Weight for me

I'm not one for New Year's Resolutions. I gave all that stuff a bash twenty odd years ago but these days I'm much too cynical to even contemplate such nonsense. But this year, as I look ahead at what will be an incredibly busy, exciting, wonderful and stressful twelve months, I feel like I have to re-assess myself a little to get through it all with sanity, sense of humour and all currently functioning relationships in place.


Weight is a reasonably important issue for me right now. I'm one of those people who isn't vastly obese but on the plump side, always have been, always will be. In the last few years I have come to accept that there is an approximately 5 kg weight range where I feel great at the bottom end and not so great at the top end. Six months ago I was at the bottom end, right now I'm at the top end.


Just feeling bloated and generally unhappy with myself is one thing, certainly an important thing, certainly enough for me to get motivated to do something about it. But there is an extra factor this year which means I have exactly 4 months from today to get to the bottom end of my weight range. That equals 1.25 kg per month I will need to shed. Doh!


On the 28th of May we'll be boarding a plane, a United Airlines plane (RHCP help us), to New York. A couple of weeks ago I purchased an Alannah Hill dress to wear to the special event we'll be attending (a dress which may, or may not, have cost the gross national product of a small African nation - including the Sale discount). It is a gorgeous dress and looks good on my, shall we say curvaceous? figure. But there isn't enough Spanx or baby oil in the world to squeeze me into that thing if I keep piling on the kgs. Not to mention that we'll have a full week of eating our way around NYC/Brooklyn before the big day (with a must-do stop at Carlo's Bakery in Hoboken, NJ where I'm sure numerous calories will be consumed - I'm starting with the Crumb Cake and working my way down).


Any old how, I have four months to get rid of 5 or slightly more kgs. Sounds easy but really isn't. The Green Coffee Big Jay and I loved last year has now been banned for containing some unlisted substance which increases your risk of heart attack and/or stroke (doesn't everything these days?). I know that with our busy schedule eating well is going to be a very major issue and one which I must stay on top of this year. I have been trying to decide whether I should join a weight loss "program" to help me. I did Weight Watchers about 12-15 years ago and found it predictable but a good support and motivation for me to lose weight. However, I simply don't think I can squeeze in even a single weekly meeting this year (and the on-line version just won't work for me because I really need that face to face accountability of a real life weigh in with a real life person giving me the hairy eyeball about my 200g weight gain).


Apart from trying to stick to a sensible diet (which is simply so difficult because I love to cook and bake) I am hoping to find a miracle pill/drink/toxin which will just put us off eating - just like the Green Coffee did. Any sensible suggestions will be gratefully accepted. I know - exercise would help - but apart from an early morning walk a few times each week I can't see what else I can squeeze in (and stick to).


The other thing I will need to be this year is get and stay organised. I am generally an organised person, more or less. I'm not super lazy or super disorganised but there is big room for improvement. I have never done the "pack the school bags the night before routine" but this year I will need to.

I will also need to find a fool proof way of getting little Miss M out of bed at a sensible time each morning (i.e. before 8:30 am). I have already had a stern conversation with her about being co-operative in the mornings and about giving me her breakfast order post haste each morning and sticking with it (as opposed to the usual morning routine which goes something like this: Miss M gets out of bed grumpy after numerous requests and threats, she may or may not get dressed, she may or may not tell me what she wants for breakfast, she may or may not eat what she asked for, she may or may not demand some other form of breakfast as we're about to walk out the door already late). The problem is she is just too heavy to carry out to the car if she's in the middle of a temper tantrum so sometimes I have to cave in to her ridiculous requests just to get us all into the car and heading to school and work. I hate doing it but what's the solution? Like diet advice any useful suggestions on raising a strong willed, too smart child would be gratefully, nay desperately, accepted.

Or failing that, if you know where to buy tranquiliser darts suitable for small children, please pass on the info. Thank you very much.

My daughter, captain of the Sydney Swans

Saturday night was the last home game for the season* for my Swannies. It was also the last home game for two of our greats. Paul Roos only played 87 games for the Swans, between 1995 and 1998 (after playing 269 games with Fitzroy) but he felt like family very quickly. Fans will remember the reverential "Roooos" call out whenever he kicked the ball. When he returned to the coaching position in 2003 it simply felt like he was coming home; a strong, calm presence after the stressed out Rodney Eade years. He took us to two grand finals and that can never be forgotten. I'm sure he will always be part of the Swans family.

