Sanctifiable

But first, for something pretty

2008-07-29T15:10:00.004+08:00

There aren't enough pictures on this blog.

This one makes me a bit dizzy.

For want of a better title

2008-07-29T14:41:00.005+08:00

It's high time somebody did something about writing something here. So much goes on, and so little of it gets remembered. By me. I started out doing this as...

...I can't remember. But it soon became a handy way of getting some writing done. Practicing for when I'm a famous writer, you know. Now, however, I find to my delight that there are MEMORIES recorded here, and some quite precious ones, too. So I think I'll keep at it.

Anyway, Polly has left school. What a relief for both of us. Actually, before I talk about how lovely that all is, I need to whinge about HOW THE SCHOOL SYSTEM SO TOTALLY SUCKS* and should only ever be considered as a last resort for any thinking and/or compassionate parent, and only when they can't find a decent babysitter.

But to do this, I'll need to gather evidence**. Stay tuned for rantage.

* Not withstanding (which I think means- not including) the absolutely delightful Ms Blackberry, who will no doubt single-handedly revolutionise the entire thing, and even if she doesn't, will be excused on account of her being the one glimer of hope in an otherwise bleak landscape of state-sanctioned nazism and the systematised channeling of young enthusiasm and naivete into cynical, virtual-reality, escapist, self-hating nihilism.

** I think I left it under my bed, amongst a pile of other ignoble ignorable papers.

Wrapped in goosebumps

2008-06-10T16:46:00.010+08:00

I'm rewatching Twin Peaks- haven't seen it since it was on TV.

I had forgotten how absolutely delightful is the Special Agent Cooper. Just wonderful.

That pleased, slightly manic smile he gets when he figures something out. Wonderful.

Oh God, but how AWFULLY scary is Bob?!

Why being a grown-up is better.

2008-06-03T09:41:00.003+08:00

I said I wouldn't say it ever:

I'm glad the kids are back at school.

I always look forward to holidays and long weekends, because you don't have to do the mad rush in the mornings to get everyone fed, dressed, packed and out the door on time.

I always used to cringe when I heard mothers say (in front of their kids!), "Orr, can't waaait 'ntil skewl goes back." Or, even worse, when they'd try and get me in on it, "Doncha haaate skewl holidays?"

"Nope, I love 'em", I'd say. "I really miss the kids when they're at school. The teachers get the best part of their day."

I even said it last week. Yay. Long weekend. No Monday morning rush.

But it's so quiet right now. The house is a mess, but I'll get to it. Maybe. I can watch a DVD, maybe even vacuum out the car. Not going in to work until Wednesday.

I feel bad for the kids. Six hours of school a day, plus travel time, is a full-time job for kids. Then they have to come home and do homework. Poor little buggers. Their morning rush doesn't finish until 5 o'clock this afternoon. They've got the whole social minefield to walk, on top of the classroom stuff, and they won't have a moment to themselves all day.

I'm so glad I'm not a kid anymore.

Testy

2008-05-31T12:11:00.006+08:00

Again, neither witty nor charming, but food for thought all the same.

Do you now, after all these years, qualify for what, in highschool, you would have considered "cool"?

Find out by taking this test.*

* thanks to Hamo

A quiet little whinge

2008-05-30T12:19:00.000+08:00

While waiting for blog-worthy inspiration to Strike! I shall be thinking aloud on more mundane topics. There are some things I want to figure out.

Expect what follows to be neither witty, entertaining nor charming.

For instance:

Why am I a useless mother at bed-time? and, more imortantly, How do I fix it?

To recap, the players are:

Overkill Bill (husband) - big, bossy, bearded, bashful (although you wouldn't know it from talking to him)

Polly (15) - melancholic, determinedly depressed, emo from her unkempt hair right down to her holey, black stockinged feet.

Mayday (12) - choleric, fashionably stylish, the Quin to Polly's Daria

Noisie (8) - sanguine, dramatic, devastated, endearing, generally out of sorts with everthing.

Basil (1) - phlegmatic, sociable, enjoys school holidays and pet stores.

Oh, and this just in:

Bob (due in November) - has already threatened to cause the mental disintegration of his/her mother, but bound to be cute enough to get away with it.

So anyway:

During the day (unless I'm at work - Thank. God. for work) I'm bored, a bit miserable, unmotivated, surrounded by lots of things to do that I don't feel like doing, and feel pathetic for not doing, and don't like not having done. Like vacuum the car, do my budget etc.

Suddenly, when the kids get home, I'm all motivated and happy to do the stuff I haven't wanted to do all day. The dishes are a JOY! Suddenly we must have TREATS! I bake, I chat, I chase. I am supermum.

Until eight o'clock.

Then I hit a wall. And the wall tells me that the children either go to bed NOW!!!! or they die.

Noisie goes first, supposedly at 7:30, but she pushes it for drinks of water etc until 8:00. I can manage this, because the wall has yet to be met with.

Mayday is supposed to go to bed at 8:30, but by 8:00 I forget this and send her anyway, overriding her protests. Mayday is (currently) my most problem-free child, and I just can't be bothered with her. I punish her for her lack of issues, and for being compliant.

Polly goes to bed sometime, I don't always know when. I go to bed first. She watches too much television and never does any homework. I've decided to not hassle her about this. She seems happier, but it still bugs me, and I sometimes give her my exasperated, disappointed look, and a mini-lecture if I'm anxious enough, which I know is really heavy to bear, even for a teenager who pretends it isn't.

So I'm not at work today, and I've eaten three honey joys and two banana choc-chip muffins which are supposed to be for the kids but are, of course, just comfort food for me.

Maybe this'll work

2008-05-19T11:18:00.002+08:00

There's no such thing as writer's block. Someone in the weekend paper said that if inspiration fails you, go out and hunt it with a club.

I do think I'm a bit out of practice with the clubbing.

So I'm going to start small, with a haiku or two. Maybe one every Monday?

Ahem.

Keyboard fails to hold
satisfactory interest.
Busting for a pee.

You see what I mean?

I'll try again later.

Next bar one

2008-05-06T09:43:00.002+08:00

Actually, I think it was the depressing photos back in November that put me off.

Never fear. Won't be seeing or hearing or reading any more of that tripe.

Not here, anyhow.

So, "Self", I says

2008-05-06T09:37:00.003+08:00

I really wasn't going to bother. Would anyone read it anyway?

Then I thought, so what? I haven't written anything vaguely poetic or semiautobiographical or prosaicish or anything at all since I stopped writing here.

And that's just a waste of a perfectly good tattoo.

I've gotten horribly responsible like that. But, as much as I don't miss writing, I miss being a person who likes writing.

Such as this is. Or might be if I bother.

Bothering, then, shall comence with my next post.

Old chip, new chip, woodchip

2007-11-24T11:44:00.000+09:00

When it comes down to choosing between:

One must strive to remind oneself of the privilege of living in a liberal democracy. Oh the freedom! Oh the choice!

What bugs me about these guys is that the future they haggle over is measured in 3-year blocks.

So I've decided to vote for someone who knows how long it takes to grow a jarrah tree, or a person.

Problem is, you can't get much more ideologically different than The Greens and Family First. But a vote for either at least says something about something. Which, in this election, would be nice.

2007-11-09T09:51:00.000+09:00

I've decided that I really do like Tohru Honda. At first she annoyed me, like all female anime characters annoy me. Like all male anime characters annoy me. Like all anime writers, ipso facto, annoy me.

Because despite all the degrading, self-flaggelating squawking she does, despite the p*rnographically short skirts coupled disturbingly with rediculously childlike features, despite the whole damn pro-patriarchal propaganda of the thing,

.
.
.

she knows who she is, and how she wants to live, and it's good, and other-focussed, and she pushes determinedly towards it. She is unshakeable.

When I grow up, I want to be like Tohru.

twiddling

2007-10-25T11:10:00.000+08:00

Soooooooooo.....

Read any good blogs lately?

This is just to save me time actually looking for any myself.

OR!!!!!!!!!

Maybe everyone is over at Facebook now.

But that's just too much exposure for me. Too much pressure. I'd have to be consistent. I'd miss the anonymity of my nice, dark, slimy little blog.

Heh. Slimy.

It was all downhill from there

2007-10-22T08:43:00.000+08:00

First chiild: Is more comfortable in the company of adults than with her peers, as her parents are her first and, for some years, only friends. Shoulders the burden of parental anxiety and expectation, and is thus prone to worry about the future. Is a responsible and capable carer of younger siblings, although at times resents this expectation.

Second child: Lives in the shadow of the first child and, as a middle child, also of the younger sibling. Thus, is highly competitive, and will push the boundaries of decorum in her sense of humour, and the boundaries of safety in her physical activities, in the effort to be recognised as valuable in her own right. Prefers negative attention to no attention at all. Secretly adores and admires first child, and as an older sibling herself, alternately dotes on and resents third child.

