Marvellous Spam

I always feel so squirrely when I haven't written anything creative for a while.

I don't have the time to work properly on any of my novels-in-progress at the moment - it is too frustrating to have to stop everytime I finally get into the flow... and poetic inspiration has been remarkably absent for quite a while now. It comes and goes, refusing to be forced - and at the moment it is decidedly gone. Despite all this, I need to write.

Deleting my spam yesterday, I was amazed by all the fantastic character names that had been trying to sell me viagra, a mortgage or a job with an Israeli insurance company. They gave me an idea! Rather than flash fiction, which while short, requires a more polished product, I am going to write me some 'SPAM FICTION'. I am going to pick a name from my spam folder and a single paperbag fiction slip, give myself 5 minutes for brainstorming and plotting, spend 10 minutes - and no more - writing that character's story, and then another 5 minutes tidying and editing. I won't have much to show for my twenty minutes, but it will at least satisfy my creative urges without tempting me to ignore Wombat's needs while I write 'just one more sentence'. I will jump into the story wherever I find an opening, carry it as far as I can in the time allowed, and stop regardless of whether or not it feels finished. I will make no attempt to keep the stories connected or coherent. They will just be 10 minute windows into the character's world. Maybe I will come back and do something with them in the future. Maybe this is as far as they will ever go. I have no idea. A baby step is a baby step, and who knows what tomorrow will bring.

There is one name that popped up in my spam folder weeks ago. I scribbled it down on the back of an envelope because it seemed to be begging to be in a story... I will start with her. Welcome to the first entry in my Marvelous Spam Collection.

[1]
Sanity McRae added a shot of Coruba to her mocha latte and shuffled the papers in front of her as though seeing them in a different order would help them make more sense. Her blood-red manicured talons tapped a tango on the tabletop. The case was a strange one. The boy's body had been found in the bush, his head pillowed on a mossy stone and his legs dragging in the creek. It had been raining heavily for three days, and the dry creekbed had only recently started flowing again. Having had to fight her way through thick scrub to inspect the scene, Sanity reasoned that the boy (and his companions - if there had been any) had trekked up the creekbed, which meant any sign of their passage was now long gone. The boy hadn't been dressed for bushwalking. In fact, he looked more like an escapee from a fancy dress party, wearing a muddy lace shirt and Little Lord Fauntleroy knickerbockers of deep blue velvet. Sanity remembered listening to the celebrations of a thousand frogs as she inspected the corpse, trying to tune out the sight of her white-faced reflection in his polished silver buttons. Her pale blue eyes narrowed and she chewed her thin bottom lip as she pulled a photo from the middle of the pile. Out of all the strange details, this was the one she kept coming back to. She was sure that somehow, this held the answer. Clutched tightly in the boy's cold wet fingers - an empty wicker birdcage.

Run, rabbit, run

Ever since I was a child, I have had a long list of gadgets I would like to see invented to make my life easier. I used to dream of a teleporter which would save me from the long walk to school... the an automatic book reader which would save me having to turn pages - and which would have a built-in light for reading under the covers... These days, my own driving licence and a hand-me-down laptop from my father have satisfied these desires to some extent (though without living up to the original design specifications!)

There is one device which still fills me with unsatisfied longing - the thought transcriber! This magical machine would take my carefully composed internal thoughts and save the words in some kind of editable, printable format thus eliminating the need for pen or keyboard.

So often I feel that my best work occurs in circumstances where I am unable to record it. The subtext of this entry, for example, was composed while cuddling and feeding and soothing a very tired and sooky Wombat back to sleep at 4am. I am now (5am) scribbling with pen, paper and torch hidden under the blanket so as not to disturb a sleeping babe (who is still whimpering every 10 minutes because his teeth hurt and he wants me to snuggle up and sleep with him, as is my habit in the early morning.) Yeti has taken to sleeping in the loungeroom lately so he can keep a heater on his sore back, but that is part of a different story and I don't want to get too sidetracked here.

The point is, what I am writing now feels nowhere near as clear and concise as the 'original' composition in my mind. The process of writing is like suddenly being trapped in Wombat's body and being forced to rely on a parent's hand or clumsy inanimate objects in order to walk, as compared to a few minutes ago (while composing in my head) when I was running like Cathy Freeman.* Typing it into the computer adds yet another stage to this time-consuming process (as I am a reasonably fast two-finger typist) but at least it gives me the opportunity for some much-needed editing.

Of course, my fabulous thought-reading machine would need an on/off button - something like a cochlear implant. When I first imagined the device as a child, I was fascinated by the paradox? conundrum? that if I recorded all my thoughts I would need another lifetime in which to read them, and a couple more lifetimes to think about what I'd read - and if I were recording what those thoughts were... well, I'm sure you can see the problem. Then there would be my inherent desire to read, not only my own thoughts, but the edited thoughts of others! My childish insistence on writing as my future career was primarily based on my love of reading rather than any true vocation - otherwise I would have written more and read less!

Which brings me to blogging and the addiction which is keeping me up to 4am most mornings and making me regard Wombat's desire for Mummy's warmth and comfort as an imposition rather than a delicious opportunity to indulge in baby snuggles.

In deconstructing an ancient Lenten prayer, Elizabeth at Real Learning suggests that " the devil drives the information superhighway. He claps with glee when moms log on." I have enough minor examples of Wombat neglect nagging at my conscience to know what she means (most accompanied by a submerged blogging narrative as I remark on my own wrongdoing). I am therefore going to follow her example and limit my blog-reading to 15 minutes a day. I am also going to impose a strict 2:30am bedtime (I am up at 4am today because Yeti and I got caught up searching for books for Wombat's birthday present - $150 later and we are very happy with our choices. I think this version of All Things Bright and Beautiful is our favourite!) I will renew my commitment to Wombat to be fully there for him while he is awake.

To paraphrase Gwen Harwood (Aussie poet - my commentaries on her work bring more visitors to my site than anything else I've ever written - another writing project in urgent need of attention!):

'children need a wholehearted mother, not a halfhearted poet.'

[Lol... my scribbled notes become almost intelligible here... I think it says something like...] At least some of the time I save from blog-reading, I will commit to writing. I will also do more housecleaning, food preparation and taking care of myself (particularly exercise). I will take that Lenten prayer to heart (and post it on my monitor)... but not even a conscious decision to change my ways can quite cure me of the cupidity I feel for that thought transcriber ;)
I will turn the torch off now and lie in the dark trying to pray myself to sleep while my subconscious goes into creative overdrive, plotting, pruning, searching for the perfect word, the precise turn of phrase, composing story after story - all of which will have faded by dawn, never to see the light of day.

* While playing with Wombat this morning, I was struck by the obvious point of that analogy. If Wombat keeps practising and doesn't let himself be overwhelmed by frustration with his current inadequacies, he WILL be running sooner than either of us imagine. Maybe not competitively with an Olympic athlete, but to the best of his abilities at this stage in his life. Cathy Freeman didn't waste time sitting around wishing for magic running shoes that would float her over the ground and never trip or stumble - or even if she did! - she channelled her energies into training to use her God-given gifts to the full extent of her potential. As a result, her light shone so brightly that it lit up the world.

"This little light of mine... I'm gonna let it shine..."

The Magic City

I've been finished Edith Nesbitt's The Magic City for well over a week now, but still haven't had a chance to jot down my thoughts about it – or even choose a new book to read!

I am trying hard to catch up with Wombat's updates before his first birthday, and we are also planning our first real family holiday in years for the end of this month – which will include my graduation ceremony. There are so many things to think about when travelling with a baby! I have just bought a (secondhand on ebay) pram – a Triton Trekker - which will hopefully fold a bit smaller than our beloved Emmaljunga (also secondhand from ebay ;P), and a pile of other things... plus there is a little matter of Wombat birthday presents to be taken care of... I added a huge pile of books to a virtual shopping cart the other day, because more than anything else at the moment, Wombat LOVES books (his other toys go largely untouched! Guess he takes after me ;P) but then I realised if I bought all of those I wouldn't be able to afford petrol to go on holiday... so they will just have to wait and be an unbirthday present later in the year (he already has Moo Baa La La La by Sandra Boynton, and Yeti & I heard some snippets of songs from Philadelphia Chickens the other day and immediately bought that for him... I want to get him lots more Boynton books because they are just so much fun!)

