My recent post answering a meme about motherhood provoked some thoughts on a related topic which often visits my thoughts: education. I find this is a subject which often comes up amongst friends with children. With Will having learning difficulties and developmental delay I have had education-related thoughts going on since he first joined our family.


The main question remains the same: which path is best to help him reach his potential (whatever that may be)? How long is a piece of string? A similar question and just as easy to answer. At the beginning I was fairly certain about what I thought he needed. As time has gone on I have found, as with everything in life, things are a lot more complex than they first appear.

We have followed some dead ends, started things which seemed helpful and worthwhile and have found them not to be, have found other things which are helpful and worthwhile and yet the effort needed to pursue them fully are beyond my capabilities. There is no approach which is perfect.

One thing which I find really amazing about other parents is a certain confident attitude towards education. Especially amongst those who choose private education for their children. They seem so certain that this is the "best" for their child. I've heard a recent interview with Alain de Botton where he states that his super wealthy parents didn't leave him any inheritance (??) but they did pay for the very best private school education which is the best thing any parent can do for their child. An old boyfriend of mine (a pathetic, spineless mummy's boy) was one of four sons, his mother (a hideous Mrs Bucket-type) worked a full-time job simply to put her four boys through a prestigious Sydney private school. At the time I knew him one brother was long-term unemployed, one drove a bottled water delivery truck, one was a fireman with the airforce (the nicest boy/man) and my dickhead boyfriend was a graphic designer with a degree from a third rate university. The question arises: was this educational money well spent? Was her labour and, presumably, sacrifice worthwhile in the broadest sense?

The only thing I've really learnt since I've been grappling with Will's educational needs is I am certain of less and less as the years go on. I am fairly sure there is no such thing as a "good school". Numerous friends have sent their children to such establishments only to be personally very disappointed for various reasons. I am learning that each child's educational experience is completely individual and can change from week to week and year to year. Teachers come and go, as do princpals. A teacher may work wonderfully for child A and clash horribly with child B; a right-on-the-money teacher in Year 1 may be replaced with a brain-dead time watcher in Year 2. A dynamic principal may be replaced with a facile bureaucrat. Such things are just as possible in a private school charging $12,000 per year as in the local public school.

As the mother of a child with extra educational needs I worry about what the future holds but I have no confidence that any school on the face of this planet has all the answers for him. Sure the school he attends is often lacking in specific areas which I could pinpoint but I am realistic enough to understand that they can not possibly deal with each individual child's needs. They teach somewhere to the average and make tokenistic gestures to show they care about the kids on the fringes. I don't blame them. What children like Will need is difficult to deliver. Schools and teachers are overloaded as it is.

In my roundabout way I am making the point that I truly think education, in the instituional sense, is overrated for some children. I think we hang a lot of hopes on education because we fear the potential difficulties of the life our children will face and we think education will be a guarantee of a successful future. But the hardest thing to accept is that there is no guarantee of anything, for tomorrow or next year and certainly not for 10 or 20 years down the track. We all want a rosy future for our children but nothing we can do now will make that a certainty. I wish that wasn't so.

Sometimes I think Will might struggle in life but Marianna probably won't. As soon as I think it I realise the folly of such a simplistic idea. Being intelligent is obviously an asset in life but again no guarantee of success. Life success is such a complex and mysterious chemistry. Two children can go through life with an identical upbriging and school experience and come out very diffirent individuals in adult life. Judging by their superficial intelligence at this point in their childhood I can not predict with even a small amount of certainty what the future will hold for my kids. Where they might succeed or fail, where life may pull the rug out from under them or hand them a bouquet of roses. Education is part of the equation but not enough a part of it to make me put any great faith in it.

Like with religion I sometimes wish I had faith because there is a part of me which craves certainty. I hate this post-modern nothingness which is my brain. There is nothing wrong with a little innocent delusion and I wouldn't mind some of that comfort when the vast abyss of the unknown future yawns in front of me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you ever get the impulse to take your family to the Sydney Easter Show here is my advice: Take $300, place in nearest garbage bin, stay at home.

Honestly I hate it more and more each year. Last year wasn't too bad actually, as the Show was held out of school holidays and it was quite a nice day without the crowds when we went on Kids Day. It's the little things but I especially enjoyed getting the Women's Weekly showbag at half price.

Yesterday, on the other hand, was HELL. It was busy, it rained, the two for one rides thing didn't seem to work very well, the kids whinged, the showbags were outrageously crap and even more outrageously overpriced. I hated almost every minute. I should have known it was bad news when the sign out the front said that the WW showbag was sold out. Big Jay got free tickets from work so at least we didn't have to pay the ridiculous entry fee.

But the kids had fun.

If nothing else I answered the question "what are people doing with their $900 stimulus package?" They are spending it on SHIT at the Easter Show. Bloody hell, I've never seen so many bad haircuts and tracksuit pants in one place. The theme shouldn't be the country comes to town, it should be the Bogans come to Homebush Bay.

Don't be jealous now. This big hunk of man is all mine!

Look how much joy a hug from a giant baby swan provides for my little munchkins! Cyggy is very much loved by the junior members of our family.

If I do say so myself tonight's chicken, zuchini and tomato risotto cooked in my new pressure cooker was absolutely gorgeous! I would go so far as to say it was the best risotto I've ever made (and possibly ever tasted).

There's something about the pressure cooker which forces the flavours together beautifully. It was just right, creamy with just a bit of firmness in the rice itself. The savoury chicken flavour was beautiful.

I have now made three things in the cooker and I am learning that the recipes need to have about an extra 5 or 10 minutes of cooking time added to them. The lamb shanks I made on Sunday were nice but definitely not falling off the bone, which is how they should be. I think an extra 10 minutes would have made a big difference.

At this rate I may never need my other pots and pans again. There is almost nothing I can't make in this thing. [Obviously I still need my wok and my big pot for cooking pasta, but everything else can go.]

Luckily I have made it back to the gym as of this morning because all this hearty winter cooking is going to be tough on the waist measurement.

I am not generally a violent person.

Why do I have an overwhelming urge to smack Penny Wong over and over again with a dead mackrel? Jeez that woman shits me in a very major way!

Is Twitter the stupidest thing you've ever heard of? I mean who has the fucking time?

I can't believe people are taking the time out of their day to say: "I'm on the loo." "Waiting at the doctor's surgery." "Picking the lint out of my bellybutton."

Is this information crucial for the wellbeing of the universe? Do people really need to know and, more importantly, do any of them really care?

On the first screen you see when you go to www.twitter.com [I am not promoting this tripe btw]there is a quote from someone or something called Wired "Incredibly useful". Really! How?

I am the first to admit that blogging is a silly indulgence and of no particular use to the world but Twitter is in a universe of useless triviality all of its own.

Also, am I the only person to never have looked at Facebook?

HERE IT IS.

My first effort in my brand new pressure cooker. Beef Goulash, made with gravy beef, onions, mushrooms, paprika, tomato paste, stock and sour cream to finish.

