I should patent it...

Was on the way to meet http://ivyai.blogspot.com/ Ivy this morning, when she sent me a text message. Wanted to text back, but driving- what to do? Such a conundrum...
'I wish that there was a way of text mesaging someone by speaking into the phone instead of writing' My brilliant mind contemplated the possibility...
before realising that there is...it's called 'A Phone Call'.
Wonder if it will catch on??

Choose option B.

I'm trying to google an answer to a question that I know there is no answer for...
Should we try for another baby? Not in general, I mean right now. Well, not right now, his nibs is at work, but I'm sure that you know what I mean.
We want more children, that's a given, but when? If BB was weaned and sleeping for more than 8 minutes at once (no, I'm lying. He's stretched it out to 20 now) then it would be easier, but he isn't. And do I really want to take 'the baby' role away from him so soon? is that fair on him?
Probably not, but I'm getting too old! I'll never get to 5 kids if I don't get moving.
I'll wait till he is one, then we'll see. And it's fine to breastfeed while pregnant, apparently....
If I wasn't agonising about this, I'd find something else, so lets just call this 'molehill of the moment' shall we?
Actually, today I have also been worried that Captain is experiencing some kind of 3 year old personality anxiety disorder (when in actual fact, that would be me), and I have been very perterbed by the fact that Dad's New Lady Friend appears to have moved in. I would call 'sleeping over' ever night for a week moved in, wouldn't you? But hey, they've known each other for 3 weeks now- it's time to committ.

I think I have unresolved issues of some sort...

Just what we need in the family....

Discovered today that Dad’s ‘Lady Friend’ is a vegetarian. Bloody attention seeker, I grumbled when April (my sister) told me. To her credit, there was a full minutes silence before she said ‘Now I’m really not trying to start an argument, but were you looking for attention when you were a vegetarian?’

Bloody family. Minds like steel traps.

I told her that, given the fact that I was 22 years old at the time, most of the things that I did around then were attention seeking one way or the other, and maybe the fact that LadyFriend is in her 40’s (dear god I assume she’s in her 40.s….) maybe there is a more pure and selfless motive to her vegetarianism.
How right I was….
Not only is she a reincarnation-istic Buddhist tye person, she also seems to be into runes, iridology, psychics, and by the sounds of it, every other hippy-dippy, airy-fairy alternative new age clap trap snake oil treatment that’s been dreampt up by some crazy-eyed whacko on acid.
Well, she’s a vegetarian, by any rate. I’ve got to confirm the rest. Although I have it on good authority that the rune bit is true…

I know I am, but what are you??

Putting Captain Sparky-Pants to be last night, snuggled up reading him Dr Suess. He looks up at me, says 'I love you, suitcase' and starts laughing hysterically.
Great, my son has my sense of humour. Shouldn't be surprised, I guess.

Don't go breakin' my law...

I'm so straight. There is not an anarchic bone in my boring, law abiding body. I can't even sit in a parked car without putting money in the metre. Letterboxing for The Greens at the last election is about as edgey as I get.
Although I won't offer my bags for inspection as I leave shops, because it gives me the irrits (Do I look like a shoplifter? No? That's right. Go and infringe the rights of that kid with a skateboard, thank you very much), and I'm not afraid of a bit of a Loud Complaint if I'm not happy with something, but actually law breaking is something I just can't come at....
So when Ivy told me that she had just been 'war driving' , and then explained what it is, I was quite frankly shocked and dismayed at the kind of shenanigan that she has learnt during her time in the UK. Driving around trying to find an internet signal on a computer?? Surely thats stealing isn't it? Now my knowledge of the telecommunications industry may be patchy at best, but I know for a fact that Telsra's profits for the LFY were in the millions rather than the billions, so I really don't think that they can afford to have people flogging their signal, wily nilly, without a thought to the CEO's bottom line, or the farmers who have quite enough access to high speed broadband as it is, thank you were much Mr Trujillo.

If at first you don't succeed...

This is a post to the blog that I had in 2003. I will explain its relevendce presently...

