Princess, and he will give me that whatdidyoudoallday look. Having worked from home himself with our double contribution to the 21st Century baby boom, he won't actually mean whatdidyoudoallday, but he won't be able to stop the look. It's hardwired. This has changed a little, too. The Prof and I have made a big effort to understand one another better this year past. It's not always been easy as, what with the 21st Century baby boom and all, there's been many a "who are you and what the fuck are doing in my life?" moment. We're coming out of the awful fog of needy infants and the draining physical drudgery they bring and starting to really enjoy these little people we have made. What we had to do then was to find a way to enjoy being the people that parenthood has made us. We're getting there. Mostly. He won't so much walk through the door as negotiate a path. As I sit here, surrounded by the pieces of four separate Pooh Bear jigsaw puzzles, three newspapers, five of the kids' artworks (three of them screwed up into long paintbrush shapes and dipped into the breakfast milk to make the last two), the breakfast milk itself, two jumpers, a scarf, two half-squashed boxes of tissues, and what I've just discovered are the missing pair of Chloe's tights squashed into the printer feeder tray, I kinda wonder whatdidIdoallday, too. Domestic paradise: do you love the smell of old lunch box contents? long for the soft caress of dog hair underfoot? yearn to solve the mystery of the twelve white ankle socks that can't form a single matching pair? Come to Casa GlamorouseBec, we'll make all your dreams come true. And the final reason I should not be allowed to work from home is that at the office the only stuff in the fridge is flat champagne, soy milk and someone's well-intentioned skinny salad dressing. I think I'll save the whole Monday EATING issue for another time - it's too ugly to write down just now. Guess what? The work-from-home eating issue? Still too ugly to share. Shortly, I hope, I will be joined here in Glamorouse by the lovely Kim, who is a few months short of delivering her own One For The Country ( http://www.abc.net.au/7.30/content/2004/s1261874.htm), it's tempting to put a proper hotlink in here, just because I now know how, but for the sake of future internet archeologists I won't tamper with this priceless relic of the past. and who also knows the joys of working both from home and from the lovely quiet office, and who, like me, has tried and failed to keep a solo blog on account of all the evil rage that tends to pour out of Us Women when we send our diaries online.Our theory is that doing a double act will make us less like Virginia Woolf and more like Bridget Jones - dry instead of dour, and only depressed in a cute and peppy sort of way with far less dependence on prescription drugs. mtc Bec And here's hoping she'll be back again too. Even though that original cutesy sign-off of mine about the prescription drugs is sounding a little rank just now. I guess a blog can't fix everything, but it can sure take you to some interesting neighbourhoods while you're waiting for the fix to come in. So, if you made it this far, to post 667 of Glamorouse, I thank you for your persistence, your patience, your good humour and your bad moments, and all the other things that make it fun to hang around, talking about me and mine with you and yours. mtc Bec

Ok, first the fucking spooky 666 thing...

2006-06-06T21:27:00.000+10:00

I'm about to post something meaningful, I promise, but first I have to tell you that when I opened up our blogger dashboard just now, on the 6/6/06, it tells me that Kim and I have posted 666 times since we began - exactly a year ago. For my next trick, I will turn this decapitated chicken back into a vestal virgin, mwah ha hah! mtc Bec

You know

2006-06-02T21:38:00.000+10:00

I'd be talking to you all if I wasn't having a fucking nervous breakdown. Because you see, now there's a dog in the house. The one I won't have to do anything for or with. The one Chef is going to do everything for. (That would be the same Chef who got home tonight at 6 and went out to a staff dinner at 7. The staff dinner I didn't go to becaues someone had to look after the fucking dog.) The one I fucking drove to the other side of Sydney to pick up. With a kid asking me every freaking minute if we were going to get "Coco woof woof" - as opposed to fucking "Coco moo moo", which I suspect would be far fucking easier to look after. The one that tries to eat the baby if I put the baby on the floor, all in gorgeous playful puppy licking nibblingness of course. But you know? I'd like to put my kid down every now and then. The one I have to watch every fucking minute incase it pisses on the floor. Which it has done twice. When I wasn't watching it but trying to be a mother or even just.have.a.fucking.life.for.one.minute. The one I've stood out in the fucking rain with encouraging it to piss but instead it does that puppy playful falling over thing and chews on some other half broken crap toy from the sandpit. The one that has been crying, nay fucking screaming in a mournful hollow wailing kind of way from its bed in the laundry. For about three fucking hours. Which means I can't go in there to put Oscar's sheets in the drier or put another load of washing on. And you all know how much comfort my OCD tendencies get from doing washing. The one that has destroyed any last thread of sanity I was hanging on to because the little white happy pills aren't fucking working. And you know what is making it all worse. That it is so fucking cute - and intelligent (the little shit already gets the idea of fetch, sit and down) I can't help but look after the little fucker: In other news. We (for Felix) completed our first craft project this week: I found out this afternoon that Felix is significantly behind in reading. Worringly so. And I wonder if I am capable of producing children without fucking issues??? And look - tomorrow's Saturday. Oh Goody.

Brotherly Love

2006-05-31T19:25:00.000+10:00

Felix: When was Oscar born? Me: 1998 Felix: That was a long time ago. Pause Felix: Shouldn't he be dead by now?

While Bec was smiling inanely wearing overalls and a daffodil yellow tee...

2006-05-30T19:36:00.000+10:00

I was living another over-committed weekend. ***** UPDATE: I've felt weird about this post ever since writing it. Let it be known it's not like I'm trying to claim rights to the shittiest weekend ever. That this is really just a standard weekend day for any of us. I'm just whinging. Really. Indulge me. ***** Can I just say (again) how much I absolutely, purely h.a.t.e. Saturday mornings. I believe this pathological hatred stems from the fact that my albeit short life as a university student and then part of a dual-income-no-kids existence where Saturdays were the day you slept in until at least 11 but sometimes 1, then spent a couple of hours reading the papers often with friends at some gorgeous little cafe that did the best eggs and coffee, before either heading home to prepare dinner for friends or to go out for dinner with friends. Kim's life circa 1996 Friday night - binge drink with workmates, maybe smoke, get home sometime after midnight but usually before 3am Saturday 11am - rise and drink litre of water, take a couple of panadeine, go back to bed 1pm - get up, go and buy papers, maybe some croissants from this awesome French patisserie in Mosman a.l.l. afternoon - read papers 3pm - gin and tonic o'clock evening - friends over for dinner - eat massive amounts of sumptious food, drink copious amounts of red wine have a glorious time 1am (ish) - bed Kim' s life circa 2006 5am - woken by baby or eldest child. If woken by oscar it is to a refrain of "no school?" then a "yay!" then denying requests to play computer, Star Wars Lego. Drag self out of bed to put Star Wars DVD on to stop the whinging. 5.15 - re-woken to wipe eldest's bottom. (the writing is so on the wall isn't it, as to how a day will transpire if it starts wiping someone elses arse) By 7am - onto second load of washing. Kids dressed for chiropractic adventures. 8am - attempt to leave house for soccer. Stand on edge of field cheering. Pretend to care. 10ish - home. Feed Jasper morning tea. 10.15 - leave for tennis. after tennis this week we went to Warriewood Squank (its a square but skanky) and I bought the boys bribe presents for later in the day. 12.30 ish - Home for a bit. Jasper gets about 15 minutes in his cot. Torrential rain. 12.45 - Leave for eye appt. With three children. (hence earlier Star Wars Lego bribe presents) Eye appt. Jasper crawls around floor. Boys play (beautifully) in main shop. Bought bread, papers. Went home. 1.30 - Remembered b'day party. 1.45 - Left for b'day party. Hung out with people I don't know at b'day party. Oscar cried a few times. Felix looked sooo bored. 5.30pm - home. Cooked dinner. Fell asleep in Felix's bed- around 8.30. SUCKVILLE, people. That's not a Saturday, that's a week-in-one-day. The highlight of which was that I managed not to yell at anyone (much) and instigated minimal psychological damage on my children to add to their already vault-laden years-of-therapy quota.

Sometimes the best way to end a manic weekend of over-commitment is a bout of gastro.

2006-05-29T22:51:00.000+10:00

5.00am - the baby wakes. 5.04am - feeding. Sitting in dark in living room doing so. Hear Oscar stirring. 5.08am - Oscar cries. He takes his night splints off. 5.12am - Felix comes out (he has to be first) but on seeing how dark it is outside says, "it's too early" and promptly returns to bed. That's my boy. 5.13am - Oscar relocates to our bed then cries for me. 5.15am - Jasper does the most massive vomit of entire feed, mid-suck, and then some, all over himself, me, the lounge and the floor. Question that can render you motionless at 5.15am: Do I clean up me, the baby, the lounge or the floor first? 5.16am - Strip off dressing grown, mop up floor with it as I head for bathroom. 5.16.22 - Second vomit all over me and him 5.16.35 - Run bath for baby 5.18 - Tell husband to get up and help 5.20 - The whole family is up. (I got a shower at about 5.45 - after mopping the floor, cleaning the lounge, putting washing on, getting baby settled) End of the day: Jasper - five outfit changes, three baths Washing - two sets of sheets, four other loads Me - eating whatever I feel like as I figure the amount of vomit and poo that I've dealt with today, it's only a matter of hours until I am having that affair with the cold bathroom tiles. And somehow, I actually did work from home.

I've been doing a lot of abstract painting lately, extremely abstract. No brush, no paint, no canvas, I just think about it - Steven Wright.

2006-05-27T13:29:00.000+10:00

Time for me to make the abstract take form: sadly it will be with an extenda-roller rather than oils on canvas. I may be absent for a bit - painting, filling, sanding, painting, nailing, cussing... Have to make our place presentable for the valuation that makes this possible. Have to make it presentable in what's left of the weekend while working around three kids, one dog, two cats and assorted fish. Oh joy. Wish me luck. mtc Bec

Snippets

2006-05-27T10:06:00.000+10:00

Rice - the arch enemy of the dishwasher.

Tonight

2006-05-25T21:25:00.000+10:00

Chef and I went to the shops for late night shopping. Alone. Granted, it was 8pm and the boys were all in bed. Granted, we were home by 8.50pm and sure, the only thing we actually bought were some pencils for the boys. But At the rock climbing joy last weekend I snapped my glasses. Granted, I'd been whinging about how I needed new frames blah blah blah for oh, about 18 months, so I should have been pretty darn pleased, but when you are as blind as I am and only own one pair of glasses (something I have now learnt I need to rectify) it was actually a monumental pain in the arse. Combined with the fact it happened on Day 1 of Return To The Happy Pill and the gagillion things we had on that day, I was pretty pissed about it. So all this week, I've walked around with glasses that have a big wad of superglue holding them together, clearly visible due to the snap being on the bridge section that sits on my nose. Yup, I am one classy lady. But Tonight, we went to the optometrist, and I got me a new pair of frames. I have to get my eyes checked on Saturday because they haven't been checked in about oh, 3.5 years, and then I have to wait another whole week but then, I'll have sexy new glasses that made me all bouncy and happy. I will even model them for you all. After that is a haircut. And colour. It's the big issues discussed here folks.

As the drugs start to work the large red flags that had been flapping in the wind become quite apparent.

2006-05-23T22:01:00.000+10:00

Red Flag #1: "Gee I wish I could stay at home and undertake craft projects" Red Flag #2: "Sure, Chef has worked all day, standing up in front of a hot stove, then got home and made dinner, bathed children, done homework with them and cleaned up the kitchen, but I just wish he'd help me a bit more. Like, he could have at least hung out the washing." Red Flag #3: "My hair isn't that dirty" Red Flag #4: "I wonder if anyone would notice if I wore the same pants to work two days in a row?" Red Flag #5: "I don't care if it's 1am, I have to get this washing done/ironing done/lounge room cleaned up/eyebrows plucked" Red Flag #6: (after keeping a food diary all day indicating the complete opposite) "Well I fucked it by eating that chocolate this morning so I might as well eat a jumbo packet of chips on the way home. And maybe I'll wash it down with a Fanta." Red Flag #7: "I really want to learn how to sew." Red Flag #8: "I'm really upset I can't knit." Red Flag #9: "I want to make a quilt." Red Flag #10 through #eleventy hundred: Crying all the time. Being angry all.the.time. When not angry, being so quick to anger it was impressive if not highly frightening. Feeling on edge all.the.time. Finding it very very difficult to see anything positive, ever. An impending sense of doom. Realising perhaps not everyone has a constant swirling internal monologue going on and on and on and on. A bit like this really. We're only on Day 4 of the new drug regime, so I'm still feeling the love of lock jaw, the occasional shakes from the tension/anxiety, heightened anxiety and upset guts, but that fog - it's cleared so markedly already I am shocked at how bad I was (and how boring it must have been to you all to listen/read it). I feel a vague sensation to do a blog equivalent of a Cruise lounge jump in the euphoria of feeling so much better in my head, but realise that may only relegate me heightened nutbag status for many of you. But coupled with a bizarre and sad resignation to the fact my brain just doesn't really like working properly on its own is a child like "weeeeeeeee" at just feeling normal.

A late Sunday confession

2006-05-22T22:55:00.000+10:00

I have 20 posts in draft form at Eat Me. I have no idea of when I will get to them to fill them in. But they are there, and span everything from jelly cakes to spaghetti and meatballs.

I know

2006-05-22T22:32:00.000+10:00

that posting pictures of your kids freaks some of you guys out. But this little person, is currently warming my soul so much I feel like my heart might just explode. Some images of Jasper at 7 months...

Glimpses

2006-05-22T22:21:00.000+10:00

Felix is now 6. That's him climbing a wall. How ironic. Jasper was 7 months on Friday. He decided it was as good a time as any to master stairs. All of them.

Random musings

2006-05-22T21:32:00.000+10:00

You know, when you know the drugs you have to take to make you a little less nutbag make you a LOT more of a nutbag at first, mainly in the locked-jaw, incredibly tense, oh-dear-GOD-what-was -that-noise anxiety addled way. That, and a good dose of nausea and impressively sudden bowel urges, it's probably best not to start taking them the night before a Saturday. Particularly in our house. Particularly when the Saturday involves: - soccer - tennis - a facial - the FIRST in E.I.G.H.T. years. (My beautiful friend the beautician looked at my skin and said, "yes, your skin is very (bIG pause) stressed") - and an indoor rock climbing party for eight 6-year olds If my skin was stressed, I reckon you could have drawn electricity from the tension I was holding through my jaw. It hasn't abated, it won't for about another oh, eight days, but underneath is a quiet stream of THANK GOD - just in terms of the energy I was pouring into trying to stay even keeled for those around me, now has a bit of ballast in the form of a little white pill. ***** As briefly mentioned above, in case you missed it, I had a facial on the weekend. The first in eight years. The first once since the last one I had a week before we got married. My goodness it was enjoyable. Even with lockjaw. ***** I bought two pairs of jeans on Friday. I bought them when I had three kids in tow. The woman in the store had two kids at Felix's school. Sometimes living on the insular peninsula is excellent. I tried on a pair, they were hideous. She was all "no no no, they won't do" and came back with two other pairs. Yes there is muffin top, but my arse looks fabulous. ***** We bumped into a friend and her kids at the Mall. Did I mention how sometimes living on the insular peninsula is excellent? The kids went beserk and we just did one of those 10 minute power catch-ups. I reckon it's like crack for mothers. It was so wonderful to see her, hear her news, share mine and go our separate ways. ***** We had friends over for dinner on Friday night. Chicken pie and apple crumble. It seems to be my winter dinner specialty as I made it for another friend the week before last. The pie was sensational. ***** Oscar's language is going through a burst - it's just lovely to hear. He is also eating me out of house and home, with breakfast being a bowl of cereal, some toast, probably some of Jasper's fruit puree, a glass of milo and maybe some fruit. I'm not kidding. ***** I'm in a complete dinner slump. It's tragic. But nothing is inspiring me at all. ***** The thought of cereal with milk on it makes me gag. ***** I am feeling the urge to write slowly returning. ***** I haven't expressed breast milk since last Tuesday. I think I'm currently about a GGG cup. But MY GOODNESS it's nice not to be doing it. I didn't realise how oppressive it had become. Jasper is at 3 b/feeds a day and hasn't even noticed a change in the routine. ***** I find it bizarre that two days after I broke the breastpump I inherited from a friend and spent $100 bucks on a new one, I used it for two days before stopping expressing. ***** Let's all take a moment to bask in the glow of the property mogul I now write with...