The photo doesn't do it justice. It was delicious and tender and full of flavour. Prep time: 15 minutes. Cooking time: 25 minutes + 5 minutes to thicken sauce.

I did struggle a little to get the lid on properly to start with but I guess it's a technique I'll need to master. I was skeptical that it would turn out. After all gravy beef normally requires 2+ hours to reach a tenderness suitable for eating. When I finally lifted the lid I wasn't sure what to expect but it was just as promised.

I am suitably impressed at this point. Sunday I'm doing lamb shanks so that will be Big Test #2. Report to follow.

EASTER 2009

Another wonderful weekend away with our good friends. I didn't sleep (almost at all) so I gradually became grumpier and grumpier. Luckily no-one could tell the difference.

We stayed on a small hobby farm in the Yarramalong Valley on the Central Coast. It was a lovely little property with free roaming chickens (right through the house), horses, a pony, cows, goats and alpacas. Plenty of fauna to keep our city children entertained. Fresh eggs from under the chickens' bottoms every morning.

A few pictorial memories...

So I've ordered a pressure cooker and I'm excited. Yes, I know the words "pressure cooker" entice images of exploding casseroles and steam burns but I am assured the new, second generation cookers available today are a much safer, easier and overall better appliance than the thin aluminium relic from the 50s and 60s which most of us have in mind.

The selling point for me is slow cooked meals in half an hour. For me one of the best things about the cooler months is using my slow cooker to do scrumptious lamb shanks (and lamb shank and barely soup), rich beef casseroles and tomato and mushroom chicken (such as the one we enjoyed last night). However these dishes take hours and hours to cook so usually I have them going on the weekends and then freeze the results. With our weekends being what they are this scenario doesn't happen all that often.

So now I have a better option. Apparently in my new pressure cooker I'll be able to cook the same meal but in half an hour or so. Magic.

I am armed with my Pressure Cooker Cookbook by Suzanne Gibb (that's Margaret Fulton's daughter) and awaiting my delivery of aforementioned pressure cooker and a large box of top quality meat from ButcherMan.com.au. Mmmmmmm.

Stay tuned. Reviews forthcoming.

I know that knocking the banks is like shooting fish in the proverbial barrel.

However, it must be noted that the banks are utter utter bastards.

Not passing on (or only partially so) the latest rate cut is pure bastardry. No two ways about it.

I'm fairly sure when the Reserve Bank decided to cut the base interest rate it was thinking "we'll put the money back into people's pockets, encouraging spending, encouraging small business investment, maybe save a few jobs, maybe allow people to hang onto their homes in these difficult times, etc". I'm quite certain they weren't thinking "we'll do something nice to improve the big banks' profit margins. Poor dears are only looking at a $6 billion profit this financial year. Obviously they need all the help they can get".

FUCKERS!

OH!!!!!!!!

MY!!!!!

GOD!!!!!

[Blogger just don't offer a dramatic enough font size for this.]

THE SPECIALS ARE COMING TO SYDNEY FOR A 30TH ANNIVERSARY TOUR.

TUESDAY, 28 JULY @ THE ENMORE.

THE HOLY GRAIL.

AND YES I DID HAVE TO SHOUT!

Sadly I am likely to go on my own as I can think of no other Specials fans right now. Those people are all in my dim dark past.

As you were.

So here I am living life in red and white.

What do you think? Is it a look which could take off?

Personally I'm just happy that the Swans won. We didn't just win, we beat Hawthorn, last year's champions. We didn't just scrape through, we won by a very respectable 38 points. That's as close to a miracle as I am likely to see.

I was a very happy little Medusa-head on Saturday night.

So the early rush of tv shows for 2009 has finished. It's been a mad rush of taping and IQing a gazillion shows and then trying to find bits of time watch them. Sheesh, the pressure I am under, I can't tell you!

Anyway, Dexter is finished and I have to say Season 3 a little disappointing. Of course I would watch any program featuring Michael C Hall, even if it was an hour of him sitting on a stool whistling Dixie, but this season just didn't cut it for me. On the other hand I know that such a unique idea can not be sustained for three seasons without loosing some integrity. I can now live in fear/anticipation of Season 4 which is apparently on it's way.

City Homicide also concluded for the season with a very unexpected and terrible ending. Got to give it to the writers for having the balls to end it like that. That show continues to hold our attention.

Underbelly is a dog's breakfast but it's fun and stupid and a little worrying. I don't mind the bums and tits, nothing I don't see in the bathroom every day of my life (sure their's are a little firmer and perkier). I do hate it when they break for Easter though; I mean, does anyone NOT have a VCR and/or some other much more technologically advanced recording device these days?

Packed to the Rafters has been enjoyable (especially with the guest appearance of our dear friend Dina) but I am a tad disappointed with the super cliche, a late in life pregnancy. Gosh, who could have seen that one coming? Overall still a good Tuesday night show which provides a reasonable dose of entertainment without wasting too many brain cells.

Now that regular shows are taking a break I can catch up on True Blood, the entire series of which I have IQ'd but not watched. I do love a vampire tale but I'm not sure what to expect with this strange little series. Also Big Jay and I can finish watching that damn addictive Come Dine With Me which we've been stockpiling on the IQ, mainly because those 20 minute episodes are just right when we want to fill in a bit of time or when we're just too bloody tired to contemplate an entire 90-120 minute movie (which, let's face it, is most of the time).

There's also a new series (praise the ????) of Jon and Kate plus Eight starting at the end of the month. How I've missed those crazy cats and their eight gorgeous offspring. Will I give the new season of Australia's Next Top Model a go? Perhaps now that Sarah O'Hare/Murdoch is hosting I'll give it another try. It's no Big Brother but it does give me a certain dose of shock/horror/yell at the teev type reality entertainment I've been missing.

I was listening to one of Ricky Gervais' podcasts (on Desert Island Discs) yesterday. I really recommend you looking up his podcasts on iTunes or on his website if you're a fan. Very very funny!

Anyway, it's an interview show but they also ask the interviewee about their favourite bits of music. Blow me down if his first choice isn't Bob Dylan's If You See Her Say Hello which is a song I love dearly (at least Jeff Buckley's version). He also talked about the effect songs have on him, especially songs about regret, about nostalgia, and I was [internally] yelling YES YES YES.

Who knew Ricky and I were so similar, like on an emotional level, man.

So I know you've all been hanging out for my review of Paul Blart: Mall Cop... come on, admit it.

Wait no longer dear readers.

When we saw the shorts for this film Big Jay and I turned to each other and said "Will is going to LOVE THIS!". This is the kind of slapstick physical humour Will loves (and let me just say, so do I).

This is worth seeing if only for the magnificent Segway transporter action. I seriously love these things. There are a few around the Olympic Park precinct where we live that are used for tours. Every time I see one zipping around I dream of owning one. To be honest I think that would be a total disaster because my lack of balancing prowess is well documented so I'm sure I would crash the thing into a tree within 20 seconds.

But I digress. Mall Cop was really just a fun and funny family film of the old fashioned variety. I enjoyed every minute. Marianna was a bit restless (not enough Wiggles and/or mermaids for her liking) but Will giggled all the way through.

