My darling sister J leaves tomorrow afternoon for her second European Vacation (sans Chevy Chase). The last one was a few years ago and it was THE BIG ONE. This is just a mini one (three and a bit weeks) but still exciting. She is starting with a few days in Germany (don't mention the war) to see a France vs Switzerland game at the World Cup, then Italy and France and a blink-and-you'll-miss-it stopover in Tokyo. Oh, to be young, single and free again. The grass is always greener, isn't it?! I will miss her terribly but I am super excited for her. Bon Voyage, beautiful girl.

On a totally different topic... Shannon Noll. Admission time. I didn't like him during the first Australian Idol. In fact I may have sent a vote or two Guy Sebastian's way. Now I see the error of my ways. At the time I dismissed Shannon Noll as a Jimmy Barnes wannabe, all yelling bravado and no musical talent. But recently I've decided I was wrong, so wrong. Sure Guy Sebastian can sing but it's what he chooses to sing that's the problem. There's enough R'n'B in the world, buddy. There's way, way too much, in fact. Enough already. Shannon Noll is actually a song writer in the classic Aussie sense, in the Ian Moss sense, (almost) in the Paul Kelly sense. In the storytelling tradition which makes you feel something. While I can't see myself buying his CDs I do appreciate his songs when they come on the radio. Good work, Shannon!

It's been a busy morning and a busy week. Last weekend we decided to change the house around "a bit". As usual these projects end up bigger than Ben Hur. So far we have moved the queen size bed into Will's room from the "spare" (aka JUNK) room and have dismantled his car bed (going to a good home). We have also moved ourselves out of the big bedroom at the back of the house into the almost as big bedroom at the front of the house. It is actually a much cosier room and we love it. Now we are in the process of turning our old bedroom, which is very large, into the kids' playroom/entertainment room.

Today we went and ordered a new lounge suite (a three-seater, a two-seater and a funky large pouffe). We've also ordered a 106cm LG flat screen plasma TV (why do such things make men so very, very happy?) and bought a home theatre package to turn our tiny living room into our very own realistic cinema experience. Our old 86cm TV will go into the kids' room, along with the old sofa and arm chairs, the Sony Playstation, the old stereo and all the kids' toys, books, games, etc. Our aim is to turn the lounge room into a sophisticated adults' retreat (humour me!) and the back room into a kids' paradise - plenty of room for all the fun stuff the kids need all in one space (and - V. IMPORTANTLY - out of our way).

So basically we end up without a spare/junk room so we are culling all the crap which accumulates when such a room is available for junk breeding purposes. Trip to the tip tomorrow. It also means visitors will not have a dedicated room but when they do stay they can have Will's room and he can camp out in our room or in Marianna's room. It seemed pointless to have a whole room going to waste just for the odd occasion when we have visitors staying over. It's bizarre that the three of us are struggling to find "enough space" in a largish four bedroom house when my parents and I managed quite well in what was basically one medium sized room with a shared kitchen and bathroom when I was little back in the motherland. Everything in life is relative!

You know how I said I hate Ticketek? Well, I REALLY HATE Ticketek. In fact so much so that I have added an item to my list of things to spend money on when I win $27 million on Lotto. Item 37) Buy Ticketek and fire every single sorry excuse for a human being who works there. I won't go on (much) suffice to say T and their piss poor website and phone system have not only wasted most of my day on two occasions now but they have also deprived me of a chance of seeing Mr Sex-on-Legs (aka Robbie Williams) at his forthcoming Sydney concerts. The last concert he did in Sydney was just amazing and I was very excited at the chance of seeing him live again. Well, it's not to be unless a third show is announced.

Oh, and I also hate E-Bay ticket scalpers. There were over 300 seperate RW ticket bundles for sale on E-Bay within half an half of the tickets going on sale officially. I mean I know it's a free world, yada yada... but come on! We're already getting ripped off by performers/promoters when we get whacked for $150 for a ticket. Now this second layer of greedy bastards is snapping up tickets and trying to flog them back to the real fans for even more distorted prices. These people suck big time and I hope the fleas of a thousand camels infest their armpits.

Onto more highbrow matters. Big Brother. Why oh why oh why can't we have housemates like they have in the UK. We have a houseful of variations on a theme. The theme: young, thin, dumb, vain, personality of a wet sponge. For "variety" we get gay. That's it! In the UK they have... Are you sitting down? A guy with Tourette's, a pre-op trannie, a 40-year-old porn star with Britain's largest breast implants (take that on Krystal), a clinically depressed guy who declared he'd be the first person to commit suicide on national television (after having him on 24 hour suicide watch - that's funny on BB - they finally kicked him off for being too much of a risk - can you imagine their public liability insurance premiums??!!). That's just to name a few. Can you compare that cast of freaks (and I mean that in the best possible way) with our cast of Mr and Ms Bland. I don't think I'm in the minority when I say we want more freaks on BB. Spice it up a bit, Kris Noble. What are we paying you for?!

Speaking of freaks... Jamie. I can't take no more. The headband... the pants... the vacant expression. Be warned, buddy. When we're in Perth at Christmas time I'm going to hunt down your sorry arse and make you put on pants that GO TO THE WAIST... with a belt... and make you put on a shirt... I've seen enough of your weirdly buffed chest to last me a lifetime.

Furthmore, I am starting a SAVE ROB campaign. While BB is a big part of my brainless TV schedule I have never been a voter (though I must admit to throwing a few votes to big Trevor a couple of years ago). But I am going to have to do a couple of Save Rob votes this week. He is the only housemate with some flavour, some character, some... well, something that's not just BLAND. He's bossy, sure, but who wouldn't be with those bozoheads. These bufoons have got so many fines in their 46 days in the house there is only $425,000 left out of $1,000,000 - how stupid can you possibly be? I mean it's not brain surgery people. At this rate the "winner" will owe BB money. They are lazy and stupid, so if Rob feels the need to be bossy more power to him. I'd be bossing these people around 24/7. The sad thing is Rob will probably get kicked off and one of the aneroxic morons with their sum total of 3 brain cells will win. Where's the justice?

Something to bitch about...

* I hate Ticketek. Their only purpose in existing is to sell overpriced tickets to poor suckers like me and do you think they can manage this simple task? Shit NO! If more than two unlucky people log onto their shithouse website at any one time the whole thing melts down. My sister and I both spent ONE and A HALF HOURS!!! today trying to get some Robbie Williams tickets at the pre-sale. By time I actually got onto a screen which didn't say "try again" there were only single seats available in the Gold Reserved section. I mean really! How many tickets did they release - 10?! So now I have to go through all this shit again next week when the "proper" ticket sale starts on Monday. I am quite certain he'll announce a second show and the sane part of me thinks I should hold off for that one but the looney, manic part of me thinks "don't risk it, crappy tickets at this concert are better than no tickets at the potentially non-existant second concert". What's a half mad RW fan to do??!!

* Now that much loathed demonical Michael has left Big Brother my roving eye has fallen upon Jamie as the next in line for my wrath. While he is not annoying in the same was as Michael was he has a few characteristics which are really ticking me off:
a) The headband. Just stop it. NOW.
b) The pants. What? Why? If you haven't seen him then picture the baggiest pants ever made worn at way below hip level, let's say below buttock level - how they actually hang onto his body defies the imagination. All I know is that we see his underpants constantly and I wish we didn't have to.
c) That deer in the headlights look he favours. It's really not flattering, mate. I know how much you hate those unintelligence people so it's only fair to warn you that you look just like one of THEM.

* With a rare dip into the political pool I must say "YIPEE" for the cancellation of the sale of the Snowy River Hydro Electrical Scheme. It was a friggin' dumb-arse idea to start with (thank you NSW Labor government, you have a million of them) but I'm very happy that some sanity has prevailed and that an amazing and proud national symbol will remain in public hands. It'll be interesting to watch the political circus which will follow during the next few weeks and I can only hope it will play some role in the demise of Morris Iemma and his cronnies at the next state election.

Some thoughts on this cloudy Thursday...

* Shiloh! Really? Why would anyone name their child after Neil Diamond's imaginery friend? Surely there's a fruit that could have been more suitable.

* Storm in a tea cup here in Sydney about a day care centre teaching young children about homosexuality. Jesus, f'ing Christ! What is wrong with people? The story is such crap. The centre was probably just reading the kids some of those books like "Jenny has two mommies" or "Jack has two daddies" and the media is reporting it like they were showing them man on man porn or a lesbian live sex show. It blows my mind that in this day and age we can't be reasonable about homosexuality and face the bleeding obvious fact that not everyone (i.e. hardly ANYONE) lives in a mummy + daddy + 2.7 kiddies home with a white pickett fence and a dog and a cat (well, we are such a family, but hey! we're freaks, not the norm at all and we don't really fit the perfect image 'cos our kids didn't come via the usual channels). Just come on people! This is silly and embaressing, get with the program and let's have a broad acceptance of all sorts of people, no matter what they like to do with their bits during sexual acts.

* I am having a very bad diet week. Fell off the wagon totally on the weekend with Marianna's party. Tried very hard to get back on that damn wagon as of Monday. Have had limited success and today has been very depressing. We can fly men to the moon but we can't invent great tasting hot chips and gravy which are really healthy and don't go straight to you buttock area. Science and technology is heading way into the wrong direction if you ask me!

Where to begin? A weekend of many parts... at the beginning I suppose...