Goodbye grungy inner city, hello Wisteria Lane

2006-05-22T20:25:00.000+10:00

We bought this today: Its name is Waltham (on an original brass plate, can you hear me squeal like a girl?). It means, in Ye Olde English: Forest Homestead. Take a close look at the greenery. Don't you just love irony? It is a 1920s not-quite-bungalow in a suburb only two galaxies away from this one. A suburb with Many Trees, and Parks, and Safe Footpaths upon which children may ride their bicycles. Unlike this suburb, that one has a wide range of high schools from which Pea Princess, Gorgeous Boy and Sparkle Twin may choose. The house has ducted air conditioning, a new and very beautiful renovation of Everything, including a new bathroom new kitchen and big living area. Two of the three bedrooms have built-in wardrobes (can you tell I have been in the land of real estate copywriting for WAY too long?) and the third has a working fireplace and beautiful window seat. The new house is on a very large block (room for a pool!) and has ample space for extending into the roof for the fourth bedroom/2nd bathroom. I make myself feel ever so slightly ill with how pleased we are to get this place. Mind, I think we are more happy with the new place because of the tiny quarters in which we are currently living with our THREE children, ONE dog, TWO cats, FOUR fish and assorted bikes, books and laptops. People who've always lived in the 'burbs probably don't like the slightly narrow nature of this place. They probably don't like that there are neighbours quite so close on each side. They might not like that more than four (but less than 20) cars per hour go by that house. They should spend a week or two in my house next door to the junkie drummer. Things I am not looking forward to:

finding out how much junk we have managed to hide (and therefore have to scrap, sell or move) even in this tiny house
leaving my truly enormous magical Tardis pantry
finishing off all the jobs we couldn't do for us, but we have to do now so we can have this house clear for a tenant (yes, we're about to become property moguls; freaky, hmmm?)
leaving the Greek adopted-grandmamas down our street who have looked after us and our children here for nearly four years
facing up to the shocking proximity of a seven figure mortgage over both properties: it's for the children, I keep telling myself, it's for the long, long term...

Things I am looking forward to:

SPACE, SPACE, SPACE!!
the Prof's joy at being back on his home turf (he grew up a few blocks from here)
A big block with virtually no plants: heritage gardening, here I come
WINDOWS (as opposed to skylights)
the smell of mown grass
Installing a truly enormous, magical Tardis pantry
Having a humungous house warming party, just because we can.

mtc

bec

Felix wanted me to let you all know

2006-05-21T12:43:00.000+10:00

that when he gets really really angry and mad, it's because he has the power of the Underworld. He also has the power of the world we live in. It's easy to put his power back, because he just lets it go back to the Underworld. People who can see the future have the power of the Underworld. The Underworld is way ahead of Australia and every other country. He wants to go back to the Underworld but he's stuck and that, is the problem.

In other news...

2006-05-17T23:02:00.000+10:00

I saw my shrink today. I cried. I kinda just let the last 4-6 weeks tumble out. In all its ugliness. The bad sleeping. The crying all.the.time. The over-reacting. The feeling of being completely overwhelmed, no matter how small the task. The prevalence of the mean-bitch-mummy. The feeling of I am nothing. The weight and body-image issues. The if-I-wasn't-here daydreams. The complete loss of perspective. The why-the-fuck-do-I-bother mentality. The negativity. And so it came to pass: that would be a script for some little white pills. There is so much I could say about depression and living with it. Wondering when, not if, it will return. I tearily asked Dr J today, "but why now? why when I have been tracking so well did I fall so hard and fast back into the pit?" "Because," he said, "it is a dark insidious disease." That I need to recognise how remarkable it was I got through the entire pregnancy and seven months of the post partum phase in good, solid, mental health. Eugh. It means I should wean Jasper. My precious little ray of sunshine who looks on me with complete joy and adoration. I feel like a complete abject failure. That the one thing this body of mine can do I now have to stop because the main part of me is fucked. I was on them when I was b/feeding Felix and they didn't alter his state of screaming awakeness one jot. So I'm hoping if I keep the morning, lunch and evening feed (dropping the lunch feed at around 9 months) but ditch the expressing palaver, my child of freakish mobility but remarkable contentedness will remain. Dr J pointed out that most women back at work full time at this stage would have weaned at 3 months, that just look on the 7 months this child has had that so many in the world miss out on. That the negative impact of my depression on me and him is far greater than the benefits of breastfeeding him to my psychological cut-off point of 12 months. That what's with that? It's not like I'm up for an Order of Australia for hitting the 12 month mark. That's why Dr J rocks. He just calls it how it is. So here I sit. Completely and utterly knackered and bracing myself for the side-effects of going back on drugs that I know make me a much better me. I just love that happy pills upset your tummy and heighten your anxiety before making you feel far more even-keeled - like lets knock you down to build you up. And I can hear the collective sigh of Internet relief that all my wallowing, narky, bitter wailing will at least ease off a little.

And now we are 6

2006-05-17T21:03:00.000+10:00

Happy birthday beautiful boy. Classic Felixisms made on the day he turned 6: "I'm just so excited I don't have anything to say." (on receiving these: "When the family arrive, will they bring me presents?" "I'm too excited to eat anything." "I command you to serve me first because it's my birthday." "I can't wait until Friday night because then it's just one sleep to my other party." and "I've got a really bad itchy bite, right here. It looks like one of your nipples." There were chocolate cupcakes w/ chocolate icing for the class. There was party food for afternoon tea - which he declined (see comments above). Dinner was spaghetti and meatballs (the current favourite), a green salad and bread. Dessert was the chocolate cake in the picture above. He had the.best.day. And that, at any age, is what it's all about.

Snap

2006-05-17T09:53:00.000+10:00

Your Stress Level is: 85%

Wow! Not only are you extremely prone to stress, you're a total ball of stress these days. And while times are certainly tough right now, being stressed out is not making it easier. Your stress is effecting your relationships, career, and most importantly, you health.

How Stressed Are You?

Yet another reason why Bec and I blog together. Unlike Bec, I'm in my normal modus operandi at the moment. I'm sure the reason it wasn't higher was because I ticked 'sometimes' for drinking five or more alcoholic beverages a week rather than 'always'which is basically solely due to breastfeeding and the fact I'm eating like a horse and figure I'd sooner chew the calories than drink them.

Bec is a Duck. Let's look under the water, shall we?

2006-05-16T22:03:00.000+10:00

Your Stress Level is: 84%

Wow! Not only are you extremely prone to stress, you're a total ball of stress these days. And while times are certainly tough right now, being stressed out is not making it easier.Your stress is effecting your relationships, career, and most importantly, you health.

"How Stressed Are You?"

Chirpy little message that comes with the result, isn't it? I was feeling pretty bad until I got to the second last word and saw the typo, which made me feel much better because the rest of the message instantly lost its authority. That's what typos do to pedants like me. Inflate our already inflated sense of lingual superiority.

The really funny thing is, I'm only normally stressed at present. Remind me NOT to take this test at Christmas time, ok?

With love to all those who have even more reason to be stressed than me but who probably show more restraint when answering the quiz questions on blogthings.

mtc Bec

mutter, mutter, mutter...

2006-05-15T20:47:00.000+10:00

Okey doke, time to follow the synapses and see where they take us in the Word Association Meme.

First mine, in trademark plum, then I quizzed the Prof and his are in black below...

Immune :: system
Together :: Alone (wasn't that a Crowded House album? or a song?)
Blank :: page
Professional :: dilemma
Thousand :: island dressing (yuck)
Penetration :: marketing
Shutter :: broken (my SLR)
Upside down :: cake
Neck :: tie
Unlisted :: number

Immune :: disease
Together :: couple
Blank :: prose
Professional :: doctor
Thousand :: million
Penetration :: digital
Shutter :: camera
Upside down :: inside out
Neck :: brace
Unlisted :: telephone

Not so far apart, really. Please remember to use http://subliminal.lunanina.com when linking to Unconscious Mutterings. Thanks!

mtc

bec

Unconscious Mutterings

2006-05-14T20:51:00.000+10:00

BEC - click here first

Immune ::system

Together ::forever

Blank ::cheque

Professional ::courtesy

Thousand ::island dressing

Penetration ::nail

Shutter ::s are down

Upside down ::inside out

Neck ::lace

Unlisted ::number

Weekend roundup

2006-05-14T19:50:00.000+10:00

Saturday started at 5.32 with Jasper waking. He had a feed and went straight back to bed like the sane child that he is. Oscar woke up during his feed. Oscar is nutty for an early morning wake-up. The day begins. Oscar is dressed and fed for his regular Saturday morning chiropractic adventure with Grandmama. This was one of the areas she obsessed about, asked me relentlessly about and basically wore me down until one day I screamed "enough! If you are so concerned about his spine you can take him to Chatswood e.v.e.r.y. w.e.e.k. on a Saturday morning and pay for it." Actually, she offered to pay. They leave every.single. Saturday at 7.30am. Gotta get there early. Before the rush. Seriously, it's like senior citizen central this mentality. Felix gets up. 7.30ish Jasper is back awake and so I get him dressed and nappy changed. Soccer is on at 8.30 this weekend. We get him into soccer gear. In some infinite moment of organisation I - who am on fruit duty this week (not last week, like I thought, when I turned up with fruit - NO ORANGES! too acidic, makes kids sick*) - have already cut up the fruit. But I need to express as well as Jasper's early morning feed isn't being followed anymore with another good morning feed and my bazoombas were presenting a very real threat of exploding on the side of a soccer field if my friend Avent Isis hadn't been called upon. We go to soccer. NO FUCKING PARKING even though we're on time (ON TIME!) and the first game of the morning. Good match, we start losing so Felix gets interested then and actually runs around a little. He wants to be goalie because they get to wear the cool shirt and are actually allowed to stand around. Team photos follow-up the game. We get to the car, Felix is having a breakdown of some sort which I'd kind of ignored but also missed because I don't own a stroller and hadn't bothered with the BabyBjorn, so my back and upper arms were spasming from holding Jasper for over an hour. F wants a bacon and egg roll from the family bbq. So do I. We go back and purchase. Why do bacon and egg rolls taste soooo good off one of those catering bbq thingys? We're driving home, my mobile rings. It's on the back seat so I don't bother. It rings again. I know it's Mum. I reach around the back while driving, actually find it and actually answer it. Mum, panicking, "You'vegottogethome,Oscar'sputsomethinguphisnoseandIcan'tgetitout He'sverydistressedI'mtakinghimtothehospital." I tell her I'm almost there and to wait. I get there, they're not out the front. I'm wondering, "what the fuck? he's eight years old. MongoChromo or not he doesn't stick things up his nose." I yell down the side path - mum reappears, it's alright she got it out. I actually- in a Britney voice - say, "you couldn't have rung me back?" Mum breaks down"i was just about to", "I was just getting the phone" and so on and so forth until I snap back 'OK, FINE, SORRY". Oscar appears, I t.e.a.r. shreds off this child. In the vein of "you stupid stupid boy. I worry enough about your health every single day without you doing something as stupid as stick something up your nose. GO TO YOUR ROOM BEFORE I BELT YOU" and so on and so forth. But make sure you imagine it in that voice where you can hear as well as feel the damage you're doing to your vocal chords. We're in the driveway, out the front, about a metre from the footpath. It is very.very.quiet. It's about 9.47. We get inside. I feed Jasper. Felix takes his shoes off even though I ask him not to. Mum's hovering, apologising, not letting up. "I'm not angry at you, I AM UPSET. UPSET that he would do something so stupid" and so on and so forth. It's 10.15, time to go for tennis. I realise Felix has taken his shoes off. I get his shoes back on. I believe this is the third time for the day. We go to tennis. Felix's best friend - Liam's mum is there. We sit there for just on half an hour in a complete misery-loves-company-fest. She works full time too. They're trying to have another baby. It isn't happening. Work is manic. She's feeling depressed, something she's not used to. I think we both actually feel better as we head back to our cars. Liam comes with us. We go home for a little while. It's 11.30. Jasper sleeps for a few minutes. Maybe, I can't remember. 12.30, we're all back in the car. Felix's shoes are put back on again. I'm meeting some friends/workmates at the Flying Fox for lunch. The boys are great. Felix and I have a stand-off in the "Do NOT take your shoes off" realm. He takes his shoes off. Everyone arrives. Jasper is cranky and whingy because he didn't like the sleeping idea earlier. K and I start to feed him as she fills me in on the demise of a 10 year friendship that also means the end of a flatmate and having to find somewhere to live. Yes, a man is involved in the picture. Ugly. We feed Jasper some solids. Other people arrive, Felix comes back - he's cut the bottom of his foot. I find a first aid kit, make up a mini triage station with a tub of water, disinfectant, and bandaids. He is surprised when I make him put his shoes back on. He goes off. We order food. Jasper is cranky and whingy. I pull out my boobs in public for about the tenth time in a desperate bid for him to fall asleep while sucking on the dummy that gives. He almost does. Oscar appears and needs to do a poo. I walk, baby at the breast, through the cafe to the toilet. Because frankly, by now, I really.don't.care. I breast feed while squatting, waiting as Oscar oblutes. It is quite tricky breastfeeding and wiping a kids bottom. But I do it. I get back to the table an there is food. I have the best salt and pepper squid. I try and catch up on the conversation and then my boss - my boss who I love because we work in a very similar way, she doesn't micromanage, she's younger than me but very sympathetic to the whole kids palaver of my life - tells me she's leaving. They're going travelling for 6 months through South America and then on to London to work for a year or so, and then maybe New York, depending on what comes up. I am absolutely thrilled for her and her squeeze. I mean, fuck, how amazing. But I am also gutted. More change. More new people etc. And also - her life vs my life - my choices, where we're at, vs her life and where they are at? I am suddenly very very bummed about my life. Even moreso than what has been laying over me like a blanket for the last month or so. I get quite teary. Am still so. Jasper finally falls asleep. We sit, talking. It's lovely. The boys come and go. They're filthy from playing in the creek. They've dug a deep hole in the sand. They've just been kids. They are happy. I notice that Felix's feet are bare. 4.15 we head home. Felix says, "that was the best day at the park ever." I get boys in the shower. A scrubing brush is required to get the dirt off their legs, feet, arms and hands. All three bigger boys showered and dressed. I get Jasper in the bath. I get him dressed, I get his dinner. Chef gets home. We negotiate dinner. He goes and purchases ingredients. I cook dinner after getting Jasper breastfed and into bed. We eat at about 7.30. Very late for the boys. Oscar falls asleep mid-mouthful. We're watching The Emporor's New Groove. I get him to bed. Clean up kitchen. Felix and I watch The Princess Diaries 2. I c.r.y. during the parade scene with the little girl at the orphanage. I'm glad I did that pregnancy test last week as this would have otherwise just confirmed to me that I was up the duff. Felix goes to bed. It's after 9. I read some blogs. I read the last entry at Cancer,Baby. I feel a despair, a hollowness, a bizarre grief for someone I didn't even know. Ugghh. I get to bed. It's late. Around 11. Sunday. Mother's Day. Jasper is up at 5.15. I feed him. Oscar is up. I go back to bed. Chef gets up. Mother's Day is the busiest day of the year. I doze. I wake to boys w/ a tray of a pancake, tea and pressies. Oscar gives me a hard travel make-up case. It's so cute, knowing he's chosen it. Thinking how funny it is my three/four bits of make-up look in there and how, well, we don't travel. Felix gives me two bead bracelets w/ green and silver beads. I love them. He's all "I really wanted them because I know you love green." His card makes me cry. It's about 7am. We make a pancake for grandma and a cup of tea and take it upstairs. I feed Jasper, do some washing, clean up from pancakes, chat with Grandmama. I go to the shops to get Felix's birthday presents and food for the antipasto platters I'm doing for lunch. It's 11.30ish. I get home, make bread toasts for platters, get stuff together, take bags of goodies out to the car, get kids out to the car and get on our way. I note about half way into our journey that Felix is barefoot. We get there around 12.15. I plate up platters, they are a sensation and truly appreciated. Have lovely time but full-on in terms of where are my three children- who's doing what, etc. Mum arrives. She's found Felix on the front step with a bloodied big toe. He's sliced about the top third. There is much wailing and gnashing of teeth in agony. I get cranky at him and actually say, "you are turning me into a 'I told you so' parent and I don't LIKE IT". I have a bandaid in my pocket from yesterday. I'm such a SuperMum. There's food, My BIL makes me a gin and tonic w/ Bombay Sapphire gin. I concentrate really hard not to scull it. I feed Jasper solids and breast. There's lots of banter, it is lovely. But I am feeling v.v. tired. Jasper finally falls asleep. It's time to go. We go back to the Fox to see my Dad and stepmother. It's 4pm. We're a bit late - my goal had been 3.30, so this was a good effort. Jasper is whingy and cranky. He's had about 45 minutes sleep all day and is again somewhere he can't really crawl around. It's getting cold. I am tired. We get home. Felix is playing with my new bracelets again. I notice him swinging them around a plant as I'm unloading stuff from the car, Jasper and all the rest. He says "I just can't stop playing with these, I love them". Just as I'm saying I do too, that I love them, that I'm going to wear them all the time so I can think of my boys, but be care... one falls apart and beads go everywhere. I'm devestated because I really loved them, they meant something. Felix is devestated and that makes it worse. He sits on the ground, crying, trying to rethread it. This breaks my heart. But I'm angry too. They were mine, they were special and yet again, something in that category of mine, of which there is very little, is broken. I tell him to get inside. He runs inside in tears as I try and find beads in the failing light. He goes to his room and actually falls asleep. Dinner is cheese toasted sandwiches, no one eats. Mum helps me w/ Jasper's bath and dinner. I cry a lot. She gives me a big hug, saying she knew I must be tired because she was after a lovely day at my SIL's. I muddle on. Oscar is bathed and put into pjs. He wants dinner - a cheese toasted sandwich, after he refused the first. He goes to bed. Felix gets up. I get him into the bath. I clean up their room - sort clothes, put summer stuff away, winter stuff comes out, uniforms sorted etc. I send him back to bed at 7.45. He hasn't had any dinner. He cries himself to sleep. I feel rotten. I have a broken bracelet, a bone weariness, a pile of clothes to iron, a week looming again like that long beach walk in soft sand and a melancholy that refuses to shift. Happy Mother's Day everyone. * have you ever heard anything so fucking stupid? I mean, do any of you other poor sods who endured Saturday morning sport for almost two decades recall ever spewing in the second half because you ate oranges at half time, due to their acidity???

