Fashion Faux-Ga

OK, so I'm feeling a bit better today, well enough to be sitting stuck at home, bored, grumpy and watching Ellen.

And who does she have on today? None other than my favourite fruit-loop, Lady Gaga. Now I know I have blogged before about little miss oh-no-I'm-an-artiste and I don't want to cover old ground... but I'm gunna!

So she whacked on some latex and sang whilst sitting astride some poor backup dancer stuck hanging upside down.

Poor lass. I hope she got paid in more than sequinned undies and latex formalwear.

Anyhoo, after this song, she sat with Ellen for her "interview". What a stunted, awkward thing that was. Can we get some PR training to table 5, pronto?!

During this chat, Ellen asked her about her outfits and what makes her choose such out-there looks for her performances. Lady Gaga said she felt like she didn't fit in at high school (as an aside, does anyone feel like they did? Isn't that the whole point of high school?) and felt like an outsider, a freak. So she wears these outfits to let her fans have a safe place to let their inner freak flags fly, to let them know it's okay to be different.

Uh-huh.

This is obviously what all the little misfits have been doing wrong. Instead of trying to copy the cool kids and not quite pulling it off, thus consigning themselves to the nuclear wasteland of uncooldom forever (well, at least a couple of years), they should instead be like Lady. Just superglue your entire body, pour the contents of your feather quilt over said self, grab some ornaments off your Christmas tree and suspend them from your genitalia and you're good to go!

Wait til the cool kids see you now!

"Wow, Abigail, we can totally like see now, that you are totally like just a tortured artist, and we like totally get that now. Please, oh please, oh PLEASE will you be our super-best friend?? By the way, we are totally like sorry about the whole gaffer-taping you naked to the flagpole thing, but hey, looking at you now, maybe that's your thing. Like okay?"

Yuh-huh, I'm sure that's totally how it would go. Gimme a break.

Sick

Sick, sick, sickety-sick.

So not pretty.

God I hate having to be looked after. But I am grateful I have people who will.

Lost contacts, early mornings and nature poos

I have had a day of disgusting things.


Possibly the most disgusting thing of all was being woken at 4.30am to help Hubby look for his contact lens that popped out while he was getting ready for work. After an hour of searching, dis-assembling sink pipes and generally cranky-pantsness on both sides, we deduced it had been washed down the sink and into God-knows-where. Fun.


So... hubby can't drive without the lens, and has super-important work-type stuff, needs to meet some guys out on site and get them started, yadda yadda yadda. Being the immeasurably good wife I am (and GG was on a sleepover anyway) I throw on some clothes and drive Hubby to Wacol. Yes, that's where the prison is, right next door to it we are in fact!! They even had to do police checks on the guys to make sure they hadn't been, or didn't have family or friends, serving time in there. Nothing like having a mate with a bulldozer on the other side of the razor wire!!


I must admit, it was actually quite nice to hang out with Hubby for the morning, I took him to a few others sites, then to an optician to get an emergency lens. It was the most time we had spent together in weeks!!


So, I get home around lunchtime, a very tired GG is dropped off by Grandma, all PlayGrouped out, and we both have a rest.


Then, this afternoon I was busy and filthy in the veggie garden when GG announced she needed to do wee. Rather than hose ourselves off to go inside, I decide to be all Earth Mumma about it, and whip her knickers off and tell her to go wee under the tree near the fence. Yes, yes, I expect my Mother of the Year Award to arrive any minute.


Well, I look over and she's decided to add another process, if you know what I mean. Yup, poos on the lawn. Lovely!


I sigh, kick myself and try to figure out how to clean THAT up. Turns out I needn't worry, the dog has got it covered. HE ATE IT!!!!!!! Stomach churning, I banish him, re-dress GG and wonder how my life got so glamourous. I still can't bring myself to let the dog in, I don't think I'll ever look at him the same way again.

Disgusting, disgusting day. Where's the wine?

Stressed Mum or Serial Killer??

I just did something I have NEVER done before. I just picked up a hitchiker.

Someone pick my mother up off the floor would you and I'll explain.

I was just down the road from our little local shops, and I saw a woman and her young daughter standing beside a car with bags of groceries at their feet and looking a bit desperate.

I actually just pulled over to see if they needed a phone to call RACQ or similar, but when I spoke to the woman, she was desperate to get home (she named a road 10 mins away) before her son got home from school on the bus.

So I did a quick mental run through of my likelihood of ending up in a shallow bush grave versus good karma points for helping out a Mum in need. Karma won.I'm usually a pretty good judge of character, and I'm also pretty intuitive, and a little voice was telling me to help this woman. It reminded me of someone once telling me that they believed God is not a big booming voice in the sky, He is that little quiet voice in your head. So I said a quick prayer of "I hope I'm right" and told them to hop in. Hey, I even had a car seat for her daughter, I must've been sent to them, right??? Right???

The woman was SOOO appreciative, I actually felt a little uncomfortable, but glad I had helped. Her daughter was hot and bothered initially, but calmed down in the cool car and said a very cute and polite "Thank you for 'elping us". I was even more glad I had helped when we got to her driveway, which was in a fairly rural area, big blocks with no houses visible from the street, and her son, about 7, was standing there in tears and looking quite scared. Apparently he had just got off the bus, and when she wasn't at the gate, walked up to the house to find her not home, so he had come back down to wait for her. A little thrill of fear went through me when I thought about who could have come along before we did. I'm sure it was more than that for her...

I wonder if this makes me an angel now, (insert Blue's Brothers voiceover here) "on a mission from God"??? I doubt it, but I am sure glad I listened to my little voice...

And the Award goes to...

The totally divine Six Divided by Two has awarded my lil' ol' blog this:

Yay me! Being relatively new to the blogging world, it's lovely to get feedback like this!! I am totally thrilled, as I really like Six's blog, she has amazing taste and style, as well as moxie to burn. She is uplifting and funny, and she and her equally amazing twin sister at Six in One Hand are facing a tough time at the moment, so I'm sure they'd appreciate some bloggy love.

