Crappy New Year

I sure hope the crap that was floating around the bathroom floor and computer room downstairs earlier today is 2006's way of saying "smell ya later".

After we farewelled my sister and her children, who had stayed overnight, Ben went down to his computer room and soon after came running upstairs and announced there was a disaster. The floor was covered in water and floaty bits. We hastily put Henry to bed and started the mop up while trying not to gag. Not sure what went wrong but that is the third such incident since we've lived here. The bathroom downstairs rarely gets used and the plumber says the pipe that flows over is connected to the kitchen plumbing so something is going wrong somewhere. With a bit of luck we can move sometime soon. Just waiting for the lotto win that is coming my way.

The only good thing to come from it was a trip to the dump to get rid of some bits and pieces that were just taking up space anyway. Nothing important was ruined and thankfully no water got into any electrical appliances.

I will take this opportunity to kiss 2006 goodbye and enjoy the rest of my anniversary/ New Year's Eve with my husband and child. I may even polish off the vodka.

Wishing all of you the very best for 2007. May the weather be kind to you, the money tree abundant and the good cheer flow lashingly.

Merry Christmas to all

It's 6.30am and I'm the first one up. I'm quietly waiting for Henry and Ben to poke their heads out of the bedroom. I can hardly wait to see the look on Henry's face and hear him say "Oh my Goodness" as he tears the paper from the gifts piled under the tree. Then we'll call Sissy and wish her a Merry Christmas and find out what Santa brought her.

Merry Christmas one and all. May Santa bring you nothing but joy, champagne and a stuffed turkey. Happy Feasting!

And so this is Christmas

I'm finding it hard to get in the festive mood. It's not the weather because, thank God for small miracles, it's surprisingly cool for this time of year. By cool I mean it's not yet 50 degrees. There's a beautiful breeze most days and I am still able to breathe relatively comfortably. I haven't really felt festive at Christmas for a few years now. Maybe that just happens when you get older. Each year it becomes more and more of a drain and each year you can handle less and less festive spirit in the form of sparkling wine.

When I was a kid I looked forward to Christmas from about October onwards. By the end of the birthday marathon it was time to start preparing for Santa's visit. Of course now that I'm a mother who has to work for a living and try to provide many Santa gifts it has a new meaning. How my mother who had five children and ran a business did it I will never know.

My brother and sisters and I would spend hours drawing pictures of Christmas trees and colouring them in and hanging them all over the house. We'd make loops out of coloured paper and string them together and hang them in a doorway and on the tree. We'd carefully plan our shopping lists with the small amount of money we'd saved throughout the year. We'd write lists of things we hoped Santa would bring to us. Our home would become a veritable drop in centre . Friends and family would be in and out and the front door, not even bothering to knock. Those who knocked were not known to us but my father would still not bother getting up from his chair. He would simply yell "Enter" in a voice so loud it would frighten away even the most hardy red cross collector.

My father always left a six pack of beer for the garbage collectors, the postman and the milkman. We'd all stay up late Christmas Eve hoping to get a glance through mum's bedroom door where she'd locked herself in trying to wrap and sort out Santa's stash. We'd wake at about 3am to sneak a peek at our stockings but first we'd hurry to the kitchen to see if Santa had drunk the beer we left him and eaten the Sao smothered in Vegemite. We'd then go lock ourselves in the bathroom and check out the goods. We'd go back to bed for maybe another hour and then later make as much noise as possible while pretending to be quiet so that Mum and Dad would get up and we could open the gifts under the tree. Mum would play some carols and ever so graciously tell us how beautiful the strung together ceramic swans we bought her were and how they were just what she wanted. Dad would read every word on the label of the cheap aftershave and tell us he'd use that as soon as he had a shower.

Someone was given the job of stashing all the wrapping paper in the bin and then we were shooed out of the house so mum could start the gargantuan task of cooking a turkey, taking phone calls, wiping bloodied knees when someone fell of their new bike, and slapping hands when someone attempted to stick their finger in the gravy to test it out.

We'd sit on the front lawn and wait for the neighbourhood kids to come by with their new shiny toys and we'd compare. We'd then stuff ourselves stupid with food and then in the afternoon have a water fight with the hose while Mum and Dad slept.

Maybe I just don't have enough kids.

Get a Byron Bay Massage

I'm not sure if the message posted above the heads of these mannequins is completely visible but it says;

Make a fashion statement everyday

Watch the sunset from the lighthouse

Get a Byron Bay massage

I imagine this is some kind of list dreamt up by merchandisers and marketing professionals. The scene kind of reminds me of those ads years ago that presented cigarette smoking in a glamorous light - you too can be too cool for school if you have these clothes coupled with a distant, vacuous look. It's standoffish but inviting (read pert nipples).

Anyone who knows anything about Byron Bay will know that it's not only where the "beautiful people" go but it's also where the "feral" people go. The dirty hippies hang out there selling hash filled cookies to anyone who doesn't look like a cop. I imagine the real attraction to Byron Bay is it's beautiful coastline but there's got to be an element of the dangerous that is also inviting to the kinds of people this shopfront window is appealing to - young girls with an eating disorder who have rich parents who supply them with credit cards.

But I may be wrong, maybe it's women like me who think they could somehow emulate that look. When they're rushing all over town to pick up screaming toddlers and hormonal teenagers they imagine they can switch off and become as vacuous as a mannequin with pert breasts and a distant look. Somehow they'll be able to treat themselves to a Byron Bay massage and watch the sunset from the lighthouse while enjoying a home made cookie.

Ride the Big Red Car

Yesterday (oh it seems like years ago now) I took Henry to the Wiggles concert. I had my doubts as Henry always says "don't like the Wiggles" whenever I suggest we watch them on TV. That's only because they don't know the Fireman Sam theme song. Yet. I also find it rather amusing that that it's called a "concert" because that conjures up images of drunken teenagers sweating profusely while screaming and gyrating with their arms in the air to a screaming gyrating performer on stage. I guess a Wiggles concert is a little like that only the audience are not drunk and most of them are under five.