Also this is probably a good time to confess a soft spot for Kevin James. Sure, he's no Robbie Williams, but he does appeal to the significant part of me which likes big cuddly slightly dopey blokes.

I'm in love with my new iPod Classic (and yes, I would marry it if the laws of this state allowed such unions!). From the meditation music which helps me relax at bedtime to the Ricky Gervais podcasts which keep me laughing on car trips I love everything about it. It is one clever little technological gadget.

What I particularly like is the ability to download ONE song for a modest cost. I haven't bought actual singles for a decade or more. Born with a tail (by a Kiwi band I can't remember the name of right now) was probably the last one I actually purchased.

Yesterday I downloaded the semi-new Ben Folds with Regina Spektor song You Don't Know Me. What a fine bit of pop song that is. I want to listen it to it over and over.

I have also purchased the new Ben Lee CD The Rebirth of Venus and, as with his previous offerings, it is music which makes me happy. I think I like Ben Lee so much because he is an annoying optimist like me. He isn't the best singer in the world, nor the best musician or songwriter. But he does put together a catchy pop song and the sentiments are very much up my alley. Life can suck, things can be shit but it's all we've got so cheer up and be happy, enjoy, live life, get stuck in, be kind to each other, be kind to yourself. What more can one want from life and/or a pop song?

My almost 90 year old grandmother moved into a retirement home a few weeks ago. It was inevitable and a couple of years overdue. I won't go into the boring family saga behind this move.

It has been interesting to watch Will's reaction to our visits to the home. Whereas before, when he was much younger and we would visit my other grandmother at the nursing home, he would simply be bored and uncomfortable. Now he is thinking about the meaning of this place; a place filled with old people. "Why are there so many old people here?" he constantly asks.

I can feel his brain working things out. He has asked if he'll be living in a place like this one day. As a parent it is difficult and confronting to discuss such things with a 9 year old. I believe in simple honesty with children. Not too much information but small facts and the truth about not knowing what the future holds.

I don't want to fear old age and death; they are a natural part of life. The alternative is dying young and that isn't any better. When I talk to Will about old age and sickness and death I want to give him a simple version of my beliefs without making it sound scary. Sometimes I feel the words weighing heavy as they leave my mouth and I wonder what he makes of them. But I am never tempted to shy away from the truth or to sugar coat it for him (too much).

Possibly believing in God and a Bible-inspired afterlife may make such conversations easier but I don't have that crutch to lean on. I don't wish for that support structure in my life (though I do have moments of envy for people who have it).

My dad said he admires that I take the children to visit my grandmother and talk to them about aging and death. He says when he was a child (and even when I was) adults kept such things away from children, afraid of superstitions and jinxes, tempting fate, etc. I simply can not see the point of shying away from what is an inescapable part of life, though I do see it would be easier for me not take the children to the old people's home, not to talk to them about such sad things. But happiness and sadness are all part of a rich life; like day and night and Summer and Winter.

I wonder whether us weird and wonderful human beings would treasure life quite so much if we were immortal, if the end point of death was not in the equation. I think not. I hope for my children a love of life, an enjoyment of the everyday and an acceptance of the brief and temporary nature of our individual existence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A moment any mother would be proud of.

I've finally finished Stieg Larsson's second Millennium instalment, The Girl Who Played With Fire. After reading The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo I couldn't wait to get into the second book but time has been against me. I just couldn't get around to it and I didn't want to read it in 5 minute incriments.

So I took it up to the Gold Coast with me and spent my evenings reading big chunks at a time. Then last Friday night I finished the final 150+ pages.

I had it on good authority that this second book was better than the first and it's so true. Like the first book this one starts off kinda slow and builds up to the point where you can't get your eyes across the words and across the lines fast enough. Never mind a page turner, this book was a bloody runaway Mack truck and I was strapped in for a huge ride.

This book gives us much more background on our heroine Lisbeth Salander and she keeps being an oddly endearing and totally fascinating character. So good to have a fantastic, strong, take-no-prisoners female character.

The ending left me satisfied but certainly hanging for the next book (which won't be released until early 2010). I can only hope that the third book ties things up at least a bit and doesn't leave us in suspense like this one because sadly there won't be any more.

As Will would say Lisbeth Salander ROCKS!

Some photos from our anniversary day lunch back in January which I thought were worth sharing...

As a birthday treat mum looked after the kids last night and Big Jay and I went to a Gold Class* session of He's Just Not That Into You. Just the cinema experience was wonderful: comfy recliner armchairs; nachos and a giant Coke in a chilled glass brought to our little table by a polite waiter. Heaven. Better still we were lucky enough to share the cinema with a group of quiet, well behaved patrons who were there to actually watch a movie and not make mobile phone calls, chat to their friend and/or rustle wrappers and/or cough constantly.

The movie itself was average. Reasonable bit of entertainment but without anything much to make it memorable.

The best thing about it was Ginnifer Goodwin. I have to admit to having a good, old-fashioned girl crush on her. She is too cute for human comprehension. She first caught my attention in Big Love and she is even more adorable in HJNTIY.

Now what are my chances of seeing Confessions of a Shopaholic while it's still at the cinema?

Tomorrow is my 41st birthday and I've treated myself to a shiny, new iPod Classic. It suddenly occured to me that I really, really needed one.

It's a great little toy with amazing technological features. Mind boggling really for a Gen-Xer like me.

I spent last night fiddling with it.

What does it say about me that my first two purchases from the iTunes Store were:

1) The Cure: Greatest Hits

2) Meditation and Relaxation Music

I wasn't going to write about my trip to the Gold Coast last weekend at all. My first reaction to the trip, upon getting home on Wednesday night, was to curl up in the foetal position in the corner and rock myself in a self-comforting manner. A few days later and some perspective has returned. After all, I have survived with some semblence of sanity, so all is well.

There is absolutely no need to go into details. I went to the Gold Coast for 3 nights and 4 [horrificially long] days with mum and the kids while Jason was at a work-related (sort of) golfing trip to Coffs Harbour. It seemed like a good idea at the time. It wasn't. I'll stick with the positive. Sea World was great fun and I would recommend it to anyone, especially those with younger children. George's Greek Restaurant at Sanctuary Cove is great. Good food, great value. When was the last time you paid $14 for a whole dozen oysters at a restaurant? (Some thieving scumbags are charging $35 here in the Emerald City.)

Lesson learnt: Do not go on holidays with the children without the physical and mental presence of their father. It won't end well.

Here are a couple of pics to capture the happy memories...

Doesn't look like the human incarnation of Lucifer on earth, does she?!

Two's company, three's a pain in the backside...

And while I'm wearing the Cynical Cold-Hearted Bitch hat... let me just say can the media take a fucking chill pill when it comes to these horrific bushfires in Victoria.

I'm fairly sure we're all reasonably aware of the situation and we've all given what we can.

Is it just me or was there a note of disappointment in the newsreader's voice when he stated that the death toll is unlikely to rise above the current figure of 201?

