Afternoon Television

Today I had to do some bookwork at a client's place.

I woke up with a headache, feeling tired and generally blah. But, went off to work and ploughed through it all.

After this job I had to go home to eat. It was about 2.00 pm and I was so hungry that the headache reached epic proportions. As I was making lunch I turned on the television just for company. It was on the children's channel and there was a little cartoon show called Little Bear or something along those lines.

Well, it took me back to the days when my son was a little pre schooler and we did so much together, even watching television shows. We used to watch this Little Bear show a lot along with Postman Pat, Thomas the Tank, Arthur and numerous other lovely shows.

I love children's television. In my opinion it encourages all sorts of imaginative thoughts. In fact, any good quality television is beneficial in it's own way. Bad television offers nothing other than mind numbing time wasting.

Anyway, here I was eating lunch and watching this little cartoon and thinking about those early years being at home and realised how much time has passed and the changes that go with it. I am not sure if I felt a bit teary or not, but I felt a sense of sadness at those moments I cannot get back.

I loved staying home with my boy. Taking him for long walks, reading to him, playing games and talking to him. I loved getting his wriggly body dressed in the morning and feeling his soft skin against my hands. His small voice chatting away to me about all sorts of things.

My mother used to say to me that once he went to school he would not be all mine and I did take that comment seriously. Those first five or so years he had his own personality but he was still so close to me, so attached. After he went to school and gained independence he was his own person more and more each day.

So, I feel I did embrace those first few years totally. Studied his happy face as he spoke, listened to what he had to say and answered all his questions. Took him to places where he could run around and be free of restraints. Gave myself over to him entirely. My time was his because in the back of my mind I knew it would not be forever. When each time comes to let go, I do so as I know it to be right for him.

Funnily enough, he cannot remember much of those years. Bits and pieces come to mind now and then. Most of it, however, is in my memory bank and not his.

But, whenever he watches a cartoon or other show from that time he says "Oh, I remember this". So, somewhere in his head lives all sorts of memories from those sweet days.

Something about time is very surreal.

Seems like yesterday and yet, also like ancient history.

Ciao
LC

School Sports

Despite the fact that I exercise at least four times a week like a mad woman, I am not into sport in any way. I exercise to keep fit and healthy, end of story. It is a means to an end, the end being feeling good about myself.

When I go to exercise class I will partake in the team aspect of it because that is what has to be done, not because I am into team sports. It takes great effort on my part to continue to exercise because it my body and mind are just not naturally inclined to get out there and run. But I do it irrespectively.

Having been unfit and overweight many years ago, I just do not want to be like that again. Besides, my body is my temple, all I have to take me to the end so I need to look after it to the best of my ability.

When I went to school, sports day was my living nightmare. Here in Australia, if you are not into sport you are an outsider. I think that is pretty common everywhere. The sports men and women get accolades whilst the thinkers, scientists, artistic types and musicians just get a mention in the lower left hand column on page one hundred in the newspaper. If they are lucky!

Not only was I bad at sport, I also had a bitch for a sports teacher who loathed non sporty humans. Any opportunity to humiliate someone who came last or forgot their sports uniform was grabbed and used with great, poisonous relish. I always came last in any race, dropped the ball, misunderstood rules and was always distracted by what was going on elsewhere. And she was always there to make me feel like I had let down the entire school. When I think of sport at school I have not one good memory of it.

Ironically, nearly all of the sporty people at school have since dropped any physical activity and morphed into sport watchers (aka couch potatoes) and many of the non sporty sorts have taken it up in later years. Go figure that one!

Because my parents were European, we did not follow Australian Rules Football like the majority of the population. So, as children, we did other things. Read books, went to the museum and art gallery or just rode our bikes somewhere. When I used to visit an Australian friend's home and they would talk about footy I felt like an alien. And, should anyone find out that you were not into Aussie Rules, they would question you as though you had just said you were just out of prison for murder.

One of the reasons I chose to marry a non Australian was because I knew I would never, ever be able to integrate with a football, barbecue, cricket watching culture. It would have bored me to death. The sporting culture here is laden with drinking, immaturity and sexual conquests.

My husband is the same as me when it comes to sport. So, naturally, we produced a child of the same ilk. My son is not into team sports at all. We will watch a good soccer match on television but that is about it.

However, there are times when my son has to do sport at school and we are not the sort of parents who would make excuses for him just because he does not want to do it. Because he knows how we were as children at sport, he is pretty comfortable with his lack of sporting skills. One time, about two years ago, he had to take part in the Athletics Carnival at school and expressed great displeasure about it all. I had a conversation along these lines with him:

"I know you are doing sport today and it is really important that you maintain the family tradition when you give it all you have got", I said to him.

"What do you mean"? he asked.

"You know, don't let us down by coming first. It has taken us a lot of courage to come last. Your father did it, his father did it, I did it and I can assure you that all of my family came last in the races", I explained to him.

He was laughing about it and did us the honour of running last.

Today and yesterday he had the carnival again and initially did not want to take part but I explained to him that he has to because life is full of doing things we may not like to do. Bottom line is, he has to deal with it.

He won't even wear shorts at the race. Refuses point blank and I am not the sort of mother who wishes to lock horns with my child over what he deems as important. So, like the other non sporty sorts, he wore his full school uniform, came last and got on with the rest of the day. He said to my husband that he came second in shotput, until all the others had a turn. He can make a joke about it even though I know finds it hard.

Yesterday he said to me, "If I found the cure for cancer I would not be as popular as someone who was great at football". I told him not to worry as he had other outstanding personal qualities that would serve him well in life.

Next year at high school sport is more structured, more involved, more variety so I think he will find something he likes. The teaching method is about encouragement and helping a child find the motivation. Sometimes parents cannot be the ones to do that. An outsider can be ideal for that.

It is a very difficult process to get a young person to take on regular exercise when they really, really do not want to. You have to be very careful not to put them off for life as I feel I was with the teacher at high school. Sport is more than football and cricket or any team sports. You can be active and healthy without having to be part of any team although, it does tend to lead you to like minded people.

Some people are naturally sporty and love it. Others take a while to find the physical activity that suits their mindset. To force a square peg into a round hole is pointless. To humiliate someone who is not sporty is unacceptable.