I think that Bridget Jones' Diary (the BJD Phenomena, as it shall now be known) has a lot to answer for. Namely, convincing every 30 something woman in the English speaking world that there is a novel in her, just waiting to come out. And I do include myself in this group, so I am not blindly attacking the ignorant, and theres no reason to write cranky messages to my guest book (Ha! I just slipped in to an alternate universe where my blog is read by more than just my cat.).BJD has sparked, Im convinced, thousands of books about young-ish 'singletons' (and where the hell did that word come from? Did it even EXIST before BJD??. Dont even get me started about the expression 'Smug-Marrieds'. Who says 'smug'??) living in big cities and obsessing about clothes, men and food. Sorry to move on, but isnt that just SO late 90's?.
What is to be held accountable for this seemingly misplaced aggression and frankly quite disturbing hostility, I hear you ask?. Put it down to the fact that I decided yesterday that I have about as much chance of writing a successful novel as i have of eloping with Brendan Fraser (sigh). For the last 5 years or so, every couple of months, I think to myself (usually after reading a particularly average BJD rip off) 'Gee, you know, I could do this! I will! I will Write A Book!'. Which I utterly and comprehensively fail to do. fail to do with conviction, even. I write a 1 page outline of what it could be about, realise that a novel actually has quite a large number of pages, all of which do actually need to be written by me, pop down my pen and go to he fridge. Far less scarey.

Well I did eventually write a book, in the year after Captain SP was born. I joined a writing group, workshopped, researched, and ended up with a 90,000 word love story based in early Australia. Sent the the synopsis to a published, they said not right now, thanks, so I popped it somewhere and promptly gave up.
Thats what I do! I have a half assed go at something and then give up at the first obstacle. Oh well, at least I am 'one' with the fact that I do it!

Oh to be haughty....

‘Mummy, is there a nappy on me?
‘Yes, baby’
‘Good because there’s a wee in it now’.

I wish I was aloof and neat. By neat , I mean I wish that lipstick stayed on my lips, and that eyeliner stayed in the general vicinity of my eyes, and that my nose didn’t go red everytime I so much as think of having a cappuchino, not ‘neat’ as in the way Americans say ‘cool’. (I also wish I didn’t use the word cool, but that’s a whole nother matter)
I wish that I was aloof. I wish that I had a vaguely enigmatic smile, rather than a huge puppy dog grin that shows too many teeth. I wish that I could just be pleasantly friendly to people that I have just met, and then drift off leaving them wanting more, rather than belly laughing right next to them and then sharing details of my menstrual cycle. Or rather lack of it, seeing as I’m still breastfeeding….
See what I mean?
My sister and I are in the same music/mothers group thingy. She does this little eyebrow raise, hand closing movement that means ‘OK, that’s enough, shut up now’ or she’ll say something along the lines of ‘Reel it in now, Missy’.
And I tell people that I wish I wasn’t so loud and OTT, which once again does nothing to boost my aloof stakes. Aloof people, or even people who are trying hard to be aloof do not broadcast the fact that they share too much. Again with the ‘see what I mean?’
‘Yeah, you do do that, don’t you?’ commented someone who’s sir name I don’t even know, recently. ‘I’ve noticed that’.
And me, being really really eager to please, guffawed a bit and agreed. My nose probably went red too.
Neither aloof, nor cool, Im afraid.

Why I don't believe in God (although I do give him a capital 'G', you notice.)

This is something that I just posted to a message board that I contribute to. We started off on
evolution and have tangented somewhat...

Just a note- I really would like to believe in God, and have been trying quite hard, actually. But I've realised that it isn't going to work for me, I'm afraid. However some people that I adore are Christians, and so I hope that no-one is offended by this. And if anyone has a hotline to God and would like to give me the number, feel free to send me an email.....

Yes, ID is creationism by any other name, called 'stealth creationsim' or 'Creationism in a cheap tuxedo'. In order for it to have any hope of creationism being taught in schools, a public relations campaign was planned, with the 'wedge strategy' taking central stage- an attempt to substitute 'theistic science' for natural science in the public mind. The intrusion has been successful to some extent, but the failure of the emergence of either a scientific research program or any scientific data at all to support the claims is a bit of a setback, one would think.....