Can I unkindly suggest that should my house burn down and we were found to be uninsured I'm fairly sure no-one would give a flying fuck and blame us for our own stupidity? Not sure why this sentiment doesn't apply in these sorts of situations. Would there be a telethon for us?

Will the media claim ownership should the arson suspect currently in protective custody be torn limb from limb either by fellow inmates or by the public upon his release? Has the concept of innocent until proven guilty lost all meaning? From my point of view we know almost nothing about this man and the situation (apart from the frenzied hype we're getting from the media - the "journalists" I so highly esteemed in my youth) yet my own husband is ready to rip his arms off and shove them where only a proctologist dares to go.

I don't begrudge the victims of these terrible events a cent and I feel for those who have lost lives and property in this disaster. But I feel we are somewhat like Pavlov's dog, responding because it is on our tv screens. The world is full of tragedies which we are happy to ignore because they are not being fed to us on a minute by minute basis, the awful images rammed down our throats with no reprive. I guess it is unfair of me to expect things to be different. I am just thinking out loud really.

Cynical cold-hearted bitch here.

Last week saw the "celebration" of the one year anniversary of Sorry Day here in the land of Oz.

I am deeply surprised and shocked that nothing has changed for the general welfare of the Aboriginal people in Australia. A magical solution hasn't presented itself overnight or even during the course of a year. Who could have predicted that?

Personally I think the welfare state scenario is working well for them and should be maintained. If it ain't broke why fix it.

For fuck's sake no-one dare mention that drinking your dole cheque away and neglecting your children in a systematic manner at the public's exepense is not an acceptable way to live. I mean "we" caused this mess and therefore it is noble of the Aboriginal people to spend their lives and sacrifice those of their children in exemplifying for "us" exactly how badly they were treated during the past 200+ years.

Would it be unreasonable of me to suggest that in the year that a black man has become president of the United States we could put some of that old bullshit behind us and just ask that ALL Australian citizens be asked to utilise the opportunities and possibilities afforded to them to the best of their personal abilities, no matter what colour? And furthermore that "white" Australians stop making excuses for what is so obviously a miserable situation that isn't helping anyone lead happy lives.

How will things ever truly improve otherwise?

Last Wednesday night I went to Starlight Cinema at North Sydney Oval to see... wait for it... The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Oh, the bliss. I know it's probably wrong on many levels for an (almost) 41 year old married mother of two (as I would undoubtedly be described in a newspaper article commenting on my demise or imminent jail sentence) to get so much sheer joy from a very old, grainy, probably dated movie featuring a transvestite and a lobotomised Meatloaf.

But I do get an immense amount of pleasure from this movie, each and every time I see it. And I've seen it many, many times. I love all the songs and knowing every word and singing along. I love Tim Curry as Frank'n'Furter. He is camp heaven on a stick. It represents my youth and all the weird parts of my personality which are buried deep under my conservative working mum facade.

Long live The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

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

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

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

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

I used to want to be a journalist. As a precocious young reader I admired writers above all else. When I was 11 I sent away to Yale University's Journalism School for their scholarship package because that was my dream.

Something terrible has happend to this noble profession in these past 30 years since that dream was so meaningful to me. I can barely watch a news bulletin or read a newspaper article these days. My blood boils and an awful desire to throw a brick through the tv and/or shove the newspaper into the specific editor's back passage overwhelms me.

Not only is the grammar and punctuation horrible, the use of apostrophes beyond belief, but the sensationalism used in each and every article and news story is truly pathetic and degrading.

I could write a daily post on the subject. I won't. But here is an example from the weekend. I was watching one of the many news updates about the Victorian fires on Saturday when the reporter said: "We were expecting the worst day in bushfire history but it was even worse than that."

I'll leave you to ponder that particular combination of words.

I think it had something to do with Obama's recent inauguration that Democracy [is coming... to the USA] was such a standout song at Leonard Cohen's concert on Sunday night. There was such a vibe about the song and throughout the crowd.

There is something about Obama which encourages hope, even in a dried up old cynic like me. Hope is wonderful but when it comes from politicians it is also pointless. It will only lead to tears and bitter disappointment.

I so want to hope that something better [define and discuss] is possible but I just know it's only a matter of time before he is caught selling arms to Iran or in bed with a Brazillian transvestite prostitute and a goat.

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

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

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

Last night I sat at the feet of Mr Leonard Cohen. Yes, that's right. FRONT ROW. CENTRE.

(That's him, right there in front of me. The elderly gent with his hat and his gentle smile and his beautiful words.)

In the immortal words of one C. Bing, OH. MY. GOD.

I don't think I have the words to really describe what the evening was like. Superb. Magical. Amazing. All good words but so inadequate.

The great man did a lot of skipping, surpisingly more than I would have expected from a man his age. His voice has also improved so much since his younger days, for which I am truly thankful.

We took Will with us (as my dad, who was meant to be coming, couldn't go - long story). Will knows many Leonard Cohen songs (doesn't every 9 year old?) as I so often listen to the I'm Your Man CD in the car (and it's also on his MP3 player, which used to be mine). So it was rather sweet to see my gorgeous big boy, eyes glued to the great man, singing along to Everybody Knows and If It Be Your Will (which I think he thinks is about him).

Paul Kelly (the singer, not the great ex-Swans player) was the main support act and he was brief but wonderful. Sadly he didn't do [Have You Ever Seen] Sydney from a 747 [at night] which would be my favourite song of his. He was simply on the stage with his rather hunky son Dan Kelly and it was quite a special little acoustic set.

However, the extra, super douper bonus of the evening were The Triffids as the first support act. As we were waiting to take our seats - in the FRONT ROW. CENTRE - they did Wide Open Road. Holy shit that's a fabulous song. I didn't even know they were going to be playing so it was a wonderful surprise. For me it was like knowing you were about to pick up your brand new convertible, white leather seats and all, and then getting to the showroom and having it driven out for you by Robbie Williams. In the nude. That's how good it was.

I finished reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson on Saturday night. I bought it last Sunday when we were in Port Macquarie so it would be pretty close to a record. I just couldn't stop reading it.

On Saturday night Big Jay went to the Neil Young concert (yeah, he has a thing for mouldy old hippies, what can I say...) and I read the last 300 pages non-stop. I finished just before midnight and then couldn't get to sleep until after 3:00 am. Sheesh.

On the surface it's a bog standard mystery but there's something about it. Can't quite put my finger on it. I love the character of Lisbeth Salander and can't wait to catch up with her in the next book (which I plan to buy sometime this week; too bad we aparently need to wait a whole year for the third and final instalment to be translated).

I have to admit to struggling in the beginning. It was all those Swedish names; I felt I would have benefited from a whiteboard and some multicoloured markers to keep everyone in order. But once I got into the swing of things the story just took over.

Highly recommended if you're a mystery buff like me.

HAPPY AUSTRALIA DAY!

[I don't give a crap which particular day we celebrate it as long as we get to have a day off and keep getting our annual fill of the Sam Kekovich Lamb ads.]