I have been praying that the electricity bill wouldn't arrive and need to be paid before we go, but it arrived today, and is due to be paid the day before we leave. The request for divine assistance didn't fail me though - it's not nearly as bad as I feared – still horrendous but about $400 less than the last one – I guess all those electricity blackouts we've had lately have been good for something!)

We are still living without a hot-water system. Water for washing up is boiled in the kettle, and we are using an immersion heater to warm our bathwater – Wombat and I bathe together, and Yeti often uses the water afterwards :P He always said the ancient hot-water system was the most expensive electrical appliance in the house. I guess he was right! It looks like it won't be covered by insurance, so it will be a while until we can afford to replace it. Surprising how quickly you learn to live without having hot water on tap!

Anyway, back to the book review. I did enjoy The Magic City, though it is very dated in parts (published 1910). It also suffers from one of the traditional drawbacks of childrens' books, in that the main boy character is an orphan, and the mother of the main girl character has just died.

Philip lives with his adored, absolutely perfect half-sister, Helen, who is twenty years old than him. She homeschools him, and nourishes his active imagination. Philip's world is turned upside down when Helen is reunited with her childhood sweetheart, who is a recent widower. He proposes and Helen accepts, telling Philip he will now be going to live with her in a big mansion of a house, and have a new sister called Lucy. Philip is distraught at the thought of sharing Helen with anyone, and determines to hate Lucy sight unseen. His sister has taught him well, however, and he suppresses his ambivalence for her sake - at least while she is watching.

Helen and her husband head off on honeymoon, and Philip is left in the big house with Lucy and a pile of servants. He is miserable and takes his feelings out on Lucy, who is unfailingly good natured – a lonely, only child who has been looking forward to sharing her games with a friend. Lucy's aunt sees Philip's horrid behaviour, and takes Lucy off for a short holiday, leaving Philip alone with the servants, including a strict and unsympathetic nurse who forbids him to touch Lucy's toys.

His life starts to improve when the nurse temporarily returns to her own home, leaving him free range of the house. His temper sweetens and he gradually wins over the other servants. To amuse himself, he starts to build a city in the library, using Lucy's blocks and anything else he can find (since a city built all of blocks “looks like a factory”). When it is finished, Philip is magically transported into his city, where he meets Lucy (who has returned unexpectedly and followed him in). He is still resentful of her, despite her friendliness, and although they promise to support each other in their adventure, he abandons her in a moment of danger. Back in the real world, he finds everything has turned 'topsy turvy' because Lucy has gone missing. Only he knows where she is. He realises that only he can save her and that it is his duty to do so (as it turns out, Lucy becomes an active participant in her rescue).

This is where the real adventure begins, as Philip and Lucy travel on a fantastic journey through every imaginative landscape Philip has ever built, peopled by a mixture of the toy figurines Philip used to populate his creations, by the craftspeople who made the objects he used in building (who inhabit this world while they are dreaming in the real world) and by occasional escapees from the books he has incorporated into his designs.

This concept is very well handled by Nesbitt, with lots of fun details that really make the story.

Philip noticed that each soldier stood on a sort of green mat. When the order to march was given, each soldier quickly and expertly rolled up his green mat and put it under his arm. And whenever they stopped, because of the crowd, each soldier unrolled his green mat, and stood on it till it was time to go on again. And they had to stop several times, for the crowd was very thick in the great squares and in the narrow streets of the city. It was a wonderful crowd. There were men and women and children in every sort of dress. Italian, Spanish, Russian; French peasants in blue blouses and wooden shoes, workmen in the dress English working people wore a hundred years ago. Norwegians, Swedes, Swiss, Turks, Greeks, Indians, Arabians, Chinese, Japanese, besides Red Indians in dresses of skins, and Scots in kilts and sporrans. Philip did not know what nation most of the dresses belonged to—to him it was a brilliant patchwork of gold and gay colours. It reminded him of the fancy-dress party he had once been to with Helen, when he wore a Pierrot's dress and felt very silly in it. He noticed that not a single boy in all that crowd was dressed as he was—in what he thought was the only correct dress for boys. Lucy walked beside him. Once, just after they started, she said, 'Aren't you frightened, Philip?' and he would not answer, though he longed to say, 'Of course not. It's only girls who are afraid.' But he thought it would be more disagreeable to say nothing, so he said it.

The turn-of-the-century morality of the book is spread pretty thickly, but is still generally relevant to today's children:

Girls weren't expected to be brave.
'They are, here,' said Mr. Noah, 'the girls are expected to be brave and the boys kind.'

While in general this level of morality suits the story, there are times when the passage of time has spoiled the effect. A good example is when Philip finally starts to warm towards Lucy (we all knew they were going to be friends, right?) and he says “I hate gas” meaning the kind of gushing enthusiasm girls are prone to indulging in. Lucy's reply is properly stereotypical:

'Yes,' said Lucy obediently, 'I know. Only sometimes you feel you must gas a little or burst of admiration.'

This was one of the very few jarring points, however, and Nesbitt continued the conversation long enough for a young modern reader to puzzle out the meaning of the word:

'What a lovely island it is. And you made it!'
'No gas,' said Philip warningly. 'Helen and I made it.'
'She's the dearest darling,' said Lucy.
'Oh, well,' said Philip with resignation, 'if you must gas, gas about her.'

I will leave you to discover the details of Philip and Lucy's adventures for yourself. I thoroughly enjoyed the appropriateness of the quests, and the clever ways they were solved. My favourite character was the parrot! Less convincing was the villain of the story – the Pretenderette. I won't reveal her rather obvious identity, but I found her appearances (and her disguise) to be an almost annoying distraction in the story. At times she seemed more wooden than the wooden characters! The interaction between her and the parrot was entertaining, however - the best moment was when the parrot dragged her back to jail by the ear!

Her motivation for her behaviour was perhaps the most dated thing about the book, and might take some explaining to modern children. While the final battle was almost a disappointing anticlimax in which Philip and Lucy played very little part, I did think the Pretenderette's fate was poetic justice at its best.

All in all I found it a very enjoyable, light read, and I look forward to sharing it with Wombat – though perhaps I will save it until after he has passed that impressionable age where (from what I have heard) stories featuring deceased parents can be a problem.

I think it would be brilliant for the 7-9 age group, where the behaviour and morals of the characters could provide the start to a discussion about personal development. The fantasy structure should assist in promoting imagination and creative play with everyday objects.

I know I immediately started looking at the objects around me with new eyes, wondering how I would fit them into a magic city of my own.

Someone to watch over me

[An entry for Scribbit's March Write-Away Contest]

"Never leave child unattended."
"Not to be used without adult supervision."

The same warning (or is it a threat?) is emblazoned on every utilitarian object in Wombat's environment. To a childless person it seems obviously necessary, and easy to comply with. Once you are in the midst of the actual baby-wrangling, however, the grey shades start to leap out at you. I am lucky that Wombat has a very vigilant guardian angel, or he wouldn't have made it through his first week, let alone his first year (touch wood, the year's not up yet).

Does turning away to fold a fresh nappy count as lack of supervision while baby is sitting on his potty?

It does if baby decides to practice standing up and somersaulting into his bed. (Thank goodness he was smart enough not to go sideways, headfirst onto the wooden floor.)

He's taken top-heavy dives off our bed so often that we bought him a king-single mattress and built a fortress of padded rails around it, allowing me to still co-sleep with him to some extent (ie. when I don't manage to sneak away after feeding him).

Now he is getting more mobile, I sit on the toilet with the door open, dreading the day when I shall have to dive out and tackle him before he lunges head first down the steep stairs onto the concrete pavers. I have left him untethered in the pram for a moment while carrying the washing basket up those same stairs, certain that he is too tired and lethargic to attempt escape, only to see him gleefully clinging to the hood and bouncing with all his might. (I think I flew down the stairs that time, as the pram lurched at a sickening angle.)