Now, the idea is to pass this on to some worthy bloggers, and then share 10 things about myself. So, without further ado, the girls I'd like to award are:

Whoa Mumma - Alex always amuses me with her dry, funny humour and her 12 week fitness challenge has just about convinced me to do the same. Seriously, she looks awesome! After 4 kids!!

Chronicles of Sharnia - This cool, funny chick is also a newly minted blogger and mummy, and her tales of a former city girl adjusting to life in her One Horse Town often has me in stitches.

Three Little Birds - Darnonymous is the author of this truly lovely blog. She is funny (hmm.. I'm noticing a pattern here!), touching and, having taken out the last two Blog This challenges, a very clever writer.

OK - so now for the 10 things about me. Here we go:

1. I am completely addicted to cups of tea.

2. I am completely over reality TV. Though I did watch the final of Idol, and I'll watch MasterChef if they bring back real people. Oh, and I don't mind Amazing Race. And does the Choir of Hard Knocks guy's latest show in the women's prison count as reality? Probably huh? OK, I'm completely over the idea of reality TV.

3. I know I need to get off my butt and lose some weight, but now that I am big, there is no way I'll go to an aerobics class and humiliate myself. Catch 22 much??

4. I am scared of heights. Seriously. I am also scared of the monorail-death-trap-thingy that takes you between the casino and Broadbeach Mall. The fact that my 2 year old daughter dances blithley onto this does not help me feel like a grown up.

5. Some days, I don't feel remotely like a grown up.

6. I wish I had travelled the world after leaving school, instead of shacking up with my teenage romance. Who could of seen that that would never last!?!?!?!

7. I love old school Billy Joel songs. Oh, and White Snake's "Here I go Again" it's my personal "break up song" that I always used to play to amp me up after a failed romance, and still love for some bizarre reason. I have even driven past my house and round the block, just so I could keep singing it at the top of my lungs!!

8. I am a really bad singer.

9. I really wish I could get my hair to behave. I could live with it being curly, just not frizzy. And I could motivate myself to straighten it, if it didn't go so flat.

10. I know how to give a horse a manicure.

There you go! I hope you go visit my bloggy girls, and I look forward to reading their "10 Things".

One of the Gang

Don't you hate when you join a class and you're clearly the newbie? Everybody else knows all the moves, chats amongst themsleves and barely looks in your direction.

It doesn't seem to matter what sort of group it is, if I join it, guaranteed it's full of a tight knit group who've all been going for ages. Some are lovely and include me like I've been there the whole time, like my Mothers Group, some are clique-y and exclusive, like the book club where two people kept talking over the top of me . I started an aerobics class yonks ago, and the instructor didn't even bother announcing what they were doing next, the whole class moved like a school of fish, with me the bumbling Dory banging into everyone.

I joined a pilates class when GG was about 6 months old and left after a few months, because not only was it not helping my bad pelvis (thanks GG, you lump of a fetus to carry!), but not one woman had said anything other than a casual Hi to me, with no follow up anything.

Well, it appears this unfortunate talent is hereditary. GG started swimming lessons today, and because of a cock-up where the front desk woman sent me to the wrong place, we ended up having to join the next class. One that was, of course, full of kids who knew all the moves, sang all the songs, and left their Mums to go with the instructor with no dramas. Sigh.

Luckily, GG is happy and confident in the water, and I'm sure once she gets to know the instructor she'll be fine. The Mums seems nice and friendly and one little girl was holding GG's hand as they sat on the edge kicking their legs. Plus the instructor actually took time to explain to me what we needed to do for each section of the class.

Hopefully GG won't be a newbie for too much longer.

Heat, wind and windfalls

Phew! So today was the day of the car boot sale, 4am wake up call and all. Oh joy.

Hubby, GG, the loyal hound Scout and I all decamped to the school down the road at 5.15, thinking we'd be first and get our pick of the spots, only to see them streaming in the gate, having been parked all along the side of the road since God-knows-when!! And of course, we were on the wrong side of the road.

Cue some "assertive" driving and we were in!! Ta da!

It was hot as heck, even at 6am, but we were well prepared with an esky of water bottles and cool snacks for GG. I could've taken 1 minute away from slathering suncream all over GG to slap some on myself, however, as now I have a chest and shoulders the colour of a Christian Louboutin sole! I'm deciding to go with it and accessorise accordingly. :)

What I was not prepared for was how quickly the people decended! I was madly unpacking stuff (who knew I had a whole table's worth of cocktail glasses?!?!?) and it was being snapped up before I could line it all up nice and neat and pretty. I had also forgotten how much STUFF I had.

I had warned hubby that I intended to bring nothing home with me, even if it didn't sell, it was getting taken to a charity bin or the tip. And it was so!! We got rid of EVERYTHING! I feel so cleansed and de-cluttered, like my house has had a colonic irrigation!

Add to that we managed to make about $200, even with me practically giving stuff away at the end just to get rid of it, and I am rapt!! Of course, being the sensible, responsible person I am, I took the money straight to the bank. Then I walked past the bank and went to the shops! Hazzah!!! I now have gorgeous new knickers and a pair of snazzy trousers for my first day at work tomorrow. Don't ask me why, I feel more confident in nice undies, even though my days of flashing them are long gone...

Imagination and Inspiration

It’s entirely possible I have an overactive imagination.

One of my favourite ways to pass idle time is to sit in a cafe, sip on a latte and invent life stories for the people I see. Like the glamorous woman with the designer sunglasses but incredibly sad eyes: I invent a story of career success but love lost. Or the two women bursting into laughter after simply catching each other eyes: I see them flatting together, breaking hearts and spilling secrets over glasses of cask wine.

I try and steer away from being nasty and judgemental, but some people make that an exercise in futility.