It was our 11th wedding anniversary yesterday. Last year (the big TEN) we went down to Melbourne for the Australian Open finals weekend (this year they only seem to be up to the third round so the timing seems to have changed). Anyway, celebrations were on a lower key this year.

Mum took us out for lunch at the gorgeous HarbourKitchen&Bar at the Hyatt on Sydney Harbour. I love this restaurant, with its beautiful view and wonderful food. They even have a reasonable kids' menu (which is novel for such a hoity toity restaurant). It was nice to dress up and enjoy a lovely afternoon by the Harbour. Thankfully the children behaved themselves which made it extra nice. [I am constantly conflicted by my philosphy that children should be exposed to nice food and nice restaurants and my ongoing experience whereby children misbehave in aforementioned nice restaurants thus causing stress, anxiety and an aversion to taking aforementioned children to aforementioned restaurants.]

I will hopefully add some photos from the day tomorrow (when Big Jay uploads them from his Blackberry at the office... stay tuned).

A couple of pics from our recent trip to Port Macquarie.

[Our dear friends Therese and Brett and their girls Claudia and Kimberley recently moved up to this lovely little holiday town and we made a long weekend for ourselves and drove up there for a four day visit. We had a fabulous time. Thanks for the wonderful hospitality!]

Here's Claudia relaxing by the pool with Marianna.





















Here are Will and Kimberley. We've had these two betrothed since playgroup days.

So I know you've all been waiting with baited breath... so I won't keep you in suspense any longer.

I had the endoscopy this afternoon... have I mentioned how much I love a general anaesthetic? or at least the junior version, the sedation? Oh what I wouldn't do for someone to turn up every evening and give me a shot of that magic stuff.

But I digress. All is well. In fact the doctor found absolutely no sign of an ulcer or oesophegitis. The only thing he noticed was a possible tiny, eency weency gall stone on my ultrasound scan but said there is no way that would have caused the pain I had experienced (and that is nothing to worry about at the moment).

After all that there is nothing really wrong with me (well, apart from the obvious psychiatric problems you are all familar with). I am putting this whole episode down to a serious case of overeating during the silly season. And possibly a tiny bit of subliminal stress.

For those of you interested in my health "issues", here is an updated. [And why wouldn't you be, it's fascinating stuff!]

a) I'm feeling great. No pain to mention since about last Tuesday.

b) My doctor wants me to have an endoscopy (tube with camera down the throat to check out what's happening in the tummy). She wants to know exactly what's going on down there so she can tell me how long to stay on the medication prescribed by the ER doctor. So I'm booked in for Friday afternoon. Will let you know what they say. [I know you can't wait to find out!]

So a little bit of catching up. My sis Jules came over from London for a Christmas/New Year holiday visit. It's so good to be with her. So easy and fun. I was a little scared to think about her visit before she came because it was a little painful thinking about her going back so soon. I'm happy for her adventure but I miss her little I don't even have the words to describe.

We had some fun together. Our best days are spent shopping and yum cha-ing. There's nothing I enjoy more. We had such a day and, apart from the silliness of Vicky Christina Barcelona, it was fantastic.

We went to a place called Din Tai Fung which had long been on our "must do" list. It's a Chinese restaurant which specialises in these dumplings which contain meat and soup. They are interesting little morsels but overall I would say I don't need to go back anytime soon. Yum cha at one of our usual haunts such as East Ocean is a much better idea.

What was special about this place was that they brought out a little cot for our handbags. Yes, you read correctly. A little mini-cot was brought out and placed next to our table and our bags were picked up off the floor and deposited in this little bag bed. Better still they then brought a little white blanket and covered our bags with it to add to the overall cot effect. Too cute!

Oh, Anthony! Everly is really a chip off the old block. Love THIS pic.

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

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

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

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

There's something wrong with me [enough of that!] at the moment. It started with a strange stomach ache, like I'd swollowed a stone which had wedged under my rib cage, last Thursday afternoon. It continued Friday and Saturday, spreading now and again throughout my stomach and then into my upper back. I haven't been sleeping because I couldn't find a comfortable position.

Sunday morning Big Jay took me to the Emergency Room at the Sans. They did a blood test which showed nothing and have said it's probably oesophigitis or something similar but probably not a gall bladder thing. I'm going to have an ultrasound this afternoon which will hopefully cast some more light on the problem.

I have been taking an assortment of stomach pills and Panadol but nothing has helped. Until I remembered that I had some Digesic leftover from my last op. I had some last night which at least helped me sleep for a few hours. This morning I took Somac which is a once-a-day pill for my stomach and it has helped ease the stomach pain. Right now it is the pain around my shoulder blades which is bothering me the most. I don't know if this is related to the stomach thing or if it's just a result of not sleeping and laying around on the sofa a lot.

I don't know what this is but it isn't any fun at all. I'd have 10 hysterectomies for one of whatever the hell this is.

Vicky Christina Barcelona.

Now that's almost two hours of my life I'll never get back. Have you noticed that this is a very common comment on my part when discussing movies lately?

To say I was disappointed would be the understatement of the year (so far). After really enjoying Scoop a couple of years ago I was so looking forward to Woody's latest offering. On paper it had everything going for it but the reality was just ... nothing.

The annoying narrator was driving my sister crazy but I nodded solemnly, nursing my suspicion that there was a point to the annoying narrator; that there was a purpose and that we would be richly rewarded at the end for putting up with his boring droning. I was wrong, so wrong. There was no reward, no payback, nothing, zip, zilch. There was just the END and absolutely no explanation as to what was THE FUCKING POINT!

Oh, and HELLO to all of you who left a comment on my NYE post. I didn't realise there were so many of you out there. Thanks for reading.

Despite my father's assertions that Blogs are the greatest waste of time ever I think they great. I mean what else would us frustrated writers have to do with ourselves if it wasn't for our blogs? Not only can I write my meandering thoughts in a public venue but I can read the meandering thoughts of others. I can enter the lives of other people, anywhere in the world, and get a glimpse of their reality. I love that.

You know I love Maddox. He may not be politically correct but that's probably why I love him so much. Not only is he friggin' hilarious but he has also put into words (to save me the trouble) of exactly what I hate about the new batch of James Bond movies with THIS review of Quantum of Solace. And I haven't even bothered to see it. After Casino Royale (which I couldn't even sit through) I just knew that this next installment would be a double pile of doggy doo doo (and it is).

New Year's Eve on Cockatoo Island was truly magical. One of those nights when everything just lines up for the perfect evening. The weather was just right, warm but not hot. Our pre-booked tents were set up and in great condition (dare I say almost new). The island itself was interesting to explore and they had not overbooked it so it was not overcrowded and there was plenty of room to set up and enjoy the fireworks, centre stage.

The fireworks themselves were certainly the feature of the night. Not only did we have a fabulous view of the Harbour Bridge which is always the setting for the major display but there was a fireworks pontoon set up maybe 100m away from where we were sitting so we had our own personal mini version of the big show played out above our heads. Truly awesome (in the real sense, not the Bill and Ted sense). Both kids watched the 9:00 pm family fireworks but Marianna was asleep before the midnight spectacular started.