Friday night my sister J and I went to see one of our favourite authors speaking at the Sydney Writers' Festival. I discovered Edmund White about 15 years ago and he was my introduction into the world of "gay American authors". The first book I read "A Boy's Own Story" just blew me away. Not only was it my first foray into the world of man on man action (and Mr White does not muck about on this front) but there was something else which I found very enticing about his writing. His books are generally autobiographical and I found myself very drawn to the hedonistic gay lifestyle described in his books.

Seeing him live was wonderful. He was not at all how I had imagined. What I found was an elderly man (he's now in his 60s), white haired, short and somewhat portly, with a very gay American voice, delightful. What was upsetting was how he was presented, in interview format with the abysmal, smug, shithead David Marr as his "interviewer". Jeez, if you like the Molly Meldrum school of interviewing then David is your man, otherwise, watch out. As I am want to do I was squirming in my seat within minutes, it was that bad. It took all my strength not to leap onto the stage and start beating Mr Marr with my pathetic tiny fists when he ended a question with "... two men f*#king?" and a "wise" lear in the audience's general direction. What a fool! What a buffoon! We didn't want to hear his beyond pathetic witticisms, we were there to hear the words of Edmund White, a man who had lived a rich and amazing life... travelling from the suburban wilderness of Ohio to New York to Paris (where he worked for Vogue and wrote a biography of Jean Genet, which I am to finish reading... it's dense, brick-like bulk defeats me). For my money we got to hear way too little of his fascinating story and WAY too much of David Marr's droning tones (though it must be said he did find himself endlessly witty and entertaining).

Coming home J and I watched "In Her Shoes" on Foxtel. Having read the book I found the film disappointing. There is much more background and richness to the characters which the film ignores and a large (and I feel important) part of the story which is skipped altogether. Obviously this was done to avoid a "Lord of the Rings" style epic but I certainly found the film less than entertaining.

Saturday we awoke to 1st Birthday/Naming Day preparation chaos. Yep, it was Marianna's big day (her actual birthday was on Friday) and there was so much to do and so little time to do it. The day went wonderfully well. The rain (though much needed) luckily stayed away and we were able to make full use of the deck and the backyard. The ceremony was lovely and the clowns we ordered for the kids were a fabulous success - at least I assume so, the children were happy and quiet for two hours, money well spent if you ask me! Together with some very wonderful and much appreciated assistants I spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen. My new best friend the deep fryer was put to good use but the very cute mini chocolate fountain, purchased solely for this occassion, stayed unused after we burnt most of the 1kg block of Lindt chocolate I had bought for this purpose.
















After everyone had left on Saturday night we left the mess alone and settled down for the Swans' game. It was the perfect end to a tiring but wonderful day. The Swans' kicked some serious Hawthron bottom. It was fantastic!

Sunday started with breakfast with my dad and grandma at sunny Bondi. It was the usual family chaos. We then returned home to finish cleaning up and for a little rest. It was Big Brother overdose for me as I watched the Friday Night Live I had taped on Friday night and then the eviction show from last night. I am glad Michael got the boot, I seriously think he was mentally ill. What a doofus! I don't think anyone will miss his whacky antics and they might get their toothbrushes back.

Sunday night, quick weekend update.

Friday night... Big Brother Friday Night Live, my favourite. This week was Rock'n'Roll week. The best bit was when the two finalists had to finish band names with various props. There was a board on which part of a band was written and a table with props, they had to put the appropriate prop on the little shelf next to the name. Hilarious, especially when both boys (Dino and Gaelen) didn't know some pretty obvious ones (well, they were to me, a child of the 80s - White Snake, I mean, COME ON!). I am getting cranky that only boys have won so far. The physical aspect of most of the games do favour the boys, especially strong, ruthless ones (a noted fact is that David seems to "get out" very early on every week, piss weak or gentlemanly, you be the judge).

Another BB thought. So far (and I haven't seen much, so I'm prepared to turn if necessary) I quite like Rob, the gay-as hairdresser intruder, he of the arched eyebrows and hair extensions. Why do I like him? Not sure, but my gut feeling is that he is an 80s throwback. He is SO like some of the guys I used to know in my teens. Funny, extravagant, OTT in terms of style. He really presses a mysterious warm and fuzzy familiary button with me. Intersting to see his fate over the next few weeks. Normally intruders don't last long.

Saturday we spent pottering around the house and doing some shopping. Marianna now has her birthday party dress for next week (and at 25% off - who is the queen of sales, yep - you got it!). Late in the afternoon Will and Jay set off to watch the Swans' game at the SCG. After putting Marianna to bed I got my snacks and diet coke and I was set. What a game it was! I was prepared for anything after last week (what a tremendous win) and knowing that our opponents, Western Bulldogs, were also in top form and coming off a few straight wins. I couldn't have been prepared for the first fifteen minutes of the game 39-0 to the Swans. I was gob smacked and excited but the Bulldogs soon kicked a few goals and the game stabilised somewhat. However we only let them have a sniff of the lead a couple of times. Most of the game was all our way and we won with a decent (though not overly impressive) 26 point win. Good enough for me. I have to say it was a bloody entertaining game and our boys outdid themselves every minute of the game. It was so good to watch. I was sorry I didn't get to see it live but there are many more home games to look forward to this year.

Sunday we slept in and ran around like fools getting ready for the first party - Will's friend S's 5th birthday party. We had to fit in a haircut for Will beforehand so we were running behind the whole day. The magical themed party was fantastic, the family had gone to a lot of trouble with decorations, costumes, food and entertainment. It was a shame we had to leave early to get to my dad's girlfriend's daughter's 21st (did you get all that? there'll be a test later). That was a low key family affair which did involve much more food. We're SO back onto the CSIRO plan from tomorrow.

Well, Big Brother beckons. So goodnight and see you next week.

Are you desperately bored? Absolutely nothing to do? Picked all the lint out of your belly button? Rearranged your pantry in alphabetical order? Then try this...

http://www.bebo.com/inviteq/839869841a106258265b


You might surprise yourself at how little you really know me.

PS It's nothing bad. Just a little fun quiz about yours truly.

A few Big Brother thoughts...

Michael. He just shits me. OK, I feel for him (somewhat) being trapped into being BB's "Insider" but really he's just a schmuck. He carries on like a first class doofus. And the whole "Rueben" story... come on, give me a break! It'll be interesting to see what happens tonight when his "secret is revealed".

Katie. I hated her on sight but I think she will be popular with the general audience because she has that "folks are dumb where I come from" appeal. She is a classic Barbie beach girl and comes across as a total airhead but also "sweet" (in a way which sometimes appeals to me but generally shits me). Her "romance" with fellow nuclear physicist Jamie is just a car accident in slow motion. Not only is it fully cringe-making but it fully underlines her sad, little-girl insecurities.

Jamie. Like, you know, he's just really big hearted and shit. What is that guy about? That rag he wears on his head is just so damn ugly, which juxtaposes nicely with the fact that he thinks of himself as being so hot (anyone got a mirror, dude?). Currently he is coming across as being emotionally on a higher level than most of the other male life forms in the house but that's not hard, considering the others appear to be lower than pregnant snails (to use that quaint expression very popular with my 5th class contemporaries in 1978).

Gaelen. What the...? I call him Clarence-the-Lion-eyes-boy. He has these weird feline blue eyes which are almost crossed or something, bizarre. Typical surfie dude, brainless turd.

David. Don't know. At first I thought he was the nice, sensitive gay boy but now he's just the boring, sad, whinging gay boy. It will be interesting/fun to see how his atypical gay farm boy persona will come up against the gay intruder boy coming on tonight. This guy looks like the love child of Bobby Trendy and Liza Minelli, all arched eyebrows and whiplash tongue.

Dino, John, Ashley. Just typical crass dudes. No redeeming features that I have discovered yet. Yuck!

Camilla, Anna, Krystal, Claire. Generally annoying. Not a brain cell amongst them, except possibly Claire. Hard to seperate the wheat from the chaff with these bimbettes. Time will tell.

The evil twin has been removed. I have the pictures to prove it. The ovary it was attached to is also gone. I don't mind. My reproductive organs have played no role in my becoming a parent so "good ridence", I say. According to doc the cyst did have hair (gross) but I wasn't allowed to keep it in a glass to jar to scare the children as it has been sent off to pathology for testing. Oh well. That's the way the cookie crumbles.

It's Tuesday afternoon and I'm still feeling quite sore. I'm trying to soldier on but I feel like I've been stapled in my lower tummy and I can't quite stand up straight.

The way I feel right now I'm in no hurry to have the hysterectomy. Maybe I'll put it off till next year. I'll see the doc next week and see what he says.

I'm off to have my evil twin surgically removed today. It's otherwise known as a dermoid cyst.

"Dermoid cyst of the ovary: A bizarre tumor, usually benign, in the ovary that typically contains a diversity of tissues including hair, teeth, bone, thyroid, etc. " (MedicineNet.com)

So cool. I wonder if it looks like me. Hope they save it in a jar and I can use it to scare the children when the opportunity presents itself.

I will be glad to have today over with. I'm not worried but just anxious to have it done and finished. I think it's the skipping lunch bit which has me irritated the most. We can fly men to the moon but can't make an anesthetic which doesn't require one to be starving at the time of administration. Come ON, medical science, what's going on here??!!