If there is a way for him to make his mother's heart pound, her throat to close, and her nerves to go into overtime prayer-drive, he will find it... and use it.

I have been thinking quite a lot lately about how we filter our memories - and the stories we tell and are told about our lives - through our present day experiences. Around the time of my wedding,* I realised I was carrying a lot of unexpressed angst from my childhood. My first forays into blogdom involved a lot of "unpacking suitcases" (unloading my emotional baggage into an online journal for the amusement of strangers - and my sister.**) I was quite angry at my mother at the time, and busy discarding my childish perception that she could do no wrong in favour of the opposite extreme. The more time I spend with Wombat, the more appreciation I develop for a middle ground between those two views!

(*Our third anniversary is three days before Wombat's birthday.)

(**But that was on another site... and besides, the wench is dead. (TS Eliot quoting a quote which I quote because in writing those entries I exorcised the self who needed to write them, so they are now erased... if that makes any sense to anyone but me))

===============================

Two and a half,
mother busy with a baby,
I went walking
through Canberra's suburbs,
stray dog for company-
shaggy breath in my hair.
Cops took turns
driving me home.
Outside Latham shops
the pharmacist grabbed me.
As a bribe to sit still
while she phoned my folks
she chose from a spinning rack
the cheapest, I s'pose.
I still remember,
sliding from cellophane,
a naked, stiff-limbed
plasticperfect female form,
brunette like my mother
and sister.
I kept Chemist Dolly for many years,
took her everywhere.
She never wore clothes.

===============================

Mum remembers Chemist Dolly's nakedness being the result of her unyielding figure, but I still cherish a romantic fondness for her, preferring to imagine her sometimes as my scapegoat effigy of sibling rivalry, and sometimes as my Boudicca of unfettered freedom. She was eventually relegated to the bottom of a toybox, and from there, I assume, she and her head probably took separate trips to the tip.

[RIP C.D.]

Mum also admitted that the cops got to know me, and brought me home so often that she was embarrassed. I can get no more details, though, as more recently it is a memory she prefers not to recall.

I have quite a few clear memories of the time before I was six... before the divorce (which is not the subject of this entry, being a whole jumbo-jet of misplaced luggage in its own right)... and the strongest ones all revolve around my solitary misadventures.

About a year after the Chemist Dolly incident, I remember being at the park, by myself, glorying in the flight of my swing, head back, arms outstretched, hair sweeping in the breeze. The park was a good ten minutes walk from our home. What was I doing there alone?

I toppled backwards off the swing and sat up, just in time for it to hit me in the face on its return - solidly enough to break my front tooth. Mum's comment was that she didn't recognise me when she saw me running down the path to our house, my face was so distorted by my tears.

As an adult I know what she meant, but little statements like that fester in the soul of a child. Unrecognised = unwanted? At one stage this line of thought would have been a cloud of black misery, but these days I look at it with intellectual curiosity, wishing I could be a fly on the wall that day, to understand what actually occurred, and how. Not for my own gratuituous ego-feeding so much as to avoid repeating the pattern with my son.

Another year, another memory... whispering in conspirational togetherness, I strap my trusting two-year-old little sister into her stroller. My days of solitary wandering are over. She is my companion. I will take her with me to share my adventures. Again, as an adult, I wondered where Mum was... and now as a mother myself, I answer... she was probably fixing lunch in the kitchen, putting on a load of washing, making beds, having a shower - any number of essential daily tasks - confident that her angelic daughters were playing quietly and in perfect safety.

Having accomplished my task, and with my sister firmly strapped into her stroller, I carefully open the child-proof latch on the verandah, and begin to push her down the concrete steps as I have seen my parents do. One step. Two steps. The stroller is heavier than I ever imagined and my four-year-old arms cannot hold it. With agonizing clarity I feel it slip from my grasp as my sister tumbles, screaming, onto the driveway. She hits her head, but no permanent damage is done. Mum comes running, and the episode joins the family mythology - the day I pushed my sister down the stairs. For years I felt guilty, believing that it had been an attempt to deliberately harm her. I was so relieved when the full memory finally surfaced and I recovered that sense of excitement and anticipation - the desire to share my freedom with her.

The question for me now is, how do I

• nurture my son's independence and imagination
• without exposing him to the feelings of anxiety and aloneness I have carried since those early beginnings
• while still getting something done... occasionally...

I have no answers yet, and I know in many ways I am as bad at mothering as my own mother... and that he will adore me in spite of that, just as I adore my wonderful, frustrating, impossible Mum. The mistakes I make will be different from hers, and with God's help, Wombat will survive to adulthood without too many scars (physical or emotional). Perhaps I should pay more serious attention to the clear labels, like those at the start of this entry, instead of still looking for answers in the wind.

===============================

Six years old,
walking solitary to school,
I swept clean the sand
under trailing limbs of wattle
and bottle-brush.

Returning hours later,
I tried to read
what the trees
had written.

===============================

Since it has taken nearly two hours to write this and it is now 4am, I should also probably remember that my sleep is more important to Wombat than my blogging ;P

Near miss

I'm too tired to write this intelligently, so how about yesterday in point form?

• Wombat refused his lovely porridge for breakfast, and wouldn't drink anything... except mummy milk... and he wanted LOTS of that
• Wombat refused his morning nap, despite being so tired that he couldn't hold his head up, and at random moments it would CLONK into the floor while he was playing, resulting in many Wombat tears. (I think his teeth were the culprit... the next two have nearly cut through)
• after much gnashing of maternal teeth about all the things I wanted to get done during this non-existant naptime, I finally got Wombat to sleep at 2pm.
• 10 minutes later, the loudest thunderstorm ever arrived. Normally Wombat will sleep through a thunderstorm, but the power went out, his cd (Baroque classical) stopped, and he woke up
• I sat down with him in the playpen for a cuddle and to tell him it was just a silly old storm and he should go back to sleep
• that's when the house got hit by lightning. *cracklecracklecrackleBANG*
• after checking that Yeti (who had been outside moving something out of the rain) was ok, I went back to Wombat-consoling, bidding a sad farewell to the possibility of any more napping that day
• once the storm was over, we realised my computer wasn't working
• GASP - one whole year of Wombat photos
• desperate praying to St Anthony - patron St of lost things
• about midnight, heading off to bed, had one last try to turn the computer on... it miraculously worked!
• brand new modem was fried, though
• now desperately making cds of photos
• yeti bought new modem - now must share internet again...
• hot water system also frazzled - crossing fingers insurance co. will replace
• 3am... passing out now
• teaching was interesting... year 3 are little monsters still... had to call principal to threaten them ;( year 4 are brilliant

Sharpening the Saw

I taught my new catechist classes yesterday, returning for the first time after becoming pregnant. My plans for being nice and early were snafu'd as uusual... I was up, dressed, Wombat and I had breakfasted, Yeti was even up and had taken over Wombat duty, but in worrying that I had left everything he might possibly need in places where he could find it, and coming back for one last Wombat hug, I managed to leave home 10 minutes late. I then got caught behind the world's slowest ute on the drive down - 60kms in an 80km zone, on a twisty road with no overtaking. Despite that, when I got to the school, I was only five minutes late... that was, until I spent the next 10 minutes chasing around what is a very tiny school, looking for the class I was supposed to teach - year 3. By the time I actually got them seated and introduced myself, half the lesson-time was over. This was not a good start, and they consequently behaved in an absolutely obnoxious manner. I seemed to spend more time asking for silence and making threats than conveying any kind of salutory message. This class of 10 - 4 boys and 6 girls, were harder to control than the classes of 30 I used to have! On sober reflection afterwards, however, I realised that there were really only two trouble makers - twin boys. Another boy copped most of my ire, but when I think about it, he was trying pretty hard, just easily distracted. He is also a slow reader, and used to being in trouble with teachers. If I can somehow keep the twins interested and working, he won't be a problem. Just as I was beginning to feel like a teaching failure and wonder why I had returned, the lesson ended and year 4 arrived. This class also has 4 boys and 6 girls, but WHAT a difference! They were intelligent, willing to work, happy to colour-in quietly and listen while I talked, asked relevant questions and were eager to answer my questions. The best class I have ever had! I shall have to make a greater effort next week not to be late for the first class. There were one or two moments when I got through to them. I am hoping to build a better relationship from there.