As will Brett Kirk, the retiring co-captain. Captain Kirk (as he is fondly called) was the least likely AFL hero. He's a Buddhist (sometimes introducing the Dalai Lama to the audience during his Sydney visits) for a start, and ".. a guy who can't run very quickly, can't jump, he's not that strong - jeez he's a good footy player though" (according to another Swans great, Michael O'Loughlin). Kirk was an amazing combination of gentleness, guts and never-say-die attitude. His love of the Bloods was obvious for all to see.

It was a wondrful win on Saturday night (and having our old mate Barry Hall, playing very ineffectively for the competition) made it even more of a strange and bitter sweet moment.

*This may have been our last home game of the year but there's a good chance we'll play a home final as we head towards the pointy end of the season. Just when I thought the Swans had no chance (with a very hot and cold season) it's looking like we'll finish the official season in 5th position, which is mindblowing considering how they were playing only three weeks ago.

My daughter, Paris Hilton

I think we may have created a monster.

We took the kids to see Wicked a couple of weeks ago. It was fantastic. I'm not a huge fan of that sort of music (Rocky Horror is more my style) but the story and the costumes and set were amazing.

Anyway, we bought the kids the soundtrack and I downloaded it onto their iPods. They have both been listening to it constantly.

Marianna is right into it. She walks around singing "No-one loves THE WICKED!!!!" at the top of her lungs. It cracks me up!

Conversation with Marianna:

Me: "Marianna do you want lasagne for dinner?"

M: "NO!"

Me: "I can make you some eggs if you like."

M: "I want eggs!"

Me: "If you'd like me to cook you some eggs can you please say: "Mum, I'd like some eggs please." "

M: "Mum, I'd like eggs."

Me: "You need to say please. That's the polite thing to do."

M: "I can't."

Me: "You can't do what?"

M: "I can't say it." (Eyes welling up with tears.)

Me: "You can't say "please"?

M: Nods.

Me: "Why not?"

M: (Bursting into tears.) "Because it hurts my tongue."

Interesting. I think she must have the same condition as The Fonz. You know how he couldn't ever say "Sorry".

Never a dull moment.

Marianna and I were in Myer today, doing a little browsing while Will was at a birthday party watching Coraline. Nothing exciting, just a little pottering around in the kitchen section, searching for an oil container of some sort, something to house my macadamia nut oil which came in an almost unuseable container.

So one minute Marianna is next to me, the next minute she is gone. I really mean gone. Scary gone. Where the fuck has she gone, gone. Running around calling her name, getting terrified, gone. Calling security, panicking, gone. I'm not generally a worst case scenario type of girl but I was so bloody scared. Do you know where she was? Sitting quietly behind a dryer in the whitegoods section. That's where one of the saleswomen found her, just sitting quietly.

I'm not sure what happened really. I think she was hiding from me and then got scared herself. Tonight she told me she was very scared but she can't fully explain why.

It was one of those tiny moments in life when I could glimpse how someone's life can go from 0-100 km/hour shithouse in 5 short seconds.

I can't believe I've already been home for almost two weeks. To be more precise I can't believe I was actually ever away. Real life has a way of sucking you back in that's truly awesome. Luckily I have photos (which I'll soon be sharing with you, dear reader) and my blog entries to remind me that the big trip did really happen; that I didn't just dream the whole thing.

So what's been happening these past two weeks. Well, the Swans have been loosing, they are getting quite good at it now. It's OK, we have a trip to Melbourne planned for August so we wouldn't want to be going again in September. This week was sad with Michael O'Loughlin announcing his retirement at the end of this season. I feel like I've watched him grow up these last 14 years, as he's grown from an 18 year old rookie to a senior player. He's been such an integral part of our team for all these years that even though I know at 32 he is getting past his AFL prime it will be hard to see him go.

Work has been busy, what with catching up on the work I missed while away and finishing up the end of financial year stuff. As always I am grateful to have a job which pays me more than I deserve to do work I can mainly do in my sleep and which allows me to do all my motherly duties without guilt or penalty. At the moment I am just grateful to have a job.

