It's Impossible To Be Unhappy In A Poncho

In honour of R U OK Day

2011-09-15T20:16:00.000+08:00

Mental health - it's a huge problem, and yet so under-discussed. Today's R U OK campaign was planned to bring mental health to the attention of the masses and at the very least, make us consider what others may be going through and hopefully offer a supportive shoulder or ear to those in need.

In honour of this, then, I'd like to share the words of my favourite Dr Seuss book, which are wonderfully inspirational when you're feeling a bit fail-ish, lost-ish and overwhelmed-ish.

Oh! The Places You'll Go - Dr. Seuss

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!
You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.

You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.
You’ll look up and down streets.
Look’em over with care.
About some you will say,
“I don’t choose to go there.”

With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you’re too smart to go down a not-so-good street.
And you may not find any you’ll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you’ll head straight out of town.

It’s opener there in the wide open air.
Out there things can happen and frequently do
to people as brainy and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen, don’t worry.
Don’t stew.
Just go right along. You’ll start happening too.

Oh! The Places You’ll Go!
You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers who soar to high heights.
You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed.
You’ll pass the whole gang
and you’ll soon take the lead.

Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don’t.
Because, sometimes, you won’t.
I’m sorry to say so but, sadly, it’s true
that Bang-ups and Hang-ups can happen to you.
You can get all hung up in a prickle-ly perch.

And your gang will fly on. You’ll be left in a Lurch.
You’ll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you’ll be in a Slump.

And when you’re in a Slump, you’re not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.
You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked.
A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?

How much can you win? How much can you lose?
And if you go in, should you turn left or right…
or right-and-three-quarters?
Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused that you’ll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.

The Waiting Place…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come,
or a plane to go or the mail to come,
or the rain to go
or the phone to ring,
or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.

Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

No! That’s not for you!
Somehow you’ll escape all that waiting and staying.
You’ll find the bright places where Boom Bands are playing.
With banner flip-flapping, once more you’ll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you’ll go!
There is fun to be done! There are points to be scored.
There are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don’t.
Because, sometimes, they won’t.
I’m afraid that some times you’ll play lonely games too.
Games you can’t win ‘cause you’ll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something you’ll be quite a lot.
And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance
you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road
between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

But on you will go though the weather be foul.
On you will go though your enemies prowl.
On you will go though the Hakken-Kraks howl.
Onward up many a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.

On and on you will hike.
And I know you’ll hike far
and face up to your problems whatever they are.

You’ll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go.

So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact and
remember that Life’s a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)
Kid, you’ll move mountains!

So…be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ale Van Allen O’Shea,
you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!

Obsession with little scraps of fabric

2011-07-09T13:46:00.000+08:00

Quilting Obsession. I haz it. I loves it. I'm starting to dream in colours and squares, and that's ok.

A few pics of works in progress:

This one was a bit of a test run, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Just have to actually quilt it now!

And this one is for my mama who is in to very girlie pinks and purples. These are all the blocks just laid out together:

And here it is with the sashing nearly finished:

This really is rather good fun. Just hoping I don't stuff it up after the eleventy billion hours of work that have gone into getting it to this stage!

STxx

TV Romance - I only WISH it was dead!

2011-06-29T17:13:00.000+08:00

*SPOILER ALERT - IF YOU WATCH GREY'S ANATOMY AND HAVEN'T SEEN IT THIS WEEK YOU MIGHT NOT WANNA READ ANY MORE YOU SAD, SAD PERSON*

*Disclaimer - this post written from the depths of despair, so may contain multiple grammatical errors, overuse of capitalisation and the occasional rude word*

So I was just walking from the supermarket to the bottle shop, laden with bags, as you do. Whilst passing the newsagency I saw the following magazine cover in the window:

and after muttering under my breath something along the lines of "OMGNOWAIDUDE", I found that I was becoming irrationally angry at the concept of Meredith and Derek splitting up. Again.

Let me first set the record straight. I gave up Grey's Anatomy some time around season 3 or 4, because the on-again, off-again romances made me want to stick knitting needles in my eyes during each episode, so it's entirely possible that I've missed something. I suspect not much, however.

Why did it piss me off, you ask? Well, it's like the whole Ross-Rachel thing. All. Over. Again. In stereo surround sound. I barely survived The Whole Ross-Rachel Thing back in the 90's, or however long ago that was, and here TV goes doing it again.

In a nutshell - if two intelligent, gorgeous, and loving (albeit emotionally scarred to a degree that makes me giggle sometimes) fictional characters can't find love, what possible chance do the rest of us have, for eff's sake?

Don't these TV writers know that the only reason we put up with their on-again, off-again, nail-biting, season-finale-relationship-cliffhangy melodrama is to discover that in the end that true love will win? We don't want to see a couple struggle for years to overcome their personal issues, work crises, family dramas, sexy ex-partners and fashion accidents only to FAIL! We are only too familiar with this end result - we want to see Happily Ever After. No Matter What.

I do know why they do it, I do. They want people to keep coming back again and again and again and again to see the same stories slightly re-jigged, with newer and more exciting obstacles for our hero and heroine to overcome. Let's face it, if Ross and Rachel fell in love, had 2.5 babies and moved to the 'burbs in season 2 of Friends, no one would watch.

But I want it to end well. At least sometimes. Well, once. I honestly can't remember the details of the ending of Friends, but a quick google search gives me the idea that they ended up together. In the last episode. And how do we know that lasted? Who knows what sitcom characters get up to after the series ends? I suspect they got married (again) and took a honeymoon to Sydney and on the way home the plane crashed on a mysterious island where they... Ok. I'm getting silly now.

So Grey's Anatomy writer people? I don't like this turn of events at all. Google also reliably informs me that Patrick Dempsey (minor swoon break) has said season 8 will be his last. Sort it out, writers - if they don't end up in Happily Ever After Land I'm going to be seriously pissed off. Let's have a happy ending this time.

STxxx

Guest post - should dad be allowed to "opt out"?

2011-06-28T11:30:00.001+08:00

This is a guest post by Lisa, who I was pretty sure would discuss this topic a lot more sensibly and, erm, less emotionally than I would. I was also involved in the online discussion she mentions, and was heartbroken by many of the views expressed by other women and mothers.

SHOULD DADS BE ALLOWED TO 'OPT OUT' OF PARENTING?

I’m a member of a parenting website that is mostly frequented by mums –stay at home mums, working mums, single mums, younger mums, not so younger mums. You get the point.

Recently a topic was raised to discuss whether men should have a set period of time to ‘opt out’ of paying child support for an unwanted pregnancy. The window of time proposed was the same for the mother to terminate the pregnancy. The mums on this parenting website are a clever lot but they can’t take credit for coming up with this proposal. An attorney in South Carolina coined the term “male abortion” and suggested this opt out proposal would give men equality in reproduction, in the same way that woman can opt out of parenthood by simply having an abortion.

As a topic on a mum’s forum it seemed like a non-starter. No mother would agree to take away a child’s right to financial security, just to save an unwilling father some cash, right? No mother would suggest that abortion is a simple option, right?

Wrong.

Debate was heated and probably half of the mums - and a few dads - agreed with a proposal. Some women argued that men can be duped into parenthood by conniving women. Others said the $1 billion dollars in child support owed by deadbeat parents was proof the current system allowed parents to effectively opt out - without signing away their rights to have contact with the child. In the opt out scenario, if a father opted out, his child loses their rights to contact the father at any point in the future.