Wombat greatly enjoyed his one-on-one time with his Daddy... apparently he was a bit upset to see me go, but squared his shoulders and very bravely didn't cry. He then spent a happy hour exploring the world, including attempting to pour a pot full of soil down his throat. That's my boy! I was very relieved to get home and find such big smiles waiting for me. He was completely exhausted, though... which means longer nap times, and he almost slept through the night despite the nasty teething! He's even napping well today and asked to go to bed early (I took him for a bushwalk on his own two little feet, which wore him out satisfactorily.)



My chances of getting to a library lately have been zero, and other than blogs, environmental articles, law books, and baby books, I have not been reading anything for myself. Catechist teaching is my spiritual part of what lifecoaches call the "sharpen the saw" role (I'll make this a link when I find the url.) I have chosen reading for the mental part.

Wombat likes to participate in anything I'm doing while he's awake, which could also be very detrimental to library books. (The copy of The Baby Whisperer by sister lent me is looking a little bent and chewed around the edges... and I haven't managed to finish it yet - sorry Steff... it's not that bad, but I feel like I should buy you a new copy, since I can't return it in the same condition as I borrowed it...) To cut this long story short (since Wombat is 11 months old today and I MUST write an update for him) I went browsing at Project Gutenberg (this always makes me feel like a child let loose in a candy store ;P) I downloaded a few interesting books, but leaving the more adult selections aside, I decided to follow my heart and start with the kind of kid's book I have always loved: E Nesbitt's The Magic City. I will keep a list of my reading at the side, and write a little review when I've finished, but suffice to say I am enjoying it immensely, despite having to limit myself to half-an-hour a day instead of devouring it in one voracious sitting. It's in that restrained English turn-of-the-century tradition, but has enough imaginative details to carry the moral without making it tedious. I'm looking forward to reading it to Wombat in a few years. Here's just a little taste:

You know when people are making the animals for Noah's arks they make the big ones first, elephants and lions and tigers and so on, and paint them as nearly as they can the right colours. Then they get weary of copying nature and begin to paint the animals pink and green and chocolate colour, which in nature is not the case. These are the chockmunks, and vertoblancs and the pinkuggers. And presently the makers get sick of the whole business and make the animals any sort of shape and paint them all one grey—these are the graibeestes. And at the very end a guilty feeling of having been slackers comes over the makers of the Noah's arks, and they paint blue spots on the last and littlest of the graibeestes to ease their consciences. This is the blugraiwee.

The update will have to wait for the next nap - the happy growls of a just-woken-up Wombat talking to his teddybears are just starting to become "where's my mummy?" whinges...

Heave, ho, Wombat

Little Wombat threw up tonight, for the first time since he was very young (and had gutsed too much milk). He did it so very neatly, too. I was just feeding him off to sleep, and he stopped feeding, crawled up to lay across my tummy and vomited so tidily that it all went on my t-shirt and his pyjama top - not a drop on his sheets! lol... he was perfectly happy while I was changing him and cleaning him up afterwards... just wanted a big drink of water to take the taste out of his mouth.

Then we went back to bed for another try at getting him to snooze (he had a few little cries, possibly because his tummy was still upset) but he fed from both breasts before finally falling soundly asleep. It may have been his teeth, or he may have eaten too much at dinner, or maybe something he ate disagreed with him. Dinner was some of yesterday's roast lamb finely grated and spread on bread, with vegetables. He did eat a lot, but he normally does, being a big lad. He had Cherry jelly for dessert (he has had jelly before, but maybe the red colouring was a problem in this one?) and he had icecream for the first time at lunch - but he didn't like it and hardly ate any. I shall just have see how he feels tomorrow!

I do hope it wasn't the jelly, because he was so cute about choosing it - we bought one of each flavour, and this morning while making his breakfast, I put all the boxes on his highchair table. He looked at them all, before picking up the Cherry and the Raspberry flavours. I removed the other boxes, and he played with those two for about 15 minutes, obviously having trouble deciding between them. Finally, he put the Raspberry back on the table and sat quietly cuddling the Cherry... then he watched intently when I made it up at lunchtime... he was really looking forward to it!

Thinking about, I am inclined to believe that he ate too much meat, which he's not used to, and then we went to bed about 45 minutes later with a very full tummy... We will try the jelly again tomorrow (with none of the other factors) and see if there are any problems.

I have finished transferring the one month update to Baby Wombat... do you think addressing it to him makes it unreadable or too cutesy? I'd better get on with writing the current updates, as I have nothing written for the 9 months update other than some notes scribbled on paper, and he is 10 months & 4 weeks today!

Fleeting Reality

My redesigned photo challenge site is finally finished (I know, the least important of the web redesigns on my list... but it seems a procrastination manifesto requires the least important tasks be completed first, thereby increasing the stress levels on the more difficult and urgent projects...)

Anyway, here it is: Fleeting Reality

It's been

one of those days...





Things carelessly left on top of the cd player are now on the floor... the clock is about to join them... and I wonder why nothing ever gets done!

I can't wait until he gets to the stage of asking "WHY? WHY? WHY?"

He'll finally be able to get me back for saying "NOT IN YOUR MOUTH... NOT IN YOUR MOUTH... NOT IN YOUR MOUTH..." so often that I feel like a broken record. (He has to taste-test absolutely everything at the moment - and I mean everything! "mmmm rocks")



Anyway, it's well past midnight, and I have to wash his bottles, dishes & highchair before I get to bed turn into a pumpkin... not to mention exercise (which I'm still having trouble being inspired by, since my fall from the deck has left a residual stiffness in back and legs)... I know it sounds like I'm complaining, but one little smile makes it all worthwhile ;D



I love his capacity to increase my self-awareness. I will suddenly notice that he has been looking sad or grumpy for a while and ask "What's wrong, little love?" Then, when I smile at him, I will feel from the muscles in my cheeks & forehead that mummy has been walking around with a face like a storm cloud again... oops! He is the pot of gold at the end of my rainbow!



PS. how's this for a fashion statement?



Camo overalls, strawberry kneepads and 'Hello Kitty' socks. Do you think he'll forgive me if I show him this when he's a teenager?

The 'I have read' meme

Here are the instructions:

Look at the list of books below. Bold the ones you’ve read, italicize the ones you want to read, cross out the ones you won’t touch with a 10 foot pole, put a cross in front of the ones on your book shelf, and asterisk the ones you’ve never heard of.

