Whistling up the Doctor

Bums slam down on the
dinghy seat. Eyes snap shut just
too slow for the splash.

(Affects nonchalance)

But really, we haven't seen the eldest of the two furkids since we got back and I'm worried. Not that I'm a "Mom-blogger" or a "cat-blogger" either, mind you.

But, oh.

Doctor Who?

Have you tried this? When I used our... other names... (cough) ... we got between 19% and 67%, depending on which middle names/ surnames we used.

Love Calculator results

These are the results of the calculations by Dr. Love:

Overkill Bill		Quirkie Sanctifiable
	22 %

Dr. Love thinks a relationship might work out between Overkill Bill and Quirkie Sanctifiable, but the chance is very small. A successful relationship is possible, but you both have to work on it. Do not sit back and think that it will all work out fine, because it might not be working out the way you wanted it to. Spend as much time with each other as possible. Again, the chance of this relationship working out is very small, so even when you do work hard on it, it still might not work out.

Best match I could come up with?

Romeo and Juliet at 98%.

But that was a bit melodramatic, n'est pas?

Christmas is as Christmas does

So yeah, I'm back. Miss me? Even notice that I was gone? Bah. I was originally intending to be full of light repartee and suave anecdotal repast but Overkill Bill just intruded on my delicate sensibilities and has totally ruined my mood. Such is my artistic temerament. Very temeramental. The most temeramental temperament I've ever met. He was whinging about work. He was actually whinging about me being on the computer and not coming to bed, but he pretended to be whinging about having nothing to read. I suggested he try Jaspers' The Great Philosophers Vol. IV but he said "Too much like work". What rot. I said "Try to find something you like about work. Make it your hobby, too." Infidel.

Anyway. Christmas. Spent it with the Inlaws. And Their Inlaws. Which makes them Outlaws. Had numerous one-way conversations of which I was not a part. I am now truckload-full of all the red-neck opinions this side of Balga. And hardly a sense of humour left to balance it all with. Which is fine, considering my opinion on the boongs, the bludgers and the biblebashers wasn't required anyway.

On the upside, I ate a rather large quantity of rum balls, white christmas and prawns.

You know what really pisses me? I fully intended to be totally counter-culture and specifically and deliberately look forward to and enjoy this Christmas. I was going, in other words, to not be nasty and cynical about consumerism and having to spend time with otherwise-avoided rellies.

I'm actually still hanging on by a thin thread. Highlights?

1. Watching my three kids poach marron from a dam. Innocently, I might add. They thought they were gilgies. But golden moments of childhood, particularly for Polly, are etched on my internal scrap-booking system.
   
2. Making cheese straws, a la Lady M. The actual batch burned to an unidentifiable crisp, sadly, but the prototype batch, which no-one but me tasted, was brilliant.
3. Texting many friends with a Merry Christmas message and getting many replies. Christmas cards be buggered. Haven't sent any in years. But this made me feel instantly connected, and made me smile more than you'd expect.
4. Exchanging gifts and hugs with a devoutly Bhuddist friend. I don't know what this means, but it's definitely Christmassy.
5. Receiving the gift of my sister-in-law's smile. I didn't realise how much I missed it, nor how much I am fond of her, and wish for her to smile at me.
6. The rest was largely forgettable. Just didn't want to end on a sentimental note and ruin my sulk.

Also, I'm looking forward to meeting the newest addition to the Grump-Berry household, Violet Crumbleruff.

Happy 29th of December.

Serendipity

I don't remember how or why I ended up at this site, but it's just charming. For instance, did you know:

... that a can of cola mixed in with the wash will take the pee smell out of kids clothes? (I don't know how "Sabrina" Michael Matthews figured this out, but I, for one, am glad that he did.)

... washing up liquid can be used as a lubricant to release a dog stuck in a rocky crevasse? (Submitted by Axel Klystron.)

... one shouldn't mix cut daffodils in with other cut flowers as the daffodils produce a toxin that kills off the other flowers. (This, understandably, was submitted anonymously. The Daffodil Conspiracy, while pooh-poohed in broader, and sadly naive, society, is a force best left untampered. With.)

And I, humbling as it is to admit it, have no idea what Susan Carter means by this:

... Instead of sneakers, use a can of new tennis balls.

???

I'm feeling particularly un-funny at the moment. Just so you know. Just so you can look a little awkward for a microsecond before you flip your hair and pretend to see someone you met last week over on the other side of the room and then dash over to the punch bowl and start maniacally jabbering at a complete stranger just to get away from me.


Because this could be catching, you know.







Oh, hi there! Welcome to the oh-shit-its-holidays-and-I-don't-know-what-to-do-with-myself Quirkland Borderline Antisocial Personality Conduct Disorder Show!






Grab the prawn crackers and a UDL, sit down, and make yourself unfathomable.

Mayday was just wondering...

...do any other children write blogs? She'd like to visit them so they will visit her, but I'm a little nervous about setting her completely loose in the Blogosphere. Let me know if you know any, so I can pass the information on.

Mayday! Mayday!

I feel it's only right that I give fair warning. A new Day has dawned in Blogdom. You May link to it here.

In which Quirkie unashamedly brags about her kids who are the best in the entire galaxy.