I hadn't really followed too closely the rise of the Wiggles since Maya ditched them for the Spice Girls about 10 years ago so I wasn't really prepared for the traffic jam as cars full of screaming toddlers lined up waiting to get to the carpark of the Boondall Entertainment Centre. I sat in traffic long enough during that jam to watch a mother get out of her car and take her daughter behind a tree to water the grass and casually stroll back to the car which hadn't moved more than an inch or two.

Last time I saw the Wiggles was in 1995 when I took Maya to one of their "concerts" in a church hall at Oxley for the grand price of $5. Now they're big enough to play to a packed out audience at a major entertainment complex to which tickets had been sold twelve months in advance and were accompanied by a personal loan application. They even have security guards at each corner of the stage to stop those sweating, gyrating toddlers from getting too close and possibly throwing a grenade and ruining it for everyone.

Henry, to my surprise, loved it and stayed still for at least three quarters of it, then he just got a tiny bit feral as opposed to the loose cannon type of feral he usually is. He did try a few of his usual bossy techniques on little Owen, a beautiful blogger baby we met for the first time at the concert. Owen was really getting down and grooving in the seat directly behind Henry but Henry didn't like it and demanded Owen "get off there". (Don't worry Owen, I punished him later by not letting him listen to Fireman Sam on the way home).

We also got to meet up with Charlotte and Carla who we hadn't seen for some time. Charlotte was doing pretty well at the grooving too on her heavily pregnant mother's lap.

Ah, it's a joy for parents to see their offspring enjoying themselves while they're still young enough to have a good time without the help of illicit drugs.

If only the pit didn't have sand

We gave Henry this tub filled with sand for his second birthday. At first he wouldn't go near it because it actually had sand in it and this sand made him "diiirrrty". He would sit beside it and Twinings Tea his fingers in the air so that they wouldn't have to touch the sand while he played with his trucks. Just recently he's started to get a little more friendly with it. He won't sit in it yet or put his feet anywhere near the sand but he will actually move his trucks around. He still attempts to avoid having to touch it but at least now he doesn't start thrashing around as though he's got a thousand bullants eating away at his flesh.

I attempted to make the experience more enjoyable for him by adding some of his plastic road pieces, building tunnels and adding some ginger leaves to create a more realistic "machines that destroy old forests" scene. I then got in and covered myself in sand, got his matchbox excavator and made machinery noises while pretending to dig and load up the dumptruck. He watched me intently, told me not to get "all diiiirrrty" and then had a go at it himself. The above photo is the result of me acting like a 2 year old so that I might teach my son how to act the same.

Wombat Divine

On Saturday evening we took Henry and Maya into the city to see the Myer Christmas Window Display. Every year they base their display on a different theme. This year it's Wombat Divine by Mem Fox. It's a kids book about a Wombat desperate to be in the school Nativity play but it's difficult to find him the right part as he's either too fat, too sleepy or too clumsy. He ends up fitting in perfectly as the baby Jesus.

We have had this book since Maya was Henry's age. It was much loved by her and is now much loved by Henry. The pages are all dog eared and smeared with vegemite and other assorted food items. The illustrations in the book are beautiful and the Myer display has clearly been in keeping with the book. They've even managed to find fabrics and colours that are all identical to the book.

I wasn't sure how Henry would cope with being in the city as I tend not to take him out in public very often because, dare I say it, he's a right royal pain in the butt. He runs off. Nothing can hold his attention for more than two minutes (except Fireman Sam). I was surprised that he enjoyed the window display enough to actually spend a total of about five minutes admiring it. As soon as he'd seen enough he of course took off. Fortunately we were in the mall and there was plenty of room for him to run without fear of being run over by a vehicle of some kind.

When we left we took the glassed elevator down to the carpark. We stood him in the elevator, told him to hang on and look outside. After the first level the lift descended into the darkness of the carpark and poor Henry must have thought he was being thrown down a well as he started shaking and was on the verge of tears but was too much in shock to actually cry. As the lift stopped he said "oh, oh don't like that lift Mummy". I picked him up and he was very tense and his heart was beating fast. The joys of running wild through the mall had been replaced by a fear. I only hope he isn't now psychologically tormented by the experience and will re-enter an elevator when the time comes to do so.

Happy Birthday Maya

Today marks the 14th anniversary of Maya's birth. I'm in shock and somewhat distressed of course but it's not about me. It's about her.

Yesterday afternoon we went to my mother's to play ladies in celebration. My mother had baked a sponge cake, pecan shortbread type things, mini puddings, and christmas tree shaped biscuits. This was all served on a crisp white linen table cloth, royal doulton china and lead crystal serving dishes. Even Henry had his own mini teacup. My mother does this for all her female grandchildren on their birthdays. I'm not sure whether she's attempting to show up her own daughters or whether she simply likes any excuse to lay out the "good" china.

There is of course a party which will involve several teenage boys and girls running around my home and neighbourhood planned for this coming weekend. I'll crack open a bottle of McWilliams sweet sherry and add it to my coffee as I lovingly agree to each and every demand placed upon me. After all isn't that what mothers do?

Here's proof. Proof that he won't say "five"

I found one!

Just the other day I was wondering if it was at all possible to buy a CD of theme songs from children's well loved TV shows. Postman Pat, Fireman Sam, Thomas the Tank - all of Henry's favourites and had even thought about making one myself. Until today that is.

While trawling a $2 shop I found one. It has a whole passel of favourites including the three mentioned above. We played it in the car on the way home and Henry thought for a moment Fireman San was going to pop up in the front seat driving his firetruck. I looked around to see his expression and he was not moving but his eyes were darting around the car in anticipation. Finally he relaxed and started singing along but when Postman Pat started playing soon after I thought he may just wet his pants with excitement.

As soon as Postman Pat finished Playschool started and this unfortunately elicited a cry of "don't like that song, put Fireman Sam on". So we listened to Fireman Sam a total of three times on the trip home from the shopping centre. I think a part of me is going to definitely regret wishing there was such a CD and having that wish come true.

Unhappy Hour!

Melissa J Evans suggested, and rightly so, that I write a post about the price of drinks at "Happy Hour" at this place.