1. The Da Vinci Code(Dan Brown)
2. +Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen)
3. To Kill A Mockingbird (Harper Lee)
4. Gone With The Wind (Margaret Mitchell)
5. The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (Tolkien)
6. The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring (Tolkien)
7. The Lord of the Rings: Two Towers (Tolkien)
8. Anne of Green Gables (L.M. Montgomery)
9. *Outlander (Diana Gabaldon)
10. *A Fine Balance (Rohinton Mistry)
11. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Rowling)
12. *Angels and Demons(Dan Brown)
13. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Rowling)
14. *A Prayer for Owen Meany (John Irving)
15. Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden)
16. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (Rowling)
17. *Fall on Your Knees (Ann-Marie MacDonald)
18. *The Stand (Stephen King)
19. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban(Rowling)
20. +Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte)
21. +The Hobbit (Tolkien)
22. The Catcher in the Rye (J.D. Salinger)
23. +++Little Women (Louisa May Alcott) (and ALL the sequels ;P)
24. *The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold)
25. *Life of Pi (Yann Martel)
26. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (Douglas Adams) and the other four volumes in the trilogy.
27. +Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte)
28. +The lion, the witch and the Wardrobe (CS Lewis)
29. *East of Eden (John Steinbeck)
30. *Tuesdays with Morrie (Mitch Albom)
31. Dune (Frank Herbert)
32. *The Notebook (Nicholas Sparks)
33. *Atlas Shrugged (Ayn Rand)
34. +1984 (Orwell)
35. +The Mists of Avalon (Marion Zimmer Bradley)
36. *The Pillars of the Earth (Ken Follett)
37. *The Power of One (Bryce Courtenay)
38. *I Know This Much is True (Wally Lamb)
39. *The Red Tent (Anita Diamant)
40. *The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho)
41. The Clan of the Cave Bear (Jean M. Auel)
42. *The Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini)
43. *Confessions of a Shopaholic (Sophie Kinsella) (rejected based on the title alone ;P)
44. The Five People You Meet In Heaven (Mitch Albom) (think I saw something about this on the Hallmark channel)
45. +Bible
46. Anna Karenina (Tolstoy)
47. The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas)
48. *Angelas Ashes (Frank McCourt)
49. The Grapes of Wrath (John Steinbeck)
50. *She’s Come (Wally Lamb)
51. *The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver)
52. A Tale of Two Cities (Dickens)
53. Ender’s Game (Orson Scott Card)
54. +Great Expectations (Dickens)
55. +The Great Gatsby (Fitzgerald)
56. *The Stone Angel (Margaret Laurence)
57. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Rowling)
58. The Thorn Birds (Colleen McCullough)
59. The Handmaid’s Tale (Margaret Atwood)
60. *Time Traveller’s Wife (Audrew Niffenegger)
61. Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
62. *The Fountainhead (Ayn Rand)
63. War and Peace (Tolstoy) (well, I've started it several times...)
64. Interview With The Vampire (Anne Rice) (seen the movie... couldn't be bothered with the book...)
65. *Fifth Business (Robertson Davis)
66. *One Hundred Years Of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
67. *The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants (Ann Brashares)
68. Catch-22 (Joseph Heller)
69. Les Miserables (Hugo)
70. The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupery)
71. Bridget Jones’ Diary (Fielding)
72. *Love in the Time of Cholera (Marquez)
73. +Shogun (James Clavell)
74. The English Patient (Michael Ondaatje) (I wouldn't say want to read it... but if it was lying there I would read it... what's the symbol for ambivalent? ;P I've needed it a few times so far)
75. The Secret Garden (Frances Hodgson Burnett)
76. *The Summer Tree (Guy Gavriel Kay)
77. *A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Betty Smith)
78. The World According To Garp (John Irving)
79. *The Diviners (Margaret Laurence)
80. Charlotte’s Web (E.B. White) (want to read again)
81. *Not Wanted On The Voyage (Timothy Findley)
82. Of Mice And Men (Steinbeck) (I've tagged all the Steinbecks it seems... need to do more reading of American classics sometime...)
83. Rebecca (Daphne DuMaurier)
84. *Wizard’s First Rule (Terry Goodkind)
85. +Emma (Jane Austen)
86. Watership Down (Richard Adams)
87. Brave New World (Aldous Huxley)
88. *The Stone Diaries (Carol Shields)
89. *Blindness (Jose Saramago)
90. *Kane and Abel (Jeffrey Archer)
91. *In The Skin Of A Lion (Michael Ondaatje)
92. Lord of the Flies (Golding) (uggh hate that book)
93. The Good Earth (Pearl S. Buck)
94. *The Secret Life of Bees (Sue Monk Kidd)
95. The Bourne Identity (Robert Ludlum) (there's that ambivalence thing again)
96. The Outsiders (S.E. Hinton)
97. *White Oleander (Janet Fitch)
98. A Woman of Substance (Barbara Taylor Bradford) (or anything else she's ever written...)
99. *The Celestine Prophecy (James Redfield)
100. Ulysses (James Joyce)

Found here.

Saga of an Ouchie

I had lots I wanted to do tonight - including answering most of your comments in various places, Steff... but there's been a temporary setback in my plans! I had just finished feeding Wombat his lunch, which he didn't eat much of (teething? upset tummy? too much breakfast?) when I noticed him watching intently as Yeti poured milk into his coffee.

In the past two days, Wombat has finally decided he likes milk in a bottle! He drinks from a sippy cup, and a normal mug, but would not really accept cow's milk from either. Then MIL bought organic milk from the local dairy by mistake (we buy the local dairy's milk from Woolies, to support them and because it's nicer than Woolies brand powdered alternatives... but the organic one is a little more expensive). I tried that and Wombat actually drank a few sips. He was having a hard time working out how to rub/chew the mouthpiece of his water sippycup to get some relief from the teething, so I pulled out a bottle (which he had never before agreed to drink from) and offered him some warm organic cow's milk. Slurp slurp slurp...

Back to today, I prepared a bottle of milk for him and poured a glass of normal milk for me. It looked slightly greyish & watery, but smelt and tasted alright, suggesting that our ancient fridge may have frozen and then defrosted it at some stage. I then carried Wombat and our milky drinks out to sit in the rocking chair on the front deck, intending to have a quiet cuddle. I put my glass of milk down, and sat down in the chair without really looking at it. Unfortunately, when we had been playing on the deck earlier, we must have pushed it too close to the edge and I didn't think to check. As soon as we sat down, I felt it start to tip, and encumbered with Wombat in my arms, there was nothing I could do as we fell except hold tightly to him and try to twist so he would land on me. There is a rosebush with large thorns nearby and several rocks. Even in that split second I could imagine what might happen if he went head first into them. It is only about 15 - 20cm from the deck to the ground, but when you add in the height of the chair, it was a reasonable distance, and we fell heavily. The back of my head connected solidly with a tree-trunk (I can still feel the *thunk* and have a nice, painful, egg-shaped lump). Wombat and I lay stunned for a few seconds, then he started to scream. I reassured him that he wasn't hurt (while desperately checking to make sure that was the case).

Yeti came to the rescue, and while he consoled Wombat, I checked for damage to myself. The bump on the head, a scrape on my shin and a few scratches on my feet seemed to be all. Yeti suggested I sit quietly for a while, and went back to what he was doing. Wombat, meanwhile, now convinced that he was fine and the world wasn't going to do anymore sudden hurtling manouvres, started his favourite game of stalking the pussycat. (If he didn't growl with delight whenever he got close, he'd have a much greater chance of catching her!) When she left in a huff, he decided to play with the cast iron windvane, sitting in the corner quietly rusting while it waits to be installed someday. It has a cow on top. (In all the excitement, his desire for a quiet bottle of milk had gone by the wayside, and he refused even a single sip!) I meanwhile was dazedly keeping an eye on him while trying to drink my own milk. No sooner had I brought the glass to lips than the windvane began to topple over on him. I dropped my glass (which didn't break, although it did spill milk all over me) and grabbed it before it fell on him. Yeti came to the rescue again, and amused Wombat while I cleaned up the spilt milk. I guess I really wasn't meant to drink that milk!

We went for a little walk around the house (Wombat has discovered walking holding on to Mummy or Daddy's hands and is an intrepid explorer - the knee pads give him confidence, I think) and played a family game of pussycat patting, by which time I was aching all over - I pulled muscles in my back, neck and hip when I landed. We retired to the playpen, and Yeti rubbed Voltaren into my back. Wombat was very cute and insisted on carefully helping! (pat pat pat thump pat) Then we read books for the half-an-hour left before naptime.

I fell asleep feeding him, and having promised Yeti that I would stay and have a rest, I didn't try to sneak away when I woke up, I just went back to sleep. Wombat woke up before me, and after playing by himself at the end of the bed for a while, came over once or twice for a little feed, a tiny snooze and a 'poke mummy to check she's still sleeping', before going back to playing... his radiant smile when I finally woke up after an hour and a half was just beautiful!

Anyway... it is now night-time, and he has been sleeping well for two and half hours. He slept for seven hours last night which is a bit of a record lately - he hasn't slept through the night since this latest batch of teething started. I am off to join him before I discover any more aches and pains. OUCHIE!

(Ok... so this is probably the longest plea for sympathy that you'll read this week... but hopefully it was mildly entertaining ;P and at least it explains why there hasn't been any progress in moving the posts across to the Baby Wombat blogs!)