And is it entirely wrong of me that when something bizarre or funny happens I imagine what a great story it would be when I’m being interviewed by Ellen? ‘Cos you know, I’m a famous writer/actress/rock-star/activist/astronaut now.

I started this blog after always kind of wanting too, but not quite being confident enough. Then other people started telling me I should. I decided that when the 10th person I knew told me I should, I would. Then I put it off. Then I did it, and now I love it. My husband has often told me he thinks I should write a book. Until now, I’ve often secretly thought I should too, but been crippled by feelings of inadequacy. So – baby steps. I am in the process of getting some material together for another blog, written by my alter ego, the girl I sometimes wish I could be. It will chronicle her (hopefully) kick-ass life and the hapless people who try to foil her plans for international superstardom.

Stay tuned.

Politically Incorrect

God I'm sick of this political correctness bullshit.

It started off as a good idea didn't it? Sort of like when your 10 and you ask your parents why doesn't everyone in the world just share their money and everything, then they'd be no really rich people, and no really poor people. Then she tells you about communism and you think "Hmm, perhaps not then". Or was that just my family???

I mean, the whole thing has just gotten out of control. I'm all for equal rights and not using defamatory words, I hate bigotry, but c'mon!! Now we have "Baa Baa Rainbow Sheep"... sorry, I've never seen one of those (well except for the time I ate those mushrooms in that sheep paddock...)

Seems the government and corporate Australia are now so worried about offending any one person, that they'll offend a whole raft of us when they refuse to use the word Christmas and veto a picture of poor old Santa in a public school newsletter wishing the students a "Happy Holiday". Sure, 99.9% of the kids at the school celebrate Christmas, but hey! we don't want to upset a Jehovah's Witness or Buddhist or Jewish child. You know something? I think if the parents were that worried about their kid finding out about this whole Christmas dealy, they may not choose to send them to a public school in a Christian nation. Or to a shopping centre between October and February.

Or when a bank is so scared of being labelled racist, they allow a Muslim woman to enter in full coverings, face and all, but security insist a Caucasian man has to remove his motorbike helmet. This was done for a cable TV show I've forgotten the name of, but remember watching the spokesman for the bank squirm uncomfortably when questioned by the host of the show.

And does it seem to you (as it does to me) that a lot of the people doing the complaining, aren't actually members of the group they are telling us will be offended? And that the group who are involved, actually couldn't give a toss?

Maybe they are as pissed off as I am, sick of pandering "do-gooders" treating them like they are feeble, fragile and unable to justify their own religion and lifestyle.

I also happen to think that our fear of being labelled intolerant, is actually letting real intolerance, religous zealotry and hatred, gain a foothold.

As I'm writing this, I'm wondering if I will offend anyone? I'm also thinking, "Ahh, they can take it, and if they can't, I'm not really interested in them liking me. I'm not a fan of pussies." Well, now I've gone and gotten all the Feline-Australians all catty.. oh, wait...

Friends (not the TV show)

Don't you just love how kids can make friends?

Image from here

All it takes it seems is to in the general vicinity of a kid roughly your age, and voila!

GG joined me on a coffee date this morning, and met A for the first time. GG is 2, A is 3. Their eyes met shyly over babycinos, then 5 minutes later, there were bolting off to the horsey ride together. In the car on the way home, GG announced, "A my friend, my nice friend." Awww.

I've always been kind of funny about making friends. I like to think I'm a good friend, I still have friends I met in primary school, I'm a typical Capricorn, very loyal, but once you've crossed me, you're done. I find it hard to make new friends as a grown up though. Since we've moved to the Gold Coast (well, moved back - I grew up here), I've kinda wanted to expand my group of local friends. I've got plenty of lovely friends, but they're all kind of scattered, and I'd like some more available to catch up with (it's all about me, obviously). The few friends I have still on the Coast from last time I lived here are lovely, but there's like 3 of them. Where do I go? It's not like there's a playground I can skulk around the edges of and see who I like the look of, like when you start a new school.

Plus, it seems a bit weird and sad and clinical to be "friend-hunting", doesn't it. Which makes it bizarre and tragic that I'm publicly talking about it! Hmmmm...

I have met a few of people who've become very dear friends through the usual work, ante-natal class etc., and it's been easy as pie. I wonder if that's because I wasn't actually looking for a friend. Now I sometimes feel like a Bridget Jones-esque single, strategising where to meet suitable friends, how to approach them. In short, overanalysing like I always do.

Maybe I should take a leaf out of GG's book and just chill. "Hey! You like parks too? Let's be friends!". Yeah, I'm sure that'll keep me out of the loony bin...

Don't Quote Me

I'm feeling quite un-inspired tonight, and I have no words from my own brain ready to gush forth, so I am stealing other peoples!

I thought I would share with you some of my favourite quotes. The first one is my favourite, I even used it in my wedding speech, the next few are ones that have stayed in my mind throughout my life...


"Life isn't about how many breaths you take, it's about how many moments take your breath away." Anon


"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent" Eleanor Roosevelt


"What is Real?" asked the Rabbit one day.
"Real isn't how you are made", said the Skin Horse. "You become. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or have to be carefully kept.
The Velveteen Rabbit, Margery Williams



These are some other favourites...


"Be the change you wish to see in the world." Ghandi


"I am a deeply superficial person." Andy Warhol


"Outside of a dog, a book is Man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read. Groucho Marx


The problem in the world today is communication. Too much communication. Homer Simpson
(My husband and I actually quote this when we're cranky at each other for some communication error or other. Never fails to crack us up.)


These two I found when I was looking for a quote for my blog header...


"Insanity is heriditary; you get it from your kids." Sam Leve


"Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself."
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth."
Kahlil Gibran


And this one I run through my head right before I walk into just about every party / event I go to:

"Remember, no one is thinking about you, they're thinking about themselves, just like you."
Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination, Helen Fielding

To Market, To Market

In a moment of insanity, we decided to clear out all our assorted paraphenalia and stuff I never even bothered unpacking from our move in January, and sell it at the local car boot sale.