I'll also be glad to stop all the worried looks on the faces of my family and all the questioning about my anxiety levels (which are generally fine until the questions start). For god's sake - this is a MINOR procedure people, get a grip! It's not that I don't appreciate the concern it's just that it freaks me out and I find it highly unnecessary.

Anyway, I'll be watching Big Brother Friday Night Live from the "comfort" of my over-priced private hospital bed tonight (it'd be cheaper to have the operation at the Grand Hyatt). Next time I write I'll be a few hundred grams lighter (am I taking this diet thing a bit too seriously, do you think?).

(I'm returning to finish this post on Friday morning, after starting it on Sunday afternoon - FYI)

The Swans won again this afternoon, against Brisbane. Oh, happy, happy, joy, joy! I hate the Brisbane Lions, well, let's rephrase that. I hate Jason Akermanis. He's a turd, whichever way you look at it. That stupid, stupid bleached blond hair and half-wit beard thingy, the smart-arse attitude. He just shits me - OK! To put the cherry on the already heavily iced cake he hit my beloved Jared Crouch in today's game. That's just not on Akers, you demented little toad.


He doesn't deserve a bigger picture.
He only deserves boos and hisses and
a good kick up the backside.


I spent the entire game yelling and pointing at the TV screen: "There, did you see that. I've always know he was a dick, but did you SEE THAT??!!"

I mean he really outdid himself today.

Friday update: There is talk Akers may be coming to Sydney next year. I won't stand for it! My membership money must count for something. I'm trying to keep my blood pressure down as sick rumours such as these do circulate once in a while and eventually prove to be fruitless. However I am prepared to march on Swans' headquarters with witty plackards and write stern letters if required.

Will's 7th birthday party has come and gone. There was bowling, there was mad giant slide/ball pitt/maze fun, there was disco dancing and there was sausage rolls, fairy bread, red cordial and cake. If that's not the definition of a perfect party, I don't know what is. Best of all there was no mess at home and only a minor dent in the credit card. Happy days!


The happy birthday boy
and his buddy, A.

"There's nothing I hate more than unintelligence..."
Jamie, Big Brother 06

Me too, Jamie. Me too!

However, that doesn't stop me from being totally addicted to the Big Brother experience. You couldn't find a television program with more unintelligence but I can't help myself. It's the best piece of turn-off, tune-out, get-into-a-zombie-like-trance-while-doing-the-obligatory-half-hour-on-the-walking-maachine television fluff there is.

I hate them all and yet I love them all. My BB feelings are totally illogical and inexplicable, the perfect love/hate relationship.

Mind you the Friday Night Live BB show is truly hilarious and makes me realise how funny it is to see people you don't care about fall over.

There must exist a parallel universe where people getting off planes get stopped by strange, tall women (who may or may not occassionally star on British police drama series) who insist on dragging their dirty laundry out of their suitcases, subjecting aforementioned laundry to further degredation by way of beetroot and then washing said laundry in some pink laundry detergent whose name can't be that memorable (because I still can't remember it). This parallel universe exists only in TV commercial land and its sole reason for existence is to drive me complete, absolutely friggin' bonkers. Everything about this ad drives me nuts. The ridiculous presenter woman in her ridiculous pink puffy jacket, her ridiculous smile, the smarmy way in which she smears beetroot (god help me if that was my laundry she was smearing she'd need a proctologist to remove that shitty pink puffy jacket!!!).

End of rant.

Update:

* CSIRO diet going well. We've both lost a couple of kgs and generally feel much better and more energetic, clothes are fitting better. Apart from a constant, overwhelming urge to stick my head in a bucket of deep fried something, anything, it's actually fairly easy.

* Friday night I went to see the comedian Dylan Moran (writer and star of Black Books) with my sister JB. I hadn't been a fan of Black Books (hadn't really seen it) but I heard him on the radio and JB loves the show and wanted to go... so there we were. He was excellent, very dark, very funny. We were upstairs at the State Theatre, which I normally love, but that night I felt very squashed in and uncomfortable. I kept trying to find a comfy position for my legs but it wasn't to be. Lately it seems so many shows are spoilt for me because of the environment (the Billy Connolly concert earlier this year, as an example). It's frustrating to pay big bucks to sit in cramped, crappy seating. Something should be done! I might start a "Better Seating for Concert Venues" Campaign.

* Saturday we ran around like headless chooks in the morning and finally headed over to mum's for my Grandmother's 94th birthday lunch. Poor old grandma doesn't know if she's coming or going and I fear the occasion caused more stress than enjoyment but at 94 I guess we need to make the best of these family times together, for how much longer could they go on for?!

* Saturday night we were off to a Colombian Family Dinner I had organised for our family adoption support group. I wasn't sure what to expect but it ended up being a chaotic but fun evening. The twenty kids were all going burko all night so the noise level in the tiny restaurant was at about 13. Don't you just love those ear-splitting shrieks that happy children tend to emit? The Colombian food was simple but wonderful and took us back to our Colombian trip. You have to love a food culture with so much emphasis on pork crackling - one of nature's wonder foods (just ask my thighs). They had also organised a Colombian dancing show which was fantastic, with all the guests (including Marianna on my lap) clapping along and having a ball.

* Sunday we awoke to the disappointment that the Swans' game I had attempted to tape the night before hadn't taped. Jason was manic. [I do love the Swans' but I hate footy season - it makes J even more nutty than usual and brings out his obsessive tendencies... and as I keep telling him there's only room for ONE person with obsessive tendencies in this relationship!] So as we were heading out on Sunday morning I attempted yet again to record the replay. It wasn't meant to be. For some reason we only managed to get the final quarter this time around. Luckily the Swans had a good win so J was in a good mood and all was forgiven.

* J's new nickname is "Princess". A funny nickname, you might think, for a 6'2" bear of a man with a red beard, but very suitable I think. The man who, when I first met him, owned one pair of work boots, one pair of very out of style "going out" shoes and one pair of worse-for-wear thongs (a crime against humanity right there, but that's another story), has gradually, over the years, become a regular clothes-horse. Not only is he constantly buying shoes and clothes (including five pairs of very nice, pricey shoes he bought in Colombia) but he gets fussier by the minute and his tastes are climbing higher and higher on the label and price ladder. This "personal development" was highlighted yesterday when J returned home from a trip to the movies with Will with a new winter jacket, a beautiful, cashmere coat, which apparently is just what he needs for that ride to work every morning. For the price I asked him if it came with it's own tiara but he was not amused... as royalty often aren't.

A few thoughts on this Anzac Day morning:

When I was a teen, going through my punk days, listening to Discharge, Crass and The Mob, dreaming of anarchy and peace, I was an anti-war lunatic. I went on the anti-nuclear marches and argued enthusiastically with my dad about things I knew nothing about. Oh, the innocence of youth!

What did I know as an indulged, middle-class 14 year old about anarchy (sheesh, I can't even cope with a dirty toilet) or about peace or especially about war??!! Now, when I see those annoying pimply uni students selling communist newspapers on the corner of George and Park Streets I want to shake them and say "wake up to yourselves, you know nothing, you understand nothing".

I used to smirk at the idea that some guys long ago gave up their lives so that I could live in freedom. "I never asked them to do that," I would say as only an arrogant, know everything teenager can. While I still feel I understand very little about the world, I do at least understand that there is no such thing as passive "peace", it's not something that just is if you wish it hard enough.

For whatever reason human beings are not peaceful creatures, in different ways and for different reasons (though religion often has a role to play) we like to step on each other's toes, to oppress and dominate each other, to hurt and control those less powerful than otherselves. Sometimes we must also stand up for each other, help those who are oppressed, stand up for the less powerful. This is war and I'm afraid human kind is doomed to the eternal repeating of a variation on the theme; very few generations appear to live unscathed by it. It does make me sad but I'm a realist and I've come to understand that there is no escape. The people who march, who burn effigies, who write pontificating letters to the editor have all got it so wrong it's beyond funny.

When you listen to the stories of the Aussie Diggers you learn what it's really all about. On days like today I am ashamed of the stupid teenager I once was. I know it's natural to go through these stages but I still cringe at those memories. What did I know, or what do I know even now, about sacrifice, about courage, about fear? I whinged like a spoilt bloody brat when the power went out for 2 hours on Sunday night. How would I have coped on the Kokoda Track? at Gallipoli? For god's sake, the idea of camping makes me break out into a cold sweat! Reading Nancy Wake's biography made me really think about what people are willing to do to protect freedom, and I'm afraid "Not happy, John" stickers or George Bush email jokes just don't really seem to cut it.

These people have sadly chosen the wrong "enemy" and I wonder how they would have felt over the last twenty year, waiting for Saddam's henchmen to knock on their door. Do people really have a clue as to who the bad guys are in our postmodern, everyone is equal world? I don't think the Iraq war is the problem at all, it's that as free people we don't stand up enough to help others. We whine, we make snide intellectual comments about our own leaders, we talk about being "ashamed" to be Australian or American (jeez, that makes me sick) and we do sweet bugger all in terms of actually helping anyone. If all those protesting, whinging middle class "lefties" (sheesh!) actually did something useful: cooked a meal for the homeless, fundraised for the hungry in Africa, knitted a blanket or helped out at the local hospital, than the world would truly, in a million little ways be a better place. Instead the world is full of useless hot air, a lot of indignant dinner party conversation and knowing nods about how "it's all about the oil" (oh, you mean the oil you and I don't use... that special oil that only John Howard and George Bush use in their special evil powermonger machines... lucky it's not the oil you and I use to drive to work everyday, imagine how stupid we'd feel if that was the case!).