And neurons being happier with faith seeping in is, for me, the crux of the whole issue.The best argument for atheism in my mind is, in fact the existence of religion. Most every society has come up, independently, with some sort of religion. The first people looked around themselves, and thought 'who made all this?', which is actually a meaningless question, but came about becasue he thought that there is only one sort of thing that makes things (himself) so who ever made everything must be a bigger, stronger version of himself. And then he thought 'Well, who did he make this for??' and because he is thinking that this fits his needs very well, then it must have been made for him.This is essentially Douglas Adams argument, but it suits what I want to say perfectly.Homo sapiens are hardwired to believe in a deity, I believe. Because NOT believing in one is a very hard and unpleasant thing to come to terms with, as I have discovered. Unfortunately, just because we want something to be true, it does not follow that it actually is.

Electrolysis, Oh the Pain!

Electrolysis....
How can something hurt that much?? I swear it's second only to labour in the 'Oh dear God, make it stop!!' files.
And that's coming from an atheist.
Am I being punished for my vanity? It's such a little thing, my one tiny little bit of self indulgence in a life that's all about the kids...
I just don't want an old lady moustache!
Perhaps I could just bleach. Maybe the blazing needles of electric current aren't necessarily the best things to plunge through ones tender upper lip?
On the up side, if I get my legs waxed afterwoods it doesn't hurt in the slightest. Practically a massage.
Have I mentioned my morbid fear of massage?

Lovin' possums

There's a gorgeous song on Play School, that goes something like:
It's so nice to have a cuddle
With a person that you love
It's so good to have a snuggle
With a person that you love
If your happy or in trouble
Just run fast, right on the double
And then sit and have a cuddle
With a person that you love.

Which is an extremely cute and kissable song which everway you look at it, but when your three year old think that the song is about 'a possum that you love' then that just clinches it as the cutest thing in the world, as far as I'm concered!

Burn for you....

Fires here today. Well, not here exactly, a couple of kms away. And they are under control now, so really not worth mentioning. Except that tomorrow will be 30C and windy, and we live in the middle of the bush......
I'll keep the bath filled with water just in case!
Captain SP had a hilarious time this evening watering the garden with his bath water- carting it all out in buckets and the giving the poor parched flowers a drink. I'd used a lovely natural soap that my clever friend Rel made, so there was nothing heinous and chemically in the water. C.S.P ended up naked (it was 28C at 6pm) and muddy as all get out. Knind of needed another bath actually, but that would have defeated the purpose of saving water a little.....

I love co-sleeping, but.....

Before I had babies I didn't think for a minute that I would have them sleep in bed with us. I planned on breastfeeding, and baby wearing, but I imagined that there would be the little bassinette next to the bed, close, but not too close...
But then, when tiny incey wincey little premmie Cap. Sparky Pants came home, I thought 'Well, clearly he is going to die in the night'- so I bought a motion moniter and popped it under his mattress.
But then, I realised that the expression 'sleep like a baby' is actually a cruel, cruel joke, and that some babies like to feed every hour, for half an hour, thank you very much.
So in he came, we all slept beautifully and we've never looked back. (He left eventually, might I add. Just in time for Bunty Baby to arrive)

Anyway, the point is, I'm a passionate advodate of co-sleeping, except for one really unpleasant side effect....
Extra wrinkles. Or deeper ones, anyway.
You see, for everything to be safe re. the 'not rolling on baby' malarchy, I have to lay on my left side. Thats 3 years (on and off) of laying on my left side.
And let me tell you, those sleep wrinkles ain't very going anywhere. If we have any more children I'm going to end up with half a face that looks 66 and half that looks 33.
Parenting is so, so selfless!

Captain Sparky Pants is wearing my new red polka dotted heels, and I must say that he looks an absolute treat!

My knees are orange, it must be Spring.