If you get the chance, I would certainly recommend NYE on Cockatoo Island as an amazing way to bring in the new year. I was really impressed with how it was all managed; clean facilities, no drunk bozos (which are a feature of Sydney NYE's in general), everything peaceful and family friendly.

We went with our dear friends Melani and David and their kids Sebastian and Valentina and it was wonderful sharing such a special night with them.

Things got a little crazy food-wise during this Silly Season. I think we went for about a week and a half without actually feeling any sort of hunger. We just rolled from one over-the-top meal to the next. I love food but even I've had just about enough. It's down to fruit/youghurt breakfasts, salad roll lunches and modest dinners this week. I even got back on the stepper thingy yesterday morning.

So to recap... Christmas and surrounding days were busy, really busy. I'm fairly sure they were fun but I was too busy to notice. I just remember a whole lot of cooking and washing up, a whole lot of shopping in days prior and a rabbit. Yes, we have a rabbit. A cute dark gray dwarf lop earred rabbit. His name is Jasper (as opposed to Bum Bum, which is what Will wanted to call him). Any bunny rearing tips gratefully appreciated at this point.

Anyway, Santa came and went, as he does. Lots of pressies all around. As usual it's the presents you least expect to be popular which are. In our case the last minute game of Mouse Trap, purchased as an afterthought, has proven to be a big hit. The kids don't want to play it but they love setting it up and making the trap work.

The Guitar Hero PlayStation game which I thought Will would go crazy over has proven to be a little too difficult for him (and me). Only Jason has the interest and patience to master it at the moment. Maybe it's just us but this is how hard the game is: after spending a great deal of Sunday afternoon playing it Big Jay can only manage around 50% accuracy at the EASY level. God help me if I ever hear Pat Benetar's Hit Me With Your Best Shot again!

Well here we are. It's 1:00 pm on New Year's Eve and we're packing to head off for our big one night camping adventure on Cockatoo Island to see the fireworks. Apart from the camping bit I'm looking forward to it. It has always been a dream to see the wonderful Sydney NYE fireworks up close and personal.

As always it's unbelievable that another year has flown by. I was just reading Heather's thoughts on Dooce.com which made me think how rarely I have time to reflect on my own life... apart from through this blog of course. Life is just too fast and I am grateful that at least I make the time ocassionally to write my musings on life through this little folly.

So let me take a moment to wish all my readers (yes, all three of you!) a happy New Year and all the very best for 2009. May you survive this "credit crunch" [sheesh] with your finances and your sanity intact and may next year bring a little more of what you're wishing for.

I love reading comments, so if you're a regular reader but not much of a comment writer please take a moment here and there to leave one. I really get a thrill from reading them.

Our fellow campers have arrived so better run.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

FUNNY!

Go here NOW.*

Please!

*[Is there anything funnier and more in the spirit of baby Jesus than making fun of organised religion? I guess not.]

And another good reason to keep forking out for Foxtel:

Dexter Season 3 starts in just over 2 weeks.

Life is good.

Regularly I have an impulse to cancel our Foxtel subscription. Some days go by without us turning it on and I start to wonder whether the $100+ per month we spend on it could be better used on adding to my extensive belly button lint collection. But then....

... I come across a documentary like Strummer: The Future is Unwritten and I think "holy shit, thank goodness this wasn't the week I cancelled Foxtel".

The Clash were such a big part of my young life during the early 80s. Yes, they were past their heyday at that point but I was heavily in the middle of mine. Their songs were a big part of the soundtrack of my life. How many nights did I spend in my room, living my adolescent angst through the words of songs like White Riot, Janie Jones and Straight to Hell?

Watching the story of Joe Strummer last night was amazing and scary. The weight of nostalgia literally pinned me down onto the lounge and I felt the actual heaviness of the lost years as a physical force on my body. This was the first time I had ever experienced it in this way. Before I had felt nostalgia as a lighter thing, something almost funny. Now I felt I had crossed a line. I am not young anymore; the wild, hopeful girl who loved The Clash and listened to their battlecries in the sanctuary of her middle-class suburban room is long gone, no denying it.

Worse still, so much worse, I have become someone who is repulsed by young people like I once was, afraid of them. They look like aliens to me, beamed down from another planet. That part of me is now dead and I think I only just realised that last night.

Joe Strummer is dead. And so is my youth.

Hmmm. To think that I once longed for adulthood because I thought it would mean dying my hair any shade of blue I wanted to without getting into trouble.

How about THIS for the man who has everything.

Mmmmmm, flame-grilled meat....

Just in case, like me, you have been wondering about the whys, whats and general whereabouts of Bobby Trendy worry no more and check him out in all his splendidness right HERE.

I can't believe that as of this morning (8 December) I have not only sent out our [personalised] Christmas cards but have also bought, wrapped and hidden pretty much all the pressies. I even mailed the annual family photo book to Jay's grandmother in England last week! This is not like me at all, well not in recent years anyway. I used to be super organised Christmas-wise but the last few years (the "children years" I like to call them) things have slipped somewhat.

But somehow, and really it hasn't been through any super hard trying, I've got my Christmas mojo back. It's such a relief to know I can stop thinking about pressies and throw myself into the next couple of weeks of festivities with a relatively clear, guilt-free mind (just don't mention the ACC newsletter and no-one will get hurt).

Ho ho ho!

It never ceases to amaze me how much bullshit politicians and their henchmen can spout. I mean it really is staggering, isn't it?

On Friday I heard an interview about why they haven't installed mobile phone jamming devices in prisons (after it was discovered a young criminal had been running a huge drug distribution gang from his prison cell via a smuggled mobile phone). Basically the NSW Minister was passing the buck onto the Australian Telecommunications whatever who are in charge of both allowing such things and also letting the equipment be imported into the country.

Apparently they had been trying to get these "allowed" for years but keep going from meeting to meeting to testing to a report to another meeting. Bottom line, nothing has been achieved.

Then the guy from the federal group (as above) rang into the say the ball is in the state's court. Blah blah blah.

The sticking point seems to be that this equipment can "leak" outside of the parameters required (i.e. from the prison onto the streets surrounding it) and cause phone problems for other users. However, in the same conversation we found out that in the US and Europe this equipment is being used in theatres, cinemas (hallelujah, praise the lord) and even hotels (to make clients use the expensive phones provided). A man even rang in and said that Gosford Hospital (right here in NSW) has this equpment working.

Which makes one think that all this political babble is just such a huge steaming pile of SHIT. I mean if one government department can provide this system in a hospital, a large, busy hospital set smack in the middle of a residential area where obviously it isn't jamming local phone services for normal people why can't another government department push the same system into prisons (given the additional fact that most prisons are in fact set further away from residential areas than the previously mentioned hospital).

This is what happens when I actually take a moment to listen to a political interview. My brain starts to hurt and I loose the will to live. I guess that's why I usually avoid listening to such crap. Nothing good can come of it. I just can't believe we're paying these morons with our hard earned tax dollars to behave like this. It's stupid, it's pathetic and it's a downright immoral waste of money which can be better spent in a gazillion other ways.