Madness. This is because while I am a classic "chucker", hubby is a typical "hoarder". Every item has to be negotiated over, argued about, and in the end, I chuck it in the "to go" pile anyway. Obedient wife that I am.

This sale is held about 200 metres from my house, which makes it seem slightly bizarre that I need a ute to transport all the stuff, esp. the heavy furniture stuff. I suppose it also makes it handy that I can run home to grab anything I need/forgot!

This is all part of my vow to de-clutter my life, and my attempt to stick to the maxim "If it's not beautiful, sentimental or useful, get rid of it". I doubt we'll actually make any decent amount of money, this market is renowned for being particularly cheap, but I might make enough to shout myself a pedicure. Oh la la!!

It all seems like madness at the moment though, as this is my last child-free day before the market, so I should really be unpacking boxes, organising, sorting, pricing and generally getting my stuff together. Should be.

Unfortunately, I am still recovering from last night's migraine, and am currently still in my pj's, sipping my third straight cuppa and contemplating going back to bed. It's 9am, usually by now I've been up for 3 or 4 hours and done half a days work. I don't have to do the kindy run today, because my angel of a Mum came and took GG to her place last night for a last-minute sleep-over. What I did in some past life to deserve a Mum like her, I don't know, but I am very lucky!

I am desperately trying to find some motivation and energy, I am hoping for a second (or first) wind after I eat some breakfast. Wish me luck!

Sorry

There’s not too many political moments that have bought a tear to my eye.

But today, I will admit to getting a little teary hearing Prime Minister Kevin Rudd’s sorry speech to the ‘Forgotten Generation’, those half a million British children, some as young as 2, who alone and against their will, often having been forcefully separated from siblings at the wharves, were loaded onto ships and bought to a desolate, far-flung land named Australia.

These children, some orphans, some the children of single mothers, were bought to Australia under a scheme meant to place them in “farm schools” and give them a new life of opportunity, whilst helping build Australia’s population of (and I quote) “good white stock”. Instead, most found a life of suffering, abuse, loneliness and isolation.

Picture, and an overview of the scheme, from here.

My daughter is 2. That’s what hit home to me, my mind’s eye conjuring up an image of her alone on a foggy wharf, people yelling, gangplanks clanging, confused, crying, wondering what is happening, where is her mother, so scared her heart is beating through her chest and her hands won’t stop shaking. Dammit, I’m crying again just typing this.

Can you imagine it? These poor children, victims of some stupid, ill-conceived and just plain fucking cruel scheme. Not only did they suffer through that, but when they got to Australia, they found a life of hard labour, systematic abuse, beatings, even sexual assault. Cold, heartless insitutions instead of the family they knew and no doubt missed keenly.

Not only that, but until now, never had the massive injustice done to them recognised. I had never heard of this before last week. Funny, they didn’t teach it in school.

What sort of Government would allow this? Those who have been elected into power, failing to protect those most powerless. I almost hope that this was a tragic mistake, that they actually somehow, were stupid enough to think they were helping these children. Because the alternative is just overwhelmingly evil, Machiavellian.

It is a great testament to these people that they survived, persevered and even prospered. They made the best of what they were thrown into, and made lives here. Many went on to find their lost families as adults, once they had begun to heal. The human spirit is indomitable, and damned impressive.

I’m not going to get into politics or affiliations, but I do think Kevin Rudd’s speech today has, if not helped those now-grown children move forward, has at least bought what horrible thing happened to them to the attention of a shocked and sorry nation.

Are you being served?

I wonder what it takes to be a shop assistant these days?

A lobotomy obviously.

The complete lack of desire to engage in any face-to-face interaction. Maybe even the ability to dissappear at will.

Guess what sweety, I came into your store today, ready to buy. Something quite expensive actually (do sales girls still work on commission, or is that just Pretty Woman?). I was the only one on the store but hey, maybe you didn't see me, what with your head stuck so far up your ass.

But I saw you. I saw you texting, fiddling about with your earring (they're not that complicated darling... the pointy bit goes through the hole) and wandering off in the opposite direction every time I tried to catch your eye. Trust me, you were one anger-management lesson away from being crash-tackled into a change room and duct-taped to that bloody register. Don't ask me where your phone ends up in this scenario, you, and your proctologist, won't like it.

So you had to work on a Sunday. Boo Hoo You. I'm sure you'd much rather be sipping lattes with your mates, getting your fake-tan done or finding out the name of last nights random shag (yes, you look the type). But tough shit, you're at work. Or maybe, given it's a small boutique (which I'm sorely tempted to name, but can't seem to remember) it's actually your store, in which case, it would be in your best interest to suck it up, put a smile on that surly dial of yours and wring out some actual service from your cold, hard self before someone not quite as Zen as me reaches for the duct-tape.

My Own Little Age of Aquarius

Once upon a time, I was a bit of a Diva. I liked expensive things, ridiculous shoes, going out, nice restaurants, holidays, blah-de-blah-de-blah-blah.

I didn’t really think much about the world I lived in. Sure, I recycled, and was a member of WSPA, but to be honest, it wasn’t something I dwelled on. Then of course, I had GG, and I started thinking about the world I was leaving to her. Also, our income dropped dramatically as hubby started his own business at the same time I left work to have GG. I know, I know, our timing is impeccable. Anyhoo, it got me thinking in a much more frugal way. Now when I see a $1,000 handbag, I don’t say “Oh, pretty! Me want!” I now think “Are you kidding!? That’s a month of groceries! How much of that is the poor Taiwanese woman who hand-stitched that in a sweatshop getting?”

Not only did I start thinking about the big picture, I also thought about GG’s immediate environment; the chemicals, the food, heck, even the washing powder! Food became organic, and now I’m even growing our own vegetables. I have worked a lot on eliminating chemicals from our home, and as an added bonus, have found that using chemical-free (or practically so) skincare etc. has made a big difference to my energy levels and therefore, my exercise levels. Slowly but surely, I am losing weight. Even further reducing my load on the planet! (geddit, geddit?)