The problems with this opt out proposal are so numerous and so obvious it’s not a reasonable enough idea to be convincingly half-arsed. Is there such a thing as quarter-arsed? Perhaps one eigth-arsed?

First, abortion is not an option for every woman. Some women have are passionately pro-life. For them, there is no opting out of an unwanted pregnancy so why should her male sexual partner have that right?

Second, abortion is not without risk or consequence. A man electing to walk away from the consequences of an ejaculation, is not comparable to a surgical termination of pregnancy. Suggesting these two acts are the same completely trivializes the very real physical risks to a woman who terminates a pregnancy, not to mention the possible emotional consequences.

Third, even unwanted kids have rights. International conventions and domestic laws give all children (even the annoying ones) the right to financial protection from their parents. Even if their parent doesn’t live with the child, has remarried, has more kids or is simply a self centred asshat, that child’s rights still exist. The parent’s wishes to safeguard their cash do not over ride a child’s need to financial security.

Fourth, this scenario puts 100% responsibility for fertility in the hands of women. Theoretically men could take no responsibility for contraception while having confidence that should anything happen, they have an equal lack of responsibility for the consequences. And that’s equality?

Fifth, this proposal would essentially provide financial remuneration for dads to abandon their kids. The money is a sweetener to stop men from attempting to have any relationship with an unplanned child. Surely a dad has more value in a child’s life than his wallet? And what happens if he decides he wants contact at a later date – does he need a bank loan to pay the years of child support, like a ransom – before that can take place?

The proposal is so ludicrous that it’s hard to find the upside.

But as ludicrous as this proposal seems it was recently tested in a US court. Naturally it failed because it’s not only morally repellant, but unworkable as public policy. However, in the court of public opinion, it could be a different story. If half of the women on a mum’s forum would support this proposal, presumably even more men would agree.

For once, I’m actually very glad that our judicial system is so ‘out of touch’ with public opinion.

New Child Restraint Laws

2011-06-17T13:42:00.001+08:00

Are you sure your children are properly restrained in the car?

This is a guest post by the delightful Danni from Rock-a-Bye Baby Equipment Hire in Sydney. Rock-a-Bye Baby hire out a full range of premium and elite brand baby products, and Danni ensures she is always up to date on the latest safety tips and legislation regarding all of the products she supplies!

(Disclaimer: this isn't a paid promotional type of post; Danni is a friend and when I thought about doing a post on child car restraints I knew who to ask!)

New National Child Restraint Laws

New laws have been passed that make it mandatory for children under seven to be restrained in an appropriate child restraint. These laws are designed to increase the safety of your children and reduce the number of children injured or killed in car accidents.

Summary of the new legislation:
Babies younger than six months of age must be restrained in a rearward facing restraint.

Children from six months to four years of age must be restrained in a rearward facing or forward facing restraint that has an inbuilt 5 point safety harness. Children under four years of age must not travel in the front row of a vehicle with two or more rows.

Children from four to seven years of age must be seated in a forward facing restraint or booster seat.

Children from four to seven years of age can only sit in the front row of a vehicle with two or more rows when all other seats are occupied by children of a lesser age in an approved child restraint.

What if my child is small, or large, for their age?
If your child is too small for a restraint specified for their age, they should be kept in their current of restraint for as long as necessary. If your child is too large for a restraint specified for their age, they may move to the next level of restraint. Basically if your child is under seven and fits in a restraint, they should be in one, providing they suit the weight requirement as specified by the car seat manufacturer. New car seats suiting children up to 36kg will be available on the market shortly.

Why was the legislation implemented?
The current evidence shows that most parents in Australia move their child out of child restraints and into adult seat belts from around five years of age. Research indicates that this is too early and increases the potential for serious injury and death.

Car accidents are associated with a large number of child fatalities in Australia. Between 1999 and 2003, 587 children aged 0-14 years died as a result of transport accidents. This accounts for 40% of all fatalities in this age group due to external causes.

According to Dr Jeff Potter, the National Transport Commission’s Senior Manager–Safety, new age-based minimum standards would improve public understanding and reduce injuries. “While many parents and carers strive to do the right thing, the research shows children are moving to bigger seats too early. The new laws will provide better guidance informed by the latest available technology, research and world’s best practice,” Dr Potter said.

Why do the new rules refer to the age of the child, rather than their weight, size or height?
Regulations using the age of the user will result in the smallest percentage of infants being inappropriately restrained and guidelines are easier for parents and carers to understand and follow if given in terms of age, rather than height and weight.

Can I use a child restraint that was purchased overseas?
No you cannot. Child restraints purchased overseas are illegal and do not comply with the Australian Standard.

All infant restraints that meet the Australian Standard will clearly display this label.

If your restraint does not have the label affixed, even if it has fallen off due to age, the restraint should be considered unsafe and it is not recommended that you use it.

All Australian vehicles have a uniquely developed tether strap anchorage system, which only Australian Standard approved child restraints are compatible with. In addition, the Australian Standard for child restraints is one of the most stringent child restraint standards in the world. Unlike the European Standard, the Australian standard requires all restraints to be tested in both side and rear impact tests.

Can I hire a baby capsule, child restraint or booster seat?
Yes. Child restraints can be hired from private companies, hospitals and local councils.

Who is responsible for ensuring a child is restrained in an approved restraint?
The driver of the motor vehicle is responsible for ensuring all children are restrained in appropriate, standards approved restraints. Penalties will apply for failing to ensure all children are appropriately restrained.

For more information:

Nationally
Australian Transport Safety Bureau website ph: 1800 020 616

State by State

ACT
Territory and Municipal Services ph: 13 22 81 (ACT and NSW residents only) or (02) 6207 5111 or (02) 6207 0494 TTY
http://www.tams.act.gov.au/move/vehicles/vehicle_safety/childrestraintsinfo

NSW
Roads and Traffic Authority (RTA) ph: 13 17 82 or 13 22 13 to find your nearest RTA Authorised Fitting Station
NRMA ph: 1300 655 443 or (02) 8741 6000
http://www.rta.nsw.gov.au/roadsafety/children/childrestraints/index.html

Queensland
Queensland Transport ph: 13 23 80
http://www.transport.qld.gov.au/Home/Safety/Road/
RACQ website ph: 13 19 05 or (07) 3248 2074 TTY
http://www.racq.com.au/

South Australia
Transport SA ph: 13 10 84
http://www.transport.sa.gov.au/index.asp
RAA ph: (08) 8202 4600 or (08) 8202 4750 TTY

Tasmania
RACT ph: 13 27 22
http://www.ract.com.au/shops_service_centres/buy_and_fit_child_restraints/16164

Victoria
Vic Roads ph: 1300 360 745
http://www.vicroads.vic.gov.au/Home/
RACV ph: 13 72 28
http://www.racv.com.au/wps/wcm/connect/racv/Internet/Primary/road+safety/child+safety

Western Australia
Office of Road Safety ph: 13 81 38
http://www.ors.wa.gov.au/NewsMedia/Pages/news.aspx#child
WALGA RoadWise program ph: 1300 780 713
http://www.childcarrestraints.com.au/

Article supplied by Sydney-based Rock A Bye Baby Equipment Hire. (02) 9589 4942, 0406 984 452

Thanks, Danni!