Third child: Basks in the adoration of her elder siblings, and revels in the relaxed discipline of her parents. Is naughty and gets away with it because she's cute and her parents are too busy these days to do much about it. Feels no pressure from parents to perform, conform or achieve. Is consequently quick to pick up any skill, and is charming, competent and comfortable in any social setting.

Fourth child: Drools, bites. Thinks normal sibling interaction is being dragged across walls to the tune of "Spider-pig! Spider-pig!"

But if you, Sit and stare

2007-10-20T09:20:00.000+08:00

I wouldn't have said six months was what you'd call a long time.

Yet there it is.

Many and varied precious bloggers no longer blog.

(One feels the reader ought immediately to click on the links and harrass them.)

So what do I read nowwwwwwww???????

At least the man with the bad tempered pants still knows where his computer is. There's still that. (Although he seems to have forgotten where he keeps his telephone.)

Furthermore.

Apparently it's not just my teenage daughter who now reads manga. Or watches anime (subbed, not dubbed). This seems to be the new thing.

It makes one quite sentimental.

The eyes have it.

2007-10-12T07:51:00.001+08:00

Polly Waffle has spent this year indulging her taste for tragic orphans, vis...

...and:

( With continuing sentimental affection for ...

)

Is it the eyes? I dunno. But I'm beginning to sense a pattern.

Maybe it's the angst. angst. angst.

Flash Garden

2007-09-12T09:37:00.000+08:00

So I was trying out my nifty new Kodak Easyshare C763:

and I must say, I don't think it's as good as my trusty old mobile phone camera, which dished up such sentimental delights as this (which I like) and these (which are blurry, but hey, it's a stupid phone camera).

For instance, I can't figure out how to turn off the flash, and, as my Guru-On-All-Things-Arty ( Bronzewing Dove) says, nothing ruins a good photo like flashlight. It even flashes outside, in the broad daylight. Thoroughly indecent.

And such is my laziness, or stubbornness, or both, that I did bother to get the model number right, and upload a picture of the stupid thing, in the hope of eliciting good advice from a passing blog-reader, rather than simply google-up some instructions as to how to switch off the flash.

I believe that a really clever person only reads the instructions when All Else Fails, with All Else including grumbling about the lack-of-right-tools/ dodgy-overseas-workmanship/ poor-eyesight/ other-people-moving-my-things until someone offers up a helpful solution to which the really clever person will appear to already be putting into place, of their own brilliance, before the words have left the helper's mouth, thereby allowing the really clever person to look at the helper distractedly and say "Look, I'm a bit busy here, do you mind just going and putting on the kettle for me?"

Nevertheless, I have been prowling around the backyard, stupid-flash-happy camera in hand, preparing a lovely sample of garden shots. I'm thinking of creating a new category in the Garden of the Year Competition, something to do with Most Artistically Neglected.

This, you see, is a fence. Also a tree stump.

I like to think of my garden as a Secret garden.

Secret Fence.

Secret Tree Stump.

We also have a Secret Patio. It used to be hidden under a passionfruit vine. Now the passionfruit vine crawls the vastly unreachable heights of the neighbour's peppermint tree, and a feral gooseberry bush has assumed responsibility for hiding the patio.

This is the Secret Entrance where the shiteful neighbourhood cat gets in to compensatedly spray anything within range of it's very tiny penis.

This is where we hide old engine parts and the back fence.

This is where we hide chairs.

And so on, and so forth.

Meanwhile...

2007-08-24T17:24:00.000+08:00

So YAY ME! I have a camera! So I can write blogs with pictures in them, and wot's more i have a computer now my kid has finished work experience, which required my computer... long story. Never mind.

Meanwhile, read this. It's cute.

First, the bad news.

2007-06-18T20:54:00.000+08:00

I have a cold.

But who cares?

Nobody, that's who.

On the other hand... I am pleased with how the baby turned out.

He's small.

He's furry.

I think we'll keep him.

Hay hay haaaaaaaayyyy!

2007-02-16T17:33:00.000+09:00

I LOVE MY LIFE !

I've just finished that article - the last draft I really care about, anyway, I've scheduled in all the counselling groups I'll be running over the next 5 terms, the airconditioner is working again, the dishwasher is working again, my linen cupboard looks like it was packed in Stepford, Bill is taking me out for a belated anniversay dinner, Mayday has pretty much finished throwing up, Bill jnr is wriggling appropriately for a kid due to arrive in 7 days and it RAINED today. Am I showing off? Tell me yes. Yes I am. And I'll continue so long as these hormones keep pumping.

I AM SUPERWOMAN !!!!!!!!!

I AM THE LIZARD QUEEN !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Just nobody put on any country music and we'll be fine. Especially this one. I couldn't even talk about this song without sobbing the other night.

Smells like rat

2007-02-06T10:25:00.000+09:00

Is it a coincidence that my return to blogging occurs just as i begin working on turning my thesis into a journal article?

I think not.

Or that, simultaneously, I have just consumed the second season of Veronica Mars, and am at a loose end, escapement-wise?

Again, I think not.

(BTW: Do you not love Veronica? Do you not?)

It's either this, or baby-clothes shopping. Which is even more painful than woman-clothes shopping. Because at least i know what size i am.

(Another BTW: I know I'm four months behind the gossip, but did you all catch BEVIS' telling of the Sweetums birth story? My. God. Speechless with horror. Too close to home. Muchos kudos to all three.)

**sigh**

Alright, that's enough effort for one morning. I'll get back to you when I remember what my point was.

Oh. Also. I have a new phone-with-camera, and a new laptop. Neither likes the other. They aren't even on speaking terms. I'm planning to sulk until they start behaving themselves, and then I'll pretty this place up a bit.

hello? testing... testing... one tttwwwoo... ttwwwooo

2007-02-05T13:07:00.000+09:00

OKAY

before i expose myself and assorted others to further wanton ... exposure

could someone please tell me if they (or you) can see my unadulterated email address at the top of this page?

i mean, i think only i can see it.

and normally, that would be a thing i wouldn't want to happen, you know, becasue of all the psycho-baggage that sort of thing normally carries, but just for now i want to be the only person who can see what i see.

and then i'll get around to sharing amongst all three of us how this whole pregnancy gig is going. tell me you've been dying to hear.

this offer expires in 2.5 weeks

Quirk.

could you find a better photo for the milk carton backs?

2006-08-11T11:55:00.000+08:00

Dear occasional-hitter-of-the-bookmarks-button/ random drive-by webster/ ami devoue,

I am so sorry I have not been here. Actually, I have been here, but you were not to know it, because I was on the other side of the screen studying, rather than blogging.

My reasons for this abberation are manifold and complex. Yet I shall attempt a reduction:

The first draft of my thesis is due in five-and-a-half-weeks (yes the one I haven't written a single word of yet, yes that one).
I have had morning sickness (but I'm better now) (oh, and they should just call it "round-the-clock-crappiness-without-the-actual-sympathy-inducing-vomitting" sickness).
Actually, that about sums it up.

So, until the 20th of September, I plan on not doing anything other than sitting here, transcribing, typing, thinking, and being as briliant as one possibly can be when one has set oneself up to appear more brilliant than one actually is by attempting to produce a thesis of substantial quality and sufficient length within an utterly impossible time frame.

Also, I shall attempt to nominally feed and clothe the offspring, and provide a passable amount of wifely comfort to Bill.

I shall, as you imagine, have no social life.

But then, who needs a social life? All that frivilous lunching, coffeeing, talking, smiling. God. How did I ever bear it.

So the kids took the news of the new baby predictably.

Polly looked politely interested for 0.75 seconds before turning back to The Simpsons. Perhaps she's heard it all before, and is completely unimpressed. Perhaps the thought that her parents still have sex caused a temporary blank out. Who knows? Teenagers are odd.

Mayday looked at us in horror, and shouted "NOOOOOOOOOOO!". She then curled up into the foetal position and went to sleep. We didn't see her until the next day. This is not a quaint literary embellishment. She did exactly that.

Noisie pulled her top lip up - Billy Ray Cyrus style - (or is it Elvis?), raised her eyebrows, looked at my belly, and said "True?..... Freeeeeaky."

Bill, himself, is still adapting. The news was a little... unexpected.

We shall call it Bump.

Alteregos allegros

2006-06-17T13:21:00.000+08:00

Exams sat?

CHECK

Bianual post-exam spousal-shellacking-ceremony concluded?

CHECK

Post-shellacking-ceremony atonement effected?

CHECK

Pacified spouse and offspring dispatched?

CHECK

Blogging backlog adressed?

Ah. Yes.