(Captain SP has just pulled all the crockery and glasses, and at last count the rice cooker, out of a cupboard. I told him to be careful but he put up his ‘stop’ hand and said ‘Listen first- I just have to cook and thne I will tidy up’.

What’s to argue with there?

Apparently, I am an optimist. I personally wouldn’t have said this, and I know that Thor definitely founds that concept hilarious when I bounced it off him, but at least two of my close girlfriends have stated that it is the case, so I’m going to give myself the benefit of the doubt. And one of those friends is someone that I met while both of our babies were in neonatal intensive care, so we did meet in adverse condition, and apparently I was pretty perky then, so maybe she’s right…

Anyway, have you noticed that at the end of Winter, magazines begin to dedicate one or two page spreads to New Wonderful Instant Tan products. The naked (with strategic hands and/or chiffon or similar floaty lark) girl is so, so golden toasty gorgeous- not in a scarey gold-coast-70-year-old crocodile-handbag-looking woman way, but in a shiny I-just- have-to step-outside-the –house-and-I-bronze-up-Sunburn-what’s-that? Kind of way.
As someone who is either very white, or very red and then quite flakey and then very white again, I want to be these girls. And every year I truly, truly believe the advertising. ‘But it’s apricot kernel! And olive extract! They’re Mediterranean!! Everyone there is tanned!! Look at how technology has advanced since last year! They’ve discovered that ulcers aren’t caused by stress, I’m sure that they have been working on body products as well! I’m sure that the advertisement had some chick in a white coat…
First I get my legs waxed, and yes, I exfoliate, and yes, I moisture all relevant bits, and then, without fail, I end up with orange knees. Although this latest foray into tannedness resulted in brown knees, now I come to think of it, so maybe things are looking up.


Have just noticed that kitchen is still knee deep in plates, and Captain Sparky Pants is outside hammering and singing Bob the Builder. I’m not surprised, either, which I think probably negates the optimist theory.

Can you still be an Earth Mother if you use Draino?

I love my clothes line, although it can only be used for about 5 months of the year. For some never to be discovered reason, the people that built this house 15 years ago decided to place the clothes line in the middle of the bush. (not far from the galvanized tank full of dope plants. Nuff said?) It’s very scenic and pretty and rural and all that, but not exactly positioned for optimal sunlight. At no stage in the year does it get all day sun, just different degrees of dappled- ness, but I suppose that a warm breeze is what you want for ideal drying conditions, and occasionally, even here near the mountain, a warm breeze arrives.
Yesterday, for example - 25C and beautiful. The boys (Captain SparkyPants and Bunty Baby) and I spent the day outside, lying in the sun (although not in direct sun. Sunburn and UV and the Ozone layer and all that). I kept saying to Captain S.P, ‘We are so lucky to live here. It’s so beautiful. Aren’t we lucky?’ which he eventually stopped listening to and/or answering, which was probably for the best….
Anyway, clothes line. Got very excited yesterday what with the hot day and the drying weather and being able to use it for the first time in months. As I said, it’s in the bush, near the chook pen and about 100 metres away from the house, uphill all the way of course. So there’s somewhat of a production involved in getting the basket (woven by African refugees thank you very much. I do try to be a bit of a hippy even if the chemicals I use for cleaning get in the way of the whole ethos a little. I live in a mud brick house, OK? Isn’t that enough? And I grow veggies and I recycle and I don’t let my kids kill bugs, unless BuntyBaby swallowing them counts….) and the boys over to the line, but hey if it’s a gorgeous day then that’s half the fun.
So this morning I hung out another load, which was a dumb idea as rain was forcast and now it’s wetter than it was when it came out of the machine, and I can’t go out and get it in because it’s pouring. Which is great for the tank and it means I can have a whole three minutes in the shower, and is great for all the grass seed that was sown on the weekend, but that’s about it.
So, to wrap up, my wonderful clothes line is great in theory, but the tumble dryer is going again, as usual.
By the way, I don’t really use Draino. It buggers up the septic system, which operates only with the grade of God anyway…

What's wrong with a Combi, anyway??