My son has expressed interest in joining a gym and doing weights. He is a bit young for that at the moment but sometimes I show him things to do with weights, but he does not want me or his father to show him anything. He will find his own way, do his own thing when he is ready.

In the meantime, all my husband and I can do as parents is set good examples and encourage him to do more.

Hopefully the penny will drop one day.

Until then, the family tradition for coming last will be safe.

Ciao
LC

Shopping Twaddle

I do grocery shopping for home and for work.

My boss pays for me to go to the supermarket to buy lunch provisions for the office. I do this on a Monday morning on the way to work.

Sometimes it gets confusing when I am at the shops. What fridge has what in it and I have, more than once, found myself with excess cheese in the work fridge and no cheese at home. Or six litres of milk in the home fridge and none at work.

When I was pregnant I was incredibly forgetful about what food, cleaning products or anything else I had in the house. At one point there were five tubes of toothpaste, thirty six rolls of toilet paper, half a dozen bottles of shampoo AND conditioner and an awfully large amount of yoghurt in stock.

Sometimes I just forget what I actually have in the house and just end up with double amounts, especially if something happens to be on special.

Yesterday I went grocery shopping and brought the big load back to unpack. As I unpacked the bags and my husband put some things away he asked me a question.

"Were baked beans on special?" he asked.

"Yes, how did you know?" I looked into the pantry and saw this...........

"Just a lucky guess", he replied.

I must remember this photo when next I do grocery shopping.

One thing is obvious to anyone who looks in the pantry.

Fibre plays an important role in our home!

Ciao
LC

Crafty Weekend

There was a craft show this weekend in the city. So I felt that I should go.

I went yesterday actually (Saturday) at about 3.00pm in the afternoon after deciding that talking about going was getting a bit boring.

The drive into the city was quiet. Blue sky with flat white clouds that stretched across like they had been put on with a pallet knife. The sun was bright but the air was cold. It was nice in the car, warm, music playing and the roads almost quiet.

So, there I was, driving along, embracing the music, looking forward to the craft show when all of a sudden it dawned on me that I actually did not know where exactly the building was that the show was being held at.

Time for Tom Tom! I did a quick left hand turn into a quiet street and got out the GPS. Trouble was, I could not remember what the building was called. So, I had to make a phone call to my husband. Actually, I admit it, three phone calls later I managed to find myself in the car park of the venue.

But, I had to ring him back and eat some humble pie to apologise for my irrational behaviour over the phone. Fortunately he did not take it personally. I am hoping that such events lessen over time.

Below is a picture of the Polly Woodside which is just outside of the Exhibition Centre where the show was being held. The Tall Ship is a popular Melbourne tourist attraction here although currently closed for restoration.

At the craft show the patronage was mostly women over sixty. Some poor husbands had been dragged along and meandered behind looking very disinterested. Lots of young gals buying up beads, scrap booking supplies and card making tat.

Just when I was beginning to think that I had wasted my money coming to the show, I came across a stall selling Amy Butler fabric. I bought the fabric I wanted for my skirt. The stall was packed. It is very hard to get lovely skirt fabrics here without having to travel to some obscure suburb.

Although, with the GPS I might be more adventurous about where I do my shopping.

On the way home I turned on the GPS and Tom Tom's dulcet tones guided me back to familiar territory and I was at ease. I would not be lying if I said that the moment I turn that GPS on and hear the directions drift into my car space I feel totally relaxed.

Today I bought the rest of the things needed to make my skirt. When I went to the fabric store the girls were so very kind making sure I had everything I needed and gave me some tips. I think they were all of 21 years old.

So, tonight I am going to unfold the beige tissue paper in the pattern packet and start cutting.

Oh, and I worked out that by the time I make the skirt it will have cost me a total of $185.00!

I can tell you that I would NEVER spend that on a skirt from the shop.

But, this one will be a one off. Nobody else will have one like mine.

It better look good and even if it doesn't, I am wearing it.

Ciao
LC

New Man

I have a new man in my life.

He fits in my handbag when I don't need his services.

His name is Tom. Tom Tom actually. Below is a photo of him in my car today.

Yes, Tom Tom is a GPS. My boss had a spare one at home and gave it to me to use.

I actually used it for the first time last week when I had to go on a site visit far from home in some suburb I never go to.

Normally I would have to read the street directory over and over again, stop the car four times to double check where I was, do three u-turns in some illegal spot and arrive at my destination in a lather of sweaty anxiety.

That is, of course, unless I had made a desperate and abusive phone call to my poor husband to find out where I actually was. You see, for me, getting lost is like not knowing how to swim and finding yourself in the deep end, drowning. I just panic.

But, when I turned on Tom Tom and he found his position, his smooth words led me to where I wanted to go.

For the first time in my driving life I drove to an unknown destination anxiety free. It was fantastic. Okay, I did go through one red arrow and cut in front of a taxi, but at least I was not anxious.

Oh, Tom Tom, you have truly made a difference to my life.

Ciao
LC

Boys Will Be Boys

Yesterday I had to pick my son up from school.

 

Straight after school pick up I had to take him to the chiropractor for a visit. 

 

When he got into the car he started telling me that he had dropped his sandwich at lunchtime and was now starving.  His stomach was aching. He was bloated.

 

His hunger was so bad that after he dropped his sandwich he asked his friends for some food.

 

"Well, the chiro won't take long. Then we can go home and get you some food", I told him.

 

Once in at the chiropractor waiting room he continued to tell me how hungry he was.  How his stomach was aching. How bloated he was and that he really, really wanted to fart.

 

"Well, then go outside or something", I instructed him, laughing at the same time (of course).

 

"No, it can wait", came the reply.

 

During his adjustment somehow the conversation came to how bloated he was and the chiropractor told him that he would not be the first or the last to let one go.  I reminded my son that this did not mean it was okay.  The entire treatment was full of my son laughing.

 

Anyway, whilst I stood at the receptionist's desk and paid the bill my son darted outside, and not for fresh air. 

 

I looked over at him and there he was, in full view, standing in what could only be called a classic fart pose.  Honestly, I could not believe it.  It came with the facial expression and all.

 

It was almost like watching a comedy.  Knees half bent, bum stuck out and face all squinting.

 

I went outside and said that he could have been a little more discreet in his obvious efforts.  He said that he could not because there was so much there.

 

Then, to my absolute annoyance, he got into my car and farted again.