Well, to ease myself back into the old blogging whatnot, I thought I'd pinch this meme from HB. Then I might be in the right frame of mind to do BEVIS's. And also BEVIS's.

1. YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME (grandfather/grandmother on your father's side, your favorite sweet/lolly):

Ella Ferrero

Or, equally, Ella Rocher. Ella Ferrero-Rocher is a bit of a mouthful, n'est pas?

2. YOUR FLY GIRL/GUY NAME (first initial of first name followed by "izzle", first two or three letters of your last name followed by "dizzle"):

Quizzle Sadizzle

Although this seems more like the stage name of a stand-up comedienne in leather.

3. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME (favorite color, favorite animal):

Plum Grimalkin by day
Magenta Lynx after eight

4. YOUR STAR WARS NAME (first 3 letters of your name- last 3 letters of mother's maiden name, first 3 letters of your pet's name repeated twice):

Qui-ith Mit Mit

We are a peace-loving band of intergalactic stammerers.

5. SUPERHERO NAME ("The", your favorite color, the automobile you drive):

The Purple Jackaroo

Oh. Come. On! Do we really *need* an Australian version?

Morning tea #7

2006-05-29T09:44:00.000+08:00

Why, after a reasonable length of time away from the 'sphere, would I drop back in just to let you know what I'm eating for morning tea?

Why, when I have only one day left to research, plan, begin, middle and end a 2500 word essay on the For-God's-Sake-Can-We-Get-Over-It-Already-Psychology's-Take-On-The-Nature-Vs-Nurture-Debate?

Because its Look Choob.

(And how long did I find it necessary to spend on finding out what number Morning Tea I was up to?

I think we all know why.)

Trailers for sale or rent...

2006-05-11T12:23:00.000+08:00

The last time I was home, it was to attend my grandfather's funeral. My little urine-soaked third-cousin stood up on her toothless father's lap and squawked, "Is 'e in thaire? Is 'e in that box? ...Are they gunna burn 'im yairt?"

I don't know when I've ever been prouder.

We drove up for Dad's birthday on the weekend. It's possibly the first time I've driven home and felt like an adult for almost the whole journey there. It was a wierd, dissociated feeling, like I was a stranger intruding on my own memories. Whether I've actually changed, or just become more at peace with being me on the outside, I don't know. But I know that I still love rust-coloured sand,

and rust-coloured trucks,

and rust-coloured dust,

and I don't think I'll be changing that.

I love sheds,

and what's inside them.

I love my auntie's front garden,

I love treasure hunts,

and no matter how feral they get, or how many teeth they lose in the process, I'll always love my cousins.

In every generation, there is a frozen one

2006-05-04T09:23:00.000+08:00

Hi folks,
Thanks for the tag(s), BEVIS, I'll check 'em out soon.
Drowning, currently, in uni assignments, school holidays and popcorn.
Can't think. Too scared to go out.
Vampires.

Happy Easter :`(

2006-04-16T07:33:00.000+08:00

The sun's just coming up over the neighbour's fence here, but the easter eggs are already found and the video player is surrounded by contented faces and slightly sore bellies.

I don't know why Easter makes me smile and worry and cry so much. I could spiritualise it and say the seaon is so imbuded with meaning that it works mysteries in my soul. But I find the same overwhelmed emotion at the most innocuous times. Maybe I'm just sentimental.

This morning Bill put these on the playlist:

O Happy Day (from Sister Act 2)
Hallelujah (Rufus Wainwright)
Monday Morning Church (Alan Jackson)
People Get Ready (Rod Stewart/ Jeff Beck)

I can't ever, in any context, listen to the kid from Sister Act 2 hit that high note without choking up and getting embarrassed and having to excuse myself so no-one sees me cry. Every time. I don't know if that's the message of hope, or if I just am so ga-ga impressed by musical talent, or if I identify with him and his fears and I want to know that I can overcome them as well, or maybe there's merely magic in it.

The lyrics in Hallelujah do it too. Maybe I'm just pleased with myself that I understand them, and I'm always relieved to find something I understand. But it's so raw.

Then Monday Morning Church. I don't know, but I love country music, and by now I'm feeeling so maudlin that anything makes me cry.

Then bloody stupid Rod Stewart starts singing People Get Ready, and he doesn't even nearly have me. Then when he laughs in the middle of singing "Prai(hay) se the Lord!" I want to throw a screwdriver through the stupid computer screen. Stupid man.

Now, if he stuck to "You're in my heart, you're in my soul", I'd listen to him forever. That's a hymn.

Nearly home

2006-04-05T08:49:00.000+08:00

You see, I haven't been feeling very creative, or even at all interesting lately. But I've missed you. And then I remembered these photos I took the other week, while I was thinking of you. Thinking of my faceless friends who know a lot more about a side of me than my faced friends do, and a lot less also.

So this is my drive to work:

I wish you could see it when the sun is out, like I did on my way to work.

(I took this picture on the way home. I got out of the car and stood in the middle of the road, and no-one minded.)

In the distance, just before the ocean, is a steeple and a white dome that glows like an easter egg in the morning. That sight makes me want to jump out of the car and stop all the traffic and shout STOP! LOOK! ISN'T IT MAGNIFICENT?! It makes me want to run around naked, dragging paper streamers behind me, and dance around a fire in the daylight.

When did this scrappy scene of telephone wires, potholes and traffic hum become home for me? When did it replace the smell of gravel dust and deisel and the strange noisiness of miles and miles of wheat, the buzz of a westerly through fencing wire?

I felt small, on the farm, and a little afraid. I was a foreigner there: the only human in a world full of noises that were more at home than I was. And I'm foreign here too, but it's becoming more familiar. I'm enjoying the sense of knowing my way around this strange country. I feel like an experienced tourist.

This reminds me of home (or of my grandmother. I get the two confused.) One day I want a house like this, with a Norfolk Island pine in the front yard, and a big, dark verandah. I want crumbly walls and worn-down floorboards.

And I want a prickly green-grey plant like this:

I want to show off. And I want my tummy to be flatter when I do.

I want a gypsy skirt, with lots of colourful pockets. And in my pockets I want useful things, like:

scissors
cotton
lozengers
a mud map
tiger balm
crayons
bandaids
a harmonica
a whistle
and lots of other things

I like to catch the sky pretending to be God.

Some days I'm more homesick than others.

(Insert title here)

2006-03-23T14:07:00.000+08:00

Oh CRAP. Smenita is back.

Smenita is as
smenita does. Cement an
unrequited post.

That just really dampens my mood.

No, you go first.

2006-03-23T09:26:00.000+08:00

I found this link down at the bottom of Amanda's blog. It looked quite cute, so I followed it. But anything inviting me to enter the 'Woman's Portal'...?

Aaaaaagh!

A little overly Bohemian for me I think.

But where's ya wheelie bin?

2006-03-20T20:27:00.000+08:00

So in our neighbourhood, they collect the rubbish once a week. But the recycling bin, that they collect once a fortnight, see? So people around here are pretty busy. They're kinda professional types. Most people don't remember which week it is, right? Nobody knows for sure.

See where I'm going with this?

So what I do, every once in a while, I put out both bins on the night when they're only supposed to collect the one. I make sure I put it out real early, then I go back inside. I smile to myself all night. Who's going to copy me? Then, in the morning, I go and I check it out. I go out, and I see a whole street full of double wheelie bins.

That right there? That's influence, my friend.

I didn't sleep well. That's my excuse.

2006-03-08T10:39:00.000+08:00

Noisie fell out of bed last night. Straight from the top-bunk to the floor. Luckily I was not quite in bed yet, just sitting on the edge, in my knickers.

I heard the thump, and while I ran to her room I think it vaguely occurred to me that she was ok because she was crying. It's the thumps that end in silence that you most fear.

But she was crying in that pitiful, not-properly-awake way which is so hard to comfort. I was scared to pick her up, because her arm was twisted out beneath her at an odd angle. Was it broken? I picked her up gently and sat on the bottom bunk, my arms around her, held her chest to my chest, told Mayday to go back to sleep.

Rocking gently (Are there any broken bones?)
Shhhhh shhhhhh (It's ok to cry)
It's ok... it's ok... you're ok now...
It hurts... yeah it hurts (Where? Where does it hurt?)

I put her back to bed, too soon, against my better judgment. (What does concussion look like? Is it dilated pupils? Or pinpoint? Could she die in her sleep? I'd never recover. Never.)

An hour later she was awake, crying. Her stomach hurt. She came to my room. I opened my sheets, tucked her in next to me, enveloping her.