STxx

I can haz Facebook

2011-06-16T22:05:00.003+08:00

Now seems the perfect time to cheat on Twitter and start a social media threesome to add some spark to my life, so I'm now on Facebook, too.

You can like me by clicking the link on the left. Or you can ignore this post and do nothing. In which case I shall sink into a lonely pit of despair and gloom.

You choose.

:-)

STxx

Beloved Boots

2011-06-16T09:15:00.000+08:00

My feet are borked. This is a simple, yet unpleasant fact. Botched surgery when I was 20ish to repair a case of Morton's neuroma and hammertoes, followed by 20 years in the hospitality and events industry has led me down the path of Comfortable Footwear For Life.

Summer sucks - there simply aren't many hot-weather-appropriate Comfortable Shoes, but in winter my feet squirm in delight at the thought of being snugly encased in boots with thick, fluffy socks.

My Old Faithfuls, seen below, are a joy to wear, and I love them dearly.

Recently, though, I've had a hankering to return to my previous Old Faithfuls - a pair of Doc Martens I bought in London in 1988, which were reluctantly retired to the Doc Marten Fields Of Joy In The Sky about 5 years ago, and hadn't been replaced.

Until last week.

When I found these:

They are black and shiny, with a gorgeous embossed floral design. The leather is slightly softer than the standard Docs, and are already beginning to stretch and relax into my own personal borked foot shape. The simple act of putting them on and lacing them up makes me feel like a rebellious student stomping about the streets of London again.

I love my stomping boots.

STxxx

Come on, it's funny!

2011-06-15T14:54:00.000+08:00

Found myself giggling out loud at Transperth's twitterstream today about their on-again-off-again service, so thought I'd share.

Transperth Transperth

UPDATE: Armadale Line - service disruption (Effective immediately, Wednesday 15 June 2011 at 1.05pm): ... http://bit.ly/lxRRlo

1 hour ago

Transperth Transperth

Trains have resumed between Armadale & Cannington on the Armadale Line. Delays are expected while services return to timetabled running.

1 hour ago

Transperth Transperth

UPDATE: Armadale Line - service disruption (Effective immediately, Wednesday 15 June 2011 at 12.45pm): ... http://bit.ly/mzaUdK

1 hour ago

Transperth Transperth

UPDATE:Train replacement bus services are currently not operating. An update will be provided shortly.

1 hour ago

Transperth Transperth

Train replacement bus services will pick up passengers at train replacement stops near stations.

2 hours ago

Transperth Transperth

Armadale Line trains are currently disrupted due to a Western Power power outage.Trains are not operating between Cannington and Armadale

2 hours ago

Transperth Transperth

Interested in seeing the results from Canstar Blue’s Most Satisfied Customers - City Trains survey? If so, visit http://bit.ly/jCc3Vh

5 hours ago

(For the record, the survey they mentioned above listed Perth as the nation's most satisfied customers. I'm thinking perhaps not so much today...)

STxxx

Rant du jour - Perth public transportation!

2011-06-14T10:29:00.000+08:00

I think the idea of public transportation rocks. No, really, I do. No traffic jams, doing one's bit for the environment, and not having to deal with the utter numpties on the Perth roads - it's all full of win!

Or is it?

I live within 5 minute's drive of a train station and work in the CBD. There is another train station within about a 7 minute drive from my house. Note I used the words "drive from my house". I want use the train. I desperately want to use the train. I can't even drive into the city in time to start work even if I COULD afford around $20 a day for parking plus petrol, because before-school care opens at 7am and not a minute sooner.

So train it is.

Let's see how this works. I've managed to rejig my work schedule to start at 9:15 2 days a week to save paying out for before school care, so I drop the kids at school at around 8:20 and head to the station.

But wait. There's a problem. Firstly, there's no free parking left. It's full by around 6:55am. No worries, I don't mind paying $3 a day to park. But wait. There's another problem. There's no PAID parking left either. None - I mean NONE within a 20 minute walk of the station. In despair, I head to the next train station only to find the same story.

OK. Absolute worst-case scenario, I'm going to have to drive to work. So I do. But wait. There's a problem. There's no parking anywhere near work. None - I mean NONE! All full.

Hmmmmm. This is indeed tricky, and I'm already 30 minutes late now. Whatever shall I do?

I can hear the responses from you already - WHY, O Sparkly Tiara, WHY do you drive to the station? Just take a bus - nice and simple. Well, no, actually, it isn't. The closest a bus goes to the kids' school would involve a 15 minute walk in addition to a 15 minute bus ride. Twice. Once from home to school and then again from school to train station. That adds an hour to the already hour-long commute. That seems rather absurd. It would also mean that on the return trip I'd arrive at after-school care an hour after they shut. I think they'd get heartily sick of that in a hurry.

Ride a bicycle, I hear you suggest quietly? Hmmm. No. Not only do I loathe and detest bicycles, but I am also one of those unfortunate types who tends to "glow" profusely from exercise, and I do not wish to inflict BO upon my students all day. Showering at work is not an option. We're lucky if there's soap in the dispensers in the ladies' room, never mind showers. Plus my 6 year old daughter is still very shaky on the bike and I'm not risking her anywhere near Perth's atrocious drivers.

One day a few weeks ago, in sheer desperation, I parked One Parking Spot Away from the designated "all day parking" at the station. There was nowhere else to park. It had all filled up by around 7am. I saw a car next to me with a plaintive note in the windscreen begging not to get a ticket because there simply were no options.

Yep - we both got tickets. I'm not paying. Feck 'em. I'd rather go to court and calmly rant at the Magistrate about the impossibility of it all. Yeah, I'll probably still be told to pay, but at least I'll get my soapbox moment, damn it!

So what's the answer? Simple - we need low-cost multi-storey car parks at major train hubs. People will use trains if they are a viable option. They really, really will (although decent coffee and free wifi wouldn't go astray as a sweetener). The freeways are utterly jammed from around 5:30 until 9:00, then again from 3:30 - 6:30 and Perth residents are understandably Fed Right Up.

Angry motorists on the freeway are not good. Accidents and road-rage incidents are common. Sense, apparently isn't.

So, Government of Western Australia - DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS!

Things that make you go SQUEEEEEEEE!

2011-06-12T14:37:00.000+08:00

As I haven't done a SQUEEEEEEEEE post in a while I thought I'd do one today.

This first one is the birthday cake my children made for me on my last birthday. I just came across the photo again today, and thought it was a Must Share. Why is it that cakes baked and decorated for you by your kids taste so much better?

Then we have my daughter, Miss Z, who defiantly refused to go to bed one night last week, so went to floor instead as a protest. Bless her - she's getting a bit heavy to lift up and put back in bed!

Then this morning a lovely photographer friend of mine who runs Taylor Made Moments shared a photo she took of her kitteh which I also thought was very worth sharing.

And last, but by no means least, here's a nostalgic (to me) photo of where I grew up. Yeah, I know, right? The reason I'm no longer there is....?

STxxx

Another New Blog!

2011-06-07T20:21:00.000+08:00

And this one is by me!

Inspired by a need to teach my kids (and myself) some olde worlde low-tech lifeskills, I've started another blog and FB page just for that purpose. The idea is to share the challenge, share the knowledge and share a few giggles along the way, so if you're into the idea of self-sufficiency, sustainability and doing it the non-electronic way for a change, then please do drop by.

If you'd like to contribute a how-to post, share an experience or post in any other way, just comment with you email address and I'll add you as an author.