 

Without any apologies.

 

I mean, after all the examples I have set him, you think he could show a little more self control.

 

Sheesh!

 

Ciao

LC

Shine On Me Mr Sun

Yesterday the sun was bright in the sky. The day was almost warm. I hung out the washing on the clothes line and it dried quickly because the wind was strong. Today was the same.

When I took the washing in and smelt the freshness of it I thought to myself how that smell is one of my favorites. Along with freshly mowed grass. It reminds me that Spring is perhaps closer than I thought. On the calendar it tells me there are six weeks before it officially arrives, but the air tells me something else.

I could not imagine what is must be like to have bitterly cold Winters. Although, I suppose I am going to find out in January when we go overseas. But three months of dark mornings and long evenings. Grey skies and dismal rain.

It is not really the cold that makes Winter a bit of a bleak time, it is that lack of sunshine. The shorter days with grey clouds that hover around for days on end. Over the years I have tried to be really enthusiastic about the onset of the colder months, but now I feel like my whole persona just winds down and shifts into low gear as the days get shorter.

But, today, when the sun shone brightly and the wind was wild, it felt a bit like Spring. I felt a bit excited with the hint of some warmth in the air.

The warmth of the sun reminded me of the Aesop fable I read as a child.

The sun and the wind were having a competition about who was the strongest of the two. Below them is a man walking along wearing a coat. The wind thinks that he can blow the coat off the man, but the more he blows the tighter the man pulls his coat to his body.

When the turn comes for the sun to show his strength, he radiates his genial warmth down upon the man and he subsequently removes his coat and then has to sit down under the shade of the tree.

Apart from the moral behind the story (it is better to use persuasion than force to get someone to do something), I love the absolute strength of the sun shining in the story.

There is a poem by Robert Louis Stephenson called Summer Sun. I love the first paragraph.

Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Snow, rain, hail, grey clouds and chilly air all have their place.

But the sun just seems to fill me with a certain kind of joy.

Ciao
LC

Weekend Blab

My son and I went to the movies on Saturday and Sunday.

Ice Age 3 and the latest Harry Potter movie.

Ice Age 3 met all my expectations. Graphics were good, nice level of silly humour and complete inaccuracies regarding historical facts about evolution. It was funny.

The latest Harry Potter movie was a much anticipated event for both of us. If you have not read the books or seen the preceding movies you would be lost if you saw this one. We both loved it.

I read the first five Harry Potter books to my son. Each night, sat in bed and read out every single word with great feeling and excitement. A chapter each night. Sometimes, if the chapter was short, I would do another one. When the sixth book came in, he was ready to read it for himself.

He saw all the movies at the theatre with the exception of one. Chamber of Secrets. I bought the tickets and as we walked into the darkened theatre he refused to go any further saying that he was too scared. So I saw it on my own later on and bought the dvd for him.

After we had seen the movies on the weekend, he came out of the picture theatre all happy as could be and then, within a space of twenty minutes, was a complete whiney shit. Yes, yes, I know that one should not call one's offspring a shit, but those two words together do describe the attitude pretty accurately.

He wanted to go home, he was feeling angry, we had an argument on the way to the car, he criticised my art work that I did, told me to do other stuff, said he could not stand crowds or shopping centres. Just a variation of a whinging theme. He was quite mean. I got quite cross.

It continued in the car. At one point he said to me that I should spend more time in my studio and practice drawing animals and people. I said that it was hard to spend more time in there due to the fact that I have other responsibilities that need attending to and these things have to wait sometimes. I also said that I like to do what I like and not what others suggest.

To which he said;

"Why did you get married and have a kid then if you end up doing things you don't like? I feel unwanted".

I was shocked.

"You are wanted. What a thing to say. I did not say I did not like doing these things, even if I don't. I said that they took up time. Besides, you are the thing that matters most, nothing else is a big deal".

In the back of my mind I was wondering if I whinged about having to do things I did not want to do. Did it come across as a housework harpy behaving like a martyr? I may make noises about it in my blog, but I am fairly confident that don't go on about it at home.

Before I could talk any further he said to me to not speak to him and make him feel more upset than he really is. He slumped against the passenger door, looking out of the open window with a sad expression on his face, glancing down now and then at his iTouch.

It was very dramatic.

After a few minutes I chatted to him about what he had said. What had triggered it. How could what I have said made him feel as though he was unwanted. Did he really believe that?

"No, I don't believe that. I just said it to be mean. I think it is hormones. I just felt it suddenly. I'm fine now", he told me, all happy again. He also said that he does not like going to the movies during the day, it is depressing.

Hormones. Ah, well, I understand completely. Rascally and unpredictable things they are.

Not quite so sure about the movie issue, but will keep that in mind.

Ciao
LC

Letter To The Two T's

Dear Tummy and Tastebuds,

It is naughty of you today to conspire together and make me hungry for things that have nothing to do with nutrition or satiating hunger.

Those big, fat super size chocolate coated licorice bullets for example. Today, at the movies? Remember? Yes, those. You two ordered my hand to put three in the bag at The Sugar Shack store outside of the movies.

Then, once in the movies, once the lights went out, the two of you were at it again. Making my hand sneak into the bag of crisps that my son had. I know, I know, only a few but you know that old saying "little pickers wear big knickers"? Yes, you recall it now don't you.

Plus, when my son put his unfinished bag of lollies on my lap, well, there you were, throwing caution to the wind and the sweet siren of sugary heaven won me over. You let me cave in.

And you could not stop once we got home could you now? You forced me to eat that lone piece of home made lemon teacake. That one I make with the lemon frosting on top. Despite the fact the Tummy knew it would ache after eating it, it still allowed it down there.

But, my brain took control for a while and ate some baked beans for lunch to offset the sweet splurge. And tonight I made some home made minestrone soup fill Tummy up with healthy foods and force it to stop thinking about that block of dark chocolate sitting on the kitchen bench.

Sadly, it appears that Tastebuds and Tummy got together for a chat and forced me to eat some of the chocolate.

I agree, I did rather enjoy it all but that does not make it right. So, from now on, I want the two of you to stay away from each other.

You hear me?

Good. Glad I got that sorted.

Ciao
LC

Sewing

Many years ago, when I was a young gal, I used to know how to sew.