Bill moves out (don't leave me! don't leave me alone with her!)
She's moaning (it's not right. Is she bleeding inside?)
Where does it hurt?
Where does it hurt?
I gently press her tummy.

owwwwwwwwwwwwwww

She pushes my hand away. So pale.
I go to get her a drink of water. She follows me down the hall. Falls down, lying on the floor.

owwwwwwwwwwwwwww she sobs, in that awful not-awake way

She lurches up, pulls a stool to the sink (oh sweet heart) and vomits into the sink, over last night's unwashed dishes.

It doesn't help.

It should help.

I tuck her into my bed again.

I pray. (Should I accept good from the Lord and not bad?)

(If He answers me, then will I not blame Him for all the others He doesn't answer? For all the babies that die in the night? Do I want Him to answer, if it means blaming Him?)

Please, God, I don't understand. Please just heal my baby. Please.

Good grief, I think I look like her as well.

2006-03-08T10:26:00.000+08:00

Rita, that is.

Yes! We have no bananas

2006-03-08T09:53:00.000+08:00

So anyway, uni has started again, yet again, as it does, endlessly, and endlessly.

Human history is divided by the birth of Christ, and my life is marked by what I did before study, and what I will do after.

Honestly, finishing this degree, or any of them, really, is like waiting for the second coming.

Everything will fall into place. I'll have no stress. No. Stress. I'll be smart (or failing that, knowledgeable). I'll be wanted (or failing that, employable).

But I'm tired, and I'm tired of trying (and failing) to motivate myself. So I thought I'd buy a laptop. That way I could continue the motivation battle somewhere else (out of this little hot-in-summer-cold-in-winter study). Maybe the lounge room. Maybe up at uni, where all the proper students study. (Yeuk. I sound like Rita.)

Maybe the buzz of owning a bit of techno-bling would squirt some novelty back into studying.

Too bad I can't afford one.

Bleuah.

ag'oivj/ Wroj

2006-02-25T00:18:00.000+08:00

So anyway I thought, being ahlf pie-eyed and unable/unwilling to go to sleep, I'd just visit y'all and... crappuy writing, see apparently everybody is already asleep and andyway

hhhh

start agin.

Why do I develop a half-wit southern (US) states accent? Ah doanno. I jest been readin a particly good buk and it wers set in the wharl waist en ah jest cain git that shit outn mah heed.

So I just been (notice corrected spelling and grammer) over at mah bruther's hayes (bugger. there it goes again) and all the family (being me, brother, sister-in-law, mother, step-father, etc etc) were there to celebrate, or honour, or whatever, the leaving of the ancestral folk for the subcontinent. Ah. The Sub Continent. I feel another haccent heventuating.

You see, the parents are off to the Colonies, where they will be greeted and accompanied in thair travels by some poor bloody little Indian bloke who thinks they're complete tossers, but will at least make a quid out of it.

It's really time for me to go to bed. I amke no sense. Finish story later.

How to REALLY make dumplings

2006-02-20T21:13:00.000+08:00

(Apologies to Elaine)

Chicken and Shitake Dumplings

1. Take the recipe of one pirate.

2. Adjust as required, depending on skill, intelligence, creativity, or lack thereof.

3. Attempt to purchse a dumpling maker.

4. Fail.

5. Go to the butcher and ask him to mince 250 grams of chicken. Weather his bemused gaze. Say, with as much dignity as possible, "Or, you know, roughly."

6. Accept that it is an impossible task for the butcher to mince 250 grams of chicken, and allow him to kindly slice it up into little bits for you. Say "See you again" when leaving, and try to look like you mean it.

7. Get some shitake mushrooms. Marinate in water. Use forks, if necessary, to keep the little bastards submerged.

8. Eat whatever is in the cupboard while you figure out the next bit.

9. If you own a computer and/or printer similar to the ones pictured below, curse the day you wasted your precious money on the stupid machines. They are of no use to you. You will need to walk from the study to the kitchen repeatedly for the rest of the exercise.

10. Imagine it is a good idea to add the sesame oil and light soy sauce to the wok now.

11. Burn them. Repeat step 8.

12. Make an executive decision regarding the bok choy. How much you use is up to you. Whether the green bits or the white bits are used is also your choice. Deliberate.

13. Decide it's all too hard, and chop the lot up. All except the middle bit. It looks like a baby bok choy and that would be cruel.

14. Chop up some ginger. Assuming your butcher wouldn't mince chicken either, further assume that mincing ginger will be out of the question. Deliberate on whether you are supposed to chop up the middle of the ginger, where the little hairy bits are. Decide against it.

15. Punch the garlic. There is no other way to open it.

16. Use as much as you like. Chop it like the ginger.

17. Put the chicken, bok choy, garlic and ginger in the wok.

18. Stir until cooked.

19. Remember the shitake mushrooms.

20. Remove wok from heat.

21. Chop mushrooms as finely as possible under the circumstances. Throw as much as possible into the wok. Cook. Ignore the pooling of fluid in the bottom of the wok. Taste the shitake water.

22. Attempt to separate the frozen dumpling skins. First, try a blunt knife. Then, defrost in the microwave. Neither of these methods will work.

23. Eat anything you can find. For this exercise, I used a flavoured rice cracker.

24. Eventually prise off a whole dumpling skin. Discard the earlier ones. Fill the dumpling skin with one teaspoon of chicken mixture. Pick up the pieces that fall out. Eat them.

25. Verbally abuse any children that enter the kitchen asking if they can help.

26. Fold the dumpling in half, deftly trapping the filling. Pinch the edges together.

This will not work.

27. Remind yourself that the purpose of this whole exercise was to use the dumpling maker.

28. Observe the baby bok choy wilting. Feel disconcerted.

29. Remember Granny's trick with the fork. Use it on the dumplings.

30. Repeat steps 24 and 29 until children reappear.

31. Generously offer a turn at dumpling making. Stay close. Be prepared to mock them mercilessly.

32. Watch the pile of dumplings grow.

33. Eat an easter egg.

34. Ponder what on Earth you can possibly do with the poor little bok choy.

35. Go to the bottle shop. Find the perfect bottle of wine. Notice that it's on special: $12.99 down from $19.99

36. Buy this instead. Pour a glass immediately.

37. In your absence, the dumplings will have attempted to copulate. Begin to prise them apart.

38. Fry several dumplings in hot peanut oil. Remove to a separate dish. Remember you were supposed to splash water into the pan to make them fluffy with steam. Return them to the wok. Steam them. This will make no difference to the final product. Remove them, and repeat for several batches. Come to the understanding that 'lightly fry' is open to interpretation.

39. Finish glass of wine. Burn the last batch.

40. Mix together a splash of sesame oil, white vinegar and supermarket brand soy sauce. Taste it. Try to understand the point of it.

41. Serve dumplings and sauce with a glass of wine.

42. Allow children to tip some of your wine onto their plates with the dipping sauce. Copy them. This will make a mess, but the sauce tastes better with it than without it.

It's a sign.

2006-02-20T11:11:00.000+08:00

11:11 am.

I think the Lord is saying that I should go to the chinese shop and buy a dumpling maker.

I'll let you know how they turn out.

I am lemming

2006-02-20T11:04:00.000+08:00

I start back at uni tomorrow.

*waits for sympathetic groan*

It's my last year. And all my coursework is finished, so all I have to do is hand in the odd lit review and a dissertation.

Now. All I need is some data. Then I'll just collate it, analyse it, read about it, and write about it. Then I'm done.

Good-o.

What you've always suspected...

2006-02-14T10:16:00.000+08:00

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Christianity!

Christianity was originally green, and actually contained cocaine.
Christianity is the traditional gift for a couple on their third wedding anniversary.
A thimbleful of Christianity would weigh over 100 million tons!
In a pinch, the skin from a shark can be used as Christianity.
Early thermometers were filled with Christianity instead of mercury!
A rhinoceros horn is made from compacted Christianity!
Every day in the UK, four people die putting Christianity on.
The Asteroid Belt between Mars and Jupiter is made entirely of Christianity.
Lightning strikes Christianity over seven times every hour.
Christianity can not regurgitate.

(Thanks to Her Radicalness)

2006-02-13T17:18:00.000+08:00

This seemed like a good idea at the time. I got it from Auburn. You have to be careful, though. I found the real name of a close friend in there, and I have no idea how! I've never mentioned him on the blog. Fortunately you can get it to ignore words, so this is a word cloud of my blog, minus people's names, and blognames (which come up all the time because they're in my blogroll).

Apparently, I talk about chocolate a lot. See. I knew it would reveal, in compact form, the utter genius of my ramblings.

But 'notify'? 'objectionable'? When do I talk like that? Anyone know how it works?

Because it actually IS Monday

2006-02-13T11:57:00.000+08:00

Thanks Bevis, who got it from Steph.