The Low Tech Life blog can be found JUST AROUND HERE and the FB page is located SOMEWHERE IN THE VICINITY OF THIS.

I do hope you'll join us, 'cos it'll be dreadfully dull and boring if it's just me there.

STxxx

Just want to introduce you to a friend...

2011-06-07T12:08:00.000+08:00

... and her new blog. A blog about her life in rural France, renovating a Very Old French Farmhouse with her hubby Tony the Tractor Guy, and living a life I'd love to live. In fact, we have a deal that if my lotto win comes through I'm on the next plane over there with the kids to hang out in France all summer and help them with veggies, tractor antics and red wine quaffing, so please join me in wishing for those lucky numbers to come up!

Her blog is Diary of a Pretend Farmer and I hope you enjoy reading. I'm thinking there could be some pretty spiffy recipes coming up at some point, too...

STxxx

PS - she's also inspired me to crank up my own blog after far-too-long of a break, and for this I thank her.

Just a quickie

2010-12-09T20:49:00.000+08:00

Leggings are not pants.

That is all.

STxxx

Adventures in The Real World

2010-12-06T18:54:00.000+08:00

This blogpost is specifically addressed to the Mums (or Dads) who spend their lives in suburbia. I've recently discovered a whole new side to life, and, now that I've recovered from shock, I'd like to share some of it with you.

Until a few weeks ago my life revolved around suburbia. I woke up in my suburban house, took my kids to their suburban schools, shopped at local shopping centres and socialised (pffffft) with fellow suburbanites at their equally suburban homes and occasionally ventured to suburban restaurants and pubs.

Even working involved getting in my hermetically sealed car and driving to another suburban area where I parked 10 metres from the building, hastily walked with shades on to the door and entered a comfortingly familiar suburban workplace.

THEN I got a job in the CBD 4 days a week. For those suburban parents unfamiliar with the term CBD, this means Central Business District. Also known as Inner City or Parts Unknown.

Commuting to and from this job involves approximately 240 minutes of Being On A Train per week, as well as approximately 280 minutes of Walking Unprotected Through The Inner City.

Scared yet? I bet you are!

It's been an eye opener, I can tell you. I could write page after page of mind-blowing experiences in Parts Unknown, but that would be terribly boring to anyone who isn't me, so I shall spare you and limit myself to a few observations.

1. There are some Very Interesting People in Parts Unknown. These people are quite obviously suburban aliens. They have nothing in common with suburbia whatsoever - in fact, I think if they ventured into suburbia on a Friday morning they'd die of something or other.

I met a lady of indeterminate middle-aged-ness a week ago as she boarded our train with her bicycle and her floppy hat bedecked with huge flowers. This woman was larger than life - flaming red hair cut in a dramatic bob, loud, opinionated and open to sharing her views on just-about-anything with the entire carriage. I found out a lot about the "good old days" when life was good. I strongly suspect she is also a supporter of the Liberal party and pooh-poohs all things climate-change related.

Just last week I stumbled across a chap walking through the city possibly promoting the virtues of French coffee. Monsieur Cafe was approximately 6'6", skinny as the proverbial rail, wearing skin-tight bright blue jeans, a vibrant blue and yellow striped jersey and matching beret. He had tremendously exciting sideburns, a moustache that would make Poirot jealous and carried a fluffy cup and saucer that was about 15 cm tall. He ambled along Hay Street talking to himself in French, and I truly regret not engaging in coversation with him.

My very first day exploring Parts Unknown even brought me the mind-boggling vision of Fred Flintstone parading down the pedestrian section of Murray Street, followed by a 2 metre high rock-wheel rolling behind him.

Why do these people do this? WHO CARES! It's effing BRILLIANT!

2. I've learned something about myself. I am prone to Sidewalk Rage. Given my years of experience in suburban shopping centres I long suspected I had these tendancies, but the last few weeks have proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. Look, I don't really care if you're 10 feet wide, limp (I do), are teaching your 1 year old to walk, simply aren't in a rush and prefer to amble along, but I DO very much mind when you do this in front of me. Especially if there are 5 of you doing the same thing all in a row. Don't you realise that my tendancy to abuse the snooze button means that I'm running late EVERY SINGLE MORNING and you need to get the HELL outta my way? Sheesh!

3. Buskers rock. I mean, they REALLY do rock. I've seen what looked like a Guatemalan mountain person (complete with poncho) playing the didgeridoo with amazing skill, a teenager absolutely nailing classical tunes on a flute, a bunch of folks playing toe-tapping Russian dance music complete with dancers performing, more than one talented accordian player and one very memorable woman who looked about 90 singing the most beautiful opera arias. All seen for free on the side of the street. I chuck coins in when I can, but could never afford to properly reward these entertainers for the service and beauty they bring to Parts Unknown, but beyond this I totally admire their guts for simply getting up and doing it at all. They rock!

4. I'm a snob. When I say that I refer more to behaviour than to anything related to class, so perhaps that's the wrong term. I've seen children behave in a manner that would have me threatening to end their young lives, and the accompanying parents said and did nothing. It's truly disgraceful.

5. Carrying on slightly from the previous point, I've come to realise that teenaged girls can be the most baffling and irritating creatures on earth. I'm tempted to urge my daughter to consider a sex-change long before she reaches teenagism. Seriously - are stupid and irritating now considered attractive traits?

6. I am now a keen observer of feet. As I gradually learn public transport ettiquette, it's dawning on me that it's not the done thing to make eye contact with anyone, which is fine by me as my eyes are usually bloodshot, caffeine-deprived and shaded with very dark glasses. This has naturally led me to cast my vision downwards, and I am learning more about feet and shoes than I ever really wanted to know. Did you know, for example, that some chicks actually wear those 7inch stilletto platform shoe things to walk to and from work? One really must wonder why.

I'm a new and devout member of the Wear Thongs To Commute, Keep Good Shoes In Desk Drawer Club. I mean, why wouldn't you? Well, apart from the obvious pedicure issues.

7. And here's the biggie. I've realised how much I was missing out on by staying in my little suburban bubble. It's not like I never ventured into the CBD before, I did, just not very often - usually for shopping on a Sunday or something like that. Experiencing the weekday commute situation, though, is totally different. I want to take my kids with me for some of my commutes so that they can see the Great Big Wide World of People that is out there and learn to love it.

In fact, there's a big part of me wants to shed suburbia entirely and move the whole family into the seething mass of interestingness I've discovered. If you haven't walked around your inner city on a weekday in a while, I strongly suggest that you give it a go.

STxxx

I think I'm in love...

2010-11-10T11:43:00.000+08:00

When one is recently single, one obviously starts looking at members of the opposite (or same) sex in a slightly different light, as in a desperately-wanting-to-shamelessly-flirt-with-a-dude-who's-sohotrightnow kind of light.

Fortunately I have my friend Tiffany, who discovers some of the most exciting men on the interwebz, and, being a generous sort of woman, usually shares some of the hottest and demigod-like finds with me.

Recently Tiffany put me on to a fabulous website called Plaid Stallions, where she introduced me to the total Win that is The Lurve Doctor of the 1970's, the King of the Catalogues, the All Man, All The Time, BRICK MANTOOTH!

Oh yeah, ladies (and not a few men), I heard that breathy intake of air and felt that pulse of yours start racing from here! Can you get any more manly than Brick? He's got it all - the perfectly coiffed helmet of manly hair, the gleaming manly smile, the chiseled jaw, lightly-furred chest and... but wait... there's more ...