Not sure how I ended up there, I guess that's been stewing for a while! All I know is I'm so bloody lucky. My own parents sacrificed everything to get me out of the former USSR and now I live in a country that allows me the sort of personal freedom and opportunity others are willing to kill and die for. On Anzac Day, a day I used to scoff at and ridicule, I want to say I private thanks for the sacrfice and the courage.

It's almost the end of April and I've realised I haven't done an installment of Kids' Kapers for this month... so here 'tis!

Will

My little man is almost SEVEN and he seems to have grown up a lot in recent weeks. Can't put my finger on how exactly but his language is expanding, he is saying more thoughtful (not as in considerate, just as in requires more thought) things and overall he is being less annoying.

We had an episode at school at the end of term relating to the Easter Hat parade which brought home to me how sensitive I am to Will standing out, being different. I'm quite sure now that I was the only one who noticed but I did over-react significantly, in terms of both being angry with Will and going as far as writing a letter to his teacher. After talking with my friend M it came home to me so strongly that the issue was mine and it was wrong of me to project it onto others, especially Will, who didn't realise he was doing anything wrong.

Will's reading is going really well, his maths ... well, let's just say he'll never be the hero in a film entitled Good Will Curtis (but then neither will I, so we'll just languish in non-mathematical hell together). He continues to enjoy Auskick and in my dreams I see him taking over from Jared Crouch in about 12 years' time as the Swans' most useful and hardy utility. He has also discovered his fashion sense. Whereas up to now he has always happily put on whatever I lay out for him to wear, during the week he came out wearing a different pair of shorts to the ones I had chosen for him. I asked what had happened to the other shorts. "I don't like them, mum. THESE shorts are cool!" Huh? Then his friend L came over to play on Friday and Will looks him up and down and says "I like your shoes, L. Do you like mine?" It's like he's channeling Carson Kressley! Fascinating.
















Marianna

The little princess will be 11 months old tomorrow and she is roaring along. She continues to be gorgeous, cheeky and clever. She crawls like a manic wind-up toy on speed and easily cruises round the furniture, moving around the place like she owns it (well, I guess she will one day unless we spend the childrens' inheritance on a Winnebago and a lifetime membership to the Super4 caravan parks around Australia like the majority of retired Australians).

She loves to copy us and has learnt to give kisses... disgusting, sloppy, too-cute, open mouthed baby kisses... on command. Will, in his capacity of big brother, has also taught her to blow spit bubbles which is gross at the best of times and certainly won't do in her future role as the next Australian export bride to the European royalty. Hopefully it's just a passing phase.

I may have got my foot in the door at a local day care centre near work, at least for one day a week. I dread putting her in care at the moment but I know after the initial shock she will thrive there. She is very social and loves to be stimulated and loves other children, so I'm sure it will be good for her to be there. That's my rational, working mum talking, the other one is weeping in the corner (shut up, sooky cow, get over it!).
















May is birthday party month so it will be an interesting update next month.

You know what I hate?

When I post to an e-list and someone responds by nit-picking my post and putting words into my mouth. It really really really shits me!

If I read a post and I don't agree with the opinion expressed I normally ignore it. I believe it's not my place to try and change other peoples ideas and/or opinions, no matter how much I disagree with them. However, if I read something I agree with I will occassionally write a message of support or tie in my ideas with theirs.

The adoption world is so friggin' politically correct right now. As with all things the pendulum has swung to the other extreme and we have travelled the full spectrum from the bad old days when children weren't even told they were adopted to today when adoptive parents have to spend their lives apologising for having the gall to adopt their children and for potentially ruining their lives. What's worse is that adoptive parents have en mass swallowed this bullshit and are spouting it backwards and forwards at each other.

Don't get me wrong. I'm keen to learn and to understand all perspectives, good and bad. I want to be prepared for whatever may come up in my childrens' lives but I think us adoptive parents are driving ourselves nuts in the process. We're turning on each other, especially on the e-lists (the source of so much good and positive collective knowledge and support), almost as a way of showing that "I'm more politically correct than you", "I have a deeper philosophical understanding of adoption issues than you", "I'm more in tune with all sides of the adoption triad than you"... you get the picture. I am so over it.

I'll confess. I'm not a perfect parent. I probably suck as an adoptive parent. I'm not making them listen to Spanish language tapes as we drive, I don't make them watch their favourite movies in Spanish. I meant to take our son to Spanish playgroup but never got around to it. I'm just doing my best getting around the day to day stuff. Will that mean that he'll grow up as a poorly adjusted adult, struggling with identity issues and blaming the fact of his adoption for any problems his life may serve up? Maybe. Possibly. Really I just don't know. I really hope not! But I'm doing my best and that's got to count for something!

It's only Friday morning but so far we've survived the first week of the school holidays relatively intact. There has been no blood, no tears (at least on my part) and very little swearing. This morning I did utter the F word in the kitchen during breakfast (but it was not child related) and Will asked me "What did you say?". As my brain stumbled over a clever cover up one materialised. Will said "Did you say LUCK?". "Yes, I said LUCK," I truimphantly announced. "Why?" Will asked. Thanking my lucky stars for this gift horse, I said: "Because I need lots of luck to get through breakfast around here." Satisfied, Will resumed eating his Weat Bix.

A few things:

* I forgot to mention the Swans' first win of the season last Saturday night. It really wasn't a memorable game and despite some sizeable leads, the Swans still managed to almost loose a number of times. They really aren't good for my blood pressure whichever way you look at it.

* Over the weekend I read a great book: "The Confession of an Un-reprentant Lesbian Ex-Mormon" by Sue-Ann Post. I was expecting something uproariously funny (Sue-Ann being a stand up comic of some repute in Australia) but it was really a much more "scholarly" work of sorts. In a nutshell Sue-Ann was brought up a Mormon which became a problem as she grew up and realised she was a lesbian. On top of that she was sexually abused by her step-dad for many years which added to her problems. While she has previously written an autobiography, this book tells of her invitation to attend a conference of Mormon gays and lesbians in the heartland - Salt Lake City, Utah - and her preparation and the trip itself. However, it starts with a few fantastic chapters dissecting exactly what's wrong with organised religion in general and the Mormon religion in particular. I really love to read a well thought out anti-religious arguement. I mean I hate organised religion, truly believe it's responsible for all the misery in our world - past, present and future - but I'm lazy. My arguement is basically: "It's illogical to believe in God, etc... where's the proof? Religion is just a crutch for the weak. The hypocracy!!! Etc, etc, etc." I haven't even bothered to read "Atheism: The Case Against God" which is an impressive looking book I found at a Newtown bookshop many years ago. But Sue-Ann has done a lot of this reading, including the Bible (sheesh!) and her arguements are much more logical and meaningful. As I kept reading I would shout out: "Aaahhaa!" and "There you go!" and "EXACTLY!!!!"

* So the prosthetic pregnant belly has finally "given birth"?! What wouldn't I do to get a REAL DNA test on that particular family. Mark my words, Tom Cruise is heading into serious Michael Jackson insanity territory. Who knows where this madness will end?

* Big Jay and I are "dieting". How I hate that word but at this point I have to call a spade a spade. We have both ballooned up gradually over recent years and after the Easter Weekend of eating, eating, eating we both felt it was time to regain a little control. I went and bought the CSIRO diet book which appeals to us as it is more meat orientated (and we're both devout carnivores). The main thing for us is portion sizes - when you start measuring and weighing you realise how much more than you need you're actually eating every single day. It's a wonder we're not like those horribly obese people on the Jerry Springer show! It's been a tough couple of days (and I'm sure there are a few more to come) as our bodies yell "Hey, that's not enough. Why are you stopping now? I want MORE, MORE, MORE!" It's hard not to have those continuous little snacks that are just so easy - a biscuit here, some cheese and crackers there, a few cups of sweet tea throughout the day, a few chockies here, there and everywhere. However, after only a couple of days I'm already feeling better, my clothes aren't straining at the seams and I feel a bit more clear headed. Stay tuned for Pennant Hills' Biggest Loser!

*This weekend is a fairly quiet one. A bit of home time, a bit of family visiting time. Sunday we've got the Swans vs Melbourne Demons at the SCG. We're initiating some AFL "virgins" on the day which should be fun. Let's keep all our apendages crossed that the Swans manage a decent win this week - I really can't take the stress anymore.

Like the philosophy of never working with children and animals I have always vowed never to go away for the Easter Long Weekend and never holiday with relatives. This Easter Long Weekend I broke both of these cardinal rules.

We left Thursday lunchtime and joined the mini-traffic jam up the F3 to Lake Macquarie. We had made a decision to have Easter away with mum, her friend B and my sister J a few months ago and after much brain bending internet research settled on Rafferty's Resort as our holiday destination. As we drove up on Thursday afternoon it was raining steadily and we hoped this wasn't a sign of things to come (OK, OK we need the rain but surely some fine weather could be organised for our first, and potentially last, Easter weekend away).

Luckily Thursday night's rain was the last and we awoke on Friday to a beautiful, blue-sky day. Not only was it clear but it got warm and stayed warm. We were able to enjoy some time by and IN the pool on each day we were there. Who could have guessed that we'd be swimming in mid April?!