She played there on Saturday night and if you've been reading my past posts you'll notice that I already mentioned that. As we rolled up Melissa rushed out and stamped our hands with some kind of blind eye graphic thing that should herald to the bar staff that we were entitled to "reduced price, Happy hour" drinks. I thought this was fantastic as I'm always one to take advantage of anything as long as it's reduced in price. I don't drink out very often and in fact have probably not actually purchased an alcoholic drink in a bar for several years. I sauntered up to the bar and placed my order, flashed by hand and hoped that significant gesture would mean my three drinks would only cost the price of one. Isn't that what Happy Hour usually is? An encouragement to spend more on booze by getting you rotten drunk for next to nothing in the first place. Everyone knows that after 3 or 4 you just don't care.

I dug my $5.00 note from my wallet and handed it over with a giant smug smile. After all I was there to support the megastar of the evening and I was sporting some eye like stamp on my hand. The female bar attendant took the five dollars and turned it over to check if there was anything else to accompany it. She then looked at me and then back at the five dollars and let out an enormous sigh. "I'm sorry miss but it's actually $25 for the three drinks you just ordered". I coughed slightly and said "but I have this stamp, see" and waved it under her nose. "That stamp only applies to Blue Caracao, Sherry and Blackberry Nip". She said. How stupid am I? Of course it only applies to drinks that no one has dared to consume for over 20 years.

Sheesh. Needless to say those drinks were the first and only I bought all night.

It's here

Summer is here. Well not technically but it sure is hot enough. The tar on the roads is already melting and the pavements are curling trying to hide themselves from the sun. Some people are jealous of our summers but those people are all psychologically deranged. They need help in the form of therapy in an air conditioned office. The end of October and early November are my favourite times of the year. Just before the sweltering sun makes it impossible to spend any time outdoors between the hours of 7AM and 7PM.

What's so unfair about this is that we're expected to ENJOY Christmas Day in 40 degree plus heat. For some stupid reason we still bake hams, turkeys and all manner of hot edible things and sit around a table stuffing our faces while we drip with sweat.

When I was a kid Christmas never seemed to be so hot. Maybe it was but we just didn't notice it. After lunch we'd all hang out under the mango tree stuffing our faces with freshly deposited mangoes and watermelon that Dad broke up by throwing on the ground. We got the hose out and sprayed each other, had rotten mango fights with the neighbouring kids, played with our gift which usually included something for us to share and always came with a timer to deter any fights over who had been on it the longest.

As I get older and the weather gets more intense I begin to dread the whole thing. The sun just burns. Even our eyeballs sweat, we can feel the skin cancers developing and growing as we take the rubbish to the bin. The ground burns under our feet. Sometimes even the beach is just too hot to take advantage of - the sand is too hot to walk on let alone sit on.

One day we'll make it to the US for a white Christmas. One in which we can build snowmen, ride sleds, have snowball fights and then go inside and warm up.

One day.....we might even get smart and actually buy only cold foods instead of just talking about it.

San Francisco - Love Ya Gutz

This is not San Francisco (well der) but it is downtown Caxton Street, Paddington. This is where we just heard Melissa J Evans, sing a little ditty she wrote about San Francisco. She was launching her new CD. She personally signed the one I bought - "You're a legend, Love Ya Gutz!" Ben suggested she just sign it over to ebay so it can more easily be flogged off when she becomes a megastar but I wanted something a little more personal. Love ya Gutz is it.


She just gets better and better. Her songs of love, sorrow, friendship and sometimes even misery are haunting, soulful and funny all at the same time.

I don't like that one

This is Henry's new catchphrase. "I don't like it". "I don't like that music". "I don't like the daycare". "I don't like the muesli bar". Whatever it is we offer him he just says "Don't like that one". The only things he does like are the things he can't have; chocolate, ice cream, lollies, the huge truck at K Mart, his very own excavator, you know, easy things like that.

It's cute for a nanosecond and I don't know if he says it because he can or if he really doesn't like the things he says he doesn't.

Yesterday on the way to daycare I played a CD of songs, calming, soothing, quiet nursery rhymes, things that I thought he would like because when I play the radio he's always telling me he "don't like that song". Since he likes to listen to these nursery rhymes sometimes at home I thought he might appreciate them in the car. I was wrong. Each song was met with "don't like that song". I skipped through each one, he listened intently for about two seconds before announcing "don't like that song". When we got to the final song on the CD he said "have to buy a Wiggles music". So I guess that's what I have to do.


If one could buy truck sounds on a CD that is probably what he'd be most interested in listening to.

Let's clear the air

We had a wild storm rip through town the other day. It lasted all of about fifteen minutes and tore the roof right off this church, an event my husband witnessed. It might be a while before the "perfect church" is able to open its doors to some not so perfect churchgoers.

The days leading up to said storm had been rather tense in our household but the storm seemed to clear the air somewhat and that afternoon saw everyone at home in a relatively good mood. Always being one to take advantage of any situation Maya thought it would be a good idea, as she usually does, to ask for something.

Maya: Everyone's in a good mood today

Me: Yes, maybe the excitement of the storm gave everyone else something to focus on and brought with it some fresh air

Maya: Yeah. Hey maybe we could have take away for dinner

Me: No we can't

Maya: Why not?

Me: Because we don't need to, we have plenty to eat here

Maya: But I don't want to eat it

Me: Too bad

Maya: What about pizza?

Me: No

Maya: ok. How about the Golden Arches?

Me: No

Maya: Oh why not?

Me: Because of above mentioned reason. If you had no choice but a cup of rice to eat each day you'd be happy to eat whatever I happen to cook which won't include rice

Maya: But I do have choices. I don't have to eat rice everyday.

Me: Yes your choice is a home cooked meal or nothing

And so began an hour long argument about how everyone else gets stuff WHENEVER they want it. I always remind her this is not true but she insists on informing me that all her friends do indeed get everything they ask for ALL the time. Yesterday she told me that ALL her friends are allowed to have 20 people sleep over for a slumber party on their birthday EVERY year. Either this is completely untrue or their parents are all stupid.

Happy Birthday Dad!