Booty Call - Mothers Day 2006

2006-05-14T10:42:00.000+10:00

Okay, not THAT kind of booty call (although, doing nicely, thanks for asking) but good old fashioned booty of the Mother's Day kind. Exhibit A: from the Gorgeous Boy What can I say? they make me feel young(-ish). I think I'm loving Mars more than Jupiter at present, especially track 7, If, but on the Jupiter disk Dani California and Snow ((Hey Oh)) are doing it for me, too. Exhibit B: from the Sparkle Twin

Featuring Strictly Ballroom, Moulin Rouge and Romeo+ Juliet. Love it.

Exhibit C: from the Pea Princess

It's my favourite, but this time in a "skin softening dry oil" - you put it on when you're still damp from the shower and it soaks in, moisturises and exudes the world's best fragrance all day - what a winner!

Vexingly, Blogger is refusing to load the best - a hand painted flower pot with an as yet undetermined buld planted in it, and I have to run to get to lunch - but happy mother's day to all of us.

Mtc

Bec

It's weird

2006-05-12T20:05:00.000+10:00

that PeaSoup is taking some time out, Bec mentioned her bloggers block and I have felt all a bit over it/nothing to say/bored with it all too. Is this called the pre-mid-year funk? Because it's boring and I don't really like it that much.

Ying / Yang

2006-05-12T15:48:00.000+10:00

the Pea Princess, she is bright. On many levels. I was thinking about this today, about what having a child with that kind of intelligence in your orbit must do to your parenting. I was mulling over it as I endured the hens clucking around the henhouse (also known as pick-up at the school gate) and as I thin-lipped steering-wheel gripped my way through the sea of HOPELESS drivers that women-who-pick-up-their-kids-from-school are. When Felix piped up: "There's Secret Fart!" That's what they - the govt public school kids - call that Catholic school across the road. I'm guessing most of you can work out its real name. Yeah, that intelligence thing. Comes in so many forms.......

Youth is Like a Bird: the Pea Princess, age 8, she writes.

2006-05-12T08:04:00.000+10:00

Pea Princess had a substitute teacher this week who taught a unit called Forever Young. They had to write a poem about the topic. Here's hers. Youth is like a bird, It's free I've heard. It's not stuck in a cage, Or (like a book) stuck in a page. But adult-hood is coming near, So goodbye friends And goodbye fear. At breakfast this morning she produced this (with instructions to us all that we must not laugh) and explained to her little brother that the goodbye fear part meant: "You know how we're scared of cockroaches and Mum and Dad aren't scared of cockroaches? That's because we're kids and they're grown ups." I am so glad she sees us as fearless. There's plenty of time for the reality. Mtc Bec

Star Date: Glamorouse anniversary -26 days and counting

2006-05-10T22:08:00.000+10:00

CaptainGlamorouseBec's Log: Post#638; Visit#20839. The ship's crew are quiet after another double shift. The damage from last week's alien arrival is slowly being repaired and it's all hands on deck until we manage to fully restore order. The Tiny Alien herself is very little trouble; small, even for her race; attractive in a quirky, furry kind of way, and a relatively neat eater (although voracious at meal times, her stomach remains small and we should have enough supplies to last her through this growing phase). Best of all, she seems to be naturally drawn to the waste disposal facilities onboard ship so there has been very little mess to further distract the crew. It has been a huge chore to get the crew to stop petting the little alien for long enough to perform their normal functions, and I admit she sometimes draws my own attention with her playful nature, her pretty silver stripes and inquisitive green eyes. No, the new beast itself is manageable, and even quite endearing when she snuggles under the chin and purrs. It's the effect on the Aliens In Residence that's been most troubling. Large Alien has commenced weeping in the very early mornings as a way of seeking the attention she obviously feels she misses during the rest of the day and evening. If it weren't bad enough that we are currently orbiting a winter planet with short days and cold mornings, now my Captain's duties including placating the Large Alien with extra long space walks so she can fetch even more asteroid fragments and (hopefully) defecate on someone else's trajectory. Medium Alien has undoubtedly had the worst reaction, possibly because he has the closest genetic links to Tiny Alien. First he disappeared to the ship in a neighbouring orbit for several days, then returned having gained about an extra third on his original body weight. He hisses and howls at Tiny Alien and - astonishingly - will turn tail and run if the wee beast comes too close to him. Maybe some strange power is alotted to the little one that our sensors cannot detect? He has returned tonight and appears to wish to make amends in his strange alien way. His by now enormous bulk has been hoisted up to my desk and he is attempting tofind a comfortable position draped over my arms as I type. StarNote: speak to Scotty about converting excess escape pods into Alien Containment Vessels. The ship tells me it is time for bed, and I must go if I am to direct this hodge podge through another day tomorrow; when I will return, with holograms. Space: The Final Frontier. The New Kitten: The Final Straw. We're now officially looking for a bigger house. mtc bec

2006-05-10T21:54:00.000+10:00

and I just realised that wasn't really a confession, but it felt like it.

Confessions - late

2006-05-10T21:50:00.000+10:00

after my mental and emotional malaise, after Jasper rockin' on at 3am for over a week after Oscar spewing in his sleep then rolling in it after Felix seeming to have emotional breakdowns every 10 seconds after me getting bored of being with me I gave oscar mega headache drugs last night Felix complained of a headache, which may have been the case because he had eaten an apple all day, but more than likely was solely because in his competitive little brain Oscar was getting something he wasn't, so I gave him some standard drugs Then Jasper had the biggest unexplained screaming fit of his entire life. Followed by wind even I'd be proud of. And we all went to bed and slept all night. Which is probably why I spent all day feeling hungover, tired and emotional, on the verge of tears, for no reason at all.

but then again, maybe not

2006-05-10T21:33:00.000+10:00

Today I wore pants that haven't done all the way to the top for over 12 months. It was only in the bathroom at work at around 4pm I realised I must have done them higher and tighter than usual as they were giving me a delightful camel toe as well. With the unwashed hair pulled back by a hair comb, I was truly a piece of public sector eye candy let me tell you. ***** Felix refused to eat dinner. I told him I refused to have fights about eating dinner as that would essentially confirm my morphology into my mother. So he could either a) eat dinner (a delicious chicken and asparagus risotto made by Chef) or b) go to bed. Two hours later he is all "my tummy's empty" and going to sleep crying. Eugh. ***** Last night Jasper woke at 3 for the 5th night in a row. All you "just you wait" sayers can stop laughing now. When I got up to him I was hit by a smell of vomit. Yes. The smell of vomit was filling our house. Oscar, from a migraine, had vomited. In his sleep. All in his bed. And down the wall. And rolled in it. Yeah. I wrote this yesterday and then got bored. I'm basically bored. Bored of my whinging, griping, pitiful existence. Blah blah blah. I mean, when I'm excited that I BROKE my breastpump, so actually got something new for this child - and that the new pump came with these really cute little 125ml bottles, and that I even thought a little bottle was 'cute', you know the situation is dire. I'm bored that Amalah is going through what I went through - but getting paid for writing groovy stuff rather than shitty public sector crapology. (not my public sector stuff now, I love that.) You know, when someone embarks on a journey and you're so jaded, cynical and over it that you can't even feel happy for them, even though you are, but there's just a part of you smarting that they're doing what the rest of us did before but go no recognition for. This probably all comes down to just been miffed she hasn't mentioned our blog and increased our traffic a hundredfold. But I'm hating that I'm feeling like one of those jaded narky OLD women rather than just enjoying the ride... Someone got something today that I didn't and it made me feel all rejected, overlooked and small. How pathetic am I. The fact I've reacted like this makes me not like myself very much. EUGH. I wrote a comment on the SMH blog about the budget today (that's me talking - called 'despairing') and then a few comments appeared in the vein of "why should the govt pay for childcare, women should be staying home to look after their kids" blah blah blah. And yes, I know these people are MORONS, but it has really got under my skin - and is such a hot button for me I can't even think straight to formulate a decent reply. I wish I was a tenth as clever as the girls on GFY. See lame-O.

Bloggers' Block

2006-05-09T22:13:00.000+10:00

Had it. Over it. Moving on. So there was a man at a bus stop today who caught my eye. He was wearing very black sunglasses, which was slightly odd considering he had to be 60. But, since he was also wearing a black leather jacket I decided he was just that kinda guy. The kind who has trouble moving on. Or who never did enough of whatever it was he needed to do when he was 25, so does it sooooooo much later. Before anyone can flame me for uncharitable thoughts about the newly maturely-aged, please remember my husband is 19 years older than me and that my insights into the newly maturely-aged mind might just possibly outstrip your own. (And no, he does not wear an inappropriate leather jacket but he has been known to make some very random judgements in sunglasses) ANY hoo...

The real thing was that my bus was sitting at the stop for quite some time and the more I looked at sunglass guy the more I realised there was something else wrong.

Really wrong.

I don't know if I can describe this properly but his sunglasses didn't touch his ears.

Not by a country mile. And at first I thought: "Hey, he's wearing his sunglasses abnormally high on his head." (which, by the way, was bald except for a snowy white comb-over that spoke of glossy blond hair in years gone by).

Then I looked closer and thought: "Oh. My. God. He has abnormally low-set ears!"

(Who knew there was a real live medical condition for this?)

And then, in case anyone thinks the point of this post is that I ride the bus in order to mock deformed strangers, I thought: "Thank god, something really sensible to blog about."

Block gone. Over it. Moving On.

Mtc

Bec

Unconscious Mutterings and other stuff

2006-05-07T21:46:00.000+10:00

And again I say to Bec - DON'T LOOK DOWN! Go here first.

Represent :: the minority
Mumbling ::in my sleep
Meetup ::one day with blogging buddies
Tantalizing ::food
Fake ::boobs
Dale ::Ford
Deny ::all knowledge
Calories ::the bane of my life
Roll ::in the hay
44 ::bottles of beer on the wall

And if it's your first time, visit LunaNina to play. ***** Tonight, when Felix went to bed, he was itching his head more than usual. The head itching thing has only started since he insisted on partaking in a Nitbuster day at school (I am a firm believer our schools have taken on enough parental responsibility and this is just another program to detract from actual teaching and do something parents are just basically too lazy to do themselves.) and I olive-oiled his head and FINALLY removed the cradle cap he's had there probably since he was a baby - and yes, it is cradle cap - not dandruff as Chef reckons we should be calling it once he was over 5. Anyway, he actually got teary over how itchy it was. His hair has been looking atrocious - as in surfer grommet atrocious and he doesn't surf nor is he a grommet, so there was really no excuse except for my own lazy parenting I was batting on about in the paragraph above. SO I just had one of my moments of spontaneity and said, "do you want to shave it all off?" and - NATURALLY - he replied "yes". So we did. It looks cool. Until I looked at his head to check the cradle cap was not returning and the nitbusters had not actually introduced lice to our family. When... I SEE BUGS OF SOME DESCRIPTION CRAWLING ON HIS HEAD. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON WITH THIS HOUSEHOLD AND BUG INFESTATIONS. NOW THEY ARE ON MY CHILDREN. We are not hillbilly hicks. We all shower or bath every.single.day. (Sorry Warragamba.) The house may resemble a bomb site, but it is actually - underneath all the toys, clothes, bags (what is going on with the bag proliferation???) - clean. I even have a cleaner come in every fortnight for fucks sake. Anyway, I get his head over the sink, manage to pull them off and into the sink or shake them out into the sink and then call in the big guns. Mum. Some time, several internet searches (are they nits? tics? OH DEAR GOD. . . BED BUGS???) and about a litre of conditioner and fine-tooth-combing later we decide they are the nymph stage of tics. It's a Northern Beaches thing. There were about 6 bigger ones and 4 teeny weeny onesWe were at the park today, there was much foraging around in the bush parts and I believe some rolling around on the grass. But people, it is really REALLY freaky having your kid complain of an itchy head, essentially shaving it and then SEEING FREAKING BUGS CRAWLING ON HIS SCALP. ***** So now, after getting the washing pile completely iradicated, there is now a massive pile of sheets, pillows, clothing and anything else Felix has been in touch with in the last day. ***** Even the cat got some long overdue attention as I figure she sleeps on his bed and maybe either a) they came from her or b) I'm too cheap to pay vet bills if she gets sick with a tic. ***** After the fug I've been living in (and I mean fug, not fog, because it's been fuggly as opposed to foggy) I made the conscious decision I was not going to carry it in to the weekend as bloody hell, if I did that then suddenly it would be Monday morning and I'd be back doing it all over again, in some sick non-funny rendition of Groundhog Day. So it's actually been a LOVELY weekend, thank you for asking. ***** I have now watched the Johnny Depp/Tim Burton Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in parts about five times this weekend. And I am addicted. My lust list has been well documented here and doesn't need revisiting, but Johnny had been left off it for some bizarre blaming-it-on-the-pregnancy reason. The man is pure genius and his Willy Wonka is completely and utterly compelling.