Yes, Brick is apparently also hung like a donkey. Now, I've heard rumours around the water cooler that there may or may not have been socks / large pillows / kaftans involved in the styling of this shot, but I refuse to believe it. Brick has no need of such artifice. The Brick Mantooth Man is, as I've already said, All Man, All The Time.

In fact, I think this particular shot of Brick answers Mr Anonymous' questions on Kerri Sackville's blogpost the other day on What Women Want in the way of a male appendage. Mr Anonymous - Women Want Brick Mantooth.

And Brick isn't just tremendously manly and handsome, oh no! He's also a spokesperson for fitness and healthy living. Just look at this clever piece of fitness equipment which he was spotted promoting in a magazine:

So ladies (and gents), you can stop looking for the Perfect Man, 'cos I've found him. And I'm keeping him. You will simply have to order one of these replicas from the folks at Plaid Stallions and make do with that:

Yours sincerely,
The Future Mrs Brick Mantooth
xx

Fashion trends that baffle me.

2010-10-29T15:44:00.000+08:00

To be fair, I'm quite easily baffled, but I've seen things around the place recently which have me scratching my head and wondering WHY? I mean, I get that fashion is fashion and shalt evermore be fashion world without end amen, but why doesn't Unflattering beat Fashion?

Take these thong-boot numbers, for example. They're everywhere, but I think they rate so highly on the fugly-o-meter that they should have their own category on it. Or maybe I'm just showing my age...

Then there's the whole leggings-as-pants issue. There must be a million or so blogposts, nightmare pictures, web sites and Facebook groups that all use the slogan Leggings Are Not Pants. Surely the word is spreading, I mean, people must KNOW how awful it looks, right? So who are all these women (often young girls) who insist on offending my eyeballs left, right and centre every time I venture out of the house? Please Freaking Stop It Right Now!!

It would be rude to leave out the boys, so I've got a special little ranty section for you on emo hair for boys. Please - look in the goddamned mirror before you leave the house. Oh, that's right, you can't actually see anything from behind that hair. That explains a lot.

My last baffling fashion du jour isn't necessarily a new one, but a few tweets on the subject the other night made me do a bit of googling on the subject, and I now heartily wish I hadn't bothered. The whole Toddlers and Tiara look makes me wanna throw up, quite frankly, and then bitch-slap the ignorant fucktards who put their children through it. Tossers.

So what makes you want to bleach your eyeballs in current fashion trends? Am I just old, crotchety and stuck in the 80s, or are there others who get as stabby as I do seeing people walking around in public willingly (one assumes) dressed like utter gits?

Anyhoo - signing off on a Friday arvo here in the blogosphere so I can go chill my wine and my wine glasses, 'cos it's officially Very Nearly Wine o'Clock chez Sparkly Tiara!

Mwah's all round and *clink clink*

STxxx

Adventures In Ikea-Land - Part 1

2010-10-19T12:57:00.000+08:00

I fucking love Ikea. In fact, I love it so much this is going to be a blog post in 3 parts just to make sure I properly express my love and devotion to the Swedish God of Stuff.

Yes, yes, I know, I profess to be a Friend of the Earth, tree-hugging hippy environmentalist, sustainable-living, anti-mass-consumeristic freak, but when I see that big blue and yellow logo all that goes straight out the window in my need to have more, more, MORE cutely named, cheaply priced and mass-produced STUFF.

I don't think I've ever had more fun spending $21.95 than I did this morning in a totally spontaneous Ikea shopping trip. In fact, it was so spontaneous that by the time my mind had registered the hulking blue structure at the side of the freeway and then briefly pondered my urgent need for a bright pink PS FANGST for my daughter's bedroom, the car had already parked itself in the underground carpark and I was half way to the front door.

As I'm sure you are well aware, in order to reach the PS FANGST department at your local Ikea, it is necessary to traverse a veritable jungle of furniture, pictures, kitchens, accessories, lamps, candles and Swedish meatballs via the Well Marked Out Paths With Arrows, Signs and Occasional Marked Shortcuts. Pffft - shortcuts - who'd use those? *YOU MIGHT MISS SOMETHING*. In fact, I nearly missed out on seeing these utterly adorable wall hooks shaped like the arse end of a dog by taking a shortcut:
Phew - thank GOD I saw sense! Anyhoo, just after I passed the above utterly adorable wall hooks shaped like the arse end of a dog I saw something I'd never seen before in any of my many Ikea adventures (dating back, by the way, to London in the late 1980s). A woman was fast asleep curled up on a display sofa within an ingenious replica of a 5m square flat that would easily house a family of 6 including a dog and a canary.

Now I'm not talking just sitting with head back and eyes shut. I'm talking shoes off, curled up on her side, head on a cushion and drool oozing out of the side of her mouth. I was, understandably, gobsmacked. How incredibly wonderful! What an amazing endorsement of the sheer comfort of the Ikea sofa! For one to be able to sleep so peacefully in a 5m sq replica flat with approximately 2987 people walking past per minute this sofa must be unequalled in comfort.

Naturally I tried to take a photo of this in case you didn't believe me, but was given the evil eye by passers-by as well as a frowny shake of the head by a nearby Ikea Team Member. I think the picture below (from www.bigdogbeds.com which is an uber-cool site, by the way) combined with just a li'l imagination on your part should give you the general idea, though:

I feel this post is getting a little off track, so shall try and drag myself back to the point. Not that there really is a point as such, just, you know...

I continued down the Well Marked Out Paths With Arrows through an astounding array of Stuff, and began to notice something rather odd. There were people walking the Wrong Way down the path. They were walking in the opposite direction to the arrows! I shit you not, folks. If I hadn't have seen it myself I don't think I would believed such a thing possible.

Do they not realise that these Well Marked Out Paths With Arrows serve a vital purpose? Not only do they ensure that customers see every single item in the shop without exception, but they also guide you to the checkout so you can pay for your Stuff. In addition to this, they force a fluid and uni-directional flow of human movement. All it takes is for one person to fuck this up and the whole beautiful, flowing mass of consumerism that is Ikea will DIE!

Fortunately I was there to set these people straight and make them turn around immediately. They seemed strangely unappreciative, but I carried on, the lure of $5.95 sets of 17 plastic food storage containers leading me forward.

Stay tuned for Adventures in Ikea Land - Part 2; the part where not only do I find some amazing plastic food storage containers, but also test drive the free soft-drink refill machines...

STxxx

Aging Disgracefully

2010-10-18T10:09:00.001+08:00

While comfortably relaxing with Sparkly Dude the other night, watching Foxtel with glass of wine in hand, I discovered the joys of Four Weddings. Celebrity Four Weddings, no less. That was it - we were hooked. The celebrities in question were people I had never heard of, however they were all of, shall we say... a certain age?

One of them in particular, Katie something or other (the blond in the photo) I thought looked older than I am. I'm quite harsh on myself in judging age, and was confident that she had to be of more advanced years than me.

Apparently not. Sparkly Dude disagreed. "Sorry, babe, but she's in her mid 30's at most, and you, well, you're not."

"Yes, yes, ok,", sez I, determined to be right. Again. "But she *looks* older than me, doesn't she?".