Bossy Boots

Henry has become very bossy. I suspect this is partly due to the fact that he has had to learn to stand up to his sister and loudly tell her to "stop teasing me Sissy". The bossiness has extended to anyone who does anything he doesn't approve of, like for instance the little girl at the supermarket who was hurting no one by swinging her shopping basket while waiting for her mother. For some reason Henry thought she shouldn't be doing that so he told her very sternly "stop swinging that basket". Later while lined up at the checkout a lady stood behind us holding a cake she was waiting to purchase, Henry tells her "Hey, that's not your cake, put it back". Fortunately she thought it was somewhat cute and didn't slap me around the head with the cake for teaching my child bad manners.

That night while in the shower I heard him telling his cars to go to sleep. I looked around and he had them all turned upside down and was telling them "goodnight, sleep tight". He then ran from the shower to get a towel for their blanket. He covered them and then lay on top of them to hug them.

I like pets....cheap pets like spiders and things

If I had a spider as a pet it's likely it might go away somewhere when it got sick and die a natural death, or be eaten by its partner or a bird or a ghecko or something. That doesn't happen with a cat. When a cat gets sick it costs a whole weeks wages to fix it. It must be taken to a veterinary surgeon who will charge a lot of money just to tell you that it needs antibiotics, IV fluids and an overnight hospital stay because it has a gastro-intenstinal infection. My next pet will be a spider.

Happy Anniversary

Today marks the first anniversary of my first post. Well not by actual date but by Melbourne Cup race day. Yes it was that time of year again today and I'm proud to say that I won a total of $6 if you take out what I had to spend in order to win it. I choose my winners based on who is paying the most money. Of course that doesn't mean they are the favourites but precisely the opposite. Since the Melbourne Cup is the hardest race to pick a winner in I figure it doesn't matter who I bet on and going for the highest odds means that if I do back a winner I'll be further out in front than I otherwise would have been. This morning before swimming lessons and after watching out for the odds on the TV I went and placed my bets. When I did this the horse who ended up winning was paying $108 for a win. By the time it actually won it was down to only $17 and that is what I won as I only placed a $1 bet for a win or place.

Wee - wee

The thing I thought might never happen finally happened: Henry managed to actually wee on the toilet. After months of sitting him there and making those stupid noises that are supposed to sound like water running and having him watch us while we're at it and saying "wee wee" about 300 hundred times per day he finally managed it. Not without mess of course. Half way through he was as shocked as I was and had to pull it out midstream to see what was actually going on down there and in doing so managed to spray half the bathroom. Of course we clapped and cheered and jumped up and down and gave him a sickly sweet jube snake as a reward. For the rest of the afternoon he kept going into the bathroom and saying "you did it, yay! give him a snake!"

Happy Birthday to me!

Happy Birthday to me.
Happy Birthday to me.
Happy Birthday dear fantastic, hardworking, dedicated, loving Mama.
Happy Birthday to me.

Today is my birthday! I'm almost at the end of a long week of them. It starts with my sister who had a birthday on Wed and then my other sister had a birthday on Thursday and then my niece had a birthday on Friday and then my mother had a birthday yesterday and then I am having one today and then my sister in law is having one tomorrow and my brother in law is having one on Monday.

Last night my husband and daughter cooked up a most delicious three course meal in celebration. I did nothing. They shopped, they prepared, they waited on us and they cleaned up. The food and service was fantastic and possibly better than we would have had at a restaurant. This morning I have had three cups of tea in bed and been presented with a box of Lindt Chocolates and a gift I've been waiting a long time for - a quality non stick fry pan. I know that's not very romantic but you have no idea how much I actually wanted one. I go to the shops and I lovingly touch them and knock them with my knuckles and turn them over and read about the quantanium coating.

Later I'm being taken shopping by a friend to buy a pair of these.

Happy Birthday Nana

Dear Nana
Mum told me I have to write a letter to you to wish you happy birthday. Even if she didn't tell me to I still would have done it but you wouldn't be able to understand my writing. Mum taught me how to draw trucks but she didn't tell me how to draw Nana. Anyway I think you are the best Nana in the world. I really like it when you bring Richie to see me and he has a truck stuffed down his shirt. I like it too when you give me ice cream and don't tell Mum about it. Sometimes mum is a right pain because she won't let me have stuff that makes me crazy. I know you think it's funny when I say I have a hang nail and need the clippers but it's not funny for me because those things bother me for hours. Sometimes it bothers me so much I have to throw a tantrum and then Mum sends me to the naughty corner. Because I'm really cute Mum doesn't make me stay there for the whole time. All I have to do is say "sorry Mama", smile and give her a kiss and a hug and she lets me get out.

When I come over next can you ask Richie if he'll take me to see the fire trucks again because when he takes me to see the fire trucks he sometimes takes me to the shop and buys me a lolly pop too. Hey, you know how Nana's are supposed to buy kids stuff all the time? Well I was wondering if you could buy me that really big tonka truck that mum won't buy. She says I have enough. I've only got 62 cars and 7 trucks but I could always do with some more.

Mum said I have to go to sleep now for a while because we have to go and see you later and make you eat some cake or something. Sissy's trying to suck up to you and get you to love her more by cooking you a dinner tonight with prawns in it. She's too big to sit on your lap and plus she's not really into trucks and won't read the books to me all day like you do.

I love you Nana.

From Henry

xoxoxox

Happy Birthday

Today is my niece's birthday. We called her to wish her a great day and after listing off all her presents to me this is the conversation we had

Me: You sure got a lot of presents. I never get that many presents on my birthday.

Her: I know. I got a lot. Mum and Dad never get many either.

Me: Yeah, maybe Mum and Dad and me need to do something about that.

Her: Yeah, you should tell the government.

Does this give us some indication of how our children view the world? That the government should solve ALL our problems? That they should hold an official inquiry into Why Parents Are Not Getting Enough Birthday Presents.

Five is not a number

We've been teaching Henry to count for some time now and since he was one he's been able to count to six but he will never ever say five or any other number which includes five. Why this is we don't know. We practice counting when we walk down the stairs, we count the cars in the car part, we count the number of mosquitoes buzzing around our heads, we count the leaves on the trees, we count the number of sultanas mashed into the carpet, we count number of times he asks me to read the truck book each day and even though we deliberately say FIVE really loudly each time we get to it he won't ever repeat it.