Trivial Pursuit - the kid way

2006-05-06T23:00:00.000+10:00

Playing Trivial Pursuit with kids can be pretty funny. Playing it with a kid who has a profound speech disorder is downright hilarious. Q: What colour on traffic lights means GO? A: Greee Excellent! Q: What is the Aboriginal name for Ayres Rock? A: WaaWaa (Funny. This is what he calls Felix, he's saying 'brother'.) Q: What is the name of Walt Disney's famous cartoon duck? A: Quack

Serves me right

2006-05-06T22:54:00.000+10:00

I have kept all the boys teeth that have fallen out. The tooth fairy isn't such a big deal in this house, infact, Oscar seems genuinely disappointed the morning after her appearance to discover that his tooth is gone for a lousy 50c or $1. Me, indulging in my need to hang on to weird bits of my kids (I have the plastic peg that they attached to Felix's umbilical cord - and not tucked away somewhere, just floating around in my makeup draw...), have kept all of Oscar's teeth. Stupidly, they're just in a jar on the windowsill in our bathroom. Felix discovered them. The other day he said, "who's teeth are those?" I acted dumb, like, really dumb, "what teeth?" "those teeth, in your bathroom." "Oh those teeth." "Yeah, those ones. Whose are they?" "Oh, just someone's." Thinking to self: IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT "Someone dead?" "What? NO! Not someone dead." "Well, why do you have them and not the tooth fairy?" "Um, oh I don't know." Silence. A bird chirped somewhere. "So how was school?" Idiot.

It really is that simple

2006-05-06T22:29:00.000+10:00

Felix's soccer team is awesome. No seroiusly. How many 6 year olds do you know who, when lumped together, can actually function with any form of team concept or mentality and pull it off? Sure, at half time today the coach had to say: And Bandicoots, which goal will we be trying to score to in this half? And bless them all - it was about half half pointing to opposite ends of the field. But apart from small and important details such as this, they are really good at passing the ball to each other and well, scoring. They've won every match. Sure, the match before the school holidays was close and us mothers on the sideline were beside ourselves, but they keep winning. When we were leaving this morning Mum said to him, "have fun," and Felix replied instantly, "we always win". Scary. There is, however a downside to all this. Particularly with a child like, well, mine to whom winning is everything. It is not worth playing if you don't win. It doesn't matter how much grown-ups reiterate it's all about having fun, if you don't win you might as well sit at home and contribute to the growing rates of childhood obesity. Seriously. So today they had a draw. 2-all. And tonight, when Chef got home, Felix said, "we won." I pointed out it was a draw, to which he relied, "Yeah, it was a draw, two all, but we won." This post was originally another tirade about the idiocy of organised sport that moves around different fields in the middle of suburbia, with no designated parking areas and no lee-way between the different games allowing one lot of cars to leave before the next arrive so you either end up being hideously late or parking so far away you might as well have parked at home and walked the ten miles that sure, might not involve snow, or barefeet but damn there would probably be broken glass and Sydney is pretty hilly. And so on and so forth. It was my attempt at writing a non-my-life-is-shit post.

2006-05-06T08:27:00.000+10:00

I've been feeling pretty down. Pretty angry, fed up, worried, anxiety-laden, exhausted, hopeless and well, as a result not very nice to be around. The kids are quiet when they're around me. I posted a narky post here late yesterday afternoon, basically bitching and whinging about nothing. Then I heard this. Literally as I was hitting "Publish Post". And you know what, it hasn't pulled me from my abyss, it hasn't made me pull my head in, suck it up and just get on with it. But it made me pull that post because of how shallow, whingy and pathetic my current mindset is and how I know I should be doing all of the above. Then this morning, I asked Chef to get up and get boys dressed and fed as I'd been up at 3 with Oscar coughing and then he tagged with Jasper who I was up with until 5. Then I got up, collected all the washing that has been accumulating because GOD FORBID anyone else could do a load, agknowledged that Oscar doesn't have his splints on, realised Felix wasn't in his soccer gear, quietly tried to find the resolve that when they get back from a regular Saturday morning apt my Mum takes them to, I will have to redress them anyway. Someone didn't eat breakfast either. Anyway, then I flicked on Rage and Pete Murray was on singing this: Opportunity So it goes another lonely day You're saving time but you're miles away Your flowers drowning in some bitter tea Forseeing lost opportunity Find your mirror Go and look inside See the talent you always hide Don't go kid yourself, well not today Satisfaction's not far away Hold on now, your exit's here It's waiting just for you Don't pause too long It's fading now It's ending all too soon you'll see Soon you'll see Your coffee's warm but your milk is sour Life is short but you're here to flower Dream yourself along another day Never miss opportunity Don't be scared of what you cannot see Your only fear is possibility Never wonder what the hell went wrong Your second chance may never come along Hold on now, your exit's here It's waiting just for you Don't pause too long It's fading now It's ending all too soon you'll see Soon you'll see Soon you'll see Soon you'll see Soon you'll see Soon you'll see and I felt just a little bit better.

Some poetry

2006-05-03T21:33:00.001+10:00

Ode to Iku Oh Iku, food bastion of vegans and other herbal types divine rice balls, tofu pockets of goodness salad dressing I wish to bathe in but WHY did I ever think a brown lentil casserole would do anything else but wreak havoc on my bowels and create my own personal ozone hole quietly proud of volume and smell as cramping pains slowly subside over 24 hours later.

Apparently

2006-05-03T21:31:00.000+10:00

56.25 %

My weblog owns 56.25 % of me. Does your weblog own you?

My Little Police Mystery - plus a pictorial tribute to my childhood home.

2006-05-03T21:06:00.000+10:00

At last, here's my explanation for some of those earlier cryptic comments about why I was away and why I was so grumpy about notions of pastoral idyll. Be warned, this is quite long. Feel free to skip ahead to pictorial tribute at the end. *********************************** Don't you just love surprises? Surprises like birthday presents, like the sixpence in the Christmas pudding, like a new rose. Like taking the kids to the Royal Easter Show and having a great days and then getting a phone call at lunchtime from my sister-in-law letting us know there'd been a robbery of Dad's home (that's Dad who is still in Sydney with us in his fourth month of serious illness including three weeks on life support) in the sweet little country town of only 1000 people where we all grew up. Where everybody knows everybody. Where our parents contributed tens of thousands of volunteer hours to improve services and facilities. You know. The one with the fruit trees and the morning sun and the dew drops all glistening... Here's a reminder And now wait, there's more! They stole his car, maybe used it to transport some of his tools and tv, then brought it back covered in mud and crashed it in the side paddock. Just near the fruit trees in the pic in that link above. But hold on. I've been keeping the best 'til last. They stole my mother's ashes. Let me just repeat that for the hard of hearing. They STOLE my mother's ashes. Admittedly, they probably didn't do that bit on purpose. But - assuming they could read, which may be way too big an assumption - the box is topped with a large silver plaque with her name on it, and two sticky labels, also with her name, and the address of Rookwood Crematorium. And she was a pretty well-known person up there. So well known that, a week after the robbery, with the support of police, we released the information to the media and appealed to the community for the return of her ashes. Her Order of Australia medal and engagement ring would have been nice too. But still. It was the ashes that were important - and completely worthless to anyone else. We didn't really expect a result. But it was great that I got the front page of the regional daily, and the best rating tv news, and another local weekly paper, and three radio stations. She'd been their Mayor for eight years, after all. And getting media interest has been my job for a lot longer than that. ***************************** So in the meantime, I've been dealing with Dad's insurers. Same company for building, contents and motor vehicle. Their motto: "We can't help but help". So how come I have to deal with three separate claims assessors? ****************************** And then we go away to Dubbo for the second week of the school holidays with the kids and we're having a great time and we're driving back on the Thursday and my brother calls. He's heading up north to Dad's place to start cleaning up. The phone cuts out. Country reception is pretty bad. While we're driving along and waiting to get back into range, I look at the Prof and the Prof looks at me. I don't have to be back at work until Monday and my usual reasons for not travelling are sitting in the back seats, fully sated on Mummy time over the past six days. I leave for our home town with my brother at 6am the next day. ****************************** You know how I said I love surprises? The surprising thing is that I really don't. To whit: I badgered radiologists with both pregnancies to make sure I knew what all three kids' genders would be. Who has time to wonder about that shit? ****************************** So we get to Dorrigo after a fabulously easy seven-hour drive. We check out the wreck that the thieves left, and we have a laugh about the rooms where we can't tell the difference between ransacked and normal. I go to the bathroom. I'm walking out and a glint catches my eye on the top of the washing machine. Time stops. I call my brother. The one who found the place first when it had been robbed. I call him into the laundry and ask him if that was there before. It wasn't. They'd brought back the ashes. ************************************** Now Mum would have found most of this pretty funny. But she was such a lousy housekeeper that I'm pretty sure she'd have been a bit miffed to be left in the laundry. ************************************** We called the police. Because? Shouldn't we just have gratefully stashed them away once more? While the box wasn't damaged, there were two long strips of sticky tape holding the lid down. They weren't there before. There might be fingerprints, or DNA. Or there might not. All kinds of morons watch CSI now, and they know to wear gloves. But also the box, which I picked up only after it was in a proper evidence bag, felt only about half as heavy as I remembered when I collected it from Rookwood. It's been opened, it's lighter, you do the maths. ********************************** Wednesday update: the police couldn't find fingerprints, bad; but they're pretty sure the box wasn't opened, good. I'm choosing to believe the sticky tape was some weird thief precaution. Same kind of weird that has someone steal a car, damage it, and bring it back to crash into the paddock from whence they stole it. ********************************** So I'm now back talking to the media. And what to say? I can't bring myself to thank whoever let themselves back into my family home to return what MAY be all or part of my mother's ashes. If they think their conscience has been served, they are wrong. They didn't bring back her Order of Australia medals, or my grandad's war medals, and they didn't return all the loot and then eat shit and die on the doorstep so as far as I am concerned? This. Is. Not. Over. The restraint I had to show in the first interviews so I didn't offend the idiots and make them do something bad with her ashes? It's gone. And if I'm not imagining it; and they've done something to that box and its contents? Watch out, fuckers. Did I mention this media work I've been doing for a long time? I'm really good at it. Stay tuned. **************************************** And now, for the Pictorial Tribute to this little gem of a town. You may be picturing shanties and seedy streets, pawnbrokers and junkies on the streets. You'd be wrong. I'm not taking the chance of naming it again, although if you look back through comments you'll find it. But it's relatively popular with tourists and people who have visited always tell me how lucky I was to grow up there. So, as a public service, here are some identifying features to ensure that if you ever have the misfortune to pull over in this town, you will recognise the need to keep your purse close and your children closer... Historic war memorial and the popular Top Pub. I once shared a bar with Jack Thompson here. But no one would talk to him, because movie stars must be snobs, and they hate snobs in this town. Part of the World Heritage Listed Rainforest and National Park. I suggest you go no further into town than this. Oh and by the way, locals don't visit here, except on school excursions. Because if you visit here you must be a Greenie. And they hate Greenies. One of many stunning waterfalls. Local people are inordinately proud of them. As if they could somehow take personal credit for having inaccesibly high cliffs and lots of rain. Too much rain gives you toe rot. The alleged Steam Railway Museum. Some people travel all the way up there just to see it. They don't realise that it's not open yet. Because even after 25 years of working on it, it's not perfect. This is what happens when you put steam geeks in charge of a tourist attraction and surround them with locals who have two left thumbs and one set of grandparents. The town library. It used to be in the middle of the main street but they've moved it to the edge of town. I can only guess that too many people were getting access to books. And finally, I stumbled on this in Google images and thought I should try to end on a kinder note. This was where the Prof and I had our wedding dinner. I'm trying to think happy thoughts about it now. It's sort of working. Mostly because it was the only time I ever saw Mum and Dad dance together. Thanks for bearing with me. I'd have given you more pics but Blogger seems to have decided enough is enough and, for once, it's probably right. mtc (when I've caught my breath) Bec

I didn't look down!

2006-05-03T06:34:00.000+10:00

thanks for the warning.

Out of place :: napkin
Helicopter :: kids
Francis :: Bacon
Ryan :: Saving
Wedding :: vows
Apalled :: by ignorance
Historian :: long and ultimately disappointing book
Powerful :: stench
Sex symbol :: over-rated
Uncomfortable :: wedgie

mtc

Bec http://subliminal.lunanina.com for Unconscious Mutterings.

Oh yeah

2006-05-02T22:18:00.000+10:00

and we found out today we're getting dogs. One - a black female labradoodle (who will be called Coco - is Oscar's dog) will be here at the end of this month. The other - a golden male labradoodle (who will be called Max and will apparently be Felix's dog, but I know he is a child of my own and that will only be until the novelty wears off) will be here in mid-June. The boys and Chef, but particularly Chef are beside themselves. Me? Not so much. And I know you all know why. Because despite all promises by Chef to the contrary, I will be the one who: - ends up getting up early with them - arranging all the puppy-school training stuff - taking them and the boys to the puppy training boot camp hell zone - taking them to the Vet - feeding them - walking them - picking up their shit (as if wiping three other arses than my own was not already enough) - dealing with Oscar dealing with puppy jumping issues - dealing with the whole "Puss, meet two dogs, yes the species that mauled you when you were about four months old, but no, these ones are nice. Please be friends." disaster . - being the only truly vigilant one that I don't find Jasper in the jaws of one of them. And really, it's been kinda nice not having to be *that* vigilant with the freakishly mobile now-climbing-stairs and almost-cruising-furniture 6 month old. When we informed the boys tonight, Oscar drew a sketch - on the floor in the lounge room - with his finger - in the vein of an intrepid explorer drawing a path in the dirt - of just where Coco would be sleeping...in his room. That's right, oh what fresh hell is this gonna be.

Unconscious Mutterings

2006-05-02T21:44:00.000+10:00

BEC? MY FLOAT? DON'T LOOK DOWN. Click here first.

Out of place ::hair
Helicopter ::chopper
Francis ::McBean
Ryan ::surfer
Wedding ::Bells
Apalled ::on behalf of Bec
Historian ::dusty
Powerful ::weapon
Sex symbol ::Mel
Uncomfortable ::undies

Other random thoughts: Man, I NEED a haircut ***** WHY are there so many bugs in our house? ***** I am sooo tired ***** that was an awesome fart ***** I've got so much work to do tomorrow ***** The washing? It never EVER ends ***** My mum is making me REALLY REALLY stressed about Felix when all she's trying to do is be helpful. This is the story of my life, my relationship with her. Now I'm second guessing my reactions to her in that maybe I'm putting too much of me and how I felt as a child into my decisions for Felix. And I don't know what to do. ***** Jasper can climb the two stairs up the hallway now. ***** Jasper's smile, the new Tigger-style bouncing when he sees me, the laughing, the eyes like saucers, the colour of which we still can't work out; Oscar's eyes and need to physically be close to me after the events of late last week; and Felix's wisdom and insights way beyond his years and his big blue eyes - all currently warm my soul and swell my heart to a point of bursting - at a time I am so very very tired of being cranky at the world. ***** Funny how as a teenager when you do all those surveys in teenage magazines, I would always say the thing I found most attractive were eyes, height and a sense of humor. And I have a tall husband who makes me laugh and has eyes that twinkle, and together we have produced three sons with the most remarkable eyes possible. ***** I have so many recipes for Eat Me, but so little time to post them. I will get to this soon.