*sound of chirping crickets*

*if despair and despondency has a sound effect, then imagine it here*

He reckons the 2 brunettes are much older than I am, however their publicists have done their jobs very well, and Google has so far failed to reveal their ages to me, so I'll just agree with him. The amount of plastic surgery going on also makes it tough to assess them in terms of normal human aging.

I know I shouldn't have let it get to me, but it really has made me take a close look at myself and how old I look. Inside I honestly still feel about 21 years old and still undecided as to what I want to be when I grow up, so to have to reconcile that sort of self-image with the face in the mirror - grey hair, wrinkles, beginnings of the dreaded double chin, drooping eyelids - is not an easy task.

I do what I can - I colour the hair, I moisturise and am getting pretty damned good with the concealer, but I'm losing this battle - gravity and age are slowly but surely winning.

Am I going to reach a stage where the me inside feels so little like the me in the mirror that I'm going to resort to more drastic measures, or will it happen the other way around? Will my aging face finally convince my inner-kidsRus that it's time to grow up? I think not, somehow.

I remember about 10 years ago proudly announcing that I would never EVER go in for cosmetic surgery of any kind, and that Botox was for insecure women who couldn't accept themselves as they were.

HAH! An admirable sentiment, and words easily said when you look in the mirror and still see an image that feels like you. 10 years down the track, after catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and wondering who that old chick is, it's all to easy to want to fight back with whatever tools you can get hold of.

Sparkly Dude loves me as I am, and thinks I'm gorgeous. That's all very well and good, but what about when I don't think I'm gorgeous? I've either got to accept this whole aging thing and learn to love my new look, or I've got to fight it tooth and nail.

I haven't decided which I'm going to go with yet. How about you?

STxxx

Clothing retailers - DO BETTER!

2010-10-05T11:34:00.000+08:00

Earlier this week I spent a small fortune on new summer wardrobes for my offspring, who have had the audacity to increase in size considerably since last summer, selfish little creatures.

Not being flush with cash, the vast majority of my purchases came from Target, with a couple of Pumpkin Patch numbers and one or two items from surf shops for the trendy older 2.

I've just washed most of them for the first time and as I was hanging them out was utterly disgusted to see the state they were in after ONE wash, in COLD water, NO dryers involved. A few of the tshirts are so stretched out of shape that they're barely recognisable. There are hemlines coming down, long threads trailing from them which have actually pulled holes in the fabric during the wash. Buttons have come off, pockets are fraying ridiculously and overall these items look like they were boiled in a vat of oil and then repeatedly stomped on by a large angry fishwife.

Now, I don't expect budget clothing to last forever. I can live with it not even lasting until it's outgrown, but I am NOT happy about them looking like this after one wash. It's quite simply unacceptable.

Retailers of Australia - what happened to quality? Seriously, are we turning into such a disposable society that clothing is now designed to only last for one or two wears? Besides the obvious waste and financial cost that entails, what about the environmental costs of mass producing cheap crap that is then thrown away and replaced with more mass-produced cheap crap in no time?

It's not good enough, and something needs to be done about it.

American retailers, you seem to be a bit more sensible on these things. I still have clothing items purchased in a Target store (so still budget) in California 5 years ago which have been worn and washed countless times and look nearly as good as new. Labels like OshKosh really do seem to focus on quality as well as fashion. Why do we settle for less in Australia? One reason I can think of is that line-drying in the USA is nearly unheard of, so clothing is specifically made to be dryer safe, which I'm guessing involves a higher quality product.

Target and Pumpkin Patch - guess what? I'm on my way back to visit you with your shoddy products and will be demanding both an explanation and a refund. I don't want a store credit - I want a refund, and I will be searching online to purchase quality, made-in-Australia items - probably from WAH mothers who actually GET why this is important.

Oh - and I'll also be keeping my spending $$ in Australia rather than them heading offshore to China, which happens to be where every shoddy item I've mentioned was made.

STxxx

Things that make you go SQUEEEEEEE!

2010-09-22T09:17:00.000+08:00

Here are a couple of things that have released my inner SQUEEEEEE recently:

This was posted by a friend on FB and I think you'll agree the cuteness-overload is nearly blinding.

Then I saw these Demonia Bat shoes, which are available through Tragic Beautiful (coincidentally owned by the same FB friend who shared the bunny photo) and they made me SQUEEEEE out loud at fairly high volume!

And then there's this utterly adorable newborn photo taken by my very talented friend Jen at Annarose Photography. Don't you just want to eat him up??

And those are just some of the things that make me go SQUEEEEEE!

STxxx

WTF was I THINKING?

2010-09-21T18:56:00.000+08:00

I think it's a form of Tourettes. I find myself in a moment - could be anytime, anywhere, anything - and my mouth just says the STUPIDEST thing possible. My brain then realises what my mouth just said and disowns my entire body.

Example - I just stopped at the bottle shop for a bottle of wine and packet of smokes (yeah, I'm all class, me) and while waiting my turn to pay I find myself mildly amused by the hand-stitched tiny white curtain blocking the cigarette packets from my view, so I decide to light-heartedly comment on said curtain to the rather hawt young dude at the counter. It went a li'l bit like this:

Me: Oh, cute - you have to hide the cigarettes now?

Him: Yeah *checking out hawt young girls giggling at 6 pack of Cocksucking Cowboy shooters*

Me: Erm, did you make that curtain yourself?

Him: No *checking out anything except me*

Me: Hahahahahaha, no, I suppose not. *cringing inwardly and wishing large hole would appear beneath my feet*

*awkward moment*

*dramatic pause*

Me: Ah yes, I remember when they cost less than a dollar a packet *said in wistful tone with deep sigh*

Him: Um, ok - that'll be $35 please

Me: *presses Eftpos buttons* *runs away very quickly*

Oh yeah - that was smooth, T! Let's firstly accuse hawt dude of being a secret curtain-maker, then let's dismiss that offhand as though it's unmanly, even though it really isn't. Then let's follow up with another comment that just covers all the bases - I'm roilly, roilly cool 'cos I've smoked since the dark ages and oh, yeah - I'm really fucking old, too.

*sigh* I felt so fucking stupid it reminded me of the time last week at Woolies where I was doubled over, legs crossed, battling through a coughing fit (flu-related, not smoking, I swears), looked up and caught the eye of a couple of skinny teenaged girls in jeggings looking at me and commented "yeah, you go and give birth to 3 big-headed babies and then tell me how perky YOUR pelvic floor is..."

Sometimes I wonder why I let myself leave the house.

STxxx

Multi-vent Monday

2010-09-20T10:50:00.000+08:00

Grrrrrr, boo, hiss and detest, I'm having a rant-worthy Monday, so I'm just gonna get it all out...

Centrelink -I hate you. I jump through your hoops, I even do so willingly, in grateful appreciation for the financial support you provide me with. But get this - this time I don't actually fit into one of your Neat Little Boxes. I would if I could, honest! I'd LUUURRVVE to fit into your Neat Little Box - but I. Just. Don't. I'm not going out of my way to make your life hell, I promise. I'm just in a little bit of a different situation, so would really appreciate a response other than "I'm sorry, I can only tell you what the law says" 20 times in a row. Yes, I realise this may involve consulting with a more senior staff member with the acute eyesight required to look outside the Neat Little Box, and yes, I am more than happy to make yet another appointment with said senior staff member. Today's appointment may as well have been me sitting opposite a photocopied stack of paper spelling out The Law, for all the good it did. Gah - you suck.