We took a video of him just the other night counting the placemats he had placed on the floor; "one, two, free, four, six, leven, twelve, fourteen, sixteen...(clap, clap, clap), yay that was great everybody". No five, we tried to trick him into it, we tried to bribe him to say five but he just won't say it. The chinese believe that four is an unlucky number and won't use any combination of it in anything. Perhaps Henry believes the same thing about the number five and knows something we don't.

Surprise!

Henry can't believe his sister would really pull a face like that.

Daycare? I don't think so.

Last night I received a phone call from an inside source at the daycare centre Henry attends. She wanted to tell me of an incident that she wasn't supposed to tell me about but felt she could not keep to herself. I was prepared for her to tell me Henry had beat some child up and had been forced to hang out in "timeout" or something. What she told me was far, far worse; Just this week Henry was moved up to the pre-kindy group. He managed to skip the Toddler B group he normally would have had to go to before heading into pre-kindy because he's just too smart (do I brag?). On Thursday Henry had been left alone, unsupervised for 15 minutes in the playground because they "forgot" him. He was only rescued because another carer saw him there on his own through the window from her room. No one mentioned this little incident to me when I collected him but I wondered why all the staff were being overly nice to me.

Apparently the staff in question have been raked over the coals for their actions but at this stage I know no more than that. By law they have to mention it to me so it remains to see if they do. My inside source is scared she'll lose her job if it's found out she mentioned this incident to me before it was officially reported to me so I'm kind of in a bind. I will give them one week to tell me of this incident before I blow my top.

I am grateful Henry has no injuries but whether he fell from any of the play equipment I don't know. I am also grateful that he was unable to escape onto the road or the car park or that some passerby hadn't abducted him.

I feel like a terrible mother for even having him in daycare but at the same time I pay them good money to TAKE CARE of my child. Why they didn't do a headcount or how they didn't see him is beyond me and I cannot comprehend how this may have happened. It had rained that afternoon and obviously he'd been caught out in it because his hat was soaking wet and his clothes had been changed. I don't know what happened to his wet clothes because they didn't come home with me.

What to do now?

The Hair and the Lollypop

When you know a hairdresser who has also just become a new grandma and desperate to show off this beautiful baby, you take advantage of the visit. You tell her to whip out her scissors while she's here and get cutting. While she's at it I'll take care of that baby-smelling bundle of yumminess.

Meet Charlotte Claire who is obviously the grandchild of a hairdresser as she was born with blonded foils and a whispy fringe.

Recreating the peak hour gridlock

Those of you who live here in Brisbane will already know about the heavy traffic problems caused the crack in the riverside express overpass. Fortunately I haven't yet been stuck in it or really noticed any difficulty in getting where I need to go. Henry's trucks and cars however experience this every afternoon at peak hour, otherwise known as "the hours of hell" in our home.

All good things must come to an end

Our beloved volvo needs to go to a retirement home. It still has a very strong heartbeat but it's tired. It's losing its skin and fingernails and limbs and hair slowly but surely. There's no such thing as car medicare and it's not worth the repair costs.

I love driving that thing. I feel as though I could play skittles with lamposts and not sustain a scratch. It's like a tank with a bullbar on the front. We can only hope someone with a like affection for volvos wants to part with some cash in return for its better parts. It still drives and drives beautifully but it's falling apart. The sheepskin seat covers are about the only thing still in one piece and even they've seen better days.

I still consider myself lucky to have spent less on all the cars I've owned than a new car would ever cost me. I drove my last car until it just wouldn't go anymore. It got donated to someone who wanted the brand new radiator and the brand new tyres. The rest got scrapped. It was worthless in monetary terms but it had been a good car to me and had served me well.

I find it hard to believe our fully functioning volvo is worth less than a toasted cheese and vegemite sandwich. May it rest in peace...or may Patrick bulldoze a new dam in the orchard patch with it.

Name dropping

This talented musician/songwriter happens to be married to my sister. He's also a very talented youth worker and does amazing things with troubled young people.

He also happens to be Dad to these two gorgeous children. Well he's not the father of the aunt who is showing children how she can fit her butt onto the seat of playequipment designed for babies.

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no one's there

Maya, the sister who loves her brother but wishes she had a sister, gave Henry a pink handbag full of pink paraphenalia, including this pink phone, to play with.

As soon as he realised no one was on the other end he hurled into the toybox that holds all his manly type trucks.

The world according to Maya

Maya reckons I've had only two great ideas in my life:

1. Having her
2. Coming up with the idea of opening a wedding planner shop on the Sims Open For Business.

I always thought buying Shower Sparkle was a good idea too but apparently I'm wrong. That stuff is the business. My shower has never been so sparkling.

Flickr Photos

For the Mama's, Papa's, Aunts and Uncles and those just wanting to see more photos click here

Everybody was Kung Fu Fighting

Henry was particularly frustrating yesterday. He missed his midday snooze and without his sleep he tends to act as though I've fed him nothing but red cordial and sugar coated chocolate.

Bravely, or stupidly, I'm not sure which, I took Henry and the girls to the shops because there were some things I needed and I couldn't put off the inevitable any longer. I was there only 2 minutes when I decided it was time to leave. It's school holidays and there were sales on and those two things combined mean there will be a myriad of screaming kids, teenagers and adults all pushing people out of the way because they want to get to the bargains first. I consider it like going to a freak show except I can't stand to hang around long enough to watch it. There is nothing I need desperately enough in the world to want to endure that. My sister was with us and she has no kids. She has all the time in the world to stand and ponder over her purchases and calculate in her head the discount and compare colours and match underwear to shoes etc. Me, I just like to grab and run. Shopping is not my favourite pastime.

After two minutes I shouted across the throng of people looming over the discount table. "I have to go. I'm starting to hyperventilate. I think I'm going to need surgery if I stay here a moment longer".

Of course Henry had spotted some truck related stuff on our way past the toy aisle and started to scream the scream of a child whose mother had walked by that particular aisle without stopping. When I walked out of that shop I had my fingers on my phone ready to call Triple O and ask for an emergency ambulance to take me to the mental hospital.