The Pea Princess Goes Meme

2006-05-02T17:11:00.000+10:00

Remember this meme? I just saw it again over at Raehan's and she had asked her big girl to do it too, and since the Pea Princess had just finished her maths homework and needed a break before doing more of her convict story (honestly, did any of us do this much work in Year 3?) I ran her through the questions too: I AM a fruit I WANT a car I WISH you a merry christmas, merry christmas, merry christmas! I HATE scary things I MISS Morgan I FEAR you I HEAR sounds I WONDER if I'll ever see Morgan again I REGRET that there isn't another eight year old in the family I AM NOT a salt and pepper shaker I DANCE when I am happy I SING at the disco I CRY when I am sad I AM NOT ALWAYS happy I MAKE WITH MY HANDS an origami swan I WRITE in my school books I CONFUSE myself and my friends I NEED chocolate I SHOULD buy myself a time machine I START to wonder why I am here I FINISH the race first I TAG myself in the game And here she is - topping a tortoise at Western Plains Zoo last week. (And the regret about there being no other eight year old? A pretty constant refrain since she decided she's the odd one out because there are two grown-ups, two little ones, and only a Pea Princess in the middle. I wonder how long she'd be happy with an equal sibling if we actually produced one for her, hmmm?) mtc Bec

Just quickly...

2006-05-01T23:44:00.000+10:00

The full story so far is in a draft post that Kim can read to put her out of her misery! It will be posted as soon as all the important people know as much as I do. Just in case. Meanwhile - CHECK THIS OUT - Another Perfect Post Award! Humble, we are very humble. Thanks to My Float for nominating, to Lucinda and Momma K for awarding, and to the Pea Princess, for being born. mtc Bec

Confessions

2006-04-30T22:23:00.000+10:00

I dare not post these tonight - for fear of looking shallow, churlish, ungrateful, bitter and vindictive - until Bec fills me in on what the hell is going on in her world.

10 jobs

2006-04-29T20:39:00.000+10:00

because when you're knackered, writing lists is good...

"proper" journalist (as in, writing for a major metro daily paper)
artisan bread baker
pastry chef
interior designer
fabric/cloth designer (like this chick)
clothing consultant (like Trinny and Susannah)
wine maker
shoe buyer (as in, travel to Italy, Spain, anywhere really and source shoes for sale in Oz)
novelist
radio broadcaster (the grossly obese tv lecturer at uni who regaled us with nauseating tales of his stomach stapling procedure told me I had a great face for radio...)

From Loretta

Where I am this morning.

2006-04-29T07:54:00.000+10:00

mtc bec

10 simple pleasures

2006-04-29T07:46:00.000+10:00

to avoid the whole - "is that really mine or something I thought of because I read it in Bec's first", I haven't read Bec's post on this. And naturally, because give me 10 and I'll give you 20, there's 10 plus a few.

Fresh flowers in the house. Favourites: magnolias, tulips, lavendar, lillies. (Although I hate when they start to die, drop leaves and pollen and that manky water smell.)
When a song I love, that is deeply attached to a day, or an event, a moment or a season of my life, comes on to the radio. The volume is up, the voice is loud, the dancing spontaneous.
Cooking a new recipe, it being delicious and relatively straightforward, so becoming part of the repertoire.
Waking up when my body is fully rested and says "wake up" rather than the myriad ways I am woken up every other day.
Lying on the lounge, resting my head on Chef's leg and just being.
The smell of coffee brewing, even if I don't like drinking it anymore.
The sounds of my children
That silence that fills the house after the dinner, bedtime, end-of-the-day rankle ebbs away. Bliss.
The sound of Jasper waking in the morning - those when he just wakes and babbles happily away to his animals. In fact, any sound from Jasper. That little high pitched "ah-eegh" when he sees me, kills me every time.
"Mummy" when I walk through the door home from work.
Dinners when we first moved out of home, with L and R, M and R (then A, then S and finally J who we loved the most). Where we ate late because if I can't run on time, as if dinner parties I'm hosting are going to. Where we had nibbles, then three courses, litres of wine, chocolates and coffee and would basically eat our collective selves into an eating disorder. Or in fact, any meal with them. They are something I treasure to the core of my soul.
Lazy days hanging out with friends. That start mid-morning, become lunch, extend through the afternoon tea to an impromptu dinner. The kids happily playing together, us (normally us and the Doodles - our camping buddies) drinking copious amounts of tea and just talking about everything and nothing.
Baking.
Having a jar with homemade biscuits on the bench.
Reading the Saturday papers, with a mug of tea beside me and the sun warming my back.
That sensation when you lie down in bed and your entire body says "thank GOD" or when during the night you pull the doona back up over your cooled body and the warmth is instantaneous.
Either a fresh, warm Italian loaf with extra virgin olive oil, salt and pepper or a light French loaf with butter and honey.
Smelling Jasper's head
Oscar as he slips his arm through mine
Felix's cuddles

An Eagle tagges us for 10 simple pleasures

2006-04-28T21:50:00.000+10:00

Miss Eagle is a relatively new acquaintance but I suggest you visit one of her excellent blogs because:

she has very beautiful magnolias at the top of her Trad Pad pages
she has two boys who grew to be more than two metres high
she successfully sewed a safari suit for a man she loved. We all have very special memories The Suit, yes? Mine involves my English head teacher in the summer time shorts version ... Oh Vernon, where are you now?

Miss Eagle recently tagged the Kimster and me, but with all the travelling, hospitalling and Anzac biscuiting that's been going on here lately, it's taken a while to catch up (and don't worry, you're still going to get my Why Am I Suddenly In Dorrigo story, I just have to do this first).

The tag is for 10 Simple Pleasures, and I am certain I won't be as eloquent as Miss Eagle, who brought a tear to the eye in her number 10.

1. Open fires - mesmerising and, if you have to have cold weather (which I secretly doubt) then an open fire is the best consolation around.

2. A goldfish in a pond, equally mesmerising and just as enjoyable in warm weather.

3. New mown grass: smell, look, feel.

4. Perfectly painted toe nails in summer sandals

5. Chanel No 5 for my birthday - always.

6. Cuddles in bed, from anyone except the dog because of her smelly feet and tendency to lick when over-excited.

7. Silly stories from my children. Actually - pretty much anything from my children but it would have been dull for others were I to list kiddy things for all 10.

8. A perfectly browned pastry crust emerging from the oven.

9. The feel of your tongue over newly cleaned teeth.

10. The smell of sheets coming in from the clothes line on a sunny afternoon.

mtc

Bec

"Well it was black dear, and very loose..." and other joys of a hospital emergency dept...

2006-04-28T14:31:00.000+10:00

We are home. The story: Oscar came in to us at midnight on Wednesday night and with one croup-like cough descended into respiratory distress. This folks, is called spasmodic croup - when you simply bypass the seal-like sounding cough and go straight for a stridor and significantly restricted airway. I love that my kids don't do anything by halves. We've been there many times before, (but not for a few years) so I Ventolined and Panadoled and got back to sleep around 1.30. He woke at 3-3.30 much worse so we high-tailed it to Mona Vale Hospital. Someone was looking after us as there was no one in the waiting room and we went straight in (this breaks our run of hospital visits - the last three starting with minimum 3 hour waits in waiting room) - although I'm sure something about a kid with a stridor as bad as Oscar makes me suspect we would have been taken straight in regardless. Typical, no audience for my moment of high-drama. Anyway, a dose of steroids, two nebulisers of ventolin and one of adrenalin and we were finally breathing easy (it was now around 4.30). But it turns out adrenalin can have a rebound effect, whereby the airway restriction comes back and with more severity than it had originally. I'm kinda glad they didn't fill me in on that little side-effect until after the event and critical danger 4-hour period had passed event free. Beside us was Marjorie with her severe pain, black loose stools and an ER specialist informing her he'd like to look at her back passage. Something I'm sure ol' Marjorie hasn't heard for some years. Although then again, perhaps that's something we all have to look forward to when we're 78... On the other side was Robert, 68, who returned home from dinner last night, checked his mailbox, slipped and dislocated his patella. He has a bowel motion every morning at 7 apparently. diagonally across from us was Sidney, he just seemed to vomit bile every hour or so, with more severity if they mentioned anything about him going home. It turns out this was his TWENTY SEVENTH admission for cyclical vomiting. Now there's a viscous cycle. Someone died just before we arrived. The entire night staff HATE one of the doctors and spent the better part of an hour talking about just how many people's lives they'd saved from her dirty "lesbian butch" clutches. All in all, it was a great time. Only beaten by discovering that Oscar really did need to be admitted and we really did need to wait to see the paediatrician (hospitals, the waiting, WHY????). We were given a gate pass (I have a new found understanding of the excitement and freedom felt by boarders at my school when granted similar leave) to be back by six, - but the deal was he had to stay overnight last night incase it returned once more. So Oscar fell asleep at 7.30 and didn't wake until 4 when he wanted to go home, have breakfast and play the hospital's Playstation. He didn't cough ONCE. Not even for effect. I slept for about 2 hours. In there. Somewhere. My neck is killing me and I'm in that realm of tiredness and parental relief where I could either cry or vomit and both would be OK with me. You would never know he'd been in hospital or struggling for breath, although yesterday he was very pale and this afternoon is starting to look a bit washed out as the sun goes down. His mother however, is perfecting her wreck of the Hesperus look way more than usual.

my turn

2006-04-27T20:38:00.000+10:00

to have a child in hospital. All Ok, just breathing issues. Will update on him and marjories very black bowel motions and back passage checks soon. Have post for Bec too, will do that tomorrow as well. xK

LOOK AWAY!

2006-04-26T19:57:00.000+10:00

Modern communication systems at their best...

2006-04-25T23:41:00.000+10:00

This is a post from Bec, currently ensconced in the wilds of the Western Plains Zoo. She sent it to me in a text. I could probably send it from the text direct to here, but my role as a technologicalidiot needs to be left well alone. So, from Bec:

Dubbo: the town my kids learned there was life beyond tv. 273 plays 199 right now at Upwords by lamplight tonight. I've had the q, z,x,y,v, and j,p,k and still thrashin' prof's arse. Milky Way v bright; lions v photogenic; life's good, as long as you're not a local. mtc Bec

Quiet reflection, infinite gratitude, deep and everlasting sadness

2006-04-25T09:43:00.000+10:00

On this day, 25 April, in 1915, Australian, New Zealand and British troops landed at Gallipoli. They fought there until 20 December 1915. 50,000 Australian soldiers fought, 8,709 were killed, 18,235 were wounded.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old; Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them.

Lest we forget.

Unconscious mutterings, the flawed process

2006-04-23T22:23:00.000+10:00

Here's why it's flawed - Kim diligently does this word association, I read it and go, 'Cool, I'll do that' and copy and paste it from Kim's post, then delete her responses while trying not to read them so as not to influence my own word associations...

But then, as I fill in my own answers, I'm suddenly hit with paranoia: am I writing 'voices' after 'distant' because I want to, or because subconsciously I've read it in Kim's response, even though I don't recall anything past 'surround'.

And of course, if I go back to Kim's to check, I'll only read more of her answers whether I try to or not, and that will skew my responses even more...

It's not all whine and roses, this joint-blogging business.

Rising :: moon Third ::finger (my wedding ring) Disruptive :: influence (me, mostly) Surround :: with rose petals Distant :: voices (what the hell, I'm taking a punt) Suction :: pump Fried :: chicken Nuggets :: gold Clip :: art San Antonio :: died a martyr. mtc Bec

Unconscious Mutterings

2006-04-23T21:50:00.001+10:00

Rising ::sun
Third ::quarter

Disruptive ::children

Surround ::sound

Distant ::voices

Suction ::squad

Fried ::squid

Nuggets ::of poo

Clip ::art

San Antonio ::fault

You can play too!

Confessions

2006-04-23T21:08:00.000+10:00

I confess to feeling like a cranky old buzzard who just wants to stamp around the house muttering 'motherfucker', 'shithole', 'cunt', 'bastard', and any other swear word I can dream up, any slam a few doors while I'm at it. For no other reason than being a tired cranky old buzzard. ***** I confess to having an overwhelming urge to have a cigarette and get absolutely off-my-trolley drunk. Preferably on martinis, but a Cosmopolitan would be equally good, or even some Piper Heidsiech champagne. ***** I confess to being a strict old-fashioned parent of late, pulling the boys up on the slightest of behaviour glitches. ***** Xbox I confess that to mark a very big moment for Felix, we bought him Star Wars Lego for the Xbox. I HATE the Xbox. The Xbox brings out the worst of the cranky old buzzard. And that I then had an epiphany. I hate the boys playing Xbox (it is a very very rare event until the arrival of Star Wars Lego). I am one of those people who thinks Xbox, Play Station etc are major contributors to the downfall of civilisation. I hate the parent it makes me. Then I realised - who is the adult around here? So I sat the boys down, said I didn't like computer or video games, and that while they may play them on Daddy's watch, there will be no Xbox on Mummy's. They just shrugged, went "OK", and got a few books for us to sit on the lounge and read together. Then I read to them in bed and watched as their eyes got heavier and heavier and finally closed. And didn't feel like swearing quite so much. ***** Idiot I confess to being a COMPLETE IDIOT for not organising to take tomorrow off and have another 4-day weekend (for those of you overseas, Tuesday is a public holiday here for ANZAC day). ***** Amalah I love her writing and until yesterday felt a connection with her in the whole - oh my god - working and baby = hard. Then she went and fucking resigned. And is so friggin' talented, well-connected, popular - that she is going it alone and will - without a doubt - be hugely successful and subsequently rich. This has pissed me off. I know I have no place to be pissed off. At all. But I freelanced and basically sucked at it. Because I am, at my very core, inherently lazy. So when it came to pitching for new business or selling myself to prospective clients, I would sooner have gone to mother's group with the boys, eaten too many pieces of a crappy walnut custard loaf from Bakers Delight and left to be home in time to watch Dr Phil and Oprah. So I ended up working on shitty projects or good projects for bully-bosses and being very very very poor. Which was a very large contributor to my fast slide to madness. So really, what I'm confessing, is to being really very lazy and wanting the life of celebrity. ***** Inexplicable desire to be violent For some bizarre reason, I have a real urge to hit something. Not someone. But to do something hard and punishing - like a boxing class or something, where I can just pummel the shit out of something, sweat a lot and maybe scream a bit. ***** Insert swearing here ***** And Bec - who said you could go away for a few days??? Just because you work like a packhorse doesn't mean you then get to go frolic in the meadow for a few days. ***** I'm tired, and going to bed. And yes, I can hear you all thanking the Lord for such small mercies.

Sunday confessions

2006-04-23T07:29:00.000+10:00

I confess that I just tried to read Dooce; can't do it any more. Bored, bored, bored. I'd take her off our sidebar but Kim's already got a migraine and I don't need to add to the poor girl's woes. Yet.
I confess that these days I'm only interested in non-celebrity bloggers. Although I wish you all every success and many book deals, once your comments get past 100 a day I'll be leaving you. Send me an autograph.
I confess that someone else - Surfing Free? - has also confessed something like this a couple of weeks ago, but hell, if confession is supposed to be about saving MY internet soul then it has to be personal, right?
I confess that I haven't put any of my clean and folded clothes away for over a week. They are making a sculpturally attractive but domestically inefficient pile on the blanket box at the end of our bed. I confess I have no intention of fixing this today.
I confess that it pisses me off that the Prof takes the clothes that I wash, dry and fold for the Whole Family and puts away the piles for Four Out of Five of us.
I confess that I love hearing the church bells ringing around Marrickville on a Sunday morning, but I never answer the call. Maybe the Greek Orthodoxes would have me? They have the best food.
I confess that I was once an eBay addict but that blogging saved me. Maybe this is my church?

mtc

Bec

To celebrate Glamorouse Post Number Six HUNDRED...