As part of this new hippy me, I have decided that this Christmas, I am going to forgo the mass-produced stuff and try and support local business. Preferably handmade stuff. So I’m looking forward to lots of markets this month, and having recently discovered Etsy, I’m probably going to be able to do my Christmas shopping in my pyjamas!!

I really must remember to thank GG when she’s older for opening my eyes, raising my consciousness ( I nearly deleted that bit, sounds waaay too tie-dye & incense for me!) and helping me become a better, less superficial, person.

Of course, she’ll probably just roll her eyes and go back to reading Vogue.

I am AWESOME!!!

I got a job today!! Whoo hoo!!! I went for an interview this morning, all swish in my lovely black "interview suit", which I somehow managed to keep free of dog hair, kiddy hand gunk and random particles.

I clicked well with the interviewer, and the job seemed great, variety, good team, close to home, parking, understanding and flexibilty when it comes to having a young family - perfect!

I left thinking "oh please, oh please, oh please..." They told me they weren't making a decision til next week, so I said my wishes and left it up to fate for the weekend.

Image from here

Then this afternoon, they called me and offered me the job! And at the rate I was on in my last job, which was quite high for general admin. Yeay!!!

Oh, the sweet smell of employment, the validation, the joy!!! Now... what will I WEAR!?!?!?

Blast from the Past

I was at City Hall in Brisbane tonight, and while Mum and I were finishing off our Gelatissimos (yum!) outside, she was telling me about the days I used to go to kindy there on the rooftop of City Hall.

I knew I went to kindy there when Mum worked in the City, but haven’t really thought much more about it. It was only tonight that she painted a bit of a picture for me. She talked about how she would often have to fight her way through protesters (it was the 70’s) to pick me up. It created such an image in my mind of gentle, lovely Mum, elbowing hippies aside and growling what about her right to just get home with her daughter.

Back then she lived on the Northside, and would catch the train in with me, and in 15 minutes flat would have raced from Central Station to City Hall, dropped me, and raced down the hill to where she worked. No wonder she was so fit back then!

She also got me thinking about the guilt I feel when GG cries when I leave her at kindy, and how I really needn’t bother. I have absolutely no recollection of being left, even the day my finger got slammed in the big, heavy entrance door, and Mum had to race to the hospital carrying me gushing blood, to get it stitched. I still have the scar. I have no abandonment issues, am very close to Mum (who worked full time back then) and have yet to become a sociopath. So maybe, just maybe, I have nothing to worry about.

Apparently the kindy is still open until they close City Hall for refurbishment, I really should make a pilgrimage there...

My Child is a Genius!

Clearly, I have given birth to a prodigy. I think I can be safe from bias when I say she's going to be the next Michelangelo.

Last night, GG was playing with her Play-Doh while I cleaned up after dinner, chattering away to me. When she told me she was going to make me a moo cow from the round ball I gave her, I didn't get my hopes up. So far the animals she has mastered are snakes, worms and lizards, minus the legs. You get the drift.

So when she bought this up to me, I was genuinely stunned. GG is only 2 and a half, so I think this is pretty bloody good!

I think she may have been practicing at kindy - what do you reckon? :)

Eat, Drink and be Responsible

The High Court ruled this week that outside of Responsible Service of Alcohol, publicans have no duty of care to their patrons for their actions once they leave the establishment.

What! No! That means people will actually have to take responsibility for their own actions, and that can't happen in the Nanny State. We need to have every commonsense decision legislated, because obviously we can't be held accountable to ourselves, someone needs to be liable! It also means I can't sue De Bortoli's for the cost of raising GG, apparently.

I don't understand how this can happen? I thought we did away with such outdated concepts like commonsense and self-accountability when that woman put a McDonalds drive-thru coffee between her legs, and was surprised that it was hot when it inevitably spilled. She should just thank her lucky stars she didn't have to drink the bloody swill.

Does this mean when I sink a vat of margaritas on my upcoming Girls Night, lose my keys, forget where I live and fall asleep on the lawn, I won't be able to hold the nightclub or the City Council liable for the stains on my silk blouse? Surely not, they should anticipate things like this, something should be done, we can't be expected to look after ourselves, for Chrissake!

Guilt Edged

I've been thinking a lot about how I parent GG lately. We've now graduated from the "just please let me keep her alive and breathing" stage of parenting, to actually raising a person. One with (hopefully) smarts, resourcefulness, confidence, compassion, self-worth, kindness, a sense of humour and the wherewithal to finance my retirement on board a luxury cruiseship.

I like to think most of the time I am doing a pretty good job, but since I have a tendency to over-analyse absolutely everything, I can't help but get worked up over where I think I could be doing better, and "guilty" has become my default setting. They're not big things, but Oh Lord!! Mummy guilt is the worst feeling I have ever experienced in my life.

Like this morning, GG was up at 5am. Uurrghhh. Because this is an hour early for her, she was tired, clingy, argumentative and just generally discombobulated. After a few hours of having her permanantly attached to either my lap or my right leg, I'd had enough. "GG!" I snapped, "I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!! I AM NOT YOUR SLAVE, I AM IN CHARGE HERE (I believe I actually stamped my foot at this stage, just to really impress upon her my natural authority) AND I HAVE THINGS TO DO!! I HAVE LAID OUT YOUR PLAY-DOH, YOUR DRAWING AND HI-5 IS ON IN THE LOUNGEROOM - GO PLAY!!!"