Henry fell into a deep sleep in the car but the few minutes it took us to get home was apparently all the sleep he needed. When we got home it was like his energy levels had been refuelled with premium grade gas.

He discovered Maya's swimming goggles and proceeded to spend the next few hours putting them on his head and attempting to put them in his pockets "like mummy does".

My husband was sick, my kids were feral and my legs were hairy because there was no time to shave/wax/singe/pluck them. When my friend called to tell me his mother was having an emotional crisis and asked me could I go and talk to her and share a bottle of wine I said yes in less than a nanosecond.

Indifference is the key

Henry has a new love interest. Since we've had cousin Riley with us the past week Henry has taken to her. She's different to his sister in that she pretty much just leaves him alone and ignores him. This proves the theory that playing hard to get gets what you what you want. This morning he went right up to her and lay on her lap and said "give Ri cuddles".

The Day the Digger Came to Town

This is the concentrated look he held fast for the whole 20 minutes we were watching it.

Yesterday afternoon we heard the rumble of something large making its way down our normally very quiet street. Henry's ears pricked up and he immediately knew it was a BIG TWUCK. We took him to the window and he was almost beside himself with excitement. Two doors down our neighbours have subdivided their block and sold off a corner of land which measure about 2m x 2 m square for hundreds of thousands of dollars. Enough to build a garage sized home on. Bit I digress... the digger was headed that way. We grabbed our shoes and followed it. Henry was speechless. He could not believe his luck. Right here in his own street was a digger being driven off a big truck.

Holiday entertainment

My sister, pictured here is the Aunt that every kid should have. She is amazing and loves to entertain them by attempting to show them how she can sit on a swing designed for the butt of a baby.
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See. Food usually works.

Maya and Riley trying to outdo each other and see who can injure themselves first by flying right over the bar.

It's school holidays and that means many children requiring many hours of entertainment. We've had nieces and nephews and aunts and uncles hanging around for days which is all very well and fun until they start to argue with each other. That's when you need to slap them and get them out of the house. Of course I don't really slap them but I do offer food in the hope that it will make all the whining go away. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. Henry's loved having them around and this morning when he woke and the house was quiet and there were no spare children he seemed to be lost. He's so tired from the constant playing though that he took himself back to bed at 10am this morning to sleep it off.

The Talented Few

Many people are fortunate enough to know someone who is extremely talented. I am one of those fortunate people. I've known Melissa J Evans since high school and she is one very talented woman.

Last night she played at a local cafe near us and so we trotted off down to see her. She sang a few songs I hadn't heard before including one about her experience in San Francisco when she toured the states. Her music style is very unique but if I had to describe her so you may understand how she sounds I could liken her to the Indigo Girls meets Tracy Chapman perhaps but even that isn't right. The lyrics to her songs have the ability to touch your soul and she sings about all things we experience in life but generally tend to push away because it's all too hard to think about.

She does have very good taste in pizza too. I fortuitously arrived just as they were finishing stuffing themselves on the pizza they had been given free of charge by the cafe. There were two pieces left that had my name all over them. Most people know I can't stand to see food go to waste so I felt it was my duty to finish them off. I had to. They would only have been thrown away otherwise.

That's her in the orange with her partner Sue and my brother Brett. He's a pretty talented songwriter/musician too.

If you're interested you can hear Melissa here or here.

Hit and Run

Since seeing Joe Camilleri playing at the Countdown Spectacular the other night my husband has become obsessed with the song he was famous for in about 1978 when he played with Jo Jo Zep and the Falcons - Hit and Run. I have heard that song more times in the last week than I have at any other time in my life. When he gets up in the morning he plays it. When he comes home from work he plays it. Before he goes to bed he plays it. He even tries to dance like Joe Camilleri did in his countdown filmclip.

When I remarked that he may soon be sick of it he replied " No I won't. It's like sushi or KFC, you just don't get sick of it".

I may live through this current obsession but I'm not sure I'll ever get the image of him attempting to dance just like Joe Camilleri does out of my head, because just like Joe Camilleri my husband dances so infrequently that it's kind of like watching someone pluck the hairs on their legs with a pair of tweezers that don't quite meet when pinched together. Painful and frustrating.

Noice hairstyle

When left alone this is what a sister will do to a brother because she doesn't have a sister

If the bank sank who would care.

Now is the time to search for an alternative for stashing away money that doesn't involve ever having to deal with a bank or any bank related product.

Ben and I recently had our tax done and surprisingly we got a return. I wasn't expecting this as I was sure I had received more than I was entitled to from centrelink throughout the year and would have to pay them back. We received a reserve bank cheque. As you all know reserve bank cheques should never be subjected to clearance times but some banks will tell you they have the right to do so. They only do this because they make millions of dollars from cheques. They use your money to make themselves more. Maybe they don't think the government has enough money in their coffers and the cheque just might not clear.

Ben took his cheque and deposited it through Australia Post. Australia Post doesn't trust the government and his reserve bank cheque is subject to five WORKING days clearance. I rang my bank only to be told that they have no control over it once it's been deposited through Australia Post. What a load of crap! We don't need access to the money straight away but I am furious that we have to wait for clearance on a RESERVE BANK CHEQUE just on principle. The guy at my bank told me that each bank branch reserves the right to subject a RESERVE BANK cheque to clearance at their own discretion. Now I know he's not personally responble for this outrage but I let him have it and told him that no bank has the right to make a reserve bank cheque subject to clearance. Of course he didn't really care he's just there to answer the questions.

Once Maya's father sent her a sum of money via Australia Post money order and I couldn't cash it without her ID even though she was only 9 at the time. I had to put it in her bank account and believe it or not it was subject to three working days clearance. I argued with the teller that it was as good as cash as it had been paid for with cash at the other end. No, she said, it's not. I asked her if she thought Australia Post might not have enough money to cover the $100 it was worth and she got very upset with me.

I am sick of the red tape and bureaucracy. I think I'm going to apply for a job at a bank.

Mum Jeans

Sometimes I feel like these are all I'm good for.

I found a link to this while reading the blog of another mother who suffers from the spread women get after they've given birth.

Patience is no virtue

I've tried to be patient. I really have. I've counted to ten, sometimes even to 100. I've taken deep breaths. I've even walked away but being the mother of a two year old requires more than patience. It requires a back brace, valium, padded rooms, massage therapy, pain killers and pyschiatric care.