I used to know how to do a lot of things, many of which I stopped for years and then took up again as I became more "me" (whatever that means).

Lately, after going to shops and seeing boring old clothing repeating itself like a bad meal all over the place, I have made the decision to make a few things myself.

I bought a couple of skirt patterns. There is a picture of one style I bought. An Amy Butler pattern. Nice and easy ones to start with. The classic A Line skirt is the easy one to go for. Especially as it has been a while since I actually made a piece of clothing.

Because it has been so many years since I even looked at fabric for any reason whatsoever, I have been astonished and pleased at how creative and exciting the patterns have become. And how sewing and craft has become part of popular culture again.

I used to always go to craft shows and buy bits and pieces, which, interestingly enough, I could probably find in a box high on a shelf somewhere. Next to the dust covered sewing machine.

When I went to craft shows the average attendee was over fifty and in possession of a rather large round bottom. I recall saying to my older sister that one day it will be young and gorgeous girls going to craft shows because that is what happens. Things go in and out of fashion and popularity in a quite predictable manner.

Sure enough, it has come back in vogue and thank goodness. Thank goodness for reintroducing young girls to the lovely past time of creative activities. Sewing, knitting, drawing, needlepoint and jewellery making. Book binding, paper making, beadwork, card making and any other artistic pursuit.

For years I think the world has been overloaded with cheap and nasty tat that dehumanises the handiwork of the individual. Once you put the creative urge onto a production line, it loses it's integrity, it's individuality and the artistic tenderness that goes into producing something unique.

The internet has made the appeal so much more widespread. With that wonderful website Etsy which offers up the skills of so many individuals. It makes buying something so much more personal. I could spend forever and a day on that site, being both inspired and tempted.

Plus all those sensational blogs that are dedicated to sharing patterns for unusual soft toys or quick and easy shopping bags.

People do not just do this for the money for so many offer advice, patterns and links to other places that will put you in touch with like minded people for nothing. They do it because they want everyone to be part of the creative journey.

It makes me realise that for all the modernity that this huge, huge world thrusts upon the inhabitants on a daily, hourly basis, the urge for community spirit and sharing of skills is so deep rooted and instinctive that we all find ways to share it.

Now, I suppose I should actually open the skirt patterns to refresh my memory on exactly how to put it all together.

Hopefully it is like riding a bike.

You never forget, just might be a bit wobbly.

Ciao

LC

Pillow Talk

Lately, when I have been going to bed a night, I have the most inane conversation with my mind.

Lying on my pillow, eyes shut and all cosy and warm under the doona, it starts.

Actually, no, it starts in the bathroom after I take off my make up and pick up the mobile phone to set the alarm for the morning.

I set it for two times to go off.

One is for 6.50 am to ensure I am woken from a deep sleep and taken to the semi conscious state in readiness for the eventual stumbling slide out of bed.

Although, sometimes I set it for 7.00 am as I have an aversion to waking up before 7.00 am.

So, I then set it again for 7.30 to wake me up properly. That is the "get out of bed now" alarm.

But that does not mean I actually will get up at that time because I am a lazy slug.

And that is the problem.

Back to the thoughts that have been going on in my head as I am drifting off to the land of nod.

Linda

Tomorrow you are going to just leap out of bed when that alarm goes off at 7.00 am. You do not need to lie in that warm bed like a sloth. Just get out. This is it. This is the night before the big change in how you deal with getting out of bed each morning.

How come it is so hard? I mean, four nights a week you change into your exercise clothes and then go and do one hour of hard exercise. You just do it. So, why can't you get out of bed at 7.00 am?

Okay, you have paid for the exercise in advance and it is not cheap so you are motivated by getting value for money. Plus, exercise helps you get a good sleep and makes you feel great. And, in the morning the house is cold and the bed is warm and your head is in dreamy land and it is all nice and cosy. Mmmmm.

But once you get out you will be so pleased you made the effort to make the effort. So, tomorrow morning you will just DO IT. Yep, up and out of bed.

Okay, yep, feeling motivated. TOMORROW is the day. Tomorrow you will get out of bed when the alarm goes off at 7.00 am.

Although, it is a bit early. I mean, not like you have to be at work until 9.00 am or later. What are you going to do after you get up early.

Okay, so here it is. TOMORROW is the day that you will get out of bed when the second alarm goes off at 7.30 am.

Great, that is better. I can do it. Self talk is over. Off to sleep now. Zzzzzzz

Next morning. Turn off both alarms and get up at 8.15 am in a panic.

I expect to have the same conversation tonight.

And tomorrow night.

And the next night.

With the same result the following mornings.

Ciao
LC

It's Monday!

I had a good weekend. Not particularly exciting. Just a nice weekend.

On the Sunday I actually went outside and did a load of overdue gardening. The ground in the garden beds was soft and wet. Full of long weeds and nettles. I pulled them out and the earth let them go so easily in big, wet clumps. The smell of the soil was lovely.

I got my son to use the lawn mower for the first time. It took a few tugs at the cord to get it started. I offered to help him but he said to me, "no way mum, if you do it instead of me I won't be happy". Nothing like the threat of a mum helping to motivate a boy.

He spent about fifteen minutes mowing away and it took a while to realise that he had to have a system in order to mow all the bits of grass and he did a bit of meandering. I then took over and finished it off. His interest had well and truly waned by then.

I informed him that his job, from now on, was to mow the lawn. He said okay. I can hear his grumblings already.

Sometimes I wonder why I do not do as much gardening as I used to. It ties in with working more. Time is not so free now and I am no so inclined to get out there. I don't know, maybe the interest just comes and goes, as with anything.

My mind is in a good place. I made a big effort to change my personal environment. Increased my exercise, went to bed earlier to invest in more sleep, took extra care to take all my vitamins and minerals and thought about things other than work, washing and ironing. It's a nice feeling when the fog lifts and I can look a little further. It is really important for me to always have a clear view of what I am wanting to do, no matter how small the thing may be.

We just had two week school holidays and therefore I had to work less days to spend time with my son at home. This has resulted in a huge back log of work which will have to be done this week. I don't really mind as I have it ready to do in an organised fashion according to priority. But it will be a head down and bum up week to get it all done.