There are so, so many things about which I would like to be an expert. I have shelves full of books on astronomy, politics, evolution, history, biographies…. I’m hungry to be full of the knowledge that they contain. And at the end of each day I think to myself ‘fabulous, that’s another day down. Didn’t learn anything of any consequence today’. I just don’t have the time to do everything that I want.
But, lo and behold, it seems that I do have the time to be an expert on something. I now am the proud owner of all the information that I could ever hope to possess on - wait for it- cars. Well, used people movers to be exact. A large amount of my scarce mental energy is currently being allocated to the discussion of fuel capacity, compression ratios and how many km’s a year a car should have done. (You don’t want anymore that 25,000 a year, in case you’re interested. Maximum. In fact, use any more than 20,0000km as a negotiation tool).
I have visited car yards (one car yard, actually, and the man was a bit of an arrogant sod. Yes, Stuart at Motors, that mean you, mate), I have rung car yards and I have scoured the classifieds. You may think that all this Car Carry-On would be mens’ work, but apparently not. He will swoop in for the final negotiation and enjoy the glory of bringing home the Great Silver Steed, but I’m the one doing all the leg work.
Something about him working long hours and me being at home near a phone and with time that is my own or something along those lines……made complete sense so I stopped listening.
Just kidding, love you honey :)

Best not to argue.

Our bank keeps ringing with ‘courtesy calls’. We’ve had 5 so far, and for some reason they don't want to talk to me, they want to talk to Thor. No, not particularly courteous, I know. I've been fobbing them off as I know that he really, really hates quasi- telemarketers. As I hung up today, I didn’t realize that my paltry excuses were being critiqued….

Jasper- who’s away a lot? (I'd told the lovely Indian bank person that my husband was away a lot, so it would be best for all involved if they stopped ringing.)
Me- Nothing. Don’t worry. (I dont know why I bother with this line of escape- it never works. He’s like a bloody steel trap)
J- Who isn’t here?
Me- Don't worry about it Honey.
At this, Captain Sparky-Pants gets off the sofa and comes over to me. He is not to be fobbed off.
Me-Daddy. Daddy is away at work all day, and he isn't here.
J-My Daddy?
Me- Yes.
J- Where is he going? Why is he going to be away a lot??
Lip trembles....(He's not really that fragile, he's just got a cold and he had been awake since 4am. So had (have) I for that matter).

Point is, there is a point when you realise that you are no longer free to discuss anything you want in your own house. There is a point when a little person will begin to question anything and everything that you say. That point was actually 6 months ago, but I've been slow to adapt....

And, if anyone wants a heads up, don't try to convince a three year old that rabbits do not, in fact, lay eggs. They won't believe you and it will just end badly.

Its going to be a looooong 12 weeks.

I suspect that Christmas is going to be big in our house this year.
And by 'big' I don't mean the $100 I spent on tinsel last year (silver. No tinsel but silver will even darken my doorstep. Or ceiling), or the search for the tree that touches the ceiling (not that hard as our ceiling isn't that high. And it's a stupid search anyway because do you realise how hard it is to put a star on the top of a tree thats bending over for lack of room?) or the fact that I've already made the puddings (although I'm the only one who likes Christmas Pudding. Or maybe precisely for that reason, come to think of it..)
No, I think that it will be big because Jasper is now three, and during the past week we've had
'Santa will bring Archie walking'. (I doubt that, Sparky, but stranger things have happened. My ankle biters just don't seem that keen to get mobile).
'Santa will bring us eggs from the chooks'. (I think that our chooks have reached their used by date. 5 Years of laying and they seem to be done. A fruitless hunt for eggs everyday is wearing Jasper down. Some hard decisions will have to be made....)
Then this morning, as I crawled into bed with him for a warm snuggle of delicious little boy-ness he asked if Santa was here yet. Hard to explain months to a three year old.
But then he asked if he could have some broccoli, which is the strangest thing, as never in his born days has he eaten broccoli, or in fact anything green. Of course by the time we got downstairs he wanted pancakes.
Which is lucky because I hate broccoli and won't have it in the house.