It didn't even occur to me til I read Rodney's post about his kids. (Such is my commitment to frivolity and nonchalance). But I'm really proud of my kids and I don't mind blogging it.

Having gone to a really little primary school (there were only six graduating year 7's) Polly was concerned that the academic achievement certificates she used to win were just for show; her great fear was that when she went to a big highschool she would fail miserably (or worse, be mediocre) when compared to her peers. Well, she and her old primary school mate tied for dux in one core subject, and she was nominated for another one. Not a bad show for our little primary school kids. Ha! In your face all you critics (who don't read this blog anyway) who said I was 'limiting' my kids by sending them there. Ha!

Even better, this same Polly rounded up her old year 7 class to go back to the primary school's final assembly to bid farewell to their old retiring Principal (who was really touched). Then the little gang took themselves over the road to the cafe (this was so sweet - they're only 13) where they decided to form a band over this school holidays. She's such a great kid that sometimes I think I'll bust and I don't know how we could be related.

At the assembly, Mayday was required to sing a solo. Mayday, who, you may have heard, actually you haven't, because, unbelievably, I haven't blogged about it, battles endlessly with anxiety, particularly about going to school. This is partly becasue she is highly strung. Also, she is the middle daughter of three, which immediately set her up to be unusual by necessity, in order to distinguish herself. She looks like Nikki Webster, talks like Wednesday Adams and does better impersonations than Robin Williams on acid. However, she is torturously shy on stage which resulted in a humiliating disaster earlier this year (how did I not blog about that? I wanted to kill people, I really did). So Mayday sang her solo (which I fretted about behind her back all week, and couldn't stop myself from checking "Are you sure you want to do this? Because you don't have to, you know?" at regular intervals). She grinned all the way through it, apparently because the teacher and secretary kept winking and waving at her, and she did it by clutching onto a little crocheted cross which the secretary had given her. (This cross is doing the rounds. The secretary was given it when she needed courage, under instructions that it was to be passed on. Mayday will hand it on next, and I wonder where it will end up.) SO Mayday sang! She sang like a little bird. I wept through the whole thing, but thankfully I was far enough back in the crowd that she couldn't tell, so I didn't put her off. She was disappointed that she didn't get the academic prize this year like she did last year, but I told her that just proves there are two brilliant kids in her class now.

So with Polly, as the oldest child, carrying the heavy burden all my hopes and ambitions, and Mayday, carrying the weight of my terrors of being an awful parent, Noisie, as the cherished and pampered baby of the family was free to have fun and run amok. But she took out the academic award for Pre-primary anyway.

Ta-daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Does my bum look big in this?

So how's this profile pic? It feels more like me today.

Also, I'll link back to everyone when I remember how to do it.

The old "changing-the-template-stuffs-up-all-modifications" trick. Fiendish Blogger.

Three things that have made me laugh this week

1.
Noisie (after fuming in the back seat for some minutes) : I'm sooo jealous. Ooooh! I'm so jealous!
Q: What's wrong, Noise?
Noisie: Ooooooh I'm so JEALOUS. I can't be STILL I'm so jealous of all the people with Christmas lights on their house. NNNNNNNNnnnnnnGggah! (pant, pant)

2.
Polly (wistfully) : Do you think they have theology camp for thirteen year olds?

3.
Mayday's Bathroom Towel Fashion Parade. I was particularly impressed the 'Indian Show-offish', inspired by cowboy chaps, covering everything but the bare essestials. There is also 'Baby on a hunger strike', in which the nappy falls off, 'The Turbanulator', which kind of speaks for itself, and 'Those nun-guys in Monty Python which keep wacking themselves over the head with their Bibles'. All this followed by a rousing chorus of armpit farting. Excellent.

Happy unbirthday to me :)

I've nearly been blogging for a whole year. So I thought I'd treat myself to a little profile picture makeover. What do you reckon? Too pink? I think I'll road test a few. The kids picked this one out.

Word Verification made me do it.

All I have to do is write "smenita".

It sounds simple, doesn't it? I want to comment on people's blogs (because that's just the kind of girl I am. I comment, alright? I commentate.)

But WV tells me I've got it wrong. I've tried "srnenita" and "_smenita" and "smenita_" and "sme_nita" and nothing works.

So if you think I've suddenly become an overnight lurker then you're absloutely right.

But it's not by choice. Bah. Any ideas? Bah! I can't even ask in a comment!

I feel so alone.

Unco

Right. Let's get one thing straight. I don't normally get sucked in by pass-em-round emails, but this one has me stuffed.

Lift your right foot off the ground and rotate it clockwise.

While doing so, write a number six in the air with your right hand.

After school. Snacks.

This is what I make for my kids. (Well, not me, the Lord, you know, but I arranged them.)



















And this is what I make for me (well, not me, you know, Baker's Delight.)



















Is this self-abuse? Or is it self-gratification? I just can't decide.

Do it. You know you want to.

I just discovered this thing via Rodney. Apparently it increases your blog traffic. I mean, who's interested in that? Not me. I write purely for the joy. But I thought it would be an interesting experiment, you know. And I know you do too. But I thought you may have a friend who was interested in a little free advertising so their paltry writer's ego could be tended by having more awe-struck and appreciative readers, you know.

And the cool thing is that you get credits! I have no idea what this means, but I'm hoping I can use them at the supermarket.