To backtrack a little Rafferty's Resort is a fantastic place, especially if you want a family holiday close to Sydney and/or if you're into boating or other lake-associated activities (which I'm not, just for the record). It's set on a large property right on the lakeside and is made up of various cottages and terraces, all relatively new and modern and well equipped and presented. We had rented a 3 bedroom cottage which was spacious and very comfortable. There are 3 or 4 pools around the property so you're never very far from a pool. There is a large, resort-style pool with a cafe and playground which we really enjoyed because the lake is just on the other side of the grass where we sunbathed so you have sparkling pool on one side and the huge, shimmering lake on the other - very picturesque (to use a word I acquired around 5th class and just never find enough reason to use in day to day conversation).

Friday after some morning sunning and swimming we took off to Swansea (the closest town) for some fish and chips by the lake. After the usual argybargy with mommie dearest over who was to pay we took our steaming, delicous smelling parcels of deep-fried goodness to the nearest park and kicked back in the sunshine. Just gorgeous!

Saturday, after some more sunning and swimming we enjoyed a decadent lunch of a cheese and pate platter on our verandah. Then mum and I headed off for our appointments at the massage clinic. I was so looking forward to a lovely massage and facial and was only slightly perturbed when we were greeted by MEN. Nothing to say men can't do this job but I've never had a man do a facial before so I was just a touch apprehensive. My apprehension proved pointless as I was soon enjoying a wonderful massage and facial - with my eyes closed I couldn't even dwell on the fact that the therapist was a hairy, tattooed Scottish-accented bloke. I could however dwell on the fact that my mum in the cubicle next door just couldn't shut up. She was chatting up a storm next door, asking her bloke where he lived, how much work there was and 20 other questions. Despite the armotherapy and the relaxation music there was still part of me which was clenching her teeth and mentally screaming "shut the f*#k up, mother!".

J had her appointment after us and upon her return we all got dressed and went to the "nice" restaurant for dinner. We decided on sharing a range of tapas dishes which proved to be somewhat of a disaster as my darling Jay just couldn't get his head around a meal of tiny morsels and was half expecting a giant steak to turn up at any moment. On top of that we had to endure an inefficient kitchen struggling with catering to a full restaurant and a wedding in the marque next door. Jason finally had enough and took the kids home (and I had to bring his dessert home in a doggy bag). The final insult for the evening was having our coffees served with paddle pop sticks instead of teaspoons. What the??!! The poor young waitress confessed at the end that they just couldn't cope with the wedding and that the restaurant had only hired another couple of staff to cope with the 150 people at the nuptials next door. How much do I hate cheapskates?!

Sunday we expected a cooler day and decided to head up to the Hunter Valley wine region. It was a lovely drive up there but it soon became apparent that no-one, apart from my sister, was in the mood for any serious wine tasting (being a non-drinker I had volunteered to be the designated driver on the way back but my driving skills were not required).

Because we were so malnourished at this point (!!!) we decided to have an indulgent lunch at the first winery we came to. I think we were tempted by the myriad of glowing reviews plastered to their front window, most of which commended this particular restaurant as the best in the Hunter Valley - high praise indeed! All I can say is there must have been money changing hands here or we were particularly unlucky on that particular day. Either way the whole experience sucked. The restaurant officially opened at 12 noon but the staff, who until that point could be seen dilligently setting tables, disappeared and we all stood around for 10 minutes in an absolutely empty restaurant wondering what on earth was going on.

After we were seated all went well until our food actually arrived. Mum and J's gnocchi, one entree sized, one main sized were exactly the same size! Not only that but both conceded that it was a disgusting dish, with the gnocchi almost raw (I have to say the one I stole off J's plate tasted good to me but what do I know!). My own pork belly was truly delicious and Jay seemed to enjoy his lamb. After the meal was taken away we impatiently waited for the desserts mum and B had ordered earlier. We were keen to get to the grower's market up the road which closed at 2:00 pm and were getting very antsy when there was no sign of dessert by 1:30 pm, almost an hour and a half after it was ordered.

To cut a long story short, after some very unsatisfactory encounters with what can only be described as incompetent staff, we left sans dessert... and managed to arrive at the markets at ten minutes to two, when only a few stalls were still open. Nevertheless I was able to buy some gorgeous marinated olives and locally made olive oil and Jay got some beautiful chili sauce. By this point, and after our misadventures at the restaurant, everyone was a little tired and p'd off so after a quick stop at the fudge shop where we stocked up on fudge, rock lollies and hot chocolates we took off for the drive home.

There was a small moment of pure fun in the car on the way home when J and I (accompanied by Will) sang along to Robbie Williams' "Come Undone" very loudly. A truly spiritual moment. Then I p'd J off by wanting to listen to "Sexed Up" but obviously she wasn't up to it just yet (so SORRY J!).

Monday morning we cleaned up and repacked the cars and headed home (after yet more argybargy with mum about money - sheesh this family has a complex - as an example, she put money in baby M's nappy and rang me on the mobile on the way home to tell me to get it out before it got peed on - mad or mad, you be the judge!).

Overall, despite the moments of family chaos and madness, it was an enjoyable and fun long weekend. I think we all enjoyed each other's company for the most part and it is an experience I could possibly recreate again - maybe next Easter?!

Gee... did I forget to mention the Swans' game on Sunday? I wonder how that could have slipped my mind. Maybe it was the small fact of the second humiliating defeat in a row? Maybe it was the fact that our guys stood around looking at their feet for three and a half quarters, glancing around occassionally to see why the other guys were running up and down the field in a ferocious manner. It was sad and in no way reminiscent of the team who won the Cup only a few short months ago. My only source of comfort is that it is early in the season and if we're going to have a loosing streak now is the time to do it.

On a brighter note we did get to see the infamous Warwick Capper. Yes, the Warwick Capper of the teeny, tiny shorts and the flicked blonde hair. He played for the Swans way before my time but he is a legend. He paraded past us on Sunday still very much the Wazza we all know and love... all blow dried blonde locks and big grin. You have to love a man who refers to his bed as "the work bench".

It was also Marianna's first Swans' game and she coped quite well. Of course she had now idea what was going on but she did enjoy the endless supply of rice crackers I kept up for her, not to mention the hot chips and flirting with the two year old boy sitting behind us.

Well, here's hoping for a better result against Carlton this Saturday night! Cheer cheer the red and the white...

Quick catch up...

Saturday was great. I had already warmed myself up on the shopping front with the purchase of a beautiful evening top (simple black, low cut, with some gorgeous sparkly embroidery to give it a little evening glamour) at my friend M's shop on Friday afternoon. Saturday with the girls started off with a simple but enjoyable lunch at Toscani's at Hornsby. I enjoyed a monster Nachos which almost killed me (death by corn chips) and fun chat with my friends. The news is that my friend J is pregnant and her new baby will join the family in November, at almost the same time their daughter E turns 2. Very happy for them (though two under two doesn't appeal to me personally - I guess when you get to the late afternoon time zone on the biological clock time isn't a luxury you can muck around with).

I am still reeling from a horrible foot in mouth incident with my friend A. I break out into hot flushes every time I think about it... like now... and now. To be cryptic it involved a conversation about one of my favourite websites (www.thebestpageintheuniverse.com) and some t-shirts sold on aforementioned website. Enough said... these hot flushes are killing me!

After lunch we did some pottering around the shops which resulted in my purchasing:

* Series 1 and 2 of Scrubs (for those times I need to laugh until I damage an internal organ) - and at only $19.95 per series it's hard to knock back.

* A new wallet. Desperately needed; the old one was long due for retirement and had recently split the seam in the coin section resulting in a constant tinkle of coins whenever I used it.

* A pair of black "leisure wear" pants and pink on pink long sleeved top for those lounging round the house times. Wore them Saturday night, great investment.

* A pair of gorgeous black evening pants (to go with my newly acquired evening top). While they are gorgeous and [thank goodness] still a size 12 they highlighted a few contour issues with my thigh and bum region which need to be addressed.

* A new long sleeved, v-neck black T. I live in these for pretty much 9 months of the year and this one looks promising. It's from the Myer Petites range which caters for short stumpies like myself and I'm purchasing more and more from this range which seems to have nice styles (for not-quite-40s like myself), OK prices and good quality.

After a bucket of coffee at Starbucks we headed our seperate ways and I arrived home with a pleasantly heavy armful of shopping bags.

Pizza and Funniest Home Videos made for a fun family evening. Once the munchkins were asleep J and I watched the final two episodes of Six Feet Under, Series Four. Now we're all out of old episodes to watch. We've missed the first two episodes of the fifth and final series but I have a craving for more so I'll start taping the episodes this week. I really feel a gaping hole now. Over the last few months we've immersed ourselves in the lives of the Fisher family, their friends and [countless] lovers, their tragedies and their moments of joy. While at times I have been frustrated to the point of psychosis by their misadventures I miss them so much it hurts. I can't bear the thought that I don't have an infinite stack of discs to pop into the machine whenever I want to visit the Fishers and catch up on what they've been up to. The thought that there is only 12 more episodes left and no more after that is heartbreaking. I can live without more Nate, he can go f&*k himself (which I'm sure he'd do if he could find a way how) but I can't live without more David and Keith and without more Claire. Oh well, I always say it's best to kill these shows in their prime rather than have them suffer a horrible lingering death season after season after season ("Friends": exhibit A).