Scary Face Recognition

You know, I thought I looked pretty good on my wedding day... I felt pretty and feminine... somehow this face recognition thingy makes me wonder, though... the first time I tried it, months ago, it came up with Simone de Beauvoir, Chiang Kai-shek and Shimon Perez, among others - and Joe Pesci as my closest facial match :P I thought I'd give it a second chance, following my sister's inspiration, and here's what I got... can I hide now?



I tried a VERY old school photo, which was marginally better (I also remembered to limit this one to female faces, which probably skewed the result)...



My favourite photo from Wombat's baptism was better again... I don't mind being told I resemble Joni Mitchell, or Andi McDowell... but rofl I never thought I'd be compared to Kylie!!!



I think I'd better quit while I'm ahead!

Mummy Delilah

Wombat had his first hair cut today. He cried like it was the end of the world! The barber had trouble cutting straight even when he settled (if you could call it that) as he was sobbing so hard, poor little lad. He was sitting on my lap and from the time the barber put the cloak on us to the time we left, he acted like he was about to get his head cut off! What was this stranger doing in his personal space and ACTUALLY TOUCHING HIM? Outrageous! Of course, the teething didn't help, and by the time it was our turn it was getting close to nap time (he didn't nap at all this afternoon as a result)... but at least he got the big FIRST out of the way, and he was much happier on the way home, not to have hair tickling his eyes and ears anymore...

here's a before pic:


and here are some after pics in the car on the way home, once the tears had subsided (with duckling's help...)



In other exciting news, the tomato plant that his little cousin planted for our Christmas present produced its harvest today - three lovely golden little tomatos! We had them for dinner and they were delicious and sweet!

A Routine, not a Schedule

Phew... this post is not really relevant any more since he is FINALLY sleeping soundly... but I thought I'd record some thoughts for posterity, rather than just blogging them in my head!

Baby Wombat, mummy's job is to be positive and cheerful and energetic all morning, no matter how little sleep she's had. She promises to feed you yummy food, to play, teach and entertain you, all singing, all dancing and all loving, and then to wind down into quieter activities which help you to relax, to give you lovely warm baths and read books until you are yawning and rubbing your eyes. Then she will lie down with you and cuddle, play soothing music and feed you as much mummy milk as you want until your heavy little eyelids close and you drift off into a sweet slumber.

In return, little Wombat, your job is to snooze. It doesn't have to be for long. It is better if you can stay asleep for more than 15 minutes, but so long as you get some sleep mummy will be happy to start the whole routine over again. But you must go to sleep! It is in our contract - in the rulebook AND the appendix. Otherwise mummy will start to get desperate and feel you are not keeping your side of the bargain, especially if you go along with all the preparations, close your eyes, start to snore and then immediately bounce up again as if mummy had been feeding you pure caffeine!

(I AM GOING TO STRANGLE WHOEVER IS RIDING A LOUD MOTORBIKE UP AND DOWN THE ROAD IF THEY WAKE HIM!!!!!!)

Consciously, I knew it was the pain from his teeth making him bounce around the bed like a pingpong ball every time he started to relax, but emotionally, I couldn't help shedding a few tears at the unfairness of it all. I don't want to have to medicate him every time he gets tired!

Yeti came and rescued me, taking Wombat outside to sit quietly in the rocking chair while I had a shower. He was perfectly content to cuddle up to Daddy, as he really was very tired, but as soon as he saw me it was bounce-city again. I gave him some Bonjella, took him back to his bed and stayed with him while he wore himself out playing, blowing bubbles on my tummy, nibbling on my knee and giving me big drooly toothy kisses.

Refreshed by my shower, I was able to be more philosophical, keep my breathing deep and even and daydream while I waited for him to wind down. After nearly an hour he eventually crawled near me, flopped down and agreed to another little feed. His eyes closed almost immediately, as he was totally exhausted, but even then his body refused to relax... it took 15 minutes of me murmuring "There, there... just relax... it's ok... shhhhhhhhh" over and over again before his feet stopped kicking and his arms stopped flailing and he finally fell deeply asleep.

He's now been asleep for nearly an hour and I have had the chance to catch up on a few of the jobs that I can't do when he's with me... we're running about 2 hours late on a normal day, but at least he got some rest... there have been days when I have had to give up on naptime altogether, which really upsets us both... all I can do is try to impose a consistent order of events, so he can predict what will happen next. The timing is up to him, and I have discovered that the only predictable thing about it is that it will be unpredictable. There was a period last week where each nap lasted for nearly 2 hours, and he was asleep almost as soon as he started to suckle! Really, these difficult days are in the minority... nine times out of ten the routine works just fine.

I'd better go do some more work now and take advantage of my momentary freedom before he wakes up ready for his lunch.

Baby Wombat, you confuse, frustrate and enchant me with your sweetness. I guess I must do the same to you. Sleep well, little love, and I'll be all smiles and kisses when you wake, no matter how little I manage to get done in the meantime. You are, and will ALWAYS be more important than anything else that might occupy my time. Sometimes I forget that, but my heart quickly reminds me.

It's in the contract - and the rule book - AND the appendix.

Y time

I have so many things I want to write, so many half-formed thoughts and half-finished projects... but Wombat is teething and only taking two half hour naps a day, which just gives me time to shower and turn the computer on before I'm back to being mum-mum-mum... and then when I finally get here at night, after tidying up and getting everything ready for tomorrow, I have ten minutes to check my email before Yeti comes complaining that he never gets to talk to me and I should come spend some time with him... males! And the baby whisperer calls it 'You' time! huh! Good thing I love 'em.

Ugggh... this weather!

In the last week, my favourite roses have roasted, my gardenias have gasped their last, my dahlias are dead and my crepe myrtles are crispy. I know I have neglected my garden since Wombat was born, but it's not as though we haven't been watering. Yeti has been pumping from the dam almost every evening... but to no avail.

Last night, he was telling me about his global warming premonition. He had a nightmare in which the entire earth was a ball of red dust and the devil stood astride what used to be the greenest, most luxuriant landscapes, laughing and laughing and laughing, with no-one to oppose him.

The scary thing is, it's quite feasible - and not that far away in planetary terms. I am somewhat of a mythical ostrich, burying my head in the sand (real ostriches aren't silly enough to actually do that!) As long as I can see babies, butterflies and birds around me, I believe the world will go on.

But what will my great great grandchildren see? Sure, it's a cliche... but perhaps the time has come to look beyond the rhetoric and seriously think about answering it (there's still at least two levels of procrastination there... I sure am predictable.)

I studied law as it seemed to be the best way to ensure I would be able to support my children when the need arose. I think I'm slowly hearing the message (being shouted at me from every side) that I should take an even longer term view and nurture my dilettantish penchant into a crusader's passion for environmental law.

I might surprise myself by making a difference.

This thinking is linked to two other ongoing mental themes:

First, there is our neverending discussion as parents about where we should move to provide the best surroundings for our adorable Wombat and his (twinkle-in-the-eye) siblings. Back in the archives, I mentioned a recurring dream in which I saw a big, white house with wide verandahs overlooking the sea. It was called 'Butternook' (that's how it sounds, though I'm not sure if that's how it is spelt). In our discussion last night, Yeti mentioned the same house (even though I had not told him of my dream, I immediately recognised his description). We had each focussed on different details, but as we filled in the blanks in each others' picture, we began to feel that this was a real place and it was waiting to be ours. It's out there somewhere. Now we just have to find it!

Secondly, there is my search for a word for this year. I wanted to take this challenge seriously and have rejected all the candidates so far considered (it would take too long to list and explain them all) as not having enough BITE to be sufficient inspiration. This year has a lot of potential to shape my... no, OUR future, and I don't want to let it drift by and be wasted like so many of my years have been.

I have thought and prayed and meditated and dreamed about finding the right word, and it seems significant that so many different threads are tying themselves into one consistent and very challenging pattern.

I have chosen my word for 2007.

~ Environment ~

What, Wombat?