Jay got a car this week; a cute little Hyundai i30 hatch, Vivid Blue. We've always managed to do nicely as a one car family but it has become increasingly difficult to manage lately. So we bit the bullet and now we're a two car family.

Michael Jackson died and my intial reaction was "one less freak in the world". But then I just felt sort of relieved, like he's been put out of his misery. He was such a Gollum-like creature these last 10 years or so. Tortured, suffering, it was awful to watch. His music will be his legacy and whatever else he was nothing can take the music away from him. I choose to remember the beautiful young man singing Blame It On The Boogie and the sweet young boy dancing in front of The Jackson Five. I hope that the memory of the wretched creature he had become will die with him.

This week Marianna has been at her whining, whinging, tantruming best. It's been one meltdown after another. But in between these emotional train wrecks another side has been emerging. She has become a singing and dancing little dynamo, practicing the songs and moves she has learnt from watching the DVD of Will's school performance of The Lizard of Oz at any given moment. It is too cute to see her earnestly singing A Girls Gotta Dream, doing all the steps and the big arms perfectly.

Well, I'm tired now and my brain has suddenly stopped working. I can't think of a single other thing to write. So goodnight, check back soon for the photos.

My baby girl turned FOUR on the 26th.

Here she is in November 2005 in Medellin, Colombia when we first met.

How far we've all come in the past 3 1/2 years.

She has gone from being Will's punching bag (of sorts) to a co-conspiritor, the leader of their little gang of two. It is Marianna who is likely to be the brains behind their naughty little escapades. The tiny evil mastermind leading her innocent big brother astray.

She is strong-willed, smart, outgoing and a very quick learner. She picks things up so quickly it takes my breath away. She is loving when she wants to be, everything on her terms only. Her way or the highway. If she chooses to use her powers for good instead of evil the possibilities for the future are limitless.

Happy birthday, my sweetheart.

After driving everyone around me nuts (story of my life) discussing the pros and cons of sending Marianna to school next year I have ... drum roll please ... picked up her enrolment forms from the school.

Honestly, I've felt like a pendulum in a clock these last few months. Yes, I'm definitely sending her. No, I'm definitely not sending her. Well obviously we're currently in the "yes we're sending her" camp right now.

With a late May birthday she will be one of the youngest (if not the youngest in the class) which doesn't make me very happy. But every indicator tells us she'll be ready. The reverse side is leaving her at day care for another year and I know for a fact she'll be bored out of her brain and I think her behaviour will go downhill if she's left in a room with a whole lot of 3 year olds to bully. She needs to be challenged as she learns quickly and we think only school will offer her that opportunity.

Hopefully this will be the right decision. Time will tell.

I've been memed by Kath. It all started here.

I'm a little vague and sore-throaty today so I'm just going to wing it. I think the point is to write 5 things I love (or not) about being a mother. This is dangerous territory but I'm going to give it a go.

1) Becoming a mother wasn't easy for me. My children are adopted. My body let me down, nothing to be done about that. I prefer not to dwell on negatives. My children's birth mothers couldn't care for them; I couldn't have a baby. Somehow, through the mysterious workings of the universe, DoCS and the court system in both Guatemala and Colombia, I became their mother. The sadness, regret and pain of both of these situations live within me always. They are tiny atoms fused within my heart. 99.9999% of the time I don't think about them or feel them. But occasionally something will happen to make me re-focus on their existence. The weight of these moments is more than I can bear, but I have to, and soon the moments pass. I don't want to think that these atoms affect my parenting but I fear that they do. I can not articulate these fears, I just feel them fluttering there, under my heart, sometimes.

2) Because of point (1) there is some part of me which still can't accept that I am actually a mother. Someone has surely made a mistake. I like to turn these strange sensations into a positive. I live by the idea that my children are only lent to my by the universe, I do not own them, just as no parent "owns" their child. I felt "owned" as a child and I do not want that for my children. I want to walk side by side with them, guide them where I can, aware that I know so little, that I can not foresee or control their path. These ideas free me and trouble me. I see other parents sharing a more intense, more intertwined relationship with their children and wonder if there is something wrong with me; am I missing some maternal spark.