In case you weren't aware, there is something wrong with me. No, not that... or that... I can't stop checking http://www.celebrity-babies.com/ (otherwise known as Celebrity Baby Blog). It's jam packed full of useless, brain numbing crap about celebrities and their offspring; photos, gossip, general drivel. I know it is of absolutely no use to the human race but I can't help checking it everyday to learn things like "Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin welcome a son!" For someone who is endlessly busy and generally in need of an extra 8 hours every day just to get the basics done I seem to always find a few minutes here and there to see what the Vain and the Pointless and their progeny are up to. What sort of madness is this?

It's hard to believe less than two weeks ago I was being shipped to hospital in an ambulance in horrendous pain.

Today I am feeling on top of the world. I love my Fridays off work. It's really meant the difference between exhaustion and depression and retaining some equilibruium in my life. I am hugely thankful to my dad for helping to facilitate these Fridays by having Will stay at his place on Thursday nights, taking him to school on Friday and then bringing him home on Friday afternoon. It means I don't have to make the trek to the office (and Will's school) and back on Fridays - the whole day is mine and Marianna's and it's wonderful.

I am always busy on these "days off" but I'm busy at a more relaxed pace and I just don't feel the pressure I feel on the other days. My Fridays really are a lovely luxury which I intend to appreciate into the foreseeable future. I'm a lucky girl!

The pain which sent me to hospital a week and a half ago has been niggling on and off ever since but today I haven't felt the slightest twinge. I hope this is a good sign. I really do not want a repeat performance.

Tomorrow I am looking forward to a girlie day at Hornsby with my friends A, J and F. It has been some time since we've all caught up and it will be nice to enjoy a leisurely lunch and a potter around the shops together - is there anything better. I swear I would be happy if heaven turned out to be eternity spent having yum cha and shopping with my sister and/or girlfriends.

Sunday we're off to our first Swans' game for the year. After the humiliating womping we got at the hands of the much despised Essendon (what I wouldn't do to see Matthew Lloyd spontaneously combust!) last week I am hoping that the boys come out with all guns blazing and god help Port Adelaide. The logistics of seeing games at the dreaded SCG (Sydney Cricket Ground) generally suck. The parking situation is pathetic and the food at the ground isn't fit for Saddam Hussein let alone long suffering Swans' fans. So we're going early, planning to park in Paddington, have an early lunch at Mickey's and then enjoy the game on a sunny Autumn day, followed by an easy escape via Oxford Street. That's the plan... whether that pans out or not remains to be seen.

Go Swannies!

Things are much better on the kinder front. Either I'm getting used to the chaos or things are actually improving. Either way life is better.

Will is slowly returning to his usual happy, co-operative, loving self. Marianna continues to be a marvel of babyhood.

She said her first word on Saturday (for my sister J, of course): BABY. As I explained to her that is not a useful word and MUM would have been a much wiser choice (as in "Mum, get me a drink", "Mum, buy me that Bratz doll", "Mum, you're such a dag"... you get the idea). She doesn't seem to care and repeats BABY on a semi-regular basis.

She is also getting around like a maniac. She climbed the stairs - all the way to the top - on her own (I was right behind her of course) at the office yesterday. I love watching her and Will crawl madly around the house playing here and there. She loves to play with his Matchbox cars. There is a wonderful joy in their relationship which I truly hope last throughout their lives.

Hysterectomy.

How I've longed to hear that word aimed in my general direction by a medical practitioner. A long held dream has finally come true and yet, as with everything in life, it's just not that simple.

What the hell are you talking about! I hear you say. Well, let's face it I'm not using the equipment, it's never been of any use to me. All it's done is cause my varying degrees of pain and discomfort on a monthly basis since about the age of 11 (yep, I was an early starter). For many years now, ever since we decided to adopt really, I've had no use for the damn thing and would gladly have lined up for a hysterctomy years ago if it had been elective surgery.

So there I am in Dr Hanna's office yesterday to discuss the monster cyst on my ovary (well, OK not monster... but given a few more years I could be one of those freaky women on the medical tv shows who have 80 kg cysts removed). Blow me down if he doesn't throw the H word at me when I least expect it. Apparently the fibroids in my uterus are so bad it would be better just to get rid of the whole job lot. I am levitating off my seat with joy and then he hits me with the catch...

One week in hospital; four to six weeks off work - no driving, no picking up heavy things, nothing! Shit! There I was getting all excited and then the rug is pulled out from under me. This is going to take some logistical organisation. I can't just put my life on hold for up to seven weeks even for something as wonderful as this.

So right now my dreams are temporarily on hold (but still firmly within my grasp - oh, thank you fibroids!). I am booked in to have the cyst removed on the 12th of May - very simple laparoscopic operation, only overnight in hospital. After that I will put my considerable organisational skills into top gear and work out how to achieve the big H with minimum life disruption.

Every cloud has a silver lining!

Life's like that!

Just when you think you're cruising along; a little anxious, a little stressed, generally happy, generally glad that the Commonwealth Games ended (and that Australia didn't win EVERY medal), a little bit excited about booking our Christmas holidays in Perth and Broome...

Boom... you wake up in immense pain and get whisked off to hospital in an ambulance.

Yep, that was me on Monday night. Went to bed with a slight ache in my left hip, woke up at midnight feeling the most horrendous pain I have ever had the misfortune to feel. Couldn't quite soldier on so woke my valiant husband (who, thinking I was talking in my sleep - which I incidentally never do - tells me to go back to sleep). In a panic, he runs around like a chook with his head chopped off, calls an ambulance and then tries to call a) our friends and neighbours (answering machine), b) my dear sister (doesn't answer calls from "private numbers" - sheesh!) and c) my poor dad (who certainly doesn't need panicked phone calls in the middle of the night).

Ambulance arrives and two calm young ladies assess the situation (which isn't pretty) and produce something they call a whistle (a plastic whistle-like device filled with pain killer medication) which I am meant to suck on and which will eventually make me feel better. This stuff tastes friggin' awful, I mean bloody disgusting... surely it wouldn't cost them any more to make it taste like lobster sashimi or possibly something more pedestrian like bubblegum or mashed potatoes or even a cheese and tomato toasted sandwich. I cry... the pain, combined with this vomit inducing "pain medication", is making me feel very sorry for myself. I become a shaking, sweating, crying, wobbling lump of patheticness.

In the hospital I am greeted with an efficient looking middle-aged woman... aah, the triage nurse (who will skillfully assess my distraught situation and have me whisked immediately into top class care). Well, no! Being a private hospital the first person to greet you when you arrive in a [presumably] emergency induced state is a clerk whose job it is to inform you that the cost of admission to Emergency is $295 and if you are admitted to the hospital proper it will be ... well, at this point I was so dumb-struck by this act of outright idiocy I tuned out and just nodded dumbly. For f's sake they don't even tell you how much a haircut is going to cost until you saunter up to the counter afterwards and are informed it will cost you the Gross National Product of a small African country to have had your ends trimmed.

Finally I'm in my own cubicle and I get roundly ignored by all and sundry. Eventually a bored nurse turns up to take my blood pressure and take a blood sample. A geological age later a doctor who, by all appearances, would rather be having root canal treatment rather than be in that particular emergency room on that particular evening, appears and informs me that my pain could be caused by either kidney stones or by a ruptured cyst. They'll do some tests in the morning. I get a shot of morphine and soon after I couldn't care about the pain or anything else for that matter. Jason arrives. I am dozing and he tries to sleep in one of those incredibly uncomfortable chairs which they manufacture exclusively for hospital rooms. After watching him squirm and fidget through my half closed eyelids I finally convince him to go home and get some sleep.

In the morning I wake up to more of the warm and comforting patient care I encountered the night before. After a brief check of my blood pressure (they are obssessed with blood pressure in hospitals - how about a little more concern for MY PAIN!!!!) I am informed that they need a urine sample and that I can't eat anything until they figure out what's wrong with me in case they need to operate. Goody. Sample provided I return to bed for more dozing. I am informed I am to have an ultrasound at 11:00 am.

My dear sister arrives. All is forgiven for not answering the phone. She brings trash magazines. They make me feel even worse... not more pain, just worse about the world, about the trees which were cut down to print this mind-numbing crappola and about the need for publications which publish 97% bullshit (I am assuming the recipes have at least been tested and are probably accurate). It is truly amazing that they can fill however many pages with complete fabrications based on little more than a few bad photos and the editors' own imagination.

Finally I am taken for my ultrasound. It couldn't come any sooner, the requisite full bladder is not the most comfortable sensation on top of my painful hip and lower back area. After the regular ultrasound I am "treated" to an internal ultrasound - modern technology... where will it all end? The ultrasounds reveal a large ovarian cyst on the right side (not explaining the pain on the LEFT SIDE) and many fibroids in the uterus.

I return to my cubicle to be greeted by "lunch". As I take a tentative sip of my clear soup the nurse rushes in to tell me that I can not eat anything until they decide that I am definitely not having an operation. Sadly I watch them take away my lunch tray. Not long after the gyno VMO turns up to explain that the cyst and the fibroids are what they call "incidental findings" and do not explain the pain which he now suggests are skeletal/muscular (huh?). He gives me a arthritis type pain killer and says to make an appointment with his office in regard to having the cyst removed.

I go home feeling rather bemused by the past 12 hours and wondering what it all means. The pain is much better. I feel fairly confident I am not dying. I feel slightly irritated at having wasted a day at the hospital and getting my family all upset over nothing.