1. First blog you ever read?

That would be When Crustaceans Attack!, which is still linked to around the place, but hasn't been updated for ages and now I find I can't even find it anymore. So why did I hyperlink it? Sentimental old me. Or mental old me. Or old me. Or me. Me me me me me me! But Hazelblackberry showed it to me, and that's how I found out what blogs are. And then she started her own. So, by default, it's hb. I'm linking to her twice to make up for a particularly rude comment I made over there recently.

2. What inspired you to start your own?

Jealousy. Also vanity. Narcissim. A tendency to over-share. A firm conviction that my opinion is of great fascination to complete strangers. Also the spooky foreknowledge that one day I'm going to be dreadfully famous and admired in international literary circles for my scintillating wit and heart-wrenching profundity.

3. The best and worst about blogging?

The best: Discovering a whole underclass of similarly minded people.
The worst: When I'm totally famous, none of you will know it's me up there, graciously accepting the Pulitzer before my 40th birthday.

4. Who was the first person to comment on your blog? Troll your archives and find out.

Egads! It was Dr Drew: poet, musician, scientist, God-fearer, liar. You'll be back, huh? If I wasn't casks and casks of red wine in your debt, I'd take issue, really I would.

5. What has been your most popular blog entry?

By volume of comments, it looks like this one, but a lot of that was just me being a techno-tard and Chai trying to help me out.

But, really, I feel the most popular ones are where you get no comments. That way you know you've really made people think, you know? And ponder. Probably moved them to such depths of emotional self-reflection that they just can't articulate it. Those are the posts that I'm most proud of.

6. If I re-named my blog I would call it ...

...more often. It feels unloved if I don't check in occasionally.

7. If my blog had a theme song it would be ...

Some Days Are Diamonds

8. If my blog was a room it would look like ...

...my actual room. Stuff everywhere. Stuff I'm hording til I find time to organise it. Way too much dust. The room I keep the door shut on when we get visitors. Also a playroom. Except in the case of the blog I play with strangers, and... well, don't try stretch that metaphor too far.

9. Five bloggers I would like to have over for dinner.

Hazel and Grumpy. Hazel because I know her, and I like her, and she only lives round the corner but we hardly ever see each other. Grumpy, because I don't know him, but I'd like to. Also, he's married to Hazel. Hmmm. Rodney because he's also a local, and also a nice fella, and has a sneaky sense of humour which he's very delicate about showing. Also because I wonder what he'd blog about if he was anonymous. And Jellyfish and Fluffy, because for some reason they go together in my bookmarks and you can't just separate people, and also becasue they're lovely. Also because I learnt the word kvetch from Fluffy, and because Jelly went all over the world and blogged it.

Damn. It seems I've invited the first five people on my bookmark list, which is a list containing, in no particular order, the urls of the most intelligent, witty and charming people on the entire planet, all of whom I would like to meet face to face.

10. Two bloggers you would like to set up on a blind date.

Easy peasy. Bevis and Kranki.

11. Somebody I wish had a blog?

This has to be someone famous, right? Otherwise you won't know what I'm talking about. Right. Well, in that case, my second choice would be the Queen. I've always been fascinated, for instance, by the logical premise that she must go to the toilet like everyone else. I haven't thought about this since primary school, but, now you mention it, the wonder of it is still there. Actually, no its not. Sigh. Who's thoughts would I like to know? I really don't give a rats what famous people think. I mean, if I wanted to know that, I'd just buy New Idea. hey, what about my neighbour? We don't really talk. But technically, we're close enough to be able to bluetooth each others' computers. Creepy. Imagine being able to spy on their anonymous rantings. Imagine being able to make spooky comments, like "Tonght, better make sure the wooden venetians in your lounge room are drawn." Coooooool.

12. If you were only allowed to read one blog ever again, which blog would it be?

Oh for pete's sake. I'd have to give up feeling like I was keeping in touch with everyone, however loosely, and just read for literary enjoyment or something. In that case, this new person I've found could be the one.

13. Is there a fellow blogger you would like to snog / shag / do rude things to? Feel free to name names if you're game.

Um, no. No there's not.

14. Discover a blog. Link to a blog that you have recently found, or a blog you have been reading for a while and haven't blogrolled.

Well, there's cupcake, the new person mentioned above. Also, I found this guy today (thanks to Fluffy), and I've only read his latest post but I'm definitely going back for another look.

Tag five bloggers to complete this meme.

Hmmm...

Any takers? I'm a little shy. If you love me/ or if you occasionally visit here/ or you are a complete stranger who accidentally walked in on this randomly public-possibly one-way conversation, consider yourself tagged.

So I've been thinking.

2006-02-09T11:19:00.000+08:00

Harmless enough, in itself.

But then, following thinking, one is generally inspiried to do something. But just because one is inspired to do something, it doesn't mean anything actually gets done.

That's when you know you've been thinking too much. Or too big.

Follow me?

So I'm down-sizing my thoughts.

Here's my problem: I get an idea to do something. Then I figure it's not a good enough idea on it's own, I have to elaborate on it. I have to do a really big something. A really perfect ingenioius amazing something. Then I think, Ok, this'll take some planning. I need to write lists. I need to gather resources. I need to prepare myself. Already I'm feeling overwhelmed by it. I need chocolate. (After all, I should reward myself for such a great idea, and also, I need to keep my blood sugar up.) Then I think, What if I don't do it perfectly amazingly ingeniously? I start to worry. I check my lists. I eat more chocolate. I wait. I procrastinate.

I don't do it.

So I've figured out that I do this, you see. I realise I need to lighten up on myself (what a good idea). Let me elaborate: I have an intense fear of failure, due to the deep conviction that only perfection is acceptable, which leads me to place extremely unreasonable expectations on myself. You know, I could actually use this process of self-discovery in my counselling. I could use it to help me notice and empathise with similar faulty reasoning in my clients. I could then try a variety of methods to help move people towards greater self-acceptance. I could take note of which methods help the most, and write an article detailing this new technique, which could be published in a really reputable, peer-reviewed journal. Of course, I'll need to think about this further... Where's the chocolate?

So, no really. I have an idea. I'm just going to lighten up on myself.

How do I do that? I mean, really. This is just one more thing for me to figure out. I have to learn to live with failure.

And I need to get it right.

Morning Tea #6

2006-02-09T11:00:00.000+08:00

Sit down a while, and enjoy a healthy snack with me. The gifts from The Negotiator continue (now school's back) but yesterday's gift (or, more accurately, yesterday's extortion) consisted of lollies, two packets of instant porridge and a tin of beetroot. So, I thought, beetroot and porridge just don't go, you know? And lollies are a morning tea habit level to which I'm not yet prepared to sink. So here it is: a healthy snack for you and me.

Like a lizard

2006-01-20T07:29:00.000+08:00

I've been throwing birthday parties for cats*,

helping out at Music Day Camp**,

varnishing the kitchen floor***

and deciding not to go marroning, because the season is so short that there'll be none left**** by the time we get there after the Music Camp concert.

* ok, cat (singular) and this is not a party hat, it's a cone to stop her picking her stiches out. The glazed look, however, is actually drug induced.
** actual recent photograph of campers
***why else would you?
****due to interlopers behaving like "bloody shags on a rock" -Bill.

And while I'm about it...

2006-01-14T08:40:00.000+08:00

I was flicking through Polly's posts, found this, and wished she'd post more often.

It's the goosebumps. They get me every time.

2006-01-14T08:33:00.000+08:00

I'm with hazel. This girl's wonderful.

Blonde humour will eat itself

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

This is the best blonde joke going around.

This evening's sunset brought to you by...

2006-01-02T21:53:00.000+08:00

... a lovely tropical inversion, Overkill Bill's fishing obsession, and... a crappy little mobile phone camera.

This does absolutely no justice to tonight's beautiful sky. You'd need every sort of blue in the palette, plus every orange and pink.

There was a double rainbow.

Exquisite.

And this was also classic (but I wish you could have seen the liquid gold):

Whistling up the Doctor

2005-12-31T14:32:00.000+08:00

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

(Affects nonchalance)

2005-12-28T22:38:00.000+08:00

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?

2005-12-28T22:02:00.000+08:00

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

2005-12-28T21:15:00.000+08:00

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?

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.
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.
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.
Exchanging gifts and hugs with a devoutly Bhuddist friend. I don't know what this means, but it's definitely Christmassy.
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.
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

2005-12-18T20:24:00.000+08:00

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.

???

2005-12-16T21:57:00.000+08:00

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...

2005-12-12T09:49:00.000+08:00

...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.

2005-12-11T22:09:00.000+08:00

Mayday! Mayday!

2005-12-09T12:24:00.000+08:00

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.

2005-12-09T10:30:00.000+08:00

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?

2005-12-08T23:14:00.000+08:00

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

2005-12-06T20:21:00.000+08:00

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 :)

2005-12-05T19:40:00.000+08:00

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.