Don't forget my political "jury style" model. It can't be any worse than this.

So I'll start with the bad and end with the good.

The John Mellencamp/Day on the Green at the Hunter Valley weekend was both. The "bad" included the late arrival on Friday night (following Will's successful night at DanceFever - his school won 1st place in both categories, not that I like to gloat). I just can't do the late nights anymore, it literally takes me a week to recover.

Also, the Day on the Green event itself. Really for $200 a ticket you may expect a little more, comfort-wise. I certainly didn't expect to park on the side of the road a kilometre away from the venue (the advertised car park being closed for no known reason) and hike the distance in sloshy mud in my new red, patent sandals. I didn't expect to be using disgustingly filthy porta-loos which were also a reasonable up-hill, through-mud hike from our seats. I only half-expected the prices of the over-priced, under-quality food and the enormous queues. Really I guess I just didn't fully expect the level of rip-off and discomfort, all of which totally exceeded my expectations in the negative direction.

If I didn't already hold tickets for Leonard Cohen at a Day on the Green I would certainly not ever be attending another one.

Having said that, let me say this. John Mellencamp was awesome. I wouldn't call myself a huge fan, having always referred to him as Bruce Springsteen-lite. But I love Jack and Diane and happily sing along to I Want A Lover (That Won't Drive Me Crazy) (apparently Australia being the only place that was a hit) and Hurt So Good, among others.

The accoustic version of Lover was terrific, given that he seems happy never to sing that song again as long as he lives. The full-blown, OTT verison of Hurt So Good was amazing. But it was the other songs, the ones I had half-forgotten which blew me away; Paper In Fire, Check It Out, Small Town.

Despite the physical annoyances of the evening, it was a huge night.

PS Sheryl Crow was also great. Again, I'm not a big fan but I love Are You Strong Enough To Be My Man, which sounded great under the setting sun.

We're off to the Hunter Valley on Friday night (after Will's appearance in the much anticpated DanceFever competition) for an adult only weekend featuring a massage on Saturday morning, a leisurely lunch on Saturday afternoon and an evening of John Mellencamp under the stars. I'm not sure, but I think it doesn't get much better than that. (Unless possibly Robbie Williams was doing the massage in the nude and lunch was being personally prepared by Gordon Ramsay sans alleged mistress.)

Last week was stressful for various reasons and now we're sick. So hopefully our health with be regained shortly and we'll have a fabulous weekend to look forward to.

Big Jay and I are really sick today. I came down with a runny nose, headachey sort of cold on Sunday night which got slightly worse during yesterday. Then at 4:00 am we both woke up (well, I hadn't really slept much to that point) with vomiting and the other stuff (you know, both ends). Lucky we have two bathrooms, that's all I can say.

Dad (thank goodness for my dad and my mum who will literally bend over backwards, if necessary, to help us out) came and took the kids to their respective schools. Jay and I dosed on and off on the lounge unti lunchtime when we both realised we were feeling slightly better (vomiting had stopped around 9am). So we've been slothing around, drinking tea, eating bland toast, watching shit tv.

Finally I've had enough and pulled myself partially together to hang out some laundry, fold some other laundry and catch up on my blog.

It makes me really sad that Jeff Buckley is dead and Wes Carr won Australian Idol. I don't know why these things are at all connected but that was the first thought I had when Wes was announced as the winner. The silver lining is I would have been a lot sadder if Luke had won.

Australian Idol was dead to me after Roshani, Mark and Jonny went.

I've been listening to a lot of Jeff Buckley's Live at Sin-e double CD in the car lately. Sometimes I get a physical craving to hear it. The polished version of Lover You Should Have Come Over (on the Grace CD) is magic but the live version is emotion in a song. It knocks me out, spins me round and makes sad and glad to be alive. The other song I absolutely adore on that CD is a version of Bob Dylan's If You See Her, Say Hello.

I certainly have a preference for dark, possibly painful, love songs. There'd definitely be a pattern if I was to write a list.

Tom Petty's Freefalling is a song which makes me physically feel the pain of getting older. Not just getting older, but more like leaving my youth behind. The perceived freedom and mystery and possibility of youth. I wouldn't necessarily want to go back to being 16, but sometimes (like when I hear Freefalling) I want to feel like I did back then. Maybe it's the yearning I miss.

It's also a pretty fantastic song to sing along to when you're driving alone on a warm Saturday afternoon.

I think this gives you an idea of what we're dealing with here...

On the other hand, we also have this version...

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

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

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

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

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

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

How was your morning?

So I come across THIS and I straight away think "this will be a big pile of steaming poo, like a midday movie about teenage drug use but probably much worse".

But then I see HBO are doing it and I have hope. Not a lot of hope, but some. Enough that I will look forward to watching it eventually, rather than living in fear of the moment Anthony starts publicising it on the US chat shows.

It must be a very painful thing, having your Sex on Fire. Can't imagine really.

I can only assume we're talking about a late-night-in-the-nude-toast-making-incident-gone-very-wrong.

Do you know what the greatest job in the world is?

Apparently it's being a Chrisco representative. That's when you have your other poor white trash friends around to your caravan and you tell them how grouse Chrisco is and that. And then you convince them to sign up to the special plan where they pay a weekly amount to get their Christmas hamper delivered with the Winnie Blues and carton of VB, and pay twice as much as they would if they just went down to the shops and bought it. And then you get a commission and that.

That's what the nice lady on the ads says. It's on TV so it must be right.

The good 'ol Labor government here in NSW today cancelled plans for the proposed North-West train line. I wish someone had taken my bet that it wasn't ever going to happen all those months ago when they first announced it.

I'm not convinced that the other buggers are any better but I really really hope that the residents of this fair state will have had enough of being fucked over by the time the next election rolls around.

I don't know what they've done with all the money but I wish they'd check behind the cushions on the sofa because they have lost a hell of a lot of our cash and no-one seems keen to step forward and accept the blame for this teeny tiny little booboo.

I was a very happy little camper on Wednesday morning.

Almost by accident I ended up with four front row seats for Leonard Cohen playing at Centennial Vineyards, Bowral on 1 February 2009.

I may prefer his songwriting to his singing but the man is a friggin' legend. I can't believe I will actually get to see him perform live. Lucky lucky me!

[It's funny that just a few days before Big Jay and I had a discussion about going to less concerts in order to spend less money - our annual concert bill is HUUUUGGGEEE!!!. Then I go and buy four tickets to LC at $300 a pop and blow myself right out of the water. Let's just hope the Chili Peppers don't tour in 2009!]

A couple of pics from the weekend...


























My baby boy is growing up.

Marianna and I. I like to call her Gordon-ette Ramsay. She might not be able to cook like him (yet!) but she already has the attitude.

Parenting is really, really, really hard. I would give anything to get it right, or at least to get it better.

Thank you Gods of AFL. In a world of bad news, it's nice to get a good news story.