In the footsteps of the great blogger Heather Armstrong (see www.dooce.com) I have decided to do a monthly diary entry for my children, a newsletter of sorts, so we can all look back at what they were up at each particular age and stage. There has been much too much negativity in my feelings, thoughts and reactions towards my beautiful children and this is one small step towards redressing this problem.

So here is my March Edition of what I choose to call "Kids' Kapers" (I do love a bit of aliteration) .

WILL

You continue to test my patience, my blood pressure and my will to live. You continue to charm me with your gentleness, sense of humour and the huge amount of love you carry around in your thin little chest.
















My top 5 list of problems are:

1) Not doing things in a timely manner, i.e. eating, brushing teeth, getting dressed - they all eventually get done - but only after a number of gaskets have been blown in my operating
machinery.

2) Wanting to do things when it's innapropriate, i.e. wanting to go outside to jump on the trampoline or go on the swing after you've been bathed, dressed and fed your dinner.

3) Annoying your sister, i.e. poking her, uncrossing her legs, patting her on the head (Benny Hill style), etc, etc when we're driving. You especially like to do so when she's just fallen asleep, guaranteeing an extra loud and teary reaction.

4) Well, really I can't think of any more right now. These are the worst offenders, so maybe things aren't so bad after all.

My top 5 list of wonderful things about you:

1) You never hesitate to tell us all how much you love us, or to give us a kiss or a hug.

2) You are very gentle, loving and playful with your sister (when you're not involved in point 3 above). I love to see the two of you crawling around on the floor, giggling, exploring, just having fun.

3) You love my music and sing along loudly to my Robbie Williams and Red Hot Chili Peppers CDs. I can't tell you how proud and happy these moments make me. It is worth everything for the precious joy of those moments we share as we drive from here to there and back again.

4) You love school and you love your friends. This means so much to me. I worried for a long time whether you'd fit in at school, whether you'd cope with the work, the routine, the playground, whether you'd get bullied, whether you'd make friends. So far school has been a pleasure for you and, as such, for your father and me. I keep all my appendages crossed that this continues.

5) When you're not driving me nuts you just make me happy to be around you. You love life and enjoy every experience (well, mostly!). I love the simple moments in our day when we lay in bed and read together and I marvel at how far you have come in life, my wonderful little man.

MARIANNA GRACE

Well you are now 9 1/2 months old and a real dynamo. I fear for the future if your personality is what it is at this age. You want to get out there and explore, you won't be held back by chronological age or by the mere fact that you can't actually walk properly yet or that you are very very small. You want to walk and you try so hard. You want to explore and use every opportunity to do so.

You are now crawling everywhere and at top speed. You can stand up in your cot and playpen, as long as you have something to hold onto. You haven't quiet figured out how to walk holding onto your stabilising object of choice but I'm sure that must only be days, maybe weeks, away. You walk very confidentally if someone holds your hands, in fact you'd rather walk in this way than be carried, which makes life interesting (especially at times like today when we were going to the beach).
















You have become very friendly with your vocal chords and like to utilise them whenever possible. This means you are constantly babbling, yelling, shrieking and making every type of noise imaginable. Sometimes it sounds so much like you're repeating a word you've just heard I have to remember you are only 9 months old.

You love to eat and are happy to eat most things. In fact you prefer to try something we're eating than whatever baby-type food we have prepared for you. You've always enjoyed WeatBix for breakfast but lately you are wanting a bit of the toast your daddy likes to have. So now we have to make sure you've eaten your cereal before you see the toast otherwise we can't get you to eat the WeatBix. It won't be long now before you are demanding to feed yourself and that won't sit well with my anal retentive leanings about cleanliness and my morbid fear of child-induced mess. However, I will make an earnest effort not to stand between you and that spoon and bowl (I can feel my jaw clench as I think about the state of the floor after your food experiments... deep breaths, in through the nose, out through mouth).

I have decided it's now time to start reading to you before bed every evening, as we do with Will. So far you're not all that interested, preferring to eat the book rather than marvel at its prose and/or illustrations. I will persevere and I'm confident success will follow.

I wonder if you're going to be a Bratz girl or a Barbie girl. There are countless ranges of girlie stuff out there and I am both repulsed by them and enamored with them. Part of me plans to lecture you on feminist politics and part of me is dying to sit on the floor with you doing Barbie's hair and changing her clothes, deciding whether she's going out with Ken in the Barbie convertible or the campervan. Oh, the possibilities!

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.

No time for a "real" entry... here is our life (in brief) (in photos)...










Marianna Grace today.
"Let me out of this cage... I am not an animal!"

Our cabin at Burrinjuck Dam, where we spent last weekend visiting Marie, Rodney and Ben (joined by a bunch of our nearest and dearest).

Here are the kangaroos we found outside

our cabin on Saturday morning.

Here is Will and our cat Lloyd

a couple of weeks ago.

Just because it's so damn cute!

THE END!

Just 'cause it's a good

"mother and daughter" pic!

It's Sunday night and it's been an enjoyable weekend. The battleground seems to have cleared somewhat and Will has been happy most of the time. I'm not sure which one of us is taking a step back but either way I feel a bit more relaxed and less like the sky is going to fall in on me.

Started Saturday with a whirlwind tour of the supermarket, then Will's swimming lesson. He's been seperated from his swimming buddies Ella and Callum. Initially I was upset but it worked out well. Just that one lesson was much better because he was concentrating and not fooling around with his friends. Let's see how the rest of the terms goes but (as Big Kev would say) "I'm EXCITED!!!".

Saturday morning and afternoon I spent cooking. Sometimes I just love to spend the day in the kitchen cooking a few freezeable meals to take the weekday dinner pressure off. So yesterday I did a huge batch of Osso Bucco in the slow cooker... with lots of vegetables, tomotoes, Moroccon spices and a handful of red lentils to thicken the sauce... yummo! Then a pot of spag bol sauce which freezes so well and has 1001 uses... well at least three. I also pre-sliced heaps of chicken fillets for stir fries and generally got myself organised.

Then mum came over in preparation of babysitting the children while we buggered off for a night of Chinese food and Billy Connolly. It is sad for me that mum feels like a stranger in my house. Because we live "so far away" (about a 40 minute drive) she doesn't come over very often, with us making the trip to her place 20 times for each one of her visits. That's all fine but when she comes over and doesn't know where anything is or what's going on here, I feel kinda weird. I wish things were different... but as Jason would say "some people don't even have mothers!".

The night itself was good but odd. Our friends brought friends we don't really know. We all met up at a reasonably good Chinese restaurant (Golden Century Fox at the ex-Fox Studios, now EQ). The wife immediately got p'd off because it's called a "seafood" restaurant and she doesn't like the stuff. However, it's just a Chinese restaurant and serves pretty much any beast, fish or fowl (including pigeon and jellyfish). I was quite sure she wouldn't go hungry but before you could say "lobster sashimi" she was off crying in the toilets. Look we've all had our off days but it does put one off somewhat when a shiny, new night out (without the kids) (and a night out which in total is going to cost more than the gross national product of Ghana) is bathed in silly petulence within the first five minutes. The night went on, as did this woman's storming in and out, on and off crying into her serviette. Obviously there was more going on than an aversion to crustaceans and I do have some degree of sympathy for pissed off women but come on now, I'd really been looking forward to this night.

Anyway, dinner whimpered to an end and we all shuffled off to the less than ambient Hordern Pavilion for the gig. Now I've been to the Pav a few times to see the odd band, UB40 and The Black Crowes are two that spring to mind. It's basically a big barn of a place with very few memorable or redeeming features. It would have been way down (or not even on) my list of venues to host Mr Connolly. Having previously seen him at the Opera House and the gorgeous State Theatre I was used to a more convivial environment. This was a damn schamozle. We sat on folding frigging!!! chairs and the air conditioning was working at less than optimum capacity (on a bloody hot day). The seats were so uncomfortable I spent most of the night fidgeting and trying to find an adequate position in which to place my bottom. As the seats were those with the bottom bit cut out I kept kicking the poor woman in front of me every time I crossed my legs. She didn't complain but I felt really bad. I was also very hot and thirsty and at one point contemplated trecking down to the stage and asking Billy for a swig of his Perrier.

The man himself was his usual brilliant best. When they coined the phrase "laughed till I cried" they had Billy in mind. I don't know why I bother wearing mascara to these things, it all ends up smeared round my eyes, racoon style anyway. Needless to say he had the usual dig at John Howard and George Bush (what I wouldn't pay to hear a comedian poke fun at, gee, let's say an evil shithead like Saddam Hussein or Ossama). I mean Jesus *(&#ing Christ we get the picture, people. Obviously democracy just doesn't seem to be working for you Billy, so why don't you bugger off to live with more "liberated" folk like, say, in Lybia or the Sudan. They are full of like minded George Bush haters, you'd be right at home.

But I digress. Apart from these "to be expected, I'd be disappointed if you didn't mention it, isn't John Howard a dickhead" comedy routines he was also bloody funny. His bit on the uncontrollable oily discharge caused by "Fat Blaster" type diet pills was amazing and I loved his comments on all the British tv chefs, stuffing plums up the bottoms of trout, watched by millions of Brits (and citizens of other parts of the world I must confess) stuffing themselves with pizza. There was so much more, all good, all funny, and all almost enough to make me forget how bloody uncomfortable I was.