So, my son has two lazy weeks off school and enjoys his time. He had a little annoying cough for the entire two weeks that was no big deal. Just a cough. No sniffles or anything. No sore throat. Then, last night, just before he goes to bed, he said he felt unwell. His coughing had suddenly become chesty and constant. His nose was running and his eyes were red and watery.

He went to bed with a temperature and then came into my bed. For those who think that boys over the age of five should not be in bed with their parents (especially mother's), well, tough. Where I come from, kids in parents beds when sick, scared or just lonely is fine and dandy.

It is rare these days for my son to come into our bed. But when he is sick he still prefers to. I feel better having him near. Well, I thought I did. Since he was last in our bed he seems to have doubled in size. He kicks like a donkey. He coughed all over me. Stole the doona. Talked in his sleep. Whacked me across the head with his arm. Snored, coughed again and made weird noises with his retainer.

It was not a nice night for me. I was awake on and off for the entire eight hours and woke up feeling like a puff ball. My son, although still unwell, was well rested. Needless to say, tonight he is in his bed and there he shall stay.

I got into work after lunch and stayed for five or six hours. Before I went to work I organised and cooked dinner so that I would not have to worry about it when I got home. I find it so much easier to work in the afternoon. My mind just functions so much better after 11.00 am. Even if I have had a great night's sleep, my thought process just flows. I ended up getting a huge amount of work done today, got home, changed clothes and went to exercise class. It was great.

My son, well, he may have to have another day off school tomorrow. His cough is so noisy it would be disruptive to everyone. Besides, everyone is paranoid about Swine Flu and the school has asked that if children are sick, keep them home. Not that he has that. He has picked up a virus that is doing the rounds right now.

This post is a bit of a boring one. Bit pointless. Sometimes I just like to blab about my mundane little day, write it down. Feels nice to do it. Nice days, even the most simple of them, are worthy of recording in my mind.

Ciao
LC

Boy Humour

Right now my husband and son are watching the dvd Dumb And Dumber.

I am not sure if you have watched it, but is apparently a comedy.

My husband and son agree with this assessment as they appear to be laughing at it.

As for me, I cannot even crack a smile. It is beyond stupid even by my incredibly easy to tweak giggle button.

I think it is because they are male and I am female.

Or perhaps it really isn't funny at all.

What's not funny is that I am missing out on the very serious 60 Minutes because they are watching the dvd.

Ho hum.

Five minutes later:

I take that back. I just saw the bit where the character Harry has to go to the toilet after being slipped a whole dosh of laxettes by Lloyd. It made me laugh.

Nothing like a bit of toilet humour to bring a smile to my face.

Ciao
LC

Health Food Treats

Lately I have put on weight.

I am sure that is a regular comment in the lives of most females.

Part of the reason for weight gain is exercise. When I run, do weights or boxing my body bulks up and fills out, which is good I guess. But, the other reason is that I have been a bit of an oinker. It is that weight gain which leads to an increase in the jiggle factor.

Despite the fact that I have a healthy diet, it does happen that I do indulge. And when I do, it can go on for about two weeks of heavenly eating. It's not chocolate, cakes, cheese, biscuits or wine that does it for me. It is the health food shop. That place is a honey trap. Tasty treats sold under the guise of healthy suck me in every few months and I cave in with such joy, despite the absolute knowledge that I am buying little packets of sugary goodies that will find their way to my waistline.

My big indulgence has been carob coated licorice sticks. Once I open that packet I eat them. One after the other. If my husband is in the same room I will begrudgingly offer him one or two, but ONLY if he spies the packet. Otherwise I will eat the whole lot. And, believe me, I taste every delicious mouthful.

In fact, licorice is my biggest weakness. If I have a block of dark chocolate near me I will be able to restrain myself and have a few pieces only. Any chocolate for that matter, unless it happens to be wrapped around some licorice. Oh sweet licorice all black and aromatic. Packet opens and then is empty very quickly.

Soft black licorice, salty Dutch licorice, carob coated licorice, chocolate bullets and licorice all sorts. Although, I am very wary of the all sorts because they have weird colours in them that always give me a headache. Sometimes I peel the coloured bits off and just eat the licorice bit.

I use the excuse that since licorice makes me go to the toilet more it is okay. Just goes straight through.....

My other indulgence are these things called apricot delights. Little blocks of apricot wedged together with sugar into a neat and small rectangle shape. I eat 'em. Eat 'em all. One after the other. I love the tartness of them at the first bite which is followed by a lovely sweetness mixed in. Mmmmmmm.

I mean, if they have fruit in it so that makes it almost healthy to eat all of them. And, they are organic and preservative free so that is a good thing isn't it?

This indiscriminate munching has made me put on a bit of weight that makes my clothes feel uncomfortable so I will back off for a few months and then get into it again. Life cycle of a roll of fat.

So, today I ate the last stick of fat, glossy black licorice and my body said bye bye to it for the next few months.

It was sweet goodbye.

Back to apples and mandarins.

Ciao
LC

Bitch On Board

I was a bit of a bitch today. To both my son and husband. I feel quite guilty about it but I am using the argument that it hardly ever happens and if it does happen it does not mean that I am morphing into my father. Which, incidentally, is one of my greatest fears. I am not perfect, only human.

Anyway, I had bought a lamp via Ebay and had to go and pick it up in a suburb about an hour away from where I live.

I cannot express to you how appalling my map reading skills are. I read maps upside down, back to front and inside out. If I have instructions given to me they enter my right ear and exit my left ear. It is a classic case of "I see your mouth move but all I hear is blah, blah, blah". It is all made worse by the issue I have with my left and right. If you ask me to raise my left hand I have to say to myself "hmmm, left, the opposite of the hand I use the most" or something along those lines.

In 1994 when my husband and I went overseas we had the worst arguments about my map reading. One argument ended when I hit my husband over the head with a giant road atlas as we tried to make out way out of Bath and onto London. It was not until last year's trip that he apologised to me for being so unsympathetic about what was obviously a problem I could not resolve. The fact remains, I could not find my way out of a paper bag without some level of stress.
So, last night my husband sat down with me with the street directory and outlined which way to go. I studied it closely and felt confident I would have no trouble getting there.

The is, of course, until I missed the sign that pointed the turn off I was meant to take.

So, naturally, as I turned left into nowhere land at the end of the freeway, a mobile phone call was made to my husband. It was my son who was the go between as far as the conversation went. After stopping by the side of the road I then spoke to K who, despite his efforts to help me, was rewarded with a screech and me hanging up the phone.