Next week I'm removing all the furniture from the house, including the refrigerator and having the walls lined with padding so that my child, who bounces off the walls even without the help of sugar can remain uninjured until he's old enough to start playing football.

Countdown Spectacular

Countdown was THE Australian rock music bible of my youth. Well, the televised rock music bible. At 6pm every Sunday night from 1974 to 1987 we tuned into the ABC to watch gyrating, satin clad bands such as Hush, Sherbet, Misex, Skyhooks just to name a few, strut their stuff on the Coundown stage. We lived for that hour of television. It clashed with the newshour on the other channel (we only had two) and my parents called it 'rubbish' but mostly they would relent and try to get their news fix some other way. Without Countdown many Australian bands and some internationals would never have gone further than their back yard garages.

Last night Ben and I, along with my sister went to the Countdown Spectacular. What a spectacular it was. I was warned by Maya before we even left not to dance because dancing at my age was "just embarrassing". Dancing proved almost impossible anyway because it was held at the Boondall Entertainment Centre which can hold many thousands of people and it's all sit down. No standing. My sister and I attempted to stand at our seats at one point but were quickly poked in the back by those behind us. I was really quite amazed at how conservative and quiet the crowd were. It was impossible not to be excited and enthusiastic as the performance was incredibly vibrant. Many couldn't even be bothered clapping. There were of course the odd couple of people who couldn't help themselves and they went wild occasionally screaming at the top of their lungs.

It's hard to pinpoint a favourite of the evening but I have to say Hush were pretty spectacular. They're all looking decidedly middle aged now but they still knew how to entertain the crowd. They were dressed as they were in the seventies, waving fire breathing guitars. My oldest sister went to one of their concerts when she was about 10 years old and Les Gock, leading guitarist, managed to set himelf on fire and had to get carted off to the Maryborough Base Hospital where he spent the night.

Frontmen for many of the most popular bands of that era are dead now; Mark Hunter from Dragon, Bon Scott from ACDC, Shirley Strachan from Skyhooks, Michael Hutchence from INXS, and Ted Mulry from the Ted Mulry Gang. Some from lifestyle related illnesses and others from sheer bad luck. There was of course a tribute to them all.

It was a last minute decision for us to go as we had access to eleventh hour drastically reduced tickets. I'm glad we did because I had a really kick-ass time.

We could also have gone to New Zealand in the same amount of time.

Two male cousins enjoying their weetbix

A three hour car trip with a toddler should be introduced as a test to every person who has ever considered becoming a parent.

A desperate desire to get away from the city for even just a few hours resulted in us making the decision to drive for three hours to Maryborough, home of Posie the Cow. Listening to the protestations of a toddler who's limbs have been rendered immoveable by the very tight carseat restraints for three hours is akin to having your head taped to a stereo speaker which is belting out a bad recording of Cindy Lauper's True Colours. Very distracting if you happen to be the driver.

The trip was worth it because I got to see my children covered in mud. That's when you know they've had fun.

My niece and nephew are competing this weekend in the Maryborough Technology Challenge. They'll be competing, as they did last year, in the Human Powered Vehicle Race. This is a challenge my brother in law, who is somewhat of a science nerd, happens to be very passionate about. So much so that he can't talk about anything else. That's him below in the blue shirt with the HPV he has spent months designing and building. This isn't the one he wanted to build though and was talked down on his plans by the parents of other competing students. His design was somewhat futuristic but did involve many carefully formulated equations on how to get the most speed with the least amount of effort. If I was more science oriented and knew about quantum physics and stuff I'd be able to tell you what it was he told me but I just drifted off as soon as he said the word velocity...



Henry's complaints were subdued for just a few moments on the return trip by this massive piece of machinery pictured below. Unfortunately we had to try to get him back into the car and no amount of chocolate coated bribery was going to help. We just had to use sheer force.

The Sweetness of young love

Angelique and Henry

When he kisses her goodbye he does it ever so gently and aims his lips, points them towards her and follows her head until he can plant one right where she spoons that yoghurt.

Farewell

Henry has a new playmate. Her name is Angelique and she's adorably French. They live just a few streets away. We met them in the local park . The sad thing is they're leaving to live in France with her grandparents. Angelique's mama, Audrey, is French and she's adorable too. Her Papa, Dominic, is a kiwi and a stay at home Dad. We don't only like them because they'r adorable but also because they think everything Henry does is cute even when sometimes it clearly is not. Angelique, who is only 20 months old can say many french words, in fact she probably knows more french than she does English.

We're so sad that they're leaving but at the same time so very jealous. They get to eat cheeses we can only dream about... and croissants and pastries and french wine. They'll ride Vespa's and snowski and wander through little villages and drink fine coffee as they watch the locals wander by. Today they showed me some photographs of the village they'll be living in and all it made me want to do was give them a sleep elixer and steal their identity so I could go in their place.

They've lived here for four years and decided that Angelique needed to grow up knowing her grandparents. They found it hard in this conservative part of the world to make friends. Dom and Audrey are placid, calm and interesting people but this area we live in is typically suburbia. A stark contrast to the culturally saturated villages of France. The locals here are concerned about their lawn and renovations and traffic calming and complaining to council about the smells of other people's barbeques wafting into their homes. They're friendly enough to nod their heads in greeting but that's it. They don't let you in unless you can discuss the downturn in the value of property if the council installs public toilets at the park or the value of a good private school education or when you will purchase your next Jeep. I have lived here for five years and I thought perhaps it was just me that felt this way about our neighbourhood but after talking with them I realised I wasn't alone. Dominic met another local recently who lives directly across from our closest park area and this man (who sports long grey hair and rides a Harley Davidson) refuses to go to the park anymore because he's sick of hearing complaints about the things he believes make a community just that. BBQ's and the sounds of children playing.