2005-12-04T08:44:00.000+08:00

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

2005-12-02T16:13:00.000+08:00

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.

2005-12-02T10:19:00.000+08:00

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.

2005-12-02T10:09:00.000+08:00

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.

Plagiarism alone doesn't make me a bad person.

2005-11-25T21:50:00.000+08:00

But it helps. I thought you might enjoy this anyway.

You got nuthin I want

2005-11-21T17:02:00.000+08:00

I got this idea from Rodney. You google "your name needs" and write down the first ten results. Well, Google didn't seem to recognise my name, so I googled what Mum would have called me if I'd been a boy.

Quirkie needs money for art supplies.
Quirkie needs help.
What Quirkie needs right now more than anything else is for the Boston Red Sox to win the World Series.
Quirkie needs your help.
Quirkie needs no bell to silence Pacers.
Quirkie needs a ride home.
Quirkie needs to learn to play purposefully with toys.
Quirkie needs to develop step-by-step approaches to academic work.
Quirkie needs a home!
Quirkie needs a Smock.

Thank God I'm a girl. Apparently I would have been a complete wanker otherwise.

Parenting theologically

2005-11-16T13:00:00.000+08:00

Polly had already snapped at Noisie, hurt her feelings, felt remorseful and said 'Sorry' by the time I got into the car to take them to school this morning. Noisie had told me all of Polly's crimes by the time I had my seatbelt on. Polly rolled her eyes at me. No fear there; she knew I understood.

Q: Noisie, have you forgiven Polly?
N: No. [Eyes stubbornly downcast]
Q: You know Polly loves you. She did the wrong thing, and now she's sorry.
N: I don't know where that spot is in my heart to forgive her.

Hmm, I thought as I pulled out of the driveway. The pre-primary teacher must have introduced this idea.

Q: I think it is in the same place in your heart where you love Polly.
N: I'll check. [Closes eyes to concentrate] Deeper... deeper... deeper... deeper... deeper... deeper... I think I've got it... Nope, that's my skeleton. Deeper... deeper... deeper. Nope. I can't find it.
Q: Mmm. Maybe it's in the part of your heart where you remember all the things you have done wrong.
N: Oh I don't remember them. I don't hold those grubs in my hand. I just give them to Jesus, and he takes care of it for me.
Q: Rr...right... Umm... Where do you think Jesus looks in his heart to forgive you?
N: It's probably in his love words.
Q: ...
Q: ...?
N: I'm sorry Polly, and I forgive you.
P: That's OK , Noise. Thanks.

20 ways to purge blog material

2005-11-10T09:35:00.000+08:00

I haven't responded to Kranki's tag yet out of the firm conviction that Fluffy is on the money.

But since I've got nothing better to do than study for an exam and drive to work, and since I'm sure (certainly?) that there must be at least a few more than 20 things you don't know about me yet, I thought, what the hell?

1. Kranki said I've usually got something pithy to say. What he doesn't know is that that'th only when I'm pithed.

(Sigh. Yet on we go.)

2. I have a birthmark on my right shin, and ever since I was little, I have always crossed my legs so it doesn't show.

3. I like to sing "As long as he needs me" in a Cockney accent. I think it makes it more tragic.

4. When I was 6 I nearly suffocated my little brother by locking him in a suitcase so I could perform a magic trick on him.

5. When I was 9, my little brother nearly suffocated in a wheat truck because my Dad thought I was just screaming 'like a girl'.

6. I'm not as close to my little brother as I'd like.

7. My second toes are not as long as my big toes, and when I was 10 my friend told me this was a sign that I was not beautiful.

8. When I read a book, I can't start it until I've read all the publication details, and I always imagine that I know what the person to whom it's dedicated looks like.

9. I'd rather get the piano restored than cap my tooth, but since a can't afford to do either, that's probably moot.

10. I love the smell of passionfruit, but I don't eat them because of the seeds.

11. No one got my sense of humour until I was a grown up, and even now my husband looks at me funny.

12. I really hope cats and dogs go to heaven. Mostly cats.

13. I love swimming naked, but I haven't done it since I was a teenager.

14. Oddly, I have more sex now than I did then.

15. I'm not afraid of the dark anymore.

16. You know, of course the things in the dark still bother me somewhat.

17. I'm pretty sure I'm not an alcoholic.

18. I took up smoking cigars when I was thirty, because I've always liked the smell of them.

19. I got a tattoo the same year, on my ankle. It didn't hurt a bit.

20. I feel really comforted by the fact that my husband is going grey early.

Shazam.

Now, five unsuspecting genii: Hazel Blackberry, because she's got a way with trivia, Jellyfish, because she's back in town, Fred Austere, because I dare him to do it without once bitching about clothes or music, Rodney Olsen, becasue he's the world's most dedicated blogger and I don't know how he keeps coming up with stuff, and TJ, because I love her sticky notes and her last post about her uncle must mean she's got heaps of family secrets.

Luv yers all.

Oh wicked, bad, naughty Zoot.

2005-11-10T09:20:00.000+08:00

You can tell I have an exam coming up on account of I'm blogging.

I handed my assignment in this morning on the way to school. I got there really early, as one does, to slip the assignment under the lecturer's door, in the hope that she'll think I handed it in yesterday after she went home. But then my conscience kicked me and I wrote today's date on it. But then I made it look like it had been finished yesterday, and I just hadn't caught her in time.

I sometimes wonder how many marks my soul is worth.

Gifts from the Negotiator

2005-11-10T09:06:00.000+08:00

All Morning Tea posts will hitherto be renamed as Gifts from the Negotiator.

What.

You didn't think I bought myself doughnuts and stuff every Tuesday and Thursday morning did you?

This morning's offering is lemon rice. Fried oil, dhal, mustard seed, shredded coconut, peanuts, lemon, plenty of salt and a leaf of unknown identity, mixed through rice.

The cybergurus have spoken

2005-11-09T09:52:00.000+08:00

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	7.1
Mind:	6.5
Body:	6.8
Spirit:	8
Friends/Family:	7.7
Love:	7.3
Finance:	5.8
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

Actually, I can't believe they are so inaccurate. I mean, yeah, I feel pretty good. I drove home after dropping the kids at school and I felt that weird glowing feeling you get that tells you something good, nay, something cosmically wonderful, is going to happen, has happened. The sun was making everything pretty and the morning radio was chatting in the background with its buddies. I went to turn it off, so I could focus on the good feeling and figure out where it was coming from or what it meant, so I could pray and figure it out. But then I turned it back on because that seemed too much like hard work. And I drove home feeling cosmic. I wondered if God was communicating something to me, something very specifically for me to share with the world, or about the world, which God wanted only me to know. Then I stopped thinking that because I think that's just how schizophrenia starts.

And anyway, didn't the cybergurus *know* I have to write a 4000 word assignment this morning? There should be a section in there to uncover exactly how many methods of procrastination people have used in the last week.

eg:

Do you reward yourself with coffee and/or chocolate everytime you sit down at the computer, before you do any work?
Do you get up from the computer before you start writing to make yourself another coffee?
Do you check your friends' blogs before you start writing, just to get yourself into the mood?
Do you then begin responding to tags because, well, now you've *seen* them, you should really strike while the iron's hot?
Do you decide that would be irresponsible, and then write your own blog anyway?
Do you sit for 30 seconds pondering whether to continue this innane list, or to make another coffee?

I know I do.

By way of explanation... my brain has imploded

2005-11-07T09:18:00.000+08:00

(Such as it was.)

As the increasing appearance of doughnuts at morning tea time may have indicated, I've been a wee bit, er, distracted of late. For one thing, I failed an exam. FAILED. An exam.

This shits me no end.

Such is the degree to which I hang my raison d'etre on being a high performing nerd.

Re-read that sentence. I am a failed nerd.

A nerde defuncte.

A nerd who invents french phrases whenever she's annoyed with herself/ other people/ whole systems of people/ systems of systems of people.

A nerd who irreverently uses the solidus/ oblique/ slash/ diagonal/ separatrix/ shilling mark/ stroke/ virgule/ slant and/or forward slash without any consideration of the sensitivities of her readers.

Hence the doughnuts.

By the way, to any Americans reading this, the correct spelling of 'dough' is D O U G H, not 'do'. Just so you know, that really annoys me. It annoys me so much I feel justified in permitting myself to incorrectly, and, furthermore, hypocritically, punctuate and grammarise that last sentence.

Furthermore.

I have an exam on Saturday, and a 4000 word assignment to produce on Wednesday.

Also, I have more counselling clients than I thought I would have at this time of year, and one of them in particular is a child that (who? whom?) I cannot get out of my head. I want to adopt this child and perform a joint double bypass decapitation and/or sterilisation on it's parents. Never allow me to counsel your children. HA! and now you know why I don't use my real name here.