Once back on the freeway my husband called again and my son answered the phone. Husband offered to meet up with me and show me where to go. However, the conversation was translated by my son as "Dad is twenty minutes away so can he come and pick me up and you can go on your own....". Chinese whispers starting here.

Without going into too much detail of the content of the heated conversation, it culminated with me ending up on a newly built freeway which put me out of my comfort zone and resulted in another hanging up of mobile phone.

By this stage I was totally out of control, and for me, that is a rare and horrible place to be. I yelled at my son. Whined about life. Said the "F" - spelt it out actually, did not say it in full. Got lost once more. Said I wished I was not married. Also said that if I fell off the face of the earth the only thing that they would miss would be my laundry efforts.

Also said that from now on I will ask nobody to help me ever and would do things on my own.

To which my son replied, "Mum, nobody can be that free. We all need each other".

Sigh, nothing like a child to say the right thing. I calmed down. We both kept quiet and found the place where the lamp had to be picked up from.

I had to eat some humble pie when I got home.

It was this trip today that made me realise that I am the perfect candidate for a GPS thing in the car. So I went to the shop to have a look at one and get some information on them.

Unfortunately I was tempted instead by the lure of an iPod. The only one I have is a teeny one for jogging. That is my justification.

Came home and loaded up lots of songs. My son took a photo of me dancing to Jackson 5's I Want You Back.

Everyone is happy in the house.

As for the lamp. It was made in the 1920's roughly. The base is made from the root of a tree and has been fashioned to have a series of steps up to a lighthouse. I have wanted one of these for many, many years.

I think it was worth the stress of today to tell you the truth.

But I won't let them know that....

Ciao
LC

Oh, How Nice Of You To Say

The other day when we were out and about in town, my son had the camera and took some shots.

At one point he took a photo of me and then said......

"Hey, mum, this is a good photo. You don't look like the Grim Reaper."

I looked at him and said, in a most offended voice.....

"Gee thanks, but I think you meant The Crypt Keeper."

You know, there is a difference.

Sheesh!

Ciao

LC

Thursday Off

Last night my son had a friend stay the night. They talked non stop. Late into the night. I fell asleep at about midnight and they were still talking. I think they were watching The Young Ones as well as I could hear laughter going on.

At 6.00 am they were up and out of bed playing Xbox live. I think my son will be tired tonight. When I was young and had a friend stay over, we would talk for hours as well.

So, I took the day off work today to take my son and his friend out for some fun. Note, I did not say "to take my son and his friend and myself out for some fun".

I don't like to whinge too often, but to be honest some of the things that parents do to ensure a fun day out for kids are boring.

I took them to a place called Sidetracked which has Go Karts, Laser Force (laser shooting in a maze in the dark), ten pin bowling, mini golf and loads of money gobbling arcade games.

I decided to get there early to beat the crowds. Well, what a mistake that was. There was nobody there but us three and the staff. It was then I realised that I was in for a bit of a boring three hours.

Sidetracked is a place that promises lots of fun at considerable cost. The cost is not unfair, I have to say, as to run a place like that and have all the public liability insurance etc. costs money. So I am not suggesting the value is not there. But if you have three or more children, you can bet your hand will be deep in your pocket.

They had a deal going that was too practical to refuse. Trouble with being a bookkeeper is that you always look at the best value for money and so I coughed up for a special that let the boys do bowling, laser force and mini golf for as much as they liked for two hours. However, the two hours was not due to start for another 45 minutes and so I then spent more money to squeeze in a ten minute go kart session to kill some time. Just want to say what a jolly good up sell the man behind the counter did on that one.

I have to admit, Go Karting is great fun for kids. Getting to drive before the age of eighteen is a bit exciting. The opportunity to drive with your foot flat to the floor for ten minutes brings out the competitive nature in anyone.

There were about ten children and two adults doing this race. One of the kids was a young girl and her driving was so slow and so cautious that she had to learn very quickly about keeping to the left.

I stood on the sidelines watching and realised that my son has a really competitive streak. Once he moved out from the pit stop he seemed to morph into a mini man. The expression on his face was one of set determination and he raced past everyone until he came behind the leader of the pack, an adult who deliberately refused to let him pass. Every time my son made a move up to the side to get past, this guy would close it off and force him to back off. In the end, there was a collision which stopped the race and the adult was told off by the supervisor. Made me wonder who exactly was the child there at that time.

After the race finished, the two boys headed off to play indoor laser force for about an hour. Let me tell you, what a boring place it then was for me. And not just me. Sole adults sat at lone tables with books and coffee waiting for the two hours to pass.

It was noisy with the sounds of music, chatter and go karts going around the track. There was the smell of grease or something in the air which I love. Although the place was an open warehouse, they had heaters that hung down from the roof and kept the place warm. It was nice to watch the children enjoying themselves.

I had brought a book with me to read which was so boring that I could not get past the third page and subsequently sat writing and drawing mindlessly. When I got home my husband asked me what did I do while they were playing. I just rolled my eyes. Fortunately I have a high boredom tolerance level. The beauty of being a hard core daydreamer. No matter where you are there is always something to watch. Something to think about.

It was lots of fun for the boys and we don't go to these sorts of places often. They were really appreciative of the day.

Another day off tomorrow.

But I am keeping it cheap.

Ciao
LC

Who Needs Brains

When I was young, about fourteen, I had to get a part time job if I was to have any clothes to wear apart from the tat my mother picked up from the opportunity shops.

My father was of that genre that believed if a child could walk and talk then it could work.

My first part time job was working at an old people's home that was in the next suburb away from where we lived. I had to catch a train and then walk for about ten minutes from the station to get to work.

I worked in the kitchen and dining area. If I was on the breakfast shift I had to go from place setting to place setting and put whatever cereal the oldies wanted into the bowl on the table.

Raw oats for old Mrs Very Wrinkly, muesli for old Mr Mustachio, corn flakes for Mrs Hairy Chin, porridge for Mr Yellow Teeth. You get the idea.

I know it sounds mean the way I recall them, but I was only fourteen and you can imagine how ancient these old folks were to me. Old and scary.