Dear Scalp - you're taking the pain factor of a sprained hair follicle to ridiculous heights, and I think it's time you stopped being such a drama queen and let me get on with some work without having to wince in pain every time I move my head. Yes - I did actually use the words "sprained hair follicle" - that well-known pony-tail fail injury.

Vapid-looking P-platers in hotted up Lancers - No words for you - just a visual today.

Dude fixing up my pergola - I know it's not your fault, so this is really aimed at your boss. The hailstorm that smacked Perth soundly across the face was in March. It is now September. I have lived all winter with a pergola roof that resembles thin slices of Swiss cheese. I realise there was probably a lot of call for household repairs after the storm, but seriously, dudes - 6 months? Repeated phone calls to repair company have resulted in one excuse after another - administrative cock-up, bit busy, sprained hair follicle - you get the picture. So then today, when someone actually shows up to do the job, I am SINGULARLY UNIMPRESSED with the fact that someone didn't order enough roof sheeting. You've had 6 months to do this. You've sent 4 different blokes over on 4 separate occasions to measure and you still cock it up. FAIL!

To my daugher's beloved scooter - next time I go anywhere near you please do me a huge personal favour and run away quickly, zap me with an electric shock or turn invisible - anything to keep me from attempting to ride you again after an afternoon at the pub. Kthxbai. PS - please send painkillers and heatpacks.

My new blog!

2010-09-15T12:52:00.000+08:00

Well, as I mentioned in my last post, I've recently started as a Thermomix consultant here in WA and am having more fun playing with this gadget than I can possibly express!

I've also started up a new blog for all things Thermomix-related, which I hope you'll stop by and take a look at!

My new blog is called ThermoMixup and has recipes, links, cooking class information, tips, news and much more and you can find it Right Here!

Mwah!

ST
xxx

Plotting and scheming in a fun, fun way!

2010-08-16T09:21:00.000+08:00

Recently it has seemed that my life is quite food-focussed, and in a good way! I recently signed up as a Thermomix consultant, have started stocking up on healthy, whole-foods and am really excited at getting my family onto a healthier and more sustainable diet. I also made jam. Me - the person who messes up a sweet recipe without even trying! I made the most amazingly dee-lishus strawberry and apple jam in 45 minutes with my new Amazing Kitchen Assistant, Madame Thermomix!

A few months ago I started up my Juno Events and Juno Junior kids' party businesses, and I must confess things have been a bit slow (stoned snail pace, actually) to get started, so I got my thinking cap on and tried to think how I could make my business stand out a bit.

The answer actually came to me from about 5 sources all at the same time.

1. My kids became even more obsessed with Masterchef than I was
2. My son went to a Father-Son cooking class with his dad and loved it
3. All of my kids have been having as much fun with the new Thermomix as I have, and really getting into the whole concept of whole foods and really Making Stuff From Scratch
4. I started watching Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution - the US one, and found I had tears in my eyes at nearly every episode.
5. My mother spoke to a friend of hers about my new gadget, and my love of food, and she mentioned that there was a Junior Masterchef about to come out.

Well - that had the efffect of that delightful lightbulb popping up over my head and I realised (about time too) that kids cooking classes are the way forward for me. I do love kids, I really do. I'm also no pushover and have no problems whatsoever in doing what it takes to maintain discipline in group situations (aka - I have a reeeeeee-ly good Cross Voice when required).

So, I love kids, I love food, I'm passionate about sustainable living and would love to share the benefits of healthy cooking and eating, and I've also got my Cert IV in Training and Assessment, which has taught me all about OHS, lesson planning, learning styles and much more.

I would be eternally grateful for any feedback any of you lovely blog-followers could provide. I've got a few ideas on how to actually run this, including:

1. Full-term courses one day a week afterschool (like sports etc.)
2. Parent and toddler cook-together classes
3. Hosting kids' cooking themed birthday parties
4. School holiday half-day activities

With each class the children would get to take home a main course dish to serve a family of 4, probably, thus freeing up Mum or Dad from cooking dinner that day. They would also get to take home samples of anything else we've made - bread, pastries, cakes - whatever we get up to!

Venues at which to hold these classes seem to be everywhere near me, with the local council running a whole heap of lovely community centres which all seem to have very well-planned kitchen areas.

So - that's my idea, and I'm running with it! Let me know what you think! Would you send your child to something like this? Do you think they'd even be interested?

STxxx

Won't SOMEONE think of the Tupperware?

2010-08-10T10:54:00.000+08:00

Sometimes it feels good (or is absolutely necessary) to bring a little order into an otherwise chaotic life. With this in mind I just resolved to tackle that terrifying, hard-to-reach corner of my kitchen cupboards that houses my collection of plastic food receptacles. These range from worth-their-weight-in-gold Tupperware (all vanished) containers to bulk-purchased cheap-arsed plastic takeaway boxes of all shapes and sizes.

What I found was absolutely mystifying. When I finally managed to exit the cupboard on hands and knees and survey my stash I found that I had precisely 55 lids and precisely 11 containers. Of those lids and containers I had precisely 3 matches.

To prove that I really do Shit You Not, I took a photo, and here it is. Actually, I took 2 and here they both are.

How. Does. This. Happen?

I can understand the occasional container being sacrificed to the Gods of Playdough, Roughhousing and Occasional Microwave Disasters, but for the love of all that is decent, how did 44 containers vanish? Perhaps (thinking outside the square here) they didn't vanish at all, but never existed, and there's some strange lid-breeding programme going on in my cupboard resulting in multiple births of new and exciting containerless lids?

Whatever it is, I want my containers back. Or my lids gone. Or more matches. Or at the VERY least - a scientific explanation.

STxxx

PS - Ignore dirty floor. It's, erm, just the lighting...

Sunday Sewing

2010-08-01T15:23:00.000+08:00

Ignoring the beautiful sunshine outside, I've completed 2 more mermaids. Methinks the blue one needs to go on a bit of a diet.

Work-Life Balance - Where Are You?

2010-07-29T09:42:00.000+08:00

To cut a tediously long and dull story short, I've been trying for nearly a year now to find a job. I think the count is around 150 jobs applied for, around 15 interviews and 0 offers.

I even took up the Government on its very generous offer to fund retraining in order to become more employable, so I completed the Cert IV in Training and Assessment, with the lofty goal in mind of becoming a hospitality trainer. I already had administrative qualifications as well as years of experience in both administration and function managment roles, so this seemed like the perfect next step in my career.

Sadly it seems that my hard-earned bit of paper is utterly worthless without experience under my belt. The fact that I have actually "unofficially" trained countless hospitality staff on the job over the years appears to mean nothing. I even approached several organisations regarding unpaid work experience and didn't even get a return phone call from any of them.

Yes, I am a single mother. Yes, this does have its challenges. Yes, it does mean that I can't be quite as flexible in working hours as I rely on childcare centres and have to accommodate their hours of operation.

On the other hand, my years as a single mother have also given me valuable skills - I am now the Queen of Multitasking, a very quick learner and can type like a speed demon even with one hand, as practiced whilst simultaneously breastfeeding and surfing the internet! I've also developed more patience and a much deeper sense of compassion for others.

Many employers seem to have either no idea or no interest in the vast pool of talent lurking in homes across Australia in the form of mothers, many of whom are keen to re-enter the workforce. All we ask for is a little flexibility, whether it's with working hours, the opportunity to work from home, or a combination of the two.

