Pure weariness is simply sucking out everything out of me. Updating this blog, something I love to do, has become a chore I really can't find the time for.

It's Friday night and all is peaceful in Pomona Street, at least at our house. Will is in my bed watching Wizard of Oz (what the hell did parents do before vcr/dvd/playstation et al??? god help us, just the thought scares the bejesus out of me!). Marianna is in her cot asleep (I hope, at least there is no noise eminating from her room). Big J has gone to his friend/boss' house to play poker... it's the new craze... can't see the attraction myself but what do I know.

This week has been pretty good overall. Will's behaviour is undoubtedly improving and my coping mechanisms are improving also, so things are generally happier and calmer, can't complain about that... though I often do.

I'm still very tired however. I think it was helping with the school fundraising this afternoon which did me in. It involved sorting a zillion boxes of Snakes and Dinasours (of the lolly variety). There was much lifting of boxes, sorting of boxes (done at ground level in a very uncomfortable crouching position), then lifting of more boxes. My back is done in, I feel crippled. I don't think I've ever felt the need to have a Panadol and get into bed as much as right now... well, at least not since my last period not that long ago.

I really want to see Capote. Philip Seymour Hoffman is an actor I adore, there is no-one like him. He is not a star, he is not a celebrity, he is not a pretty boy punce. He is an ACTOR. I know it's hard to recognise one, not many of them around, but he is definitely one of the few. He was so delicious in The Big Lebowski, so grimy but real in Happiness. I love him in each and every role and I'm sure he'll bring his own magic to the role of Truman Capote. How to find the time?

I hope next week will be my week to write all those letters to politicians re: adoption reform following from the ICA inquiry which I have been meaning to write since we returned home. Sometimes I have an overwhelming feeling of pushing a giant rock up hill but I know I (like so many I know) must keep trying because so few really care it would be a lost cause if we didn't keep making an effort. How to find the time?

How do I reconcile my feelings of joy at having two beautiful, wonderful children, children who I didn't come by by accident, children who weren't "mistakes", children who I love so deeply it terrifies me, with my daydreams of having a full time nanny who would actually do the "dirty work" parenting for me and just bring nice, clean, freshly bathed, pre-homeworked children to me to kiss goodnight? I am such a bad person and a worse mother. "Mommie Dearest" will read like a love poem when my kids write their biographies.