She threw me a black look, burst into pitiful wails and stormed off (okay, okay, everyone related to me - stop laughing!!!). After I had cleaned up the kitchen, put a load of washing on, tidied up toys and generally experienced my leisure time as I now know it, I went into where she was watching Hi-5. She pouted up at me and informed me she was "a bit wet". GG is toilet training and hasn't had an accident in a week. She was soaked. Ohhhhh....my stomach twisted as my heart sank into it. I gathered her up. "GG, were you too scared to come tell Mummy you needed potty?". Sensing her moment, she put on her most hard done by face. "Yesh", she whispered. Crack! There goes my heart. I felt small, horrible.

Now I know this is a relatively small thing, and I'm sure she's forgotten about it even now. But gee, it really got me today, maybe I'm just feeling vunerable.

Probably from lack of sleep, because nearly every night, yep, GG comes creeping in in the middle of the night. I have been through so many ups and downs with her sleep. Due to pain from an undiagnosed wheat intolerance (colic my ass, Doc!), GG spent the first 6 months of her life being rocked to sleep, sometimes for hours on end. Then I got her tummy sorted, and taught her to go to sleep on her own. I used a fairly "soft" method, but it did involve a few nights of her crying herslef to sleep before she got it, then was good as gold. I still remember the feeling of sitting, tense as a coiled spring, listening to my baby cry, knowing I could stop it in a second. Sometimes hubby had to physically hold me back. After a peroid of great sleeping, GG moved into a big girl bed. Cue more sleep dramas, refusing to go to sleep etc. I have got her to go to sleep in her bed, but only if I sing her to sleep, but if I try putting her back in her bed at night, she will fly into a rage, wailing and screaming til she vomits. Part of me used to like her curling up and sleeping with me, it felt very natural, earth-mother bonding like. But now, I am so over it. I hate the guilt of knowing I am failing to teach her properly. I hate the lack of sleep, the little feet in the small of my back, the infrigement on my *ahem* marital relationship. I am almost at the point where I will devise a strategy and try again at keeping her in her own bed. If only I can get over the guilt of the pain I'm about to cause her.

The Real Meaning of Christmas

45 sleeps til Christmas.

A sentence to strike panic in the heart of any parent, and to raise joyful, expectant smiles on the faces of all kids.

This weeks Blog This challenge is about our personal meaning of Christmas.

Pic from here

I love Christmas, I really do. I love the sense of family, magic and togetherness it can bring. Of course, it can also bring about exasperation, desperation, chaos, tears and the sincere desire to choke a family member.

I love spending hours trawling shops and markets, searching for just the right gift. Thoughtful, beautiful, ethical and from the $5 bin.

Pic from here

Since having GG, I love re-discovering how magical Christmas can be. How does Santa get to all the houses in one night? How do reindeers fly? What the heck does “One More Open Tray” have to do with Christmas (this is what she sings instead of One Horse Open Sleigh) To see her amazed little face in the morning when I’ve been up til 3am decorating the house. How did this happen? Did the Christmas fairies visit? Hang on, isn’t that My Little Pony dressed as a reindeer?

I love to make those once-a-year treats at Christmas time too. Gingerbread (reindeers last year, I’m going to try a house this year), rum balls, white Christmas and Grandma Campbell’s Christmas Cake whose recipe reads like an AA meeting who slipped and went to Vegas.

Pic from here

We don’t have many traditions around Christmas in my family per se, but we do have stories that have become family legend. Like when we remind each other to be enthusiastic about all presents received by saying “Oh! My very own teabags!” which is what my sweet-souled sister excitedly said when she was a kid and our slightly doolally Grandma had mistakenly wrapped up the teabags she was taking on her trip, rather than the actual present. One tradition we do have, is that all the kids lay out the presents they have received on their bed so a photo can be taken of the haul. Well, except the year I got a horse...

So, my meaning of Christmas:

C - Cricket in the yard on Christmas Day. Remember to bring a dog who’ll go fetch those cover drives!!

H - Having all the family together, eating, drinking, bickering, telling stories and laughing.

R - Remembering “The Reason for the Season” – and it’s not presents!

I - Insisting

S - Sending Christmas cards, and then getting one from someone not on your list, only when it’s too late to send them one back!

T - Taking GG to look at beautiful Christmas lights throughout the neighbourhood.

M - Missing my Grandparents so much it hurts, but remembering all the Christmases we got to have with them.

A - Avowing not to break my budget, but I always do. :)

S - Singing Christmas Carols while I bake, while we decorate the tree, in the car, as lullabies; any chance I get!

What does Christmas mean to you?

Return Unto Me

I am an official believer in Angels. I always kind of have been really, and I like to think there are signs and symbolism in things. I remember looking at GG on the change table when she was a newborn, and feeling the distinct "presence" of my deceased Grandma, almost looking over my shoulder. She would've be so happy to meet her first great-grandaughter, and I comfort myself by thinking that she, and my other grandparents, have had a chance to see GG.

So last night, after having a wonderful time, we came back to our room and me being me, I didn't bother to take off my makeup or jewellery. I also never bother taking my earrings out when I go to sleep, as the ones I wore were my "default" earrings I wear all the time, beautiful little diamond cuffs, that my Mum gave me for my birthday . Then this morning, after I had a shower, I noticed one of my earrings was missing. These are very sentimental to me, so I was pretty upset.

After looking all through the bedding, moving the bed, tossing the room and throwing hubby out of the shower so I could search the bathroom, I hadn't found them anywhere. More than pretty upset.

Then, when I was back in the bathroom talking to hubby about my bad luck with jewellery (more later), I was dejectedly pawing through the little zip purse I bought my necklaces, rings and stuff in. There, right on top, was my earring. I was tipsy, but not drunk last night, I DID NOT take my jewellery off, especially ONE earring.

Thank you, Angel, for my earring.

Now can I please have my wedding rings back?

Yes, you heard me. I lost my wedding and engagement ring. I had not been wearing them for a couple of months, as I had dermatitis from constantly having my hands in water or Napisan (GG was a few months old), and the rings irritated it, and I kept scratching GG with my high set engagement ring. Then one day I had them both in a case in my bag to take to the jewellers to get cleaned up, I met hubby for lunch after visiting one jeweller, who I thought was too expensive, then got sidetracked and didn't get to the other jewellers. A few months later I realised I hadn't worn them in ages, and went looking for them, only to find them gone.