The neighbourhood here is very picturesque. There are lots of trees and birdlife and even plenty of snakes and that makes up for the lack of neighbourly affection but it's hard to make a life when you feel you can't connect. If you just don't care whether the neighbour mows his lawn or not or if you don't believe a good education can only come from a lifetime of working your fingers to the bone or you enjoy the smell of other people's cooking and you'd really like some public toilets in the park then I guess it's hard to fit in. I have struggled with it everyday since I've lived here but I have family and good friends close by so it's made a lot easier for me. Mind you if I was given the opportunity to go and live in France I'd do it in an instant.

We'll miss them. The upside is though that if we ever make it to France we've got somewhere to stay.

He's never coming back

Steve Irwin, famous Australian Crocodile Hunter is dead. I can't say anything here that hasn't already been said but for those of you in the States I can tell you that his death has been all anyone has talked about here. The TV and radio have been broadcasting almost nothing but reports and tribues to him. We all believed he was invincible. Many Australians were almost embarrassed that he was the "Australian" the world believed us all to be. I'm proud of that fact. He put Australia on the world map. He made us all much more aware of the delicate link we have with nature. He poured his own money into conservation. He bought up land everywhere just to protect the species who were at risk of extinction. Love him or hate him there's not many of us who can say we lived our lives fighting causes we were truly passionate about. He certainly wasn't a wealthy man by Hollywood standards. Apparently he made only $4 million last year compared to Nicole Kidman's $23 million and the $50 million made by the Wiggles. He was the most well known Australian worldwide and yet made only a fraction of what others made. All of his money went back into the conservation and protection of wildlife and their habitat.

Many news reports I've read on the internet claim that few Australians watched his programs. I did. I loved them. Maya loved them. I guess if his death does nothing else it may make people realise that we never know when we are going to breathe our last breath. Who gets up in the morning and thinks they're going to die that day, just hours after having that first cup of tea?

A photo in which I actually look ok. Don't laugh!

Since Henry's asleep and I have some time to muck around I was looking through some photos and found this photo which is actually a reasonably nice one of me. The sunglasses help. Maya of course looks beautiful. My brother sent this to me. His wonderful fiance took it while we were in Newcastle. I normally hate photographs of myself which is why you rarely see them here.

Swim like a crocodile

Henry had his first swimming lesson today. I had tossed up in my mind whether or not to take him but I'm so glad I did. The swim instructor was fantastic. His lesson was taken with a baby and another little girl only around 15 months old. Of course I had to get in the water with him but the pool is heated and it's under cover so it was really a lovely experience. They teach using songs as prompts which made it fun. Considering he's only ever been swimming in a pool about 3 times he took to it like a duck to water. He loved it up until the last ten minutes when he started saying "I don't like the beach, I have to go home now". Still he continued on like a trooper.

The baby boy knew all the cues and the little girl was like a fish. She was amazing. She would swim underwater to the side of the pool and get out by herself. Her mother said she had only been going since she was twelve months old. I think the instructor knows how to get results.

A Feast or Famine

Is it possible to have too many jobs? So this year I've had a total of four different jobs and just got offered another. My foray into the world of sales didn't last long. I couldn't quite bring myself to make any real sales to women who demanded you visit them but then looked at you over the top of their designer red framed lenses and told you they just wanted to see you but weren't interested in making a purchase right now. There's a certain type of person who occupies the space behind the counters of "home and living" retail stores. I always imagined them living in homes that looked just like their stores. Everything colour matched with a lot useless but attractive soft furnishings and vases full of nothing because they were designed for aesthetic effect not function.

Then out of sheer desperation I signed up to interview with a market research company I had worked for years ago for several years. Things hadn't changed there either but the pay was good. I guess I felt I'd rather struggle with trying to keep shoes on my kids feet than work in a cubicle dialing numbers that were connected to the homes of people who'd rather you break and enter to steal their posessions than ask them to answer a survey over the phone. That ended when I feigned a sore throat on Mother's Day and I was forced to provide them with a doctors certificate. That and the fact that I had to work 50 hours on a training rate for something I could do with my hands tied behind my back. It was also as if everyone working there accepted the fact that they were expected to work like robots even though all their job promotional material stated there would be "room to use your initiative and work your way up". Bottom feeders stay bottom feeders in that industry.

From there I took myself off to another market research company and told them what I could and could not do. They were fantastic and very accommodating and gave me some work that was more worthy of my ability although still not very stimulating.

I then got offered the work I'm currently doing which is working for an investigation company typing precis of investigation interviews. Some might say this is utterly boring but I find it utterly fascinating. I get to listen in on some very interesting stuff.

In between all of this I applied for a job on a health research study and while, according to them, I was the best candidate for the job, I missed out because I wasn't available enough for them. Just last week they offered me the job again. I turned it down. I'm quite happy where I am. It's not consistent but it pays very well and it keeps me entertained.

Happy Father's Day

Unfortunately we weren't thinking straight today and I did not have the camera at the ready when Henry walked from the bedroom to his Daddy (who was in the kitchen making Mummy a cup of tea), saying Happy Father's Day as he handed over the gift. You can take my word for it that it was cute and adorable and said with love. He gave Dad a hug, demanded a cup of tea and toast and then headed out to the TV where he waited patiently for someone to come put "Bob a Builder" on it for him.

And here's the wisteria in full bloom. One day it's bare, the next it's covered in flowers and bees and releasing a most delicate scent

It's time

Lately Henry is obsessed with taking off his pants and pointing out to me that he has a "doody". I guess this means it's time to get serious about toilet training. He can't seem to leave them on for more than five minutes. Each night for the last 4 nights he's fallen asleep with his bare bum in the air after spending an eternity trying to free himself of the constraints of underwear. Last night he was in a full body suit and I heard him chattering away to himself before he fell asleep. When I went to check on him he was lying on his back fast asleep with the zip undone and his singlet pulled up over his head. He hadn't been able to get his legs out to get his nappy off and maybe thought if he could get the singlet off he'd get to the nappy. We've been sitting on the "toot" now several times a day for a few months but he never does anything. He just sits there and pulls all the toilet paper off the roll and shoves it in the toilet "like mummy does". He's learned that because I haven't been to the toilet alone for about two years.

My Baby the Car

Henry treats his trucks and cars like babies. The other morning after playing happily with them he ran outside and placed them in the pram and took them for a "walk". He then brought them inside and attempted to give them some breakfast.