Once they all shuffled in for breakfast I would come around and see what else was wanted. Milk, tea, fresh toast, coffee or juice. They were all very sweet to me, even the old men who would squeeze my bottom on a regular basis which I found totally creepy but did not know how to handle it and just giggled which only encouraged more groping and the cycle continued to the point where I became anxious about it each time I worked there.

After breakfast I would clean up, wash dishes, mop the floor and, if on a full days work, would help the cook get the lunch ready.

The cook was this giant woman from Germany. She wore thick glasses and had a drooping bottom lip that hung down and showed the receding gums of her bottom teeth all the time. She always dressed in a shabby dress that was covered by an equally shabby apron. Bare legs were not allowed in the kitchen so she would wear thick, grey tights irrespective of the weather and her big feet were enclosed in leather clogs.

I used to have to help her get lunch ready and I would have to say it was a most revolting experience. Mainly because the food was so disgusting.

One time lambs brains was on the menu. Well, more than one time when I think about it. Although I was familiar with some pretty strange food being of the foreign factor myself, I could never get my head around the eating of brains no matter how interestingly they were dished up.

Anyway, the butcher delivered the bucket of brains to the the kitchen door of the nursing home. I opened the lid and there they were, lambs brains floating in water like some sort of hideous Frankenstein experiment was in progress. The cook then told me to take them out of the bucket and drop them into the sink that she had filled with water. The brains popped out of my wet hands like soft, ugly little heads and splashed into the sink. I did make a game of it. How could I not.

After this slippery and unpleasant episode I had to peel the outer membrane off each brain. I baulked at this as she showed me how to do it, her hard yellow fingernails piercing the fine membrane that covered the brain and then peeling it off in one motion and leaving it to drift aimlessly in the sink full of water like some sort dirty piece of silk petticoat.

Once I had done the deed I then crumbed them and she cooked the poor things. There were loads of them, all golden brown and piled up in the stainless steel dishes that sat underneath the warming lights. Those brains were a hit, nearly everyone had seconds and it was served up with bubble and squeak, another thing I never liked.

Other times we would have potted meat which in itself was an experience to make. There were a few dishes that featured tripe. One was tripe and onion in pastry. I kid you not, the most disgusting thing I have encountered. Although, the dishes that had kidney or liver in them would come a close second on the horrible food scale.

Desserts were always nice. Old fashioned bread and butter pudding. Stewed fruits and freshly made custard. Lovely vanilla ice cream with home made waffles. Sometimes the cook would make fruitcake for afternoon tea. Many times we would serve up soft, white scones all hot with fresh cream and sweet strawberry jam.

It is my belief that desserts were invented only as a reward for eating gross food such as brains, kidney and liver. Oh, and tripe.

I worked there part time for about twelve months and then got fired because I had lied about my age when I first started. What was the big deal about that? I worked hard and did all that I was meant to. It should not have mattered that I increased my age by a couple of years.

Years later I was out on a date with some guy and on the menu was crumbed lambs brains. I decided to give them a go. Much to the disgust of my date, I ordered the lambs brains and awaited their arrival with trepidation. When they were plonked down in front of me I realised that everything I believed applied to the appearance, smell and taste of a lambs brain was about to be confirmed.

I took one bite of the offending bit of offal upon which it made a squeaking noise as my teeth sunk deeper into the chewy texture. I made an involuntary gag and dropped the bitten piece of food out of my mouth and let it fall onto my plate.

Needless to say, I was not asked out again.

Neither have I eaten brains since.

I did eat snails cooked in garlic and butter once. To this day I can recall the vile sensation of putting that snot like hermaphrodite in my mouth where it squeaked as I bit it. I then swallowed hard to get rid of it (in a more lady like fashion) and it sat wedged in my throat like a piece of rubber for ages. I had to eat a big ice cream to force it down.

One should not eat food that squeaks.

No wonder I have food aversions.

Blech.

Ciao
LC

Sunday Out And About

I woke up this morning with a case of cabin fever. It was time to get out of the house. I think I have spent nearly every weekend for ages inside or at the supermarket.

My son was in a vaguely shitty mood which matched my own headachey grim demeanour and getting out of the house was a tense episode.

Firstly, I wanted to go to the art gallery to see a Salvador Dali exhibition but my son expressed a strong disinterest. Moan, moan and more moaning at the prospect of being forced to see any art. We got in the car and my mood was put onto high grump alert as I thought of what a selfish and ungrateful pratt a child can be. Always thinking about what they want, not anyone else.

But, I held my tongue and waited until my headache dissapated and my mood settled. No point in having a heated discussion about "my needs" with a twelve year old boy.

As we drove toward the city I said to him that it would mean a lot if he could put aside his obvious boredom at the prospect of seeing Salvador Dali and come in with me. He agreed, and really that was all I wanted to hear.

By the time we got into the gallery car park I had calmed down and decided that it would be best if I went to the exhibition on my own at a later date because I would want to spend a few hours walking around and listening to the audio about each painting. So we decided to just go for a meander around the gallery anyway.

My son really enjoys contemporary art, even though I don't think he realised it until we were looking at some great paintings and sculptures. His entire mood changed and his eyes were wide open at the strange paintings on show. At one point we were looking at a series of black and white photos from the 1960's, all abstract, and he was totally engrossed in them, sitting down in the semi darkness to stare at them. In the end I had to go back and get him out of the room to keep moving.

He got his wish to sit in a MacDonald's store and use his iTouch to surf the net.

We went to a cafe later in the afternoon where he indulged in a hot chocolate made with melted chocolate, cream and milk and I lied about my age. This little cafe has been around for so long. My mother used to take me there when I was a little, little girl and it was one of the few places you could get good, strong European coffee outside of home.

The decor only recently got completely updated and it now specialises in great coffee, hot chocolates and Belgian chocolates to indulge in.

During the day we came across the odd street performer. I love these ones that look like statues and move every so slightly. They stand there for so long. Street performers are so professional now, a great form of entertainment. In Winter there are not so many, but in Summer you see many of them attracting big crowds. I have to admit, it is a tough way to earn a dollar, but they do well when the crowd is big.

For the first hour in the city my son was completely into his iTouch, but after a while he decided to engage in some conversation with me. At the end of the day, nothing beats a good old chinwag.

A random shot of a happy boy as we headed back to the car to go home.