I know I'm not alone in my dilemma - I know many intelligent, well-educated and professional women who, after taking time out to have their children, are struggling to find positions which allow sufficient flexibility in order to find that much-discussed "work-life balance". Granted, I do also know quite a few who have found the perfect role, or who cope beautifully with standard full-time hours, but they seem in the minority.

As election day looms, I have been thinking about how our next government can address this issue, and all I can think of is to promote policies encouraging (or requiring) businesses to take a more family-friendly approach. Yes, I can see why businesses would want to hire someone with no restrictions on their time or energy, however the cost to society in funding pensions and FTB benefits for unemployed parents is extremely high, so surely a balance can be found.

I hope so, anyway!

ST

The best smell in the world

2010-07-28T10:08:00.000+08:00

Last night my 11 year old wandered aimlessly into the kitchen after his bath, with his nose quite literally buried in his new book. I sort of looked at him sideways, and he caught me looking, blushed and confessed that the smell of a new book is his favourite smell in the world.

Well, I darned near self-combusted with pride, love and nostalgia right there and then. M is a mini me when I was that age in so very many ways - not so into the whole sports thing, completely absorbed in fantasy worlds, magic and make-believe, an avid reader, keen budding chef and yes, he even adores 80's music classics, thanks to the TV show Glee.

This is what he was buried in last night - The Necromancer,by Michael Scott, 4th in a series he's enjoyed reading over and over so far!

It's probably entirely selfish, but it's so wonderful seeing your own child share so many of the same special interests and delights that you enjoyed as a kid. Even now we still like reading the same books, and have both read the Harry Potter series from start to finish at least 10 times.

The keen interest in reading has also had huge academic benefits as well. His teachers have assured me for a few years now that he has by far the most extensive vocabulary in his class, as well as quite a talent for writing stories.

I think it's such a shame that reading has lost the appeal for kids that it used to have. I completely understand why, with the whole WWW up for grabs with the click of a button, and books being made into movies almost before they're actually published. I still mourne the fact that so many kids (and adults) are totally missing out on the excitement of opening a new book to its crispy and delicious-smelling first page, putting your feet up and letting the story and your imagination simply take you away.

I'm so glad M gets it.

STxxx

New baby in the family

2010-07-15T09:38:00.000+08:00

Introducing Mya. Mya is a blue tortoiseshell Burmese cat, and has literally stolen our hearts in the 4 days she has been with us.

We got her from the wonderful Charmaine at Charob Burmese on Sunday, and since then she has given and received hours of cuddles, slept cuddled up to my neck, tapdanced on heads and done things to chicken necks that no chicken would approve of.

Here she is cuddled up to my other baby:

Thank you for joining our little family, gorgeous kitty!

STxxx

Bag Lady

2010-07-10T11:24:00.000+08:00

I like being a bag lady! These are a couple of the bags I've made this week. Apologies for the rather crap quality of the photos but they were taken with the phone as I seem to have misplaced my camera!

This is a large tote, fully lined with solid base panel for stability:

This is a smaller tote I made out of the most gorgeous retro sunglasses print fabric which I simply had to have!

This was the first one I made for Miss Z to keep her mini fairies in - so now she wants more mini fairies to put in it!

Time to get back to the pins and patterns, because a cousin in England has just ordered 4 bags giving me free rein on colours and fabrics - fun!

ST
xxx

Still having fun sewing and playing!

2010-06-25T10:45:00.000+08:00

Phew! Since my last blog post I've made a lot of mermaids! My next challenge is a beautiful dress-up rag doll I found in a fabulous book called "Stitched Toys" by Kate Haxell.

Before I start that one, though, I thought I'd share a few other little bits and pieces I've made recently.
This is a doll I've made to send to an organisation in Africa which then gives them to local children. It's an amazing organisation called The Uthando Project, and you can find out all about them and the amazing work they do at their WEBSITE.

One of my first projects was to make these teensy felt fairies and then make them little houses. My daughter plays with these for hours on end, and has demanded more fairies, an elf, a gnome and a village shop to go with them, so it looks like I'll be hitting the felt shops soon!

I just love this next one - I have a thing for elephants! This is a rice and lavender filled heat pack I made for my mum for her birthday a few weeks ago.

Below is another one of my early creations, made from a free pattern by Mimi Kirchner at the wonderful Purl Bee, and it can be found HERE if you'd like to give it a go. As I said, it's one of my earlier efforts, when I was still seriously struggling with faces, hence her rather sneering face, but I loved making her anyway!

So there you have it, a few of the little things that have been keeping me out of trouble (mostly) recently. Thanks for having a look!

STxxx

Mermaid Mayhem!

2010-06-11T09:09:00.000+08:00

Well, it's official. I've gone sewing mad!

My wonderful mother bought me a sewing machine recently, and this has turned my penchant for handstitching tiny toys into a flood of softie and dollmaking activity!

I posted a photo of the first mermaid doll I made on Facebook and promptly got orders for 9 more, so that's keeping me nice and busy these days! I just love mermaids - give me mythological beings over humans any day, lol! I think I'll be trying some faeries and elves very soon as well.

This is Samara, named after the little girl she was made for. She is very colourful, very happy and very squishy and cuddly as well! She is also toddler safe, with no dangerous little bits to come off!

This sparkly lady is named Bella after her new mummy. I was given the brief of pink and purple, sequins, blonde hair and blue eyes, so I think we've covered the lot!

I am enjoying this sewing and crafting so much that I can't wait to start on each new project. I've put a few of the dolls up on the MADE IT online marketplace, which is quite exciting and new for me, so we'll just see how it goes.

Next on the cards are the rice-filled heat packs requested by my sons to take to bed on these cold winter nights! B has ordered one in Fremantle Dockers' colours, and M just wants a pleasing blend of blue fabrics in different shades and textures (yup, I'm serious).

STxx

Juno Events is up and running!

2010-04-26T15:22:00.000+08:00

I'm just so excited!

I've had rejection after rejection on the job front for the last 6 months or more, so I decided to hell with the corporate world, I'll quite simply hire myself.

So I did, and the result is the Juno family as follows:

JUNO EVENTS - event management services for everything from fundraiser balls to corporate golf tournaments, Gran's 80th birthday party to product launches and everything in between!!
Join the Juno Events Facebook page for chats, giggles, updates and tips

JUNO WEDDINGS - full or partial wedding planning service
Juno Weddings on Facebook

JUNO JUNIOR - children's parties and special occasions
Even Junior has his own Facebook page, so stop by and visit

I am self employed! I haz a job! I honestly can't express how that feels after applying for one job after another and getting nowhere.

I've been organising weddings and events for over 15 years now, so this is definitely my area of expertise, and it's also something I absolutely love and adore.

I hope you'll pop by the websites and let me know what you think - they're not all completed just yet, but they're getting there!

Oh, and of course we're on Twitter as well, so I hope you'll follow us HERE, too!

STxxx

"Spottism"

2010-04-13T12:04:00.000+08:00

My beloved budding artist child produced the following piece with the rather startling title of "Two Rockstars on a Spotty Stage". She is still currently at the height of her "Spottism" phase, so I'm sure we can expect more in this exciting genre:

Jeans Weather

2010-04-13T11:13:00.000+08:00

While I welcome the start of summer with open arms and bare legs, after a few months of heat and flies and more