Then there was the exit strategy. Fox Studios, EQ, whatever the damned place is called, is fun in it's own insipid way but it just doesn't cope with large events when it comes to the parking situation. To cut a long and boring story short it took us over an hour to get out of the car park, time I could have spent sleeping. The show ended at 10:30 pm and, after dropping home our friends Claire and Simon, we walked in the door at home at 12:45 am. What the...? It's really more than my diminished parental powers of endurance can cope with these days.

Today has been a very relaxed day. Lazy morning followed by lunch at my dad's ex- (sort of, don't know what's going there, don't ask...) girlfriend's place for her birthday. Quite fun actually. Nice people to chat with, good food, not too far from home... all good. Then we signed Will up for Auskick (his career as a top ranking Swan's player in the year 2020 starts NOW).

Jason went off to see "Munich" (personally I'm quite comfortable with my level of hate towards the Palestinians, don't need to add any fuel to that fire) and I stayed home to do the nighttime routine. All went well, not too much screaming or weeping, and the kids were good too.

Well, that's me caught up on the humdrum nitty gritty of my so-called life. Adios amigos.

I'm drained. I can't really remember feeling this drained and defeated before (though of course there must have been other times). I sound like a completely whinging, whining, pathetic cow, but I must admit to being overwhelmed with parenting Will right now. He is challenging us every minute of the day. There is only peace when he is at school or asleep. Every normal, day to day activity is becoming a surreal, migrane-inducing nightmare. When the children fall asleep at night I collapse in a heap, barely able to watch some tv or read to relax, I am literally twitching with the stress.

It's so difficult to describe the problem. It is petty, it is unrelenting and it is just plain horrible. Every request is ignored or challenged. He can not have a shower or eat a meal or get in or out of the car without some small act of defiance. He is constantly touching and poking Marianna in ways which annoy her or me or us both.

He is obviously distressed and very unsettled within himself. His behaviour is not making him happy. He cries and he lashes out at us. It is impossible to get him in a co-operative mood, even by indulging him with favourite treats and/or activities. Tonight the simple act of showering and asking him to wash his hair (which hadn't been washed for a couple of days and was starting to be a bit smelly) reduced him to a sobbing, screaming mess.

My nerves are jaggered and I dread the mornings and the evenings. How did it become like this? I know it is a stage we must go through and it is probably classic sibling jealousy, or a variation of it. But I'm sure it wasn't this bad before. It has intensified significantly since Will has returned to school two weeks ago.

I know this will pass and our old Will will return. But right now I am so sad and worn out. Last year when we were waiting for "the call" I felt I was slipping into a form of depression but compared to the way I feel know that was a walk in the park. I don't ever think I've experienced anything so emotionally draining.

Marianna is doing well. She is happy and curious and busy exploring her world. But my general testiness is making me less tolerant of her smallest demands. If she cries I want to find whatever will make her stop as quickly as possible and if I can't I am on the verge of tears. It's like a few layers of skin have been removed and my nerve endings are that much closer to the surface.

Well, boo, bloody, hoo me! I read this shit back and the logical part of me thinks "snap out of it, you silly cow". And I know that I will, despite it all the naturally optimistic part of me is trying to fight back and regain control. I need to find a way of going with the flow a bit more, of not taking Will's behaviour quite so personally. I need to help him deal with this but I don't need to take the "blame" or allow it to become just about me.

My mantra is: Parenting is the worst and the best.

I'll ride out the worst and keep hoping for the best.

I'm writing this from the comfort of my own dining room... my messy, crowded-with-broadband-setup-periphenalia dining table. The damn wireless router still isn't working but we're back on broadband. Wouldn't you know it it was one of those tiny stupid problems (firewall related) which caused all the problems. Sheesh!

It's Wednesday night. The children are sleeping and we've just watched the season final of Judging Amy. We've been watching it since day one and while (like all shows) it has gradually, season by season, lost its sparkle, its dazzle, the charming wit and whacky writing which saw us so hooked on it all those years ago.

Jason's on the phone so I've paused the episode of Six Feet Under we're watching (we've been loaned the first four seasons on DVD and are up to episode three, season three). What a brilliant show. I have to say after the intensity of the first two seasons so far season three is a little flat so I'm fearing/hoping a little more craziness enters the lives of the poor old protoganists, because so far it's just a little too much of their day to day humdrum for my money.

Will has tested my parental werewithall again today. I just can't seem to find the right place of balance between relaxed, don't give a stuff mum and uptight, discipline-freak mum. While we had our skirmishes this afternoon, it does strangle my heart with love, pride and unbridled joy when he says to me, as we are laying in his bed tonight, "mum, I love you big big much", as he stretches his arms out as far as the can reach.

Parenting is the worst and the best.

I have a true love/hate relationship... with technology, that is. I can't imagine my life these days without the gadgets and the cyber-technology which makes my life so much better (and yet so much more complicated). What did we all do before tiny mobile phones (I still remember my dad's first mobile phone in the early '90s - they weren't called "bricks" for nothing), email, internet information at our fingertips, home fairy floss makers... but I digress.

I do love the technology which makes my life so much and easier and so much more interesting but why does it have to be so bloody hard to get going???!!! Once they're up and running, short of some sort of catastrophic computer crash or virus or other natural disaster which may befall our technological helpers, all runs smoothly. However, there is a big lump of pain involved in setting up our new technological friends. It's never a matter of plug in and play. It always requires a great deal of angst, confusion, swearing, the threatening to throw things, possibly the throwing of things, a long period "on hold" for the Help Desk and - HOPEFULLY - a final, blessed resolution.

Most of you may not know a Wireless Router from a bathroom grouter but this previously unheard of beastie is sitting on my dining room table as we speak. Last night it threatened to both my fragile mental health and our fragile household equilibrium. It all started when we had cable broadband installed on Monday. Because they couldn't run the cable to our bedroom, which is where our laptop normally lives, we settled on having it in the living room. They suggested attaching a wireless router so that we could then use the broadband connection anywhere in the house. Easier said than done. Now we have a wireless router, a broadband modem, a laptop, a whole lot of cables, wires, CDs (why don't they provide you with a REAL bloody manual anymore??!!) and a hell of a messy dining room table ... but nothing that works.

I had to give up on the whole frigging mess last night and retire to the bedroom for some Desperate Housewives and some meditation on the good things in my life (as Jason so wisely said "some people don't even have a computer!" - "lucky bloody people" I say). Now I'm hoping that some help will come our way on Saturday when some of Jason's IT buddies from work come over for a BBQ ("hey, did we show you our new wireless router? you couldn't help with a tinsy winsy little problem we're having, could you?").

With a bit of luck and some smiling from the IT gods I may be updating my blog from the comfort of my own bedroom in a few short days. I never had these problems with my trusty old IBM Composer...

We resume regular service in 5... 4... 3... 2...

Where does the time go? I don't even know where to start! Best to summarise I guess...

We're home, life is good. During the past six weeks we have chipped away, bit by bit, until we have something very much resembling a routine to our days and weeks. I love routine, crave it, need it. I also believe childen thrive when surrounded by a comforting routine. Our trip was amazing and challenging but I so love having our lives back.

Marianna is a terrific baby. I think she read the child development book before she met us because she is doing everything right on cue. She has slept fully through the night for over two weeks now - is there anything better in a parent's life than a sleeping child? She eats everything not nailed down and is very adventerous with what she will try. She started crawling three days ago which has certainly introduced a new challenge to my day to day life - watching her every second she is on the ground for the world is full of interesting yet potentially dangerous objects, all conveniently located at baby's eyesight, touch and feel level.

Will is fabulous. He has returned to school this week and is settling well into Year 1 - or 1C. He is with his best friend at school Nicholas, which is great. His teacher seems lovely and there are only 19 children in his class - who could ask for more. There is a "but" though... his behaviour is very up and down right now. I guess it's to be expected but it is really testing our parenting skills. I recognise that a lot of our conflict is more about our reactions than just his behaviour and we have a lot of work to do - where the &*#$ is Super Nanny when you need her? Say it with me now: "That is unaceptable behaviour!!!"

Antony and the Johnson are sublime. I shared the beauty of their music with my sister a few weeks ago at the majestic State Theatre. He is an artist like no other (that I have witnessed). He is so fragile, so vulnerable - especially on stage, where he is so raw, so unpolished in some respects. Yet that stage persona compliments his songs, his words, his beautiful voice in a strange way. Everything about him is feeling: hurt, fear, love, hope, anger, joy. Every word in every song overflows and the person he is on stage in front of us, open, fearful and fearless, so much NOT the "entertainer" (if there was an entertainment spectrum Antony Hegarty and Robbie Williams would form the two furtherest points) makes my heart ache and soar. He is a gift to me and I am so thankful.

CocoRosie are not a gift. They are an abomination and the definition of "Emperor's New Clothes" when it comes to avant garde "culture". This musical travesty somehow appeared as the opening act for Antony and the Johnsons and boy did they piss me off. While their so-called music is very much reminiscent of the noise made by a cat as it is run over by a slow moving steamroller at least they did provide some wonderful comic relief, as JB and I giggled manically in the beautiful butterfly ladies' room at the State Theatre. You have been warned.

This weekend brings a return of Will's Saturday morning swimming lessons, a chance to hang out with JB on Saturday night while Jason plays golf and poker (boys will be boys) and some casual Sunday afternoon entertaining. Possibly a Friday night movie with my friend C - North Country or Brokeback Mountain?