2006-04-22T20:36:00.000+10:00

I thought it would be fun to bring you (Cat in the Hat style) the Little Posts 100, 200, 300, 400 and 500. Some of my reckoning may be a little out here, Kim, so if you've got a better car (of the post counting kind) I'll ride in it. Please - take a trip through time and feel free to leave post-mortem comments!! mtc Bec

OK... Show and tell... an outfit you say...

2006-04-21T07:36:00.000+10:00

this is less an outfit and more the uniform I have worn for the four months of maternity leave and every weekend since having Jasper. t-shirt from Sportscraft - because it covers my arms, I like a collar and it's white so when my boobs leak it's easier to hide, because I love Sportscraft and i bought it when i bought clothes for returning to work in February. i have it in blue and green from last season as well, and a white one that has lost all its elasticity and is now more a greyish colour. I'm all class, I know. shorts from Target - one size too big because I did overestimate the weight gain - but I'm still on the last belt notch of the fat belt to hold them up. Birkenstocks - which I would wear every.single.day. and almost do - even to work where I then change into my heels. That I love, but can't walk great distances in, let alone to the daycare centre and back the hundred times a day that I do... bedroom - that my cleaner reckons resembles a uni student bedroom with unmade bed, loads and loads of washing, ugly rug and all the rest.

Behold...

2006-04-21T07:32:00.000+10:00

The file Bec sent to me titled glamourkim. this is the thinest I've been in my adult life.

10 in 10

2006-04-20T23:46:00.000+10:00

My very own meme In 10 years:

I have gotten married and bred three children
I have had probably four significant bouts of depression (and innumerable little ones)
Taken anti-depressants for the first time
Found a job that I really love
Learnt to be a lot kinder to myself
Witnessed a Government make our country debt-free at the expense of it's very cultural identity. At the expense of widening the gap between the haves and the have-nots. At the expense of creating welfare for the wealthy while forcing the most needy in the community to work for a pittance. Overhauled an industrial relations system that needed to be overhauled, but instead of being brave about it has systematically created a mean system that will enshrine a working poor sub-class of our society. Turned Australians from a mindset of "no-one gets left behind" to "what about me? It's all about me". (that's cheating I know but I had to get that out. Sorry.)
I will have an 18 year old, 16 year old, 10 year old and maybe one more?
I will hopefully be in a senior management/policy/strategic role (for a government agency?) making a difference. Or working with Chef.
I will have published two books - a cookbook and a novel.
We will be living in a place of our own.

G'ah!

2006-04-20T23:43:00.000+10:00

I just realised - yeah give me a moment to catch up - that the alien/orphan TomKitten's name - Suri - is the middle four letters of Freakazoid's surname. Surely, the conceit is not that blatant? Surely. These are the kind of things keeping me awake at night. That and world peace. And over-throwing our current mean-spirited fear-mongering money-hungry Government.

I'm with Bec, enough of this soppy shit and

2006-04-20T22:50:00.000+10:00

where the hell have I been I hear you all asking. Despite what my recent posts would indicate, I have not been rocking in a corner, wailing and gnashing my teeth in a poor-me chorus to rival the volume and emotion conjured up at Christian City on a Sunday. I have been honing my cranky-mummy parenting style, eating more chocolate than humanly conceivable because hell, if the jeans don't fit what the hell does it matter?, visiting family who live 2hrs out of Sydney because they hated Sydney traffic so much they moved far enough away we have to endure it 100 times over to visit them, and so on and so forth. ***** There's so much to say, so little that I can. That's right folks, sooo much I want to verbally vomit but it just ain't worth the repercussions in my real world. ***** So much air kissing and big hugs to send to you all for your amazing words of support, kindness and you-are-not-aloneness, so many blogs to catch up on! - Amalah has quit her job and is going to freelance. Not only that, but over 250 people felt it warranted commenting on. 2.5.0. I don't know what part of that makes me spin out more. Anyway, been there, done that. I know she's way more talented than I, lives in a country that loves - and well recompenses - the enterprising free spirit, and has a bit of fame on her side too boot, but MY GOD I hated the free-falling financial life of being a freelancer - and I did it for 7 years. And that fact you had to take the shitty jobs as well as the fun ones because the fun ones never pay well and come along way too infrequently to allow any real life. - Badger is binge eating donkey burgers - but washing them down with pretty drinks so that makes it a little better - Blackbird is living some cosmopolitan eating out life that I want! - Suse and all those Steiner children are putting the rest of us to shame - did you all see that remarkable Easter basket one of her s.o.n.s. made - as opposed to the crap-arse stencil one my boys brought home that I believe was made from the same stencil as the crap-arse Easter baskets we used to make in primary school. And the gorgeous Easter egg tree type creation thingy. And then the gear she gets around in, that on her looks stunning but if I wore I'd basically look homeless. Fat and homeless, now there's an aspiration. Amazing. - Bec posting more than me! It's a crazy crazy world out there folks. ***** So here is an update of sorts. Firstly, 6 months is like the 18 of babydom. Why I hear you ask?

Because you get to eat meat.

Behold, the 6 month old who cried when the chop bone (a delicious lamb cutlet) was prised from his pudgy edible fingers. One more because how utterly adorable is this child??? ***** Out of town. One night away from our home visiting my Dad and stepmother means this: That's right - the biggest New Zealand suitcase you can almost find (I have an even bigger one that is fabulous for washing when you are away camping) - that basically had clothes for me and three children thrown into it randomly, a packet of nappies and assorted toiletries. This is for one night. Look! The boot is full. Ridiculous. But once there, you can suck in fresh air and the view from their front step: just look at that blue sky. The sky is so big in Australia. It is one of the things that makes my heart absolutely burn for this place. G'ah, it restores my soul just looking at it now. It gives the boys time to hang out with their grandfather, in fact, they've probably hung-out more with him than I have in my entire life. I like that. Here they are with the billycart Dad built: and and even the delight of some home made produce: But you know, someone else's house, even if it is family, where there are three dogs to watch with the New Recruit on high-explore mode is pretty draining. Factor in a night of waking up almost on the hour every hour, if not being awake from hour to hour due to dogs barking, dogs farting (or maybe they were 'talking' to each other), children waking, children coming into my bed, children grinding teeth louder than really humanly feasible, baby sort of waking but settling, boobs replenishing and it all just gets a bit too hard. ***** My favourite interpretation of proof that aliens have landed which played on the publicist's line that:

The name Suri has its origins in Hebrew, meaning "princess" or in Persian, meaning "red rose" comes from Gawker.com

. . .The press release is thin on details like, say, when exactly the child was born, but the poor thing weighed in at 7 pounds and 7 ounces and is reportedly named Suri, which means “doomed” in Hebrew and “utterly fucked” in Persian.
We are, of course, incredibly happy to hear that the couple has finally cast the appropriate orphan to play the role of their child — and our congrats to Katie Holmes, who must be thrilled to return to Barneys sans the cumbersome prosthetic.

and then:

While Suri is indeed Persian, it is not a Hebrew name. It is, however, a Hindu name meaning “Lord Krishna.” Hindu, Hebrew — simple mistake.

stop, my sides are hurting. and this, just because:

After her baby Sean was effectively dropped on his head, Britney Spears looks to sue the makers of the high chair the child had been in. If only she could sue the makers of retarded white trash, too. Then all her problems would be accounted for.

***** For Blackbird this week Show & Tell was an outfit. I almost vomited. In my shoe. At the threat of having to show you an outfit. I don't have outfits, I have the fits pile and the oh-shit pile. There are no outfits, just whatever is clean and fits. ***** But best of all - on Easter Saturday night, Chef and I got to go out to dinner - Jellyfish in Manly. Divine food, we took along a 1996 Henschke and just a wonderful evening of playing grown-ups and doing things normal couples do. ***** with that, I've run out of puff. The end.

Hey Blackbird, check it out!

2006-04-19T22:31:00.000+10:00

Is it too surreal to say look at my new outfit when it's my blogger profile picture? Because it is... coming to a comment box near you soon. With thanks again to Angie. Without whom I'd still just be a fake redhead. mtc Bec

Oh My Gawd! Enough with the soppy shit.

2006-04-19T21:56:00.000+10:00

Okay. On to the truly important Stuff Of Life: The babies are here!! And they are (crikey!) exactly the same length. Wow, I have chills - have you? mtc Bec

Sometimes you realise you've already said the important stuff and all that's left is to repeat it.

2006-04-19T13:54:00.000+10:00

If you read this before, then saw it had disappeared, then see it again... don't be confused. I got embarrassed by my navel-gazing tone and took it down, then got an email from Kim about how she'd enjoyed it, and a comment from her on the post below asking where it had gone so I've decided to put it back up again. With reservations! I've been thinking more about Kim's confession post below and Pea Soup's and about reading even more on Donkey Burger that Badger's been dealing with and how I always struggle to say/write the right thing, you know? Here's me, with nothing more serious than the occasional domestic accident and an overloaded life brought about because I insisted on buying house in Sydney's ridiculously expensive real estate market, and meantime all these other wonderful women hang around being really funny and blogging like crazy and engaging in random acts of kindness... I mean, what can you say when every now and then they let on to a situation that would have your own pathetic self locked in a fetal position from here to eternity? As a mother whose biggest issue has been coping with the fact that her eldest is too smart and won't wear socks and two youngest happened to arrive together, it seems very introverted and shallow and dumb to dwell on the non-problem of avoiding sounding introverted, shallow and dumb to someone who really has qualified for the Parenting Big League. And then I remembered that I'd kinda worked through this before and that some of the results of it were in this earlier post where I talked about how we came to be blogging together and how that post was a result of another very poignant posting here. And so while I could blather on in that introverted, shallow, dumb way, really, the whole thing can be summed up in the final line from that earlier post. Kim gives me hope in hope. As does Pea Soup, and Badger, and all you other legendary mums out there. I hope I would deal with the unfair and the unexpected as gracefully as you all have, but I really don't think I would. But if I ever have to, at least I have some pretty amazing examples to model myself upon. mtc Bec

Confessions

2006-04-17T21:31:00.000+10:00

In nearly every situation with which I am confronted, my immediate internal response is one of childlike petulance, defiance, selfish, hot tears and 'why me'. ***** I read PeaSoup's confessions today and so much of it (ie #6 - #5 made me giggle) resonated with me and Oscar the sorrow was overwhelming. There have been so many occasions where I have had to step back and simply love my child. In particular:

And lo it was terribly scary and saddening but oh my giddy aunt everything fell into place and I learnt about triggers and I also stopped hating his behaviour and hating myself and thinking I had made my child this way.

and

Guilt for not being a better parent to him when he was at the outer edge of the ‘normal’ spectrum. Guilt for all those years of wanting him to be firmly within that ‘normal’ circle. Guilt for not finding the courage to accept him for who he was but always pushing him to be what I wanted him to be.

because I couldn't say it any better than Suse did. And that while I too have been there with that guilt, I am still so in the very thick of it. That at the moment, while I love him so much it brings tears to my eyes as it is this instant, I don't like him very much at the moment. He is older and we're in the midst of a whole new behaviour shift. I have to adjust my parenting once more and as I said upfront, my instant reaction is one of "I don't wanna". That this is too hard, too isolating, ageing, emotionally draining, so deeply worrying in that "what will become of him" way that permeates my daily existence that sometimes I want 'it' (not Oscar, obviously - but another thing so hard to explain), to all go away, and instead be the person grieving a lost dead child than a lost living one. And the guilt, and the shame of it makes me recoil from myself.

2006-04-17T09:04:00.000+10:00

Tagged here by Kim, who swiped from Joke who swiped it from ... I AM: a reluctant A Type. I WANT: security and happiness for my family; a coffee maker with automatic timer; the perfect white shirt. I WISH: I could have a weekend away every year, just me and books and a big bed and the sea. I HATE: the streak of martyrdom that makes me peevish I MISS: sleeping in with my husband I FEAR: for my babies. Also lizards and frogs touching me. I HEAR: the children playing together and am (sometimes) glad we have three. I WONDER: what I would have achieved if I'd dodged the stupid first marriage? I REGRET: the stupid first marriage. I AM NOT: naturally a morning person, and yet I see so many dawns. I DANCE: with the children, while they're still not embarrassed. I SING: a lot. I CRY: when I'm angry. I hate that. I AM NOT ALWAYS: available to blog. But Kim manages to carry at least half my load as well as her own. I MAKE WITH MY HANDS: food, food, food. I WRITE: for work. I CONFUSE: my lazy co-worker who just cannot understand the very basic rules of direct quotations. I NEED: professional adrenaline, domestic peace. I SHOULD: really try for that weekend away this year. I START: my family's day. I FINISH: too many bottles of wine. I TAG: My Float, and anyone else who wants it. mtc Bec

Today's meme

2006-04-16T08:18:00.000+10:00

Swiped from Joke who swiped it from DaysGoBy: I AM: rarely satisfied, always restless, often laughing, sometimes melancholy, constantly questioning. I WANT: people in power to use it wisely. I WISH: someone would find a 'cure' for Oscar, that the world would stop fighting, people would realise their opinion is just that, that I was thin, that we were financially rich. I HATE: blind-sighted stupidity, bullies, lazy parents. I MISS: not much I FEAR: something dreadful happening to the boys I HEAR: voices I WONDER: if I'll be famous I REGRET: very little I AM NOT: very good at dieting, shy, quiet, thin I DANCE: in my head I SING: out loud I CRY: almost every day I AM NOT ALWAYS: on time I MAKE WITH MY HANDS: wild gesticulations I WRITE: a lot I CONFUSE: myself each and every day I NEED: constant stimulation I SHOULD: lose weight I START: so much more than I finish I FINISH: stuff for work everyday, anything else? rarely. I TAG: Bec, Angie, Surfing Free, and Amalah (because I have delusions of grandeur)

do you want to know?

2006-04-15T09:23:00.000+10:00

just how many pairs of jeans I own? 7. S.e.v.e.n. how many fit? 0. z.e.r.o. If blogger let me, that would be a big f.a.t. zero. There's the - traditional 501s that I bought when I lost 22 kilos in 1995-1996 - the fancy made-just-for-me Wilgenhof's made by Paddi G who Chef used to work with (these have never fitted) - the Jag pair I bought when I had turned 30 and lost about 15 kilos that rocked - a pair of high waisted Jeans West that I have no idea where they came from, but I suspect were my fat jeans at some point - the Portmans low waisted ones with two buttons at the waist which I loved and thought in the shop "I only need to lose about 2kgs for these to look hot" so never lost the weight and instead had another baby so have never worn - the other Portmans pair I bought at the same time which did fit and which l lived in the winter before last (in high rotation with the Jag pair) - a faded pair of Jeans West which I must have lived in at some time because they're really worn and soft. They do up but the muffin top is so hideous they are simply not an option. Look away, I'm hideous.

I have a headache, so

2006-04-14T19:29:00.000+10:00

today has been 'one of those days' where: - the children are the personification of fingernails on a chalkboard - the 8 year old suddenly seems older and I have NO IDEA how to 'manage' him - I am so tired I could fall asleep sitting up. And did. Feeding Jasper. - everything is an effort - I've been cranky and testy and short-tempered all day - the monotony of routine, which normally keeps us all sane, is driving me insane When it was meant to be a day of just chilling out with the boys. Disappointing really. I did make hot cross buns though.