(cough)

Anyhoo...

So, yeah, I'm off to see my supervisor about this one. Transference issues, unresolved conflicts... yada yada.

PS: Thanks for the vote of confidence Fred.

Morning Tea #5

2005-10-20T10:42:00.000+08:00

Fine.

So it's also lunch.

Visiting with Lady M

2005-10-17T12:58:00.000+08:00

You may have heard me mention my maternal grandmother, Lady M, before. Wit and Genius does, of course, tend to run in families, so it's a wonder she doesn't appear here more often.

Anyway, I always learn something when visiting Lady M. I mean, among the circular conversations, and reminders about where we're going and why, and disgruntled commentary on the silly old fool of a man who keeps pinching her daily paper, and where did these glasses come from? They're not mine. I've never owned a pair like that.

Anyway, did you know what dandelions used to be called?

Pee-the-beds.

Go ask yer own Granny. She should know.

Lunch

2005-10-17T12:51:00.000+08:00

Isan Sticky Rice and Reheated Roast Beef Pan Drippings.

It may not look like much, but I can't take another picture because it is ALL GONE.

Achingly salty.

Like touching your tongue to the end of a torch battery.

Only much, much more satisfying.

Be Bold With Bananas

2005-10-11T09:28:00.000+08:00

If anyone doubts that a cookbook with this title actually exists, follow this link.*

If anyone doubts that I own a copy of this cookbook, get a load of this. They call it Banana duck in orange sauce.

Mayday calls it Substitute Turkey. Either way, the advertising executive that ok'ed this travesty should be taken out and beaten to within an inch of his worthless life with an oversized organic banana.

*The Banana Candle dessert is just so lewd that I couldn't bring myself to publish it here.

Morning Tea #4

2005-10-11T09:04:00.000+08:00

Morning tea occurs early this morning, due to the resumption of school term.

Amazing Psychic Children!

2005-10-05T07:26:00.000+08:00

(Curled up together, watching Du Rififi Chez Les Hommes, but that fact is irrelevant to this post.)

Noisie: Do you know what you are?
Me: What am I?
Noisie: Warm.
Me: Do you know what you are?
Noisie: Soft.

I love school holidays, generally.

2005-10-05T06:47:00.000+08:00

Well, the school holidays have progressed. I love school holidays, generally. Normally the kids' teachers get the best of them, all their milestones, all their lovely malapropisms and solecisms, their witticisms and commentaries, all their smiles. I get them early-morning bleary-eyed and after-school exhausted. On the school holidays I get to pretend I'm on holidays too, and wear my pyjamas all day, eat junk-food and play computer games. Normally, I mostly am on holidays too. But this time, the university calender doesn't quite synchronise, and instead of pyjama days I've been siting exams and writing assignments. Bother. Also, Bill is in South East Asia, although I could have told him the answer sure ain't there.*

Anyhoo.

I lost a client last week. Terribly clumsy of me, I know. This bothered me more than it should have.

Also, my computer has been in for servicing, so I have been lost to the blog world. (I'm using Miffy's at the moment - don't tell her.) Lost, I tell you.

* This link for anyone concerned that this throw away comment is a reflection on the state of my marriage, or suggests any extramarital contingency plan on Bill's part. Nothing to see here. Move along.

In lieu of genius (2)

2005-09-20T20:24:00.000+08:00

I have been off studying for an exam, hence the lack of inspired commentary. I intend to continue in this vein for some hours longer. Meanwhile, you may like to pop over to Polly's spot. Fancies herself a bit of a poet. I fancy she may be right.

Morning Tea #3

2005-09-14T23:24:00.000+08:00

Fried Mee Hoon $6.90 Hawker's Cafe, Winthrop.

Morning Tea #2

2005-09-13T09:41:00.000+08:00

I swear I do not remember why kids pick out the raisins.

Reasons why I like being a Mum (in no particular order) #2

2005-09-13T09:28:00.000+08:00

I can pretend (you know, for their sake).

Words apart

2005-09-13T09:13:00.000+08:00

I wasn't going to say anything about the Katrina debacle, but I just couldn't help myself (unlike these lucky fellows):

Morning Tea

2005-09-06T09:45:00.000+08:00

Huston, we have touch down.

2005-09-06T09:22:00.000+08:00

You may recall, last time we spoke, I mentioned an overdue essay I had to write.

Overdue?

Well, yes, it became that way.

I have this little problem, whereby I can only think straight when under extreme pressure. Lately, however, the line between enough pressure and too much pressure has become rather crepuscular. A little fuliginous, if you will. On one side of it, I'm not motivated enough to start and have insufficient circulating adrenalin to force the neurons to connect; on the other side I am too paralysed with terror and self-contempt that I cannot breathe properly, let alone effuse genius.

However, the Dalai Maharishi had some very helpful advice, which I am not loathe to share here: He suggested that I was a rotten little sinner, and I should stop it.

He also suggested that I pray like Paul for the Ephesians, repent like a Galatian, and also set an alarm clock. So I did. And by golly it worked! For some reason, simply asking God to show me how much he loves me, (rather than trying to convince myself of it) has taken the terror out of the whole thing.

Now, I really don't know how much of that is psychology, and how much is God being particularly nice. As the bishop said to the actress, "I don't mind, so long as it works."

Reasons why I like being a Mum (in no particular order) #1

2005-09-06T09:03:00.000+08:00

Exotic After-School Snacks

In lieu of genius

2005-08-30T10:30:00.000+08:00

Ok, just a quick whinge, and then you can all go back to what you were doing before.

The washing machine blew up (I mean, that is to say, without the noise or the smoke, id est it stopped working) on Saturday, as did the computer.

On the up side, my new mobile phone has a camera, so as soon as I can figure out how to get the pictures onto the computer, we shall have pictures, and pictures we shall have.

Now, I must be off, for I am about to set a new land speed record for writing a 2000 word essay on a topic about which the author knows next to nothing.

Falling-out bits, uneaten.

2005-08-12T13:29:00.000+08:00

Young Noisie is home from school today with a virus. I knew she had one coming, because she usually really loves school, but she's been trying to get out of it for the last two days. Last night she hopped into bed with me. Her temperature was really high (I don't know how high. When Polly was little we used to rush her off to the hospital becasue her head felt warm, only to wait three hours to be told there was nothing wrong with her and that she had no temperature. I think that's something to do with only checking their foreheads when I think they're sick, so I've really no idea how hot they're supposed to feel when they're not. But because I'm a far more neglectful parent than I used to be, I no longer subject myself to the eye-rolling of hospital staff whenever I think one of my kids has a temperature. So when I say the kid had a temperature, just take my word for it, ok?).

So anyway, Noisie had a really high temperature last night. I know this because she was speaking even more nonsense than usual. All night she was muttering things like "That timing's not right", and "There's a matter". I mostly managed to ignore her.

(Really, the child does require ignoring on a regular basis. Last night, in exasperation at the high number of juvenile voices ranting at one time and at maximum volume, I made the understandable suggestion that "Will you all. Shuuuuut. Uuuuuuuuup?", hopefully in a voice not completely devoid of maternal affection. Noisie said aghast, amidst the downward-winding roar, "Oh. Mum. You said the F word."

Q: I what, dear?
N: You said the F word.
Q: Er, the F word? What F word did I say?
N: (soto voce) Shut up.
Q: That's the F word?
N: It's one of them.

You get my drift. Sometimes it's best just to ignore them.)

All night I mostly just shoved her further down under my armpit, until morning when I acquired enough consciousness to find the fridge and rattle a bottle of panadol out of the back of it. She's been fine, since, except for being rather pink around the edges.

However, and this leads me to my main point, lunch at home, consisting of a Hungry Jacks baguette, of which I did not eat the falling-out bits, replaced an otherwise planned and brightly anticipated lunch with the delightful Ms Blackberry, at which I most certainly would have eaten the falling out bits, if her recommendation of said unrequited luncheon, at the recommended luncheoning establishment, was up to scratch, as to the veracity of which I have no doubt.

Attention, class.

2005-08-09T14:39:00.000+08:00

I would like whoever "accidentally" took my mobile phone to please return it. It is important that the telephone is returned immediately, because I need it to receive business calls, and also to contact my friends and family. Not having it is causing me a great deal of inconvenience.

Just put it on my desk, and no more will be said about it.