On Sunday, just near the art gallery, the city is full of market stalls. Some of the stuff on sale is okay, but most is for tourists who want some quality Australian souvenir's to take home. Personally, I would rather walk naked than wear an Akubra hat, but each to their own.

It was a relief to be out of the house, away from work, just out and about. I intend to take an entire day off work and go in to see some exhibitions at the gallery. I realised that now and then I just have to be on my own in the environment that feeds a hungry soul.

All in all, a good Sunday jaunt.

Ciao

LC

Saturday The Fourth Blab

I have been blogging less lately as my wife, life and mothering duties seem to have taken a priority for weeks on end.

Especially at work. I have been thinking about work when not at work. Which is usually not an issue, but because we went through a tight and tough time, it was getting a bit intrusive. However, we seem to have gotten past that enough for me to feel a sense of relief.

Also, I have been so tired for weeks on end and finally picked up some iron tablets as about fifteen months ago I was diagnosed with low iron levels but did nothing about it. Hopefully things sort themselves out now. Plus I had slipped into a level of inertia about looking after myself emotionally. I know that sounds a bit precious, but I feel as though I have been just going to work, exercise, supermarket, washing and ironing and sleeping. Then on the weekend just not getting enough done that was enjoyable.

Maybe just a rut that needed derutting (is that a word?). Now I am working out of it.

I took two days off work this week. Wednesday was my son's twelfth birthday. I could not believe it. Twelve years ago he arrived and change our lives, in a great way. Talk about a learning curve.

Now here is this boy on the brink of teenage hood. His feet are big and they stink at the end of the day. I think that is a boy thing actually.

For his birthday he went to Gold Class cinemas with a friend to see the new Transformer's movie. Gold Class only has about twenty or so seats in it that are very comfortable. You can order yummy food that gets delivered to you once the movie starts. It costs more, but it is a nice birthday treat.

Whilst they were both at the movies I went shopping and just enjoyed myself. Spent a little bit of money on moi, not much, but enough.

Made a cake and decorated it in chocolate (his request) and was one candle short so we used a match stick for candle number twelve.

At the end of the day I worked on my beauty regime. It is a work in progress.

I ought to warn you, a close up of the photo below is totally disgusting. The honesty of digital pictures.....

Friday I dedicated myself to getting all the laundry sorted once and for all so that my weekend was just for relaxing. Having a day off now and then makes a big difference. This morning when I woke up I felt at ease for the first time in a while.

My husband and I bought my son an Apple iTouch for his birthday along with a docking station. To me, twelve is a special age and I wanted him to have something he would remember. He never asks for things like an Ipod or iTouch. About a month ago he had asked me if he had saved up enough pocket money for one and I said that he was almost there. So he just left it at that with the idea he would buy one in a few more months. Even when I asked him what he wanted for his birthday he just said that he wanted a surprise and anything I gave him would be great.

So, he gets the Itouch and is so pleased with it. Loads his songs, sits and surfs the Internet with it. Later on we had the following brief dialogue.

"Mum, on the weekend can we go to MacDonald's?" he asks.

"Why do you want to go there, you don't eat that rubbish?" I queried him.

"No, I know. But I want to take my iTouch and use it in there because they have free WiFi," he told me.

"Oh, okay," I agreed thinking to myself that, once again, MacDonald's have worked out a way to get customers in. Tomorrow we will go to one and try it out. Just sit at a table without food or drink just to try free Internet access.

Bit strange when I think about it.

Tomorrow my son and I are off into the city to go to the museum and just do a few things together as my husband has a music job on. I am looking forward to just being out and about more than eleven kilometres from my front door.

Sometimes you have to watch out, the world can suddenly get small if you don't keep moving outside of the safety zone.

By the way, I am growing out my fringe. Does it make me look older? Or mumsy? Or like I have a big, big forehead? Or a big face?

Ciao
LC

Reality Versus Fantasy

Nuff said.

Ciao

LC

School Talk

Last week my husband and I had to go into the school for the usual half year parent/teacher pow wow.

The day before my son had been sent home with his mid year school report that outlined where he was at and how that averaged out in education expectations.

There is an awful lot of blab that goes on in these reports. Lots of big fat paragraphs that outline what the child is expected to be able to achieve and if he achieves it.

My son met the criteria of where the normal twelve year old child should be, except for two small areas. One was personal learning and the other was LOTE.

We asked him what subject is LOTE and he said he had no idea. I read deeper into the report and found out that LOTE is a subject where he learns Indonesian.

"Are you learning Indonesian?" I asked him, really surprised as there has been no mention of it.

"No, I'm not learning Indonesian," he told me.

"Well are you sure? Because it says here that you are learning it," I pointed out the details to him. He was adamant he was not doing it.

The next day we went to talk to the teacher and went through the report. My husband asked what LOTE was.

"Language other than English. They learn Indonesian," she informed us.

"Really, well he says he isn't," my husband told her.

"Well, he goes to that class for forty minutes every week. So, he is in the room. But don't worry, everyone is asking the same question. Something is not being made clear in class about what the children are actually doing," she told us. Oh, really.

Anyway, we talked about how my son is going in class, in particular the personal learning issue, and she told us that he was, well, a bit lazy. It was hard for her to find what motivates him. Don't I remember that feeling at school.

Once a week he has detention at lunchtime to finish work he has not finished during class times. Needless to say, we had no idea of this happening. She expressed a concern that he seemed totally unconcerned about having detention and treated it as a lunchtime get together with the teacher (being her).

We agreed that from now on, any work he did not finish during the day would be sent home with him as extra homework in the hope that he would realise that getting it done at school would be a better idea. He does need a bit more of a push from us. His teacher said that he has the intelligence and is full of fantastic ideas, but getting him to use it was quite another.

I asked her if he was talking in class to other children. Was that the problem?

"No, you son can occupy himself quite happily with a pen. Or drawing cartoons. Or making little notes in the back of his maths book. When I tackle him on it he says he is "thinking about his work," she was trying not to laugh, but it was funny.

I was laughing at this. Not because it was funny (I reassured the teacher), but because he reminded me of me at that age. His teacher asked me how my teacher managed to help me overcome this behaviour as she would be happy to apply it to all students.

"It took forty years. I grew up, although I still have those moments at work," I answered.

Some things about school have not changed at all.

Daydreaming is one of them.

Ciao
LC