The body count...

2006-04-13T22:41:00.000+10:00

Oh crikey. I know this just goes with the territory, but does it seem to anyone else that there are a lot of damaged babies (large and small) around our bit of the blogosphere lately? There's Blackbird's youngest, on oxygen. Surfing Free's youngest, on a saline drip. Babelbabe's Segundo, shoving a guitar dangerously close to his carotid artery (sorry, BB, did I really read that right?) My Float's boy going all Jack-Jack Incredible (see the movie, even though he hasn't gone to hospital, it's a serious situation!) And the Evil Twin (more kindly known as Sparkle), with a thumping great tear across her cornea and a stint in the Sydney Eye Hospital. Anyone else? And for those who asked: Sparkle Twin (let's be nice to the wounded) didn't so much tear her cornea as had it torn for her... by her twin brother... with a metal spike. YES, ALL RIGHT, I WAS IN CHARGE AND I'M A SHITTY, SHITTY MOTHER, OK?! I could hear them in absent-big-sister's bedroom and they were playing a lovely game and Sparkle was saying "I'll be grandmamma" and Gorgeous Boy said "And I'll be the Ninja" and it all sounded so peaceful and happy that I just left them to it and dealt with my annoying media issue thingy that was spreading from station to station and requiring considerable attention and then there was a screeeaaamm. And I ran. And as I ran I heard metal hitting floorboards with a nasty spikey clangy sound. And I turned into the bedroom and saw her still screaming and holding her eye. And I said no, no, no. And I gently lifted her hand off her eye. And it was still there. Thanks be to the God of Bad Mothers. GB was up on the Pea Princess' loft bed. Looking apprehensive. I asked what happened. Sparkle told me. I said to GB, "Is that right? Did you poke her in the eye with a metal stick because you wanted her scissors?" (NONE OF THIS CAN REFLECT WELL ON ME, YOU MIGHT AS WELL KNOW IT ALL) He said yes. Then he burst into tears. I considered describing how he would suffer for this at the hands of his sisters over the next 80 or 90 years - but instead left him to sob and considered remedial action for the Sparkle, still howling and holding her eye. So now you know. She's back for her (hopefully) final check up on Saturday. And aren't we all glad for the incredible, blissfully efficient, healing powers of the soft and the young? mtc bec ps - you still need to read Kim's 6 month letter to Jasper below. The boy is more edible than ever.

The 6 month letter to baby that is early because

2006-04-13T22:07:00.000+10:00

dude, two can play that game of doing everything early and fast and pre-emptory.... (above: 5 months old with Grandmama) I didn't quite get around to the five month letter because for the two weeks leading up to it you sort of started to crawl and quite frankly, I was living the weird world of pride mixed with abject terror. Then, the day before you turned five months, you started proper crawling - the one hand after another movement. So when you turned five months I was too busy telling everyone you were crawling to actually write about it. But seriously, the fifth month was a big month for you. This is what you mastered: - babbling. Lots of "bububububub" kinda stuff, but last weekend, you started going "mumumumum" which means I win (mwahahahah), particularly as you did it and crawled after me. Yes, that behavious has begun. The behaviour in which you follow me wailing "mum mum mum" after me - that means I can't even cut a slash without having an audience once more. - crawling. Then crawling everywhere. In fact, last night, Mum came down and asked where you were. "under my feet" was my reply and I wasn't kidding. You ambled over into the kitchen and basically crawled in and around me. So helpful while I was making dinner... - sitting. This was a bit of an afterthought. Felix was about a month later at crawling than you because he decided to master sitting first. You just went, "Well, I can crawl and then lie down. Sweet." So the tripod sitting started about two weeks ago and with time comes proficiency. Yesterday really marked the first day of proper sitting. Do you know how cool it is to be able to put you down in a sitting position? Way cool. That's what. - waving. I suspected this for a few days and was all "no way, it's too soon". But then last Thursday I turned up at daycare and you flapped an arm at me. "no way, it's too soon" I thought. Again. So all the way home, in the car (Thursday is treat day in that we drive in because Nana and Grandpa pick the bigger boys up on Thursdays so I can pick them up on the way through), numerous crashes averted, I kept turning around to wave at you. And sure enough, you'd wave back. Then, just near Spit Hill, just to test my precision driving skills, you clapped. - Clapping. "No way, it's too soon" I thought. Until you kept doing it that night. And then the next day for Grandmama, and now, all the time. You also know you're doing something pretty special, undoubtedly because we all coo over how gifted you are to be clapping, and make sure lots of people are watching before any clapping will be done. - Blowing raspberries. This cracks.me.up. It also cracks up other passengers on the bus (or freaks them out, which serves them right for not being the one to stand or at least offer me a seat) when you blow them raspberries, or blow them into my ample cleavage, making fart like sounds. Hilarious. - Kneeling - along with the being in the crawling position but putting your feet flat on the floor so it looks like you'll just stand up and start walking - is just freaky. You started kneeling within two days of crawling. Basically, you watched me put the death-threat toys into a plastic container, so you had to kneel to get them back out again. It seems all the bright primary coloured toys that are yours are for pussies. The Bionicles, the lego, the small-choking-hazard toys are the winners. Bascially anything that belongs to your brothers is perfect and highly desired by you. Such as their socks, which I often fish from your mouth as you carry them around in your mouth much as a dog would a bone. Very cute except for the fact they're dirty and often wet-sweaty. GROSS dude. - sucking your toes. You've been pretty interested in these for a while, but not one ot hold on to them or really do anything with them - you've just liked looking at them and laughed a lot when we play "this little piggy". This week just gone - you have found those toes and that poor big toe is getting sucked.to.death. and so it goes on... The eating real food is progressing. The sleeping like a sane, rational human being (as Amalah calls it) is still going on, although there was a 5-day stint a few weeks ago when we had a 3am starting time again - but after bumping up the rice cereal component of your food, ceased instantly. You seem to love daycare and just get in the thick of everything, irrespective of the size of the kids involved. but apart from anything else, you.are.adorable. We are all smitten with you and even as I feel completely overwhelmed by life, you make me stop, smell your head and laugh out loud a lot. You are a gift, and we love you to insy winsy teeny weeny little pieces.

Five senses meme...

2006-04-12T20:55:00.000+10:00

I saw this in a couple of places this past week and wish I could remember who was responsible because then I might find the proper rules! Sight: looking into the right eye of my youngest-by-one-minute child after the doctor tipped in the orange dye and shone his ultraviolet light, to see a one centimetre tear in her cornea. Then looking into the same eye, four times a day for four days, as she fought me tooth and nail against her antibiotic eye drops. And looking again this morning, seeing that the tear was almost completely healed. She has lovely eyes. This has been a bad four days. Sound: listening to Spicks and Specks closing segment tonight, a blues song: "I've got a George Foreman Grill, a George Foreman Grill; If you won't make me dinner...George Foreman will"... you kinda had to be there. Taste: eating Sirena tuna, mixed with S&W egg mayonnaise, salted capers and the last of the summer basil from the garden, on fresh bread rolls from the Vietnamese bakery down the road. Touch: newsprint, constantly. also grass, underfoot, not so common in our neck of the non-woods. Scent: my new dwarf lemon unexpectedly popped out a cluster of blossom this week - is there anything lovelier? Don't you wish there was smell-o-blogging?

mtc

Bec

Bec's sunday confessions, on Tuesday as usual

2006-04-11T22:54:00.000+10:00

I read The Hobbit for the first time when I was eight, and the Lord of the Rings when I was 12 and have read them both many times since. I'd rather read good fantasy, with a beginning, middle and end, than most other forms of literature -especially now, post-children, when I will happily bin a book like The Sea, or Three Dollars, or absolutely anything by John Updike (except maybe Witches of Eastwick) because they're pretentious and self-absorbed and the writers make out their endings are all thought-provoking and highbrow and shit and actually they just got to the end of their contracted number of pages and couldn't work out how to finish the bloody book in any meaningful way. Inconclusive movies make me want to scream. If I were ever to have dinner with Margaret Pomeranz and David Stratton, we would get along beautifully until the subject of inconclusive endings appeared, at which time I would upend the table on their laps and storm out, leaving the bill. I wouldn't have classed any of this as a confession until reading Kim's confession this week. But now it seems fair. I hate rugby league more than any other sport on earth. Those of you living in Sydney at this, the start of the winter footy season, will know why this counts as a confession. Even more so when one is married to someone who once played the game professionally. A telling early moment in my relationship with the Prof was when I managed to distract him away from the television DURING the rugby league grand final. He still shakes his head over that one. Big Confession: the last few years, I've been quite relieved when he's blocked out the world to settle in and watch the grand final. It means there's one less person I have to pay attention to, for a couple of hours, once a year. But

on next year's grand final in October, when the two youngest are five and eldest is nine, I'm thinking of sending the three kids to my brother's for the weekend, booking a city hotel for the Prof and I, and seeing how easy it is to distract him again.

I'll pack LOTR, just in case.

mtc

Bec

You know

2006-04-11T20:03:00.000+10:00

when you're in a conversation, and you say, "oh a friend of mine said/did/had happen ..." and someone - like your husband or a really good friend - says "who was that?" and you realise just how dumb you sound saying Badger, or Blackbird, or BabelBabe? but when you try to salvage your reputation from being one where people think you think you're a modern day Dr Dolittle, and really can talk to the animals, you do more damage trying to explain they're an online blogger friend without whom your day is not complete? so they think you're either one of those people who have cybersex and really do use the Internet for free crap-arse porn or are a complete nigel-no-mates loser who doesn't have any friends in real life so has to seek them out on the net. Yeah. Funny.

Confessions

2006-04-09T20:48:00.000+10:00

I've never read one Harry Potter book. Not one. I've read the first paragraph of the first one about four times. The first page about twice. ***** I have never read the Lord of the Rings Trilogy. I've read The Hobbit, but only about two years ago after a friend lent me a beautiful hard back edition that made me want to read it. ***** Most days, I feel insanity is so close to the surface it seems I've pulled off the ultimate coup that no-one seems to notice just how close I am to being a complete, certifiable nutbag. ***** I smacked Oscar tonight and had that overwhelming sensation of release as I did it. That is the main reason I - as a rule - do not, e.v.e.r., smack. Because the urge to not stop until my body is spent is horrifying, exhilerating, shaming and powerful. ***** Today I wanted to shut the world out. To close the shutters on the world and watch as my world descended into a pitch-black darkness of nothing. ***** The comprehension that tomorrow heralds another week of 'doing it all over again' is almost too overwhelming for me tonight. I am drawing a little solace that it is a four day week. Thank you Jesus for dying on the cross and in this case, for all the wrong reasons - just so I can have a break. ***** I haven't been to the gym since returning to work on 20 Feb. My body feels like a big bowl of jelly. On Friday I ate about two days of food by lunchtime. I fear it is the first chunk of the iceberg to fall into the ocean. ***** I watched The Wedding Crashes yesterday and really really liked it. I've said it before, but Vince Vaughan (and Robbie Williams) are my kinda men. You know they'd smell, be absolute pigs, but when they're buff. . . sigh. *****

Unconscious Mutterings

2006-04-09T16:58:00.000+10:00

Buck ::Uncle. Funny Movie.

Harry ::Idiot son

Play ::School.

Monstrosity ::Oxford Falls

Nightclub ::hideous

Missing ::in action

Sprout ::green

Flavour ::some

Identity ::crisis

Saucy ::minx

You can play too!

Acknowledging

2006-04-09T07:38:00.000+10:00

that when you pull your mouthguard out of your mouth in the morning and it is snapped in two, you really must clench and grind your teeth while sleeping. ***** how much you enjoy extended posts on a variety of topics by your blogging partner. ***** how our life could not exist as it currently does without the comprehensive assistance of my Mum and MIL. As it stands, Mum is picking up both boys from two different schools three afternoons a week, getting them afternoon tea, doing a coaching of someone else's child, getting them to do their homework and feeding them dinner. After she's been at work all day as well. In front of a room of about 30 extraordinarily bright 12 year olds. And she's 63. My MIL is coming down to our place at least one morning a week to take Oscar (Felix goes to the school where Mum teaches, so he's going with her about 4 mornings a week) and picking the boys up at least one afternoon a week for the same rigmarole detailed above. ***** the glorious change of season. I love seasonal change. At the moment we have the most glorious sunshine filled days, with a sky so blue I've been known to just stop, look up, and drink it in to restore my frazzled soul. But the air is crisp. The hideous humidity of February and March is gone and while the days are warmed by the sun, the evenings and nights are definitely cool. I am sleeping, under a doona, all night long. Except for nights like last night when I was up at 11.30, 1.30 and 4. But still, crawling back to bed and under a doona is so much nicer than collapsing on a sweat-damp sheet. You may have guessed I am a winter girl. ***** that for some bizarre reason, I quite like watching golf on the tele. I think it's the genteelness of it all - the green green grass, the nicely dressed and respectable crowd, the quiet and considered commentary, the stillness of it all.

Post 562 - even less actually...

2006-04-08T06:37:00.000+10:00

Well what's the point of having a blog partner if you can't sometimes hurl your sorry carcass upon their coattails and drag your way into a post based exactly on the one they just wrote? Because, like Kim, I've had an element of stage fright now we're all prettied up. I squeezed out the birth story with a success denied to me while actually giving birth, but I find those big moments really write themselves, don't they? So mostly all I had to do there was work out what to leave out. Here's something I left out: I truly believed my mother would not come to the Pea Princess' actual birth because she (as Mayor) had a Council meeting that Tuesday and I really thought she would do that instead. I was wrong. And the birth of my first girl, her first grandchild, started a love affair between the two of them that I've mourned every day since Mum died. ********** Too drunk to fuck, too tired to fall down - who said that? I think the working mother version is just too tired for all of it. Have been starting at 5am every day this past week, finishing around 7pm and organising some huge media projects in the middle, while still trying to keep up my end of the domestics by walking the dog, folding laundry, making school and work lunches and, um, oh yeah, actively adoring the children in every available moment - including at the expense of laundry, lunches and dog. The Prof and My Float (in her physical-but saintly, nothing's too much trouble, form) have been integral to my survival. More than once I have tried to remember why I said I would do this extra job - because there's no extra money in it, just masses of kudos if I don't stuff it up. Which, so far, I haven't. Now I have a full weekend of being on-duty. But this too shall pass and by next school term, May, I hope to finally be getting started on my balance plan... ********** And what is the balance plan? Well you may ask, gentle reader. The balance plan states that every Monday and Tuesday I will finish work at 2pm. I will then go to pick up All Three Children and The One Place - the Pea Princess' school, and the twins' pre-school. The plan further states that I will be on-call for media issues after 2pm, but what's new? In my normal job I am always on call and I have full access to everything I need through our work server from my laptop at home.

After years of wanting a proper part-time arrangement, while avoiding the loss of control that usually comes with going part-time, I've finally cracked it. I hope.

Watch this space.

**********

For more than two years I've had the twins on a waiting list for the not-for-profit pre-school co-located with the Pea Princess' primary school. It is a brilliant pre-school and the location means just one drop-off and pick-up! Also, unlike most pre-schools (as opposed to daycare) it doesn't shut down in school holidays. But most of all, the pre-school director was known to be sympathetic to families of twins. I won't apologise for making that tiny: she really wasn't meant to make any special effort for multiples, but the proof was there in the playground with six sets of twins and one of triplets. Because, for the benefit of anyone who has never had to think this process through: if you have two children of the same age needing care on the same days and you get to the top of the waiting list and they offer you the SINGLE place that is available at the centre at that time, and you say I need two places, they skip down to the next SINGLE child on the list and leave you sitting there, uselessly at the top of the list. The only way to get twins in, other than the extraordinary miracle of having other twins leave, is to have a sympathetic director who will legitimately fit in your first twin, and illegitimately juggle the books so the second one can be recorded as a casual until another proper place becomes available. And the number of Sympathetic Directors? is very tiny! I found out last year, in the Great Nanny Panic of September 2005, that the council had centralised all waiting lists earlier that year meaning:

we had lost any benefit that could have been gained by a Sympathetic Director
in the inevitable way of local government, the person centralising the centre lists into one efficient database had quit partway through and THEY LOST OUR APPLICATION.