2005-08-05T11:06:00.000+08:00

A Hiroshima A-Bomb victim, Ms. Kurihara Sadako, once wrote the following passage in one of her poems:

It was night in the basement of a broken building
Victims of the atomic bomb
Crowded into the candleless darkness

Filling the room to overflowing
The smell of fresh blood, the stench of death
The stuffiness of human sweat, the writhing moans
When, out of the darkness, came a wondrous voice
"Oh! The baby's coming!" it said

..........
And so, a new life was born
In the darkness of that living hell

..........
We shall give forth new life!
We shall bring forth new life!
Even to our death

2005-08-05T09:23:00.000+08:00

Last night we felt like celebrating. We had nibbles for dinner: nachos, rice crackers and dip, marinated chicken wings, chilli-fried chicken giblets and chocolate icecream. The girls had orange juice in champagne flutes, I bought a bottle of better-than-usual red, because life really is too short to drink bad wine, Bill had a jug of water, and we toasted each other and our esteemed invisible guest. Lolek came over and we emptied the bottle of red while screen printing peace flags, and the kids stayed up way too late for a school night.

This morning I was interested to learn that Bill believes Douglas MacArthur had no choice but to bomb Japan. I told him I thought there was always a choice. For instance, they could have all agreed to call it a day, and gone home to be nice to their kids. He refused to discuss it further with me until I'd read up on it. He said "There's no point having an uninformed discussion."

Well.

So, at the exact time that the other people in Perth who believe that everyone should really make a bit of an effort to be nicer to each other are waving their homemade peace flags at:

Forest Place
5-6:30pm

because they saw it advertised here,

Bill and I will be resuming our own peace talks, under the watchful eye of the Dalai Maharishi.

Furthermore

2005-08-05T09:21:00.000+08:00

I've lost my mobile phone and, for those who came in late, that really irritates me.

I'm ho-ome!

2005-07-22T11:52:00.000+08:00

So anyway, Bali was very relaxing.

The food was good.

There was nothing to do.

The kids lived in the pool.

(They got their hair braided.)

We cooled our heels,

played,

and (mostly) got rid of the monkey.

Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.

2005-07-02T00:36:00.000+08:00

"What am I doing up at this hour?" you ask?

HA!

I'm doing my second last task before I go to bed. Tomorrow, very early in the morn, we go to Bali. I have not yet packed anything for self or children. The kitchen is gutless, awaiting the warm and soothing caress of various talented tradies; the washing is piled in enormous baskets, hidden away and awaiting folding when we get back; the cats have been relocated to the back landing, where they are complaining loudly and pitifully; I have finished all last minute writing and financial accounting; and now I'm going to go to bed.

Am I the only person alive on the face of the Earth who is suffering from this rotten cold? Everywhere is warm except in my house. You Eastern Staters are all cosily sleeping in your ducted air-warmed shelters, thoroughly prepared for the winter. Everybody else on the planet is having summer, and half of them are having it in the daytime. All except me. And the Russians. Not the Russians. Poor bastards.

So I'm going to bed. But not before I have a ridiculously hot shower so that I nearly pass out with heat exhaustion, just so I can battle my way through the ceilingless kitchen, down the freezing corridor, and into the unsuspecting presence of my beloved, where I will shove my stubbornly warmth-resistant toes under his delightfully cosy buttock.

I'll try to take photos.

Of Bali, silly.

e-you when I get back :)

It is cold.

2005-06-28T10:23:00.000+08:00

Oh it's so cold. We have no ceiling. We have no ceiling because I kicked it out. Most literally. From above. Kick kick kick kick kick. Til it was gone. And now we have no ceiling, and it is cold.

Remember; you heard it here first.

2005-06-21T10:04:00.000+08:00

After years of painstaking research, and, in the interests of animal welfare, of submitting myself to gruelling experimental trials, I can now proudly declare:

I have done it.

I Have Invented Hot Chocolate.

Growing up in Australia, I, along with every other Australian child, read British stories in which, far away in that fantastic place of snow at Christmas-time, coal fires and elevenses, the children would snuggle up with their Nurses and drink hot chocolate. Only ever having tasted cold chocolate, I naturally imagined that hot chocolate was made by melting milk chocolate bars until, somehow, it was runny enough to drink from a cup, but not so hot as to scald. Oh, the decadence! Surely only the wealthiest British children would have hot chocolate to drink. This was confirmed in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, in which Charlie, the poorest little boy in all of England, only gets to drink hot chocolate when he wins the prize and visits the marvellous Chocolate Room, where he drinks it from the Chocolate River.

I was somewhat disappointed when the movie came out and the Chocolate River looked exactly like water with brown food colouring added, but I decided that this was because movies can't really capture the reality of a river flowing with melted chocolate, mixed by waterfall.

You can imagine my disapointment when I discovered that what the Brits meant, when they talked of hot chocolate, was cocoa. Cocoa, in hot water, with sugar added. This, of course, looks exactly like the water with brown food colouring added.

Oh, we had cocoa, alright. And Quik. And Milo. But nothing ever even approached the wonderful heavenly beverage advertised in the books.

Anyway, my point is coming, and my point is this: The awful truth of the matter is that, until recently, hot chocolate did not exist, except in the minds of Roald Dahl and myself.

Until, as I said, recently.

This morning, in fact.

It is indeed a fact that, this morning, as I was making my morning cup of coffee, I did notice that on the bench had been left a jar of Nutella. Ajar. Further, it is also a fact that, after I had poured boiling water into my cup, and was sleepily stirring my teaspoon of coffee in that cup with a teaspoon, I noticed that I had a teaspoon in my hand.

Although I was as yet unaware of the fact, history was about to be made.

For, although outwardly my appearancewas that of a person barely able to connect two logical thoughts in sequence, inwardly the neuronal networks were already connecting and firing, dancing a mad, frenzied electronic tarantella. Subconsciously, and without even thinking about it very much, I removed the teaspoon from the cup, steered it toward the Nutella jar, scooped out a teaspoon full of Nutella, and guided it swiftly back to the cup. All of this in a matter of seconds. Thereupon, I rapidly stirred the sticky substance until it was fully disolved. Rapidly, I mention, because I knew I was onto something. Then, in one crazy, serendipitous moment, it occured to me that, only steps away, in the refrigerator, I had some milk. Quickly, and without stopping to process the monumental significance of the moment, I dashed to the fridge, poured a standard quantity of milk into the cup, stirred again, had the rare forethought to remove the spoon, lifted the cup to my parched, yet hopeful, lips, and tasted the concoction.

Yes! Hot Chocolate had been discovered.

My life's work was complete.

Bali Hi!

2005-06-20T12:05:00.000+08:00

We're off to Bali soon.

[Contemplatively places fingertips together. Observes index fingers tapping.]

You know; Bali, Indonesia. Famous for its terrorist bomb attacks, tsunamis, and drug smuggling detainees. And its shopping.

Not unlike Mexico.

(This last comment, for my US readers. West Australians are often tripping off to Bali, just as your Statesiders are fond of nipping down south, and for much the same reasons. The beaches are nice, the food looks foreign but has all been appropriately doctored, and the locals are really friendly even when we get drunk and throw up all over their sidewalks.)

Yep. Swap the pigs in Mexico for monkeys, and you've got Bali.

Actually, I must admit. This jet-setting lifestyle to which I so casually allude is a fancy. The Quirkie Clan is only getting to Bali because Miffy and Par Two are paying. This is because they took Polly when she was nine, and now Mayday, being nine this year, is having her turn. Except Mayday, bless her, was too anxious to go alone, so we all get to come and keep her company.

Hmmmm. A fortnight with my parents. Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.

[Contemplatively places fingertips together. Observes index fingers tapping.]

2005-06-14T15:09:00.000+08:00

Well, golly. I didn't think it would take *this* long to get over a stint in paid work. I've been all of a dither. You see, Paid Work, being far more credible and useful for society in general, (compared to my usual self-indulgent passtimes of lazing around at home with the children, pointlessly soul-searching in successive university courses and generally being a drain on the honest, hard-working taxpayers that make up the backbone of our nation) was also a rather convenient and respectable excuse for not working on a project that really should be much further along than it currently is.

Now I have no such excuse. Except for the one that goes "But I'm really actually stupid, far more stupid and incompetent than you could ever have guessed. And I'm ugly."

But I'm saving that trump card for when I really need it. And, knowing how these things can string out, I may have to hold that one for some time.

However, and this leads me to my original point: I'm in a dither. Which is not such a bad thing when you have a glass of champagne in one hand and a well-built fisherman in the other, but I tell you it's a bugger when you're behind on your assignments.

What one really needs now is some chocolate. Then, I say, one should flick through one's Favourites menu once more and read some blogs, just to get one's mind into a, er, thinking mode. One should then remind oneself of one's inestimable worth in the eyes of the Creator, and not base one's sense of identity on the success or failure of the aforementioned project.

One should do one's best to believe this.

Then eat some more chocolate.

Then, when one feels one is really ready to spurt forth with effervescent perspicacity, one should immediately, and without hesitation, throw oneself fully and bountifully into the ...

...task of opening the front door. Sigh. The kids are home.