The thing is, when I realised they were gone, hubby and I were having kind of a rough patch. I didn't feel particularly connected to him, and wasn't all that upset to find them gone. It sort of fit how I was feeling. I believe in signs and symbolism, see.

Lately, I have been really obsessing about them. I want them back. I am in love with my husband, we are committed to our marriage, and I am wondering why they haven't come back to me. So, I'm putting it out to the universe, and any attendant angels - can I have them back now please? I promise to treat them, and my marriage, better.

Aahhh....

Hi! Quick update...

Caught the train and walked through beautiful Roma St Parklands up to the swish hotel. Arrived, dumped bags and turned on TV just in time to catch the nudie-rudie scene from Sex and the City Movie. Score!!! I love this movie, it's vacuous, self-absorbed and full of ridiculous over-priced frippery, everything I'm not at present. :)

Am currently sitting on squishy bed watching rest of movie, sipping a drink and looking out at the park. When my legs are no longer jelly (it's a damn steep hill up to Wickham Terrace!!) I will sashay around the City for a bit, returning to glamourise myself and whip hubby into shape before making our grand entrance (stuff D & G, who said it had to be their day!).

Whoo hoo!

I simply cannot wait for tomorrow night! That's right folks, I am throwing off the shackles of motherhood, throwing on a cute outfit and GOING OUT!!! WITH HUBBY!!

We are going to a swanky hotel in Brisbane to celebrate the 10th anniversary of some great friends (holy shit! Am I old enough to have friends on their 10th anniversary?!?), these are great guys. always heaps of fun, and the night is sure to be a hit. Oh, and we are staying in same said swanky hotel. For the whole night, we will have a bed TO OURSELVES!!! Oh, be still my beating heart! Of course, the major component of my fantasies about this bed involve sleeping, but I'm sure there'll be something on the menu for hubby. :)

It's pretty rare that I get a night out on the tiles, but it's practically impossible with Hubby's work schedule that we get a night out as a couple, so I AM PSYCHED!!!

And, to make it even more fabuloso, I am, at Hubby's urging, going up early to spend the day cruising the City, swanning around a hotel room primping and preening ON MY OWN and generally doing anything that doesn't involve the words "Mummy come", Mummy play", "Mummy sit", "Mummy help" or "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!".

I may even get to read a book! Oh, the unmitigated joy.

Child non-Care

What the hell is going on in child care centres these days?

Image from here.

In the last little while, we have heard stories about children being burnt to a crisp, bitten on the lip by a carer, photographed by paedophiles, smacked, left behind when they closed up... the list goes on.

Honestly, WTF!!! It's hard enough to leave our babies and children in the care of others, practically strangers, but we console ourselves by thinking that they are experienced, qualified, screened and suitable for the role. Seems things couldn't be further from the truth. How the hell are these people getting, and then keeping, these jobs! Don't we have some sort of screening process, what about that preserver of children's safety - the almighty Blue Card?

My Dad once had to get a Blue Card as a visitor teaching a high-school manual arts class, and was amazed how easy it was. Maybe that's because he's an upstanding guy, maybe it's because it's a rubber-stamp process designed more to ease parent's concern than actually keep unsuitable people aways from our kids. Much easier to administer that way.

What about the other staff in these centres, did they think these workers were unsuitable and/or dangerous to be around kids? Is there a system in place where they can air these concerns, anonymously and safe from retribution? Nope.

What about qualifications - surely you'd need to be trained in some fashion to be responsible for someone else's greatest love? Nope. Sure to be Group Leader you do, and sure, it's preferable, but apparently anyone can "assist" in a child care room. Although it seems this is about to change, and it will be mandatory for ALL child care workers to be qualified.

I'm so lucky that GG attends a great child care centre, based on the Montessori theory of childhood development. They have lovely staff who we've got to know, transparency in all their policies, a community feel and practically no staff turnover (a red flag for a less-than-great centre I'm told). I had no shortage of heartache when I first decided to go back to work part-time and put GG in care, but I don't think it's anything on what Mums must be going through now, wrestling with the idea of putting their babies into care with all these stories scaring the crap out of them.

I'm so excited!

Since entering the 'blogosphere' a few weeks ago, I have been suffering from Blog Envy caused by some of the beautiful blogs I have come across. Pout. Sniffle.

Since I am somewhat challenged with the more creative aspects of the interwebs, my wonderful sister (who is a bit of a blog addict herself) offered to get me a new design for my birthday! It's not til December, but neither of us are known for our love of delayed gratification!

So, stay tuned intrepid readers, cause soon I'll have a whole new look! Whoo hoo! :)

Dear Sir / Madam

The job application I wish I could write...

Good Morning Not-Boss-but-Person-Landed-with-the-Job-of-Screening-Resumes,

I would like to apply for the part time admin job you have advertised in ShitKicker Weekly.

I have not attached my resume, as everyone who's seen it has decided I'm over-qualified. I probably am, but that was pre-child. You see, I'm a Mum now, and therefore have forfeited any ego I might have in regards to my career in order to balance working and raising my daughter.

So, here's everything you need to know:

Not only am I well versed in computer programs, I am fully compliant with office politics - from knowing how to avoid the sleazy old guy to pacifying the old duck who has been there for years and thinks everybody is after her job.

Forget my typing speed, what's really important is that I am the fastest draw in the West when you need to be on the phone to avoid the whiny sales guy who has a beef with everybody.

You think I will only stay a few years, then move on - well guess what, that 16 year old you'd rather hire 'cos she's cheaper isn't really planning on sticking around to retirement. Trust me, I NEED a job, I won't chuck it because my boyfriend decided to go surfing in Bali and I wanna go with him.