And Oh! The months of pleading, cajoling and conniving that have followed. The number of times Council changed the responsible officer, the number of promises to backdate our application (made and broken), the number of times I've actually been grateful for my mother's decades of devotion in local government that taught me how to really put the frighteners on staff without actually openly threating them (like, "Wow, council doesn't have a policy to cover this sort of problem? That must make it hard for you to know what to do. I should really talk to the councillors about getting that fixed")... Enough; they're in. And, most importantly, they're happy.

mtc

Bec

Post 561: Not much really

2006-04-07T21:53:00.000+10:00

It's like having fancy clothes on and nowhere to go. Seriously, since Angie made us pretty I've developed some weird stage fright type of mindset. Nothing to say, occasional "ooh, I should write that down" only for it to instantly go "poof" and disappear on me, but really, just nothing to say. I could regale you with stories like, for some truly bizarre reason, I've drunk TWO litres of orange juice in two days. Or that today, I ate so.much.food. I've kind of felt ill all day, but kept eating all the same. Seriusly people, I ate about a weeks worth of food in a day today. What's with that? Or that on Tuesday night, when I put Felix to bed, he cupped my face in his hands and whispered, "you are the best mummy I could ever ever have wished for in the whole wide world" and I reckon you could hear my heart shatter into a thousand blissful shards of joy. Or that today in a meeting I just went blarrrr about the saving the world stuff of late and how we won just because I was so sick of trying to downplay it and want to shout it from the rooftops that we won! we won! we won! Or that this morning I whipped up a lemon sauce cake at 6:30 this morning for my boss (who HATES a fuss over her birthday) so we had "quiet cake" before this meeting I had to go in for - where I - probably highly inappropriately shared the we won! story - which was still warm. Delicious Or that, after a week of thinking "surely not" have accepted that yes, Jasper is waving at me and yes, since yesterday afternoon, that would be clapping as well. And yes, that would be pulling himself up on anything to a kneeling position. The third child, gifted. That or just desperate to be noticed for anything other than how "good" and "nice" he is. Or that someone heard Oscar calling out to Felix at the park on Sunday and remarked "how cute he calls Felix, 'brother'". And how fucking momentous that is, because he's called him wawa (for brother) since he was born, and to have a complete stranger 'hear' that he is saying brother is progress on a scale never dwelled upon because it makes my heart hurt too much. Or that tonight, while letting Felix stay up late and watch a Harry Potter movie way too old and scary for him, I managed to "oil his head" and FINALLY get rid of his cradle cap, which about two years ago Chef said to me, "I think that by age four, it's just called dandruff". Or how when he had a shower and we washed his hair after watching Harry Potter (the goblet one) and I was all "woohoo it's all gone", he cried and wanted it back because "I really really really liked it". What can I say, I've bred a mutual cuticle picking, head-scab generating (and picking) child. I'm so proud. But instead I just kinda go "nah" and stare at the screen. Weird huh. So let's just sit a while.

In which I breathe my baby's breath.

2006-04-06T05:53:00.000+10:00

You know how sometimes you are so overcome with the pull of the baby bond you can almost see it stretching between you? And with the drag and pull of the bond drawing your shoulders down, you lean over their sleeping face and you stare at the dark-sweet fringe of their closed eyelashes and perfect bow of their brow above their eyes and the perfect curve of their nose in profile above the pillow and you breathe

their breath.

*******

Tonight, only a few days late, I thought I'd follow Pea Soup's excellent example and write about my first baby's birthday, eight years on.

I had known, right from the start, that she was really due on the 1st of April. But there was another way of calculating the nine months that landed on 31st March instead, so that was what I publicised and left the rest to fate.

But I knew, in the way that all first time mothers know, she would really be born on the right date.

On the 29th of March, I was lying on the lounge watching TV, the Prof was working over at the dining table, and I realised that the Braxton Hicks I'd been having for weeks were a lot stronger. And, because I didn't wear a watch, I asked the Prof to note the time.

After half an hour we knew there was a big tightening every four minutes.

I started to get excited.

Five hours later, at 2am, I was still excited.

They were still coming every four minutes.

But they didn't hurt. Not one little bit.

Much as I tried to sleep, it just wasn't happening.

The next morning, still tightening every four minutes, I cleaned the bathroom. Not because I felt any overwhelming urge to clean, but because maybe cleaning the bathroom would bring on an overwhelming urge to clean and that would mean: nesting!

Sadly, my aversion to cleaning withstood my desire to give birth, but the four minute tightenings continued.

Except, sometimes now they were three and a half minutes apart!

I power walked the dog (who had only given birth herself three weeks before but was desperate to get away from the pups) around the harness racing track. And around, and around.

That definitely pushed things to the three minute mark. We were definitely getting somewhere now.

The Prof came home from work and we tried the other method. Vigorously. I lost count for a while. But when the world righted itself, we were still somewhat disappointedly sitting at three minutes.

But still, such regularity deserves some attention, no? So I called the hospital and they told me to come in.

We were living 40 minutes from the hospital. On the way there I had extra tightenings every time the Prof hit a bump.

We booked in. The crusty midwife let me know how extremely unlikely it was that I was actually in labour, put us in a room, strapped on a belly monitor, and left us alone for the length of a bible.

When she came back there was a ream or so of printed out, perfectly timed peaks on the chart.

"Oh," she said, "You really are in labour. But it's too soon!"

What a credit to the profession she was.

Turns out there was another woman booked into the hospital, with the same first and last names as me, due two months later. Bitch.

While officially in labour now, I was not sufficiently labouring to clog up a delivery bed.

They sent us away, I kid you not, to have a curry.

The curry actually worked, but only while I was eating it. So we went home and I spent another night watching the digital clock numbers tick over and quietly thrilling every time my body locked up on exactly the two minute mark.

Plus, they were just a bit uncomfortable, but not quite breathtaking.

Later the next day my OB met us back at the hospital and, after checking another ream of perfect peaks (these ones closer together) he hit me with pitocin and took a wacking great crochet hook to my innards. I barely felt the water. I was too excited to take most of it in.

It was the 31st of March and my baby was D.U.E.

"Right," said Glen the OB, "Stay there for half an hour, then get up and walk around for a bit. don't be surprised if it takes a while. I'll be back to check on you later."

My mother arrived.

I never left the bed.

Before the half hour were up I was having 90 second contractions, 60 seconds apart.

Mind-blowing, gut-ripping, lung-sapping contractions. Completely beyond my control.

I found the letter "A" on a plastic WASTE bag at the far side of the room. As long as no one got between me and the A for each 90 second stint, I could just about get through.

This went on for some time.

The Prof's hand went red, then blue. I didn't let it go until the epidural arrived eight hours later.

I was checked regularly, and initially was moving along just fine: 3 centimetres, 4 centimetres, 5 centimetres, 5.5 centimetres... 4.5 centimetres - the midwife must have seen my shock. "Don't worry, it's not an exact measurement, the last midwife's fingers were probably smaller than mine..."

Yeah. Right.

Eventually, the OB returned from his family barbecue, red wine visible on his shirt behind the plastic apron.

"How long has it been since you slept?" he asked.

This was Tuesday night and um, actually not since Sunday.

A C-section was scheduled. I saw no need to argue.

The Prof kitted up in blue gowns and primed the camera. Mum was banished. The anaesthetist, already my favourite person post-epidural, returned with the top-up I'd been craving. A new and nicer midwife arrived with a blonde plait so long that it hung from her cap and down below her knees at the back.

There was a screen, and a tug, and Glen said, "Is the camera ready, Dad?"

And they said "You have a little girl!"

And they brought her over to me.

And I cried and I said:

"But she's beautiful, I didn't know she'd be beautiful."

It was Wednesday, 1st April 1998.

And I held her close.

And I breathed

her breath.

mtc

bec

republished in plum for Badger,

whose retinas bled when the orange went yellow

on her screen,

and for Kim whose Ogga boy was also due on April 1

and for whom colour - the right colour -

is so wonderfully important.

You know

2006-04-06T00:08:00.001+10:00

the days when the chronic lack of sleep catch up to you and your skin feels brittle. And not just your real skin, but your emotional skin, your intelligence skin, your everything skin? That was me today. For starters I was doing boys drop-off so I don't get to work until 10.30 - which is just bad and makes me all anxiety-laden and stress-addled. Then an agency person is made an acting manager of a new work unit. Dumb. Then a loud talker loud talks all FRIGGIN morning. Then someone basically wanted me to do their job for them. Then there is the new girl at Jasper's daycare who I disliked the instant I saw her. And disliked even more as I saw her drag Jasper to her by the arm rather than moving her own arse to him and lifting him up like ANY SANE PERSON would do. Then even more dislike on how she talked to the other children - revealing NO understanding of child development and a harshness that is just not appropriate. You know when people approach their parenting from a base of resentment, anger and begrudging have-to-ness rather than one that is engaging, positive and founded in love? And hearing her this morning RAISE HER VOICE to a child to site down - when the child had finished morning tea and was standing up because she was finished and wanted to go and play - on just arriving at the Centre. And moving from dislike to plain HATE as it dawned on me that up until her arrival I was really happy with the whole arrangement and not feeling that much guilt about leaving Jasper four days of the week in the care of others because they were so good, and that this STUPID IDJIOT BAD ATTITUDE SKANKY HOE has taken that away from me. And now I'm back in the land of "I'm doing the wrong thing, he should be with me" just because of HER. IDIOT. Then there is the not getting any exercise since returning to work. Then there is the "I'm going to bed" and getting there two hours later after pumping, doing washing, hanging washing out, cleaning up kitchen, getting stuff ready for work the next day, getting kids bags ready for school etc. While Chef goes "ok" and goes to bed instantly. And wonders why when I get there, twenty hours after I was last there, I don't wake him for some loving. Then there is the mornings, when I get up at 5 regardless of being woken or not because that is when I have to get up if the household is to function with minimal stress and everyone is to get out of the house without getting hurt. And Chef gets up half an hour before needing to be at work. Sits, eats breakfast, gets dressed and leaves. Then there is the meeting tonight of the support service - a celebration. A few thank yous my way, many directed to someone else who couldn't make it and then me feeling quite jarred that much of the "we couldn't have done its" are all being attributed solely to the other. Tell myself to stop being so freakin' vain and egotistical and that it was about bringing about change and not who brought it about. That it was a group effort. Stop it. But am feeling a bit cross that my efforts of the last 6 weeks are seen as second mate. I know this is all because I'm exhausted and all ability to be rational fled my body days ago. So I'm just going to radiate in the warm glow of this stunning blog vista now and pump my life away. (Another thing I'm loving - is that the links to all of you guys open in new windows, not in this one. That is awesome.) And go to bed for - hopefully - about four hours before doing it all again.

Things Bec and I love about our new clothes

2006-04-04T21:21:00.000+10:00

- the stripes. We love the stripes the most. - the colours - feminine but not girly, pink but strong, candy but not floss. - the chicks. We are digging the chicks. For starters - no double chin. Then there are the t.h.i.n arms - in lycra tops with a bright floral print! Hell, they're just THIN. and glamorous! There are shopping bags - s.h.o.p.p.i.n.g. - in proper hard cardboard bags, not stuffed in a target plastic one mixed up with kids batman undies, a new shirt for the man and a present for someone elses kid. There is a beverage in.the.hand. Someone else is waiting on us. Does it get any better? I think not. But tell me - is this green now too hard to read?

This post is dedicated to a lovely lady on a red couch

2006-04-04T09:44:00.000+10:00

Hey, internets, guess what? Someone did something really special for the Kimster and me. We're not going to tell you what it is. But you'll know it when you see it. And Someone?

When you've decided how you'd like my firstborn to dedicate her life's services to you, just let me know and I'll pop her on the next flight over. mtc Bec (so excited I could squeal)

Musings on a Monday

2006-04-03T22:02:00.000+10:00

wondering why the right side of my head has decided to return to puberty and break out in the worst deep, sore acne I've had for some years. Maybe it's all the drool pooling as I favour sleeping on my right side? ***** How does that explain my permanently goopy left eye? (which I have a script for cream for but you know, actually getting to a chemist would involve having a life that involves having some space. ***** My father and stepmother enjoy getting their kit off. This unsettles me greatly and is something I try not to dwell on. But today, The Sydney Morning Herald ran two stories here and here that made me increasingly concerned I'm either going to find my them in prison or Emergency. ***** Jasper is saying Mumumumum. hehehehehehe - that's right - I WON. ***** He has also discovered the crawling thing can take.him.places. Like, the kitchen with a really really hot oven! The laundry with loads of chemicals (where are those hideously annoying child locks??), dirty washing to suck on (current favourite is boys worn school socks), and the cat bowl to discover! ***** I'd post the pictures I took to show you all his Christopher Columbus phase, but it's late, I'm tired and quite frankly, I can't be bothered. Another day. ***** Felix asked tonight if we were going to The Royal Easter Show. I flatly said no. Not this year. The reason for this is simple. We went last year. And crowds and crowds of skanky hoes, westies, bogans and myriad rip-offs. I LOVE the Easter Show for the livestock, the animals, the cakes and food competitions. These are all the reasons the boys will pretend to love the Show when all they want are showbags full of crap, rip-off rides and hot chips. That's a lie. They do love the animals. But I don't do crowds well at the best of times, so doing crowds of fatty boombahs with ADD kids (generally called Crystal, Taylah, Maddyson, Jessica, Siobahn (pron: sheeevaaawwwwn), Trent, Bo, Kai, or Nathan) who are diagnosed as such purely because every food their idjiot parents have given them since they were born involved copious amounts of sugar, additives, preservatives, washed down with Coke in a baby's bottle, and grow up thinking MacDonald's is a legitimate food source is just not something I can experience on an annual basis. ***** I LOVE that the Lifestyle channel shows two hours of This Old House every Sunday, and am gutted it is now shifting to one episode a week on a Monday night at 8pm. As if I'm ever going to remember that. ***** The weather changed in Sydney over the weekend. The air is drier and crisp, the mornings a LOT cooler. I am sleeping under a doona all night. This makes me VERY happy. I am a winter girl through and through. ***** I need a new coat - because all those people who say Sydney's climate is too mild for needing a coat obviously are NOT catching public transport at 7am. ***** I am also addicted to Trinny and Susannah - and if I do ever manage to drop those 10kgs have an almost identical body shape to Susannah, although my arse is better. But the broad shoulders, fat upper arms, big boobs, thick waist issues - they are me all the way. This means I need a jacket/coat that has deep lapels, really tailored waist (to create the illusion of one) and nothing boxy. ***** This is where you, oh Internet, come into the picture. Because I need help in finding this jacket/coat. Don't worry if it's US - I've found my nirvana in that regard and all can be sourced. But who can help find me a jacket?

Confessions -- Bec's turn

2006-04-03T21:50:00.000+10:00

I was an ABBA fan. I got the Arrival album for my 10th birthday. I wanted to be Frida - because she was brunette and there were so darn few brunette role models in the 70s. Yes, I actually thought that way when I was 10. I am shocked and somewhat ashamed at how many ABBA songs I know off by heart: verse, chorus and coda, without even knowing I know them. Why didn't anyone grab me and teach me Latin instead? That is all. mtc Bec