3) I find the day to day of parenting a heavy weight to carry. It is not just the fact that there is not enough hours in the day to fit in the children's needs, housework, paid work, other family issues, hobbies, friends, etc, etc. Though this is a significant fact. It's that I am selfish. There is a strong internal faction inside me which demands "me" time, whether it's to write this blog, or go to a mums' dinner, or simply plop in front of the tv in peace and quiet to watch some reality tv trash which I sadly find entertaining. Mothers want to be with their children all the time, right? Shouldn't I want that too. Maybe it's that my children won't be compartmentalised, they won't stick to the rules that exist in my mind. Play when I want to play with you, eat when I want you to eat, go away and play quietly when I want you to do so. They do normal annoying child-like things and sometimes that is hard for me to cope with.

4) So far it seems that there is nothing I love about being a mum. I guess that's just my processing. It's funny because I so love almost everything about being a mum; a mum to two beautiful wonderful little people who I am so priviliged to be able to parent. It is almost like the emotional part and the physical/mental part of parenting are two very different things. How can I describe the joy of snuggling in bed at night next to Will as he settles into sleep, listening to his comments and questions about the day past and the day ahead? He is my fragile little man, the baby who eight years ago lived with the possibility of never walking or talking, now almost ten years old, robust, happy, friendly and loving. My heart swells to bursting with admiration and awe at how far we have all come together since the day we first held him in our arms in Guatemala City in September 2000.

5) Then there is Marianna, our dynamic diva. Whereas parenting Will has meant living with the fear and joy of a dependant child, parenting Marianna has come with all the opposite fears and joys. She is so independant it is strictly her lack of disposable income which prevents her from moving out and living life as she sees fit right now at the tender age of almost four. I adore her and I fear her; I know she is capable of bringing immense happiness or possibly causing terrible pain. I am sometimes scared at what the future may hold for her and us. Anything is possible for my bright, beautiful, strong-minded princess.

Well, as usual, I've meandered into a whole lot of useless navel gazing. Barely touched on the theme at hand. I am much better at the basic memes, as opposed to these more DAM ones. Bugger it.

Here's another sweet family anecdote to add to my Mother of the Year nomination application.

A couple of weeks ago Marianna woke up and came into the kitchen where I was fiddling with Will's school lunch.

"I want to give my daddy a hug," was her opening line.

"He went to work early this morning sweetie, you'll have to wait until he get's home this evening," I said.

"NOOO, I have to give my daddy a hug NOW," she retorted.

"Well, daddy isn't here. If you want we can call him on the phone and say 'good morning'. Otherwise you can give me a hug or wait until tonight."

She was quite for a few moments. Then (in case I had misunderstood her previous requests):

"I WANT TO GIVE MY DADDY A HUG NOOOOWWWWW ... [significant and ominous pause] ... YOU SHIT!"

Look, it's hard to shift blame for my angelic little cherub knowing such words. She would certainly have heard me uttering the odd "shit" here and there. But in my defence I should say that it isn't my fault that the roads are so heavily populated by moronic arsehole shitheads who so obviously found their driver's licences in Corn Flakes packets.

I do need to give her points for using it so well and in proper context. Despite the initial shock I was suitably impressed.

A moment any mother would be proud of.

I just wanted to mention that my baby girl can swim. Yes, really swim. She has been a waterbaby since she was 1 1/2 and would pop her head under water at any given opportunity. She has been swimming with her back bubble since she was 2 or so.

This summer has been hot and we have spent almost each afternoon and many hours on the weekends in our pool. Last week she decided she didn't want to wear her bubble any more. I told her that was fine but she wouldn't be allowed to go into the deep end. We talked about having some swimming lessons before she could swim in the deep end by herself. She seemed happy with that for a few days.

On Thursday afternoon she told me she could go into the deep end because she could swim. I said "sure you can" but she insisted that she could. So I humoured her and went into the deep end with her. Well, blow me down, but somehow she has learnt to swim on her own... in the deep end... with no bubble.

Marianna is one determined, strong minded little 3 1/2 year old. She thinks things through and does whatever it takes to achieve her aims. It does make her a difficult child to parent at times but it makes my motherly heart flutter and ache at the possibilities life may have in store for her.

Here is our little ballerina, ready for her first proper ballet class last Saturday.

And here she is looking much prettier, just a hint of mischief in her gorgeous eyes.