I will file, make coffee and clean up the kitchen that everybody dumps their crap in.

I have experience in juggling 17 different things at once. When I'm on the phone and pulling up reports on the computer whilst using my toes to reorganise the papers on my desk you just rummaged through, I'll still know your weird hand signal means you've forgotten the name of the client you're about to meet with and hand you their file.

And yes, I do know how to fix the photocopier when it jams in the middle of that huge mailout. Again.

Just hire me already!!!

Quixotic

In a word

Okay, I stole this idea from Psych Babbler's lovely blog. The idea is to answer the questions below with just one word. This will be an interesting challenge for me, as I'm known to get a little wordy. :)

1.Where is your mobile phone? Bench

2.Your hair? Mussy

3.Your mother? Beloved

4.Your father? Challenging

5.Your favorite food? Guilt-free (yes, I'm deciding hyphenated words count. Sue me.)

6.Your dream last night? Absent

7.Your favorite drink? Tea

8.Your dream/goal? Happiness

9.What room are you in? Living

10.Your hobby? Blogging!

11.Your fear? Loss

12.Where do you want to be in 6 years? Teaching

13.Where were you last night? The edge!!!

14.Something that you aren’t? Giraffe

15.Muffins? Please

16.Wish list item? Genie

17.Where did you grow up? Coast

18.Last thing you did? Typed??

19.What are you wearing? Gym-clothes (again with the hyphens)

20.Your TV? On

21.Your pets? Asleep

22.Friends? Appreciated

23.Your life? Appreciated :)

24.Your mood? Motivated

25.Missing someone? Grandparents

26.Vehicle? Filthy

27.Something you’re not wearing? Wedding ring

28.Your favourite store? Myer

29.Your favorite color? Blue

29.When was the last time you laughed? Yesterday

30.Last time you cried? Dunno

31.Your best friend? Awesome

32.One place that you go to over and over? Kindy!

33.One person who emails me regularly? Ebay :)

34.Favourite place to eat? Restaurant

So, maybe that's given you a little insight into what makes me, me! Feel free to take on the tag if you wish...

Quixotic

Mamma Karma

“I hope you grow up and have a daughter... just like you”.

Maybe a passing gypsy overheard my mother utter those immortal words, because it seems I have done exactly that (besides the growing up bit).

Of course, with GG being only 2 it’s hard to tell, but I think the proof is there.

Now, I’d love to say this means I have the most obedient, calm, even-tempered little girl of all time, but that would be a flat out, dirty rotten lie. Whilst GG is 80% of the time a happy, bubbly, extremely helpful and co-operative child, my Lord, that other 20% of the time makes me work for it.

Earlier, she threw an all-out, thrashing on the ground tantrum which lasted for over 10 minutes. Why? I hear you ask. What could have brought on such a fit? Did I dismember her favourite teddy? Feed the Hi-5 DVD through the garbage disposal? No – a bug didn’t land where she told it to. Seriously.

Sigh. GG has always had a tendency to go to pieces when something doesn’t go exactly how she wants, Dolly doesn’t sit exactly right in the pram or similar (just like me, according to my Mother, who tries hard not to grin when I tell her this) and I try to work with her to stay calm and persevere, but honestly! A bug!

Another trait GG has inherited from me is my stubbornness determination. She shows amazing grit for someone so little. Like when she got out of bed 47 times, even though she was so tired she couldn’t see straight, the first night I tried teaching her to go to sleep in her bed, not on the couch with me. Luckily, we got that sorted quickly (hey! A quick learner, another inheritance!).

I’d like to think her perfectionism and determination will serve her well in her no doubt stellar adulthood, but if she truly is going to be just like me... say a prayer for me when she reaches teenager-hood!!

Quixotic

A few of my favourite things...

Today I’ve been thinking a lot about being a Mum, and how it’s my favourite part of being me at the moment. I know I’m a whole person, not just a Mum, and I enjoy plenty of stuff outside of parenthood, but really, there’s no other aspect of my life that gives me as much at the moment.

So here are a few of my favourite things about being a Mum:

THAT LOOK: When your little one gazes up at you like you are the most amazing, wonderful thing in the world. And knowing that to them, you are.

BEING A SUPERHERO: Who can dispel monsters with a single wave of her hand? Who can fix boo-boos with one magic kiss? Who can make everything okay with only a hug? Mummy can!! There’s no greater ego boost than being all-powerful.

BEING A GENIUS: From figuring out how to get the wheels back on the Animal Train, to knowing why butterflies like flowers, there’s no greater ego boost than knowing everything! As an aside, I think all Mums who have figured out how to assemble a cot, a motorised swing (fondly referred to as the Neglectomatic around here), fold down a new-fangled stroller and stop the musical keyboard from being stuck in a mind-warping loop of “Mumma’s Little Bubby Likes Shortnin’ Shortnin’” deserves an honorary engineering degree.

REDISCOVERING MY INNER CHILD: Sitting on the floor making a Play-Doh village, dressing up dolls, dancing like a maniac to Hi-5, blowing bubbles in the backyard... never had so much fun!!

BREASTFEEDING BOOBS: ‘Nuff said.

Lovely Blog Awards

Well, I'm am simply so chuffed! My bloggy-pal Psych Babbler has named me on her One Lovely Blog list. It's a really nice validation for a brand new blogger like myself. Only 2 weeks into it, and already I'm hooked!

So, as I understand it, I am to pass on this prestigous honour to my favourite blogs. So here they are, in no particular order. The envelope please... (yes I realise I am hyping this up, but hey! let a girl have her moment..)

- Psych Babbler: Over Cups of Coffee (this is not lip service, I seriously enjoy your posts.)

- AllieCat: In a Beautiful Pea Green Boat

- Darnonymous: Three Little Birds

- Mari-Ann: Counting Coconuts

- Alex: Whoa Mumma!

Please visit these clever gals, if you aren't already a fan, I'm sure you will be soon.

Quixotic