Lol... I was wrong! After trying unsuccessfully to get used to Bunyip as a name for my boy, I realised it wasn't going to work... I mean, he's not scaly & feathery & living in a swamp (though I do admit I've been a bit slack about vacuuming lately!) No... my boy's blogging name is one that I have been calling him from the very beginning... one that conveys his strong and sturdy build and determined nature... that's right! He's my little wombat ;D

and in his new camo overalls, he makes the perfect combat wombat ;P

I've been busy setting up the new blogs for him and moving my posts over from my site... it's been great fun working with new blogger's customisation abilities. I do love tweaking html! Nourishes some inner creative urge, in a crafty but non-tactile sort of way. As soon as I have something to read up there, I will add the links.

I had more erudite things to say, I'm sure... but once again time has frittered away from me, it's 4am and Wombat is waking for his early morning comfort feed.

Love a boy in uniform

This entry is going to jump around like a frog on a hotplate, if you will excuse the somewhat painful metaphor...

Have you ever noticed that the more you have to write about, the less time you have to write in??? I am desperate to get the latest Bunyip update out - I've dropped back to doing them monthly - his month, not calendar. He is now 10 months old, and so much happened in the last month that I want to record... but between teething & the heat, he is not sleeping, and I am getting no time to myself at all!

I am in the process of redesigning my home website, and have the template all prepared and ready, but part of my reasoning is a fresh dose of paranoia. Now I am posting so many photos of my life all over the internet, I don't want to have quite so much personal information associated with them... on the very slim chance that someone undesirable finds an unsavoury use for them. This raised the new dilemma of finding a blogging name for my son. I wanted to be a little bit original, and a little bit Australian, which cut out most of the candidates as they were either too American or already being used... anyway, to cut a long story short as it is already 3:30 am and I MUST get to bed, I finally realised that there was only one name for the aussie offspring of a Yeti and a Myth... BUNYIP!

(Other possibilities seriously considered included Snugglepot, the L'il Bloke, Jackaroo, DJ and Number One Son...)

One of my motivations for keeping this blog is to record the more crafty things I make... so here is my latest project - overalls to protect my Bunyip in his new-found mission of exploring the world. MIL came home from a charity shop with a couple of army cadet camouflage shirts that didn't fit either Yeti or myself, so I remade one into overalls. I am very pleased with my ingenuity in getting two overalls from one shirt!

The pattern is very simple, traced from a pair of existing overalls. It is a size 1 but I have added extra seam allowances and hems where possible - the Bunyip is not going to stop growing anytime soon!

This pair use the sleeves of the shirt as the legs of the overalls. The sleeves were double fabric in front, and had button-adjustable cuffs, making them ideal for the purpose. Whoever gave the shirts away forgot to remove their shoulder patches from one of the shirts, so Bunyip got his own military insignia as well!




I didn't have enough fabric to make two bibs, so this pair use the epaulettes to fasten the straps, and the pockets were unpicked and resewn as knee patches.







This pair were made from leftover scraps from a skirt I made while pregnant and still wear. I put the buttonhole in the wrong place, so added the heart motif to disguise my mistake and it ended up being my favourite detail! If you look very closely, you can see that the legs are patched together in several pieces as I had nowhere near enough fabric, but I am pleased the pattern doesn't show the joins.







Here he is modelling his new actionwear!

Water, water everywhere

I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry about this one.

It's nearly as awful as the Aussie model/triathlete who was out jogging with her baby on a hill above the Torrens river in Adelaide. She stopped to answer her phone and turned away to write a number on her thigh. When she turned back, the baby was gone. Being a celebrity-type, her first thought was to run around screaming "My baby's been stolen." It was a while before anyone bothered to look down the hill and see the pram floating in the water. The baby died later in hospital.
[story]

Yeti (my husband-like person) claims that my generation has a habit of dissembling. It's never our fault, always someone else's. Being considerably older, he can get away with making such sweeping generalisations (he makes different and equally cogent criticisms of his own generation, but that's another story) . I guess he's not the only one who has noticed this trend, as I was amused to read this in the Driver's Handbook (while studying for my final driver's licence test):

And when people make insurance claims after crashes, they generally avoid taking the blame. The experts call this ‘external attribution’ – where you attribute blame or the reason that things happen to things outside of yourself. As you might have guessed, ‘internal attribution’ is when you assign blame or the reason that things happen to yourself. The healthiest situation is where you can recognise the things that are due to you and what you do and the things that aren’t. Research suggests that people who can honestly recognise what is their fault and what is others’ are safer drivers.

It’s tough to accept that some things are down to you.

Tough is not the word, when you think of that little boy's mother. I can't help wondering - did she see what really happened and then automatically invent a way for it not to be her fault, or was she really that clueless? Either way it's going to be bloody difficult to live with...

Leonardo's favourite stuffed toy lion sat atop his white coffin, next to a bunch of white roses, while songs played at the service included The Lion Sleeps Tonight.

But the story which prompted me to write tonight involves a different kind of tragic stupidy, and it would be very hard to attribute blame to the ones who will suffer as a result.

Apparently a mother with three children died from water intoxication after trying to see how much she could drink without peeing. The reason? She was participating in a radio contest to win a Nintendo Wii.
[story]

Who is to blame for that senseless waste of human life? And how will those three kids deal with a lifetime of 'internal attribution' - believing that it was their fault. After all, she was doing it for them... wasn't she?

:(

Mine... all mine!

So what do you think? I've just finished redecorating the Bordello. Does it suit me?

New beginnings

I miss not having a blog - somewhere I can write the thoughts not suitable for those updates that I publish on my website and share with family and friends.

No matter how I try to talk myself out of it, my mind is constantly writing entries.

Of course, time is still at a premium - the aforementioned updates are few and far between, and even my beloved photo challenges are being done in fortnightly blocks.

I am not going to restart either of my online diaries, because then I would feel obligated to read and comment on the entries of friends and favourites, and my time would once more fritter away. I am much happier being able to lurk randomly around when I have a spare minute, and I am glad to have a few online friends (and numerous strangers) who don't mind me doing so.

I can't use my website because it is almost out of space, I can't just post entries the way blogger does, and it is supposed to be a public showcase of my work. I am not even sure my babyblog is appropriate there.

This place keeps calling to me... the plaintive howl of a wasted space. It has been a monumental failure as a meme-o-rama (not that I blame anyone - it was a silly idea in the first place). The thing is, I have nostalgic longings for it. It makes me sad to see it so quiet. I am also pretty sure I am the only one who ever thinks about bumbling around in the bordello these days.

As a result, I am hereby hijacking this blog for my own selfish concerns ;P

Other erstwhile contributors have a week to protest (preferably with a meme response). If this post is still at the top next Friday, I shall start redecorating... (*rubs hands gleefully... nothing I like better than a bit of web weaving* **insert screwdriver in slot on top of head and turn briskly**)

Anyway, enough prevarication from me. Blog now or forever hold your peace! (Though of course you will always be welcome to lurk and/or comment as the mood takes you.)

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I keep reading lovely, loving, inspirational letters which mothers write to their babies. Nine months in the womb and nine months in the world, and I haven't written to David yet. I haven't even attempted to record my feelings about him, the joy and wonder and sheer cuddliness of him, in the medium which is supposedly my specialty - words.

Years before his birth, I purchased a book in which to record his first five years. So far, I have written his name inside the cover... for Christmas I was given another one. He has an empty scrapbook and a bag full of birth and baptism cards to be pasted into it. He has two empty photo albums. I have taken thousands of photos of him. I need to print out the best ones and arrange them - one month to a page - so we have a record of his growth which can't be erased by computer failure. I have a new stack of 50 cds to back-up his archives.

My sister sent me a poem recently with a lot of very beautiful questions. I would like to try to answer some of them sometime.

I need to get off the computer and spend more time just chatting with my husband.