I've spent the last few days nutting out my trip to the Ukraine next year. My sister, my mum and I have been thinking/talking about it for some time. Since my dear sis has been in Europe/London for almost a year and likely to be there for a large part of next year the opportunity to meet up there was too good to overlook.

You see I left Odessa, the city of my birth, at the age of 4 in 1972 and I've never been back. Up until recently I've had little interest in going back. The former USSR has been a topic of both horror and mirth in our family and I've grown up with little respect and even less curiosity for this place. Since our children have come into our lives I have come to realise that I have more interest in their countries of birth (Guatemala and Colombia) than I have in my own.

So slowly my feelings have shifted and with Jules being in London I felt that if I didn't go now I would possibly miss the boat, especially of travelling with my mum who would be the ultimate tour guide to this mysterious, yet oddly familiar, city.

The flights are booked. Sydney to London on 31st May, 2009. One night in London, then Odessa via Vienna for seven nights. On the way back we have four nights in London before heading home.

I am so lucky to have this adventure to look forward to (and even luckier to have a husband who is happy to have sole charge of the kids for two weeks while I galavant around the world).

So on Tuesday I had my final post op visit with the gyno. Everything is fine, inside and out. All healed up and ready to go. Talked about the HRT option and I've decided to give it a try. The hot flushes are a bummer, mainly because they wake me up at night and it's starting to loose the novelty factor. So tomorrow I'll be trying my first HRT patch, keeping my fingers crossed for an instant result.

As I left his office I realised that was probably my last ever visit to a gyno of any kind. I don't have bits left that are of any interest to this sort of specialist. It was an odd feeling. Certainly a level of elation at the thought of never having another pap smear and/or period. But also some small hint of sadness. A door to a certain part of my life is now closed forever. No going back, no possibilities, no regrets.

Speaking of social problems...

If you're wondering what I get up to on Friday nights...


I wear giant paper bibs and eat my body weight in ribs.

Got a problem with that? How about some government sponsored ads warning about the dangers of eating ribs in public and how there's a real chance you'll leave the restaurant with sauce on your face. Now there's a public service announcement I'd like to see.

I've been thinking about alcohol. I don't drink much of it - occasional cocktail by the pool and possibly a few champagnes at my own birthday party - but nothing on a regular basis. I have mixed feelings about it. I don't like people drinking to excess (my ex-husband was prone to this problem and it's made me anxious around very drunk people), however my current husband is a very happy drunk which makes me anxious when he tells everyone he lays eyes on that he loves them, as in "I love you, mate!". But I do think it has a place in our social lives, a social lubricant, as it is called.

Yesterday on the radio they were talking about the Bathurst car races which are on this weekend. The police commander asked that people restrain themselves to ONE CARTON OF BEER PER PERSON PER DAY (that's 24 cans per 24 hour period). Holy shit. What sort of animals are we talking about here? That is bloody scary to someone like me who is likely to fall over after consuming one full beer, let alone 24. This is the ugly side of drinking which I totally despise. My inner anti-alcohol conservative side wants to scream "ban all alcohol, bad, bad, bad".

On the other hand we've had lots of these ads recently which show a group of dads around a bbq with beers in hand, one dad asks his son to grab him a beer. The kid goes to the fridge to get a beer, as he comes out of the fridge he turns into a man (the man he will become). Then he is cooking the bbq and asks his kid to get him a beer. There are also billboard ads which follow this theme. I guess they're telling us that setting an example of drinking in front of your children will turn your children into drinkers. Hmmm, I actually have a major problem with these ads. I think that setting an example of moderate social drinking is actually good for your children. Our children always see their dad and our friends sharing a few glasses of wine and/or beers when we have a bbq or go to someone's home for a meal. It's generally a normal part of the social event. Big Jay and most of our friends are light to moderate drinkers (except when they go on golfing weekends with the boys to the Gold Coast and it all ends with photographs of bottoms....) so I feel that these adults are showing our children that it is OK to enjoy a reasonable amount of alcohol in a social situation. If children didn't have that example they wouldn't understand what sort of relationship with alcohol is normal and socially acceptable. Of course drinking too much and/or behaving badly during and after drinking is also a very bad example for children but I don't think these ads are representing that.

These ads make me cranky with the nanny state and constant way in which we're monitored and behaviourally controlled. Because mainly it is the middle classes, who are so prone to guilt - especially where children are concerned - who are most likely to take on these messages. The (dare I say) working and non-working classes who IMHO are more likely to have drinking problems (and the behaviour problems which go along with them) are unlikely to take onboard these "subtle" advertising messages. So once again the middle classes carry the social burden - alcohol, eating, climate change, gambling, blah blah blah.

Gee, didn't think that would roll into a rant, but there you go. You can't always see the end from the beginning.

Never mind all this world financial crisis bullshit. Why isn't THIS the number one news story? More importantly, why didn't I know about it.

Nothing means anything any more.

I am sick today. A yucky flu-y thing which makes me feel like someone has broken all my bones and filled my head with cotton wool.

But worse than that, much worse. I am heart sick.

I almost can't bear to write the words.

Ryan O'Keefe is being traded this week to a Melbourne team. I don't know how I'll go on.

Life is cruel.

Will has been using my MP3 player to listen to the "maths music" which I have downloaded for him (these are maths learning songs which are proving very useful in helping him to learn his times tables, etc). Now that he has grown comfortable with using the gadget he has started working his way through my music - namely the Leonard Cohen/I'm Your Man CD. It warms my cockles to hear him singing along to If it be your will and Everybody knows, the adult lyrics sounding both sweet and odd coming from his mouth.

Some of you may have noticed that the Cancer Council is using the original Everybody knows (sung by L. Cohen) for their latest super gruesome anti-smoking ad. I don't really want the kids watching the ugly images but it does crack me up when they both run to the tv and stand in front of it, somberly singing along.

Speaking of brainwashing your children to like your music, a few weeks ago we were driving along and a Red Hot Chili Peppers' song came on the radio. I said to Will "do you know who this is?" and he looked at me like I was an idiot and said "yeah, it's the Red Hot Chili Peppers... my favourite band". Oh how my heart soared at that moment. Are there any sweeter words a mother can hear?

Which makes me think of the future. Of the unavoidable fall which is sure to follow such wonderful highs. What musical trend or subculture will my children detour into as teenagers, once my parental influence is not only watered down but defiantly avoided? As my parents couldn't imagine the punk and skinhead world I would fall into, I cannot imagine what variation of Emo, Death Metal or (much, much worse) Missy Higgins my children will embrace.

One thing is guaranteed. No matter how open minded we, as parents, think we are our children will undoubtedly find ways of challenging us throughout their teens. Is it harder for children of "modern" parents (as opposed to more conservative ones) to achieve that shock factor - emotionally, musically, culturally? Will our kids have to push the envelope a lot further? After all my parents were shocked and revolted at my obsession with KISS, whereas I encourage that same obsession in my children. I want my kids to know the joys of singing [yelling] Detroit Rock City while driving with the windows down.

What will my children find to shock me? I know whatever it is is incubating out there somewhere, getting ready to hatch, as Will inches ever closer to his thirteenth birthday.