Here's our handsome big boy, quickly heading towards the BIG TEN.

Last night when I was telling Marianna off for cutting her colouring in paper into a zillion pieces of confetti which she left all around her bedroom she showed a little of what the future may hold.

Eyes flashing she stormed back into the lounge room after me.

"My other mummy Nuery is my MUMMY. And daddy is my DADDY. But you're not my MUMMY!" she yelled into my face.

If this is 3 1/2 what will 16 be?

My morning starts off well. Some exercise, a shower, you know.

Then Big Jay announces he is going to work and all hell breaks loose. Princess Cranky Pants goes into major meltdown. "Daddy, daddy, daddy... I want my daddy". Over and over again and VERY LOUD!

I try to ignore her, going about my business in the bathroom. The hysteria continues. I come into the lounge room to check that she is OK and she is standing in the doorway, the front door WIDE OPEN... and there I am in the nuddy. Shit!

Luckily our front door only opens onto the private lift lobby room shared by us and our next door neighbours in No. 14. They are an old couple whom we don't see very much. It would have been my luck to have old Bob come out at that moment to go for one of his bike rides.

Hastily semi-hiding my bits with one arm (a lot of bits and not enough arm) I crab walk to the door and pry it out of her little hands. She fights like a wild cat, tears spurting, screaming non-stop. The minute I get her away from the door she is back to it, trying to open it again. I have no option but to lock her (momentarily) in her room. She continues to scream and bang on the door.

Quickly I dress and come back to her. She has quietened down. I offer a cuddle and happily she sits on my lap while I get my daily morning fix of Jon and Kate plus 8. Daddy is forgotten.

How was your morning?

Marianna's favourite word right now is POO. She just can't get enough of it. The funniest thing is how she includes it in her favourite songs by using POO instead of another word, e.g. Twinkle twinkle little POO (which has to be shouted for special effect).

So last night as I was saying "good night" to her I asked her what book daddy had read to her (Jason is currently reading to her every night while I read The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, chapter by chapter, to Will). She was all snuggled into her pillow with her quilt pulled up near her chin. She whispered something I couldn't hear.

"What was that?" I asked.

"POO!" she said.

"Dad read you a book about POO?"

"About POO... and WILLIES... and BUM BUMS!" she said, trying not to giggle and with a very evil glint in her eyes.

"Oh, that sounds nice," I said, backing out of the room trying so hard not to laugh out loud.

Just in case you thought we weren't doing a very good job in the parenting department.

I want to make a conscious effort to record the cute, funny and down-right kid-like things the munchkins say and do. I feel I spend a lot of my time being cranky with them and I want to remember the great moments.

For example, this morning. Marianna was having a good morning until it was time to head out the door. She decided she wanted to take Teddy to day care, which was fine with me. However as we were about to walk out the door she threw him on the floor and said "you carry him". Of course I said "NO" because not only will I not pander to her silly little whims but I also had my arms full with a Tupperware container full of muffins I made for the office, my lunch, my handbag, keys and garage remote.

She went ballistic, screaming and sobbing as if she was being murdered. I was running late so I simply dragged her out the door towards the lift. She lay screaming on the ground while we waited for the lift. [Poor Will wanted to help carry Teddy but she wouldn't let him. It's her way or no way.] The lift came and I had to drag her inside. Then drag her out again when we got to the basement.

I left her screaming in the little lift lobby while I opened the garage and the car and got Will inside and put all my stuff in the car. Then I came back for her and carried her screaming and hysterical to the car and tried to strap her in her seat. Have you ever tried strapping an octopus on speed into a baby seat?

She continued to scream and yell "I want my Teddy" at the top of her lungs for about 15 minutes into our trip (that's stamina for you). Finally she calmed down and the rest of the car trip was peaceful and uneventful.

Upon arriving at day care I unstrapped her and as I was holding her to put her on the ground she smiled sweetly at me and said "I'm happy with you mum". Then she happily walked into the centre and the day went on.

Parenting is the hardest and the best job in the world.

PLAYGROUP ROCKS!!

(Do you like the T-shirt mum bought me?)

The T-shirt reads "glamour is my occupation" (by Small Paul - TOO CUTE!) but it should read "BRING BACK THE BIFF".

It's never too early to be one of the ladies who lunch!