I need to be working towards the things I want to achieve this year - studying for my licence test on Monday, looking at property, investigating university lecture-ships, expanding my thesis into a book... I have a stack of books on Gwen Harwood, twelve of them, beside me, five still unread... of the others, I have scribbled page numbers for note-taking but never gotten back to them. They must be posted back to the university tomorrow, and since I have now finished my degree, I no longer have borrowing privileges. So much for preparing that e-book. It was starting to look like a glorified crib guide, but I was hoping to lift it back to the level of literary criticism.

I have an accumulated sleep debt of several thousand hours. I need to get to bed earlier.

I desperately need more exercise.

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One or two of these things might be achieved by blogging. The vast majority will not... but at least making a list reminds me of them, so perhaps it is not such a dangerous idea... the challenge will be indulging... in moderation.

Hah!

All in One

PHOTO CHALLENGE = HAIR

K loves geting her hair put up - she thinks she is so pretty with her hair up - and she is

PHOTO CHALLENGE = CAMOFLAGE

If I hide under here I am invisible - no one can see me now!!

PHOTO CHALLENGE = AUTUMNAL BLISS! Calling all pictures of pumpkins, scarecrows, hay and leaves!

Ok the closest I could get to this was a photo of "Hector the protector" our scarecrow we had in Lalor Park - and the only pic I had of our scarecrow was at our Engagment party in 1998

PHOTO CHALLENGE = DESTRUCTION

What else is a sand castle for?

PHOTO CHALLENGE = LOVE

I know this was supposed to be macro but ehh :)

 PHOTO CHALLENGE = NARCASSISTIC

 

Everytime K gets dressed in the morning she will run to the mirror in our bedroom to check her hair and if she looks cute -She is usually pretty happy with herself

Internet porn

You'll all remember Steff's ants for macro Sunday's "TWO"... being busy with my thesis, I wasn't worrying too much about photo challenges, but I was keeping my eyes out for an answer - just not finding one... all the "two"s I saw were either boring subjects, or out of focus when I tried to capture them at macro level... then I saw this!
WARNING DO NOT LOOK AT THESE PICTURE WHEN EATING, OR BEFORE BREAKFAST ;P

(clicking on them should give you a slightly larger image if you really want to gross yourself out...)


Doing it "fly-style"...


Note the foot on the eyeball ;P charming!


And on the next tree up, the lonely hearts club...


Look at those eyelashes!!! This one's really dolled up, but having no luck...

lol... ok, you can shoot me now ;P

manic monday (on wednesday ;P)

lol... don't have time to be here, but when did that stop me? some very important people have now agreed to review my thesis final draft, which means it MUST be ready to send to them by Friday *gulp* that's 70 pages of footnotes to sort out and 13 pages of bibliography... and I'm beginning to wonder if it's any good and expect to look like a fool in front of said important people... but in the meantime...

Manic Mondays

last week's and this week's...

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

If you were to say that there is a period of your life that you dream about the most, when would it be?

not sure... lately when I fall asleep feeding the lad, I seem to be dreaming of a place called "Butternook"... large house with verandahs on a hill overlooking the sea, lots of flowers and a winding path to the door, green fields... maybe it's a past life... maybe it's a future home (*fingers crossed* lol)... maybe it's just my imagination, or something I've read... but I've googled the name and apparently it doesn't exist except in my dreams...

How often do you change the sheets on your bed?

Every Sunday... I even air the blankets now that dj shares our room!

If you could wake up tomorrow in your own bed, but in another place in the world (indoors or outdoors), where would you like it to be?

Hawaii

If you had to name the worst song to wake up to in the morning, what would it be?

ook ummmm Maggie by Rod Stewart... "Wake up Maggie, I think I've got something to say to you..." VOMIT

Bonus: (As in optional) If you were to have Shakespeare to dinner tonight and could invite one other person from history, who would you pick?

Only one? I love this answer I found in someone else's random blog ;P

Mrs. Shakespeare. It would only be polite plus then I might get the chance to hear them bicker.

Well, if I'm going to have Shakespeare, how about another great comic playwright... Aristophanes!

Land of Nod

What is your ideal time to go to sleep at night?

ideal? I don't know... I try to get there before 3am... especially as dj wakes me up at 6 and wants to play...

If you had your choice, what time would you get up in the morning?

I actually like getting up early ;D wish I had more sleep though... *growls at the computer*

How many pillows do you sleep with on your bed?

I like one feather pillow on my side... the yeti has two lumpy ones (lol... PILLOWS, people, what did you think I was talking about???) and when dj comes into bed with us at sunup to give me a little more snoozing, I put an extra one between him and yeti, otherwise he likes to pull Daddy's hair and stroke Daddy's shoulder... which is fine with Daddy after about 8am or 9am, but will result in a grumpy Daddy if it happens any earlier!

Are you particular about your bed sheets?

Yes, have to be cotton, and smooth... can't stand scratchy sheets!

What size bed do you have?

Supersize King at the moment, but the mattress is ancient and a little musty, and since dj is now pushing top and bottom in his bassinet, and there's no room for a larger bed beside ours, it is GOING! I've got a good quote for a lovely firm Queen size for us and a softer King Single for him that just fit in the space where our SSKing and bassinet fit now (leaving me a 10cm gap to open my wardrobe)... and I can't wait to replace them! Yeti's going to build the platforms underneath them (nice and low given the lad's new-found talent for diving headfirst onto the hardwood floor) and railings / sides around dj's so it will last him 10 years without us needing to buy a cot, then a junior bed, then a single then a king single as he's likely to outgrow them too fast!

Is that the size of your choice?

Actually, I'm going to miss our huge luxurious sprawl... but there comes a time when every good mattress should retire! I was watching a home renovation show once where a woman threatened divorce because she suddenly discovered that it was the marital bed of her husband's first marriage, so his ex-wife had slept in it before her... well, this bed was used by yeti's ex... and I've slept in it with my ex (no we didn't do anything... and I ditched him for yeti soon after)... hell, my dad's even slept in this bed! and for several years (when we slept in the small loungeroom which is now MIL's tv room) the mattress was a landing platform for an injured kookaburra and then an injured owl, both of which I nursed back to health and released after a year or two of happily living inside! No wonder it smells musty!!! :P

and on that note of tmi...

cya ;D

TWO TOO MANY - "Two little Ants met in a lane"

Another Photo Challenge with the number 2 as a word - this is getting ridiculous. There are lots of wonder ful numbers - personally I like 5 but even 1000 is adventurous - enough with 2 she is worn out and not everything comes in Pairs!!!

Anyway my macro two image is of the ants in my bathroom - I can't get rid of them - they plague me - these two are obviously plotting against me - you can see it in their beedy little multi facited eyes - there talking about me - they all are - THE ANTS ARE CONSPIRING AGAINST ME!!!THERE COMING TO TAKE ME AWAYYYYY....

Photo Challenge = Tower

Half the fun of Building a Tower is Knocking it Down

Tuesdays Challenge = Water

Water - Dripping Taps - I am notorious for leaving taps dripping - I don't mean to I just don't seem to turn them off as tight as others - so it stops when i turn it off but after about 5min its back dripping

Way Back Wednesday - Wheels

"Way Back Wednesday - I like your wheels man. We've seen the technology of the past, now how about some cars. Can't think of one? Look in other pictures to see if there's a car in the background"

My Nana's Van - How I loved that van - since my first ar I have wanted one and even now I see the appeal and this is my dream car - Hey what other car comes complet with a sink, stove, fridge, couches, table and bed...Man I want that van - When i was younger i thought what a great set up for parties - no need to worry about your ride home - Now I think - what a great car for kids and heading up to Sydney all the time.
You know I have no idea even what model it is - but I loved it.
Notice there is also room for your baby alive dolls to sit while you have dinner - now lets talk about fassion - red bell bottom pants, sox and sandles and a lovely knitted blue jumper

Narcissistic Monday

As always, I have more gorgeous photos of him than I can use, so I can't resist sharing them with you :)




this is the one I'm using, only cropped better :) the one above was a VERY close runner, but is not so well in-focus for a larger display

Macro Sunday - LOVE

I do love Macro Sunday - I think it is my favourite of these photo challenges :)
Have had lots of fun finding the perfect photo for "love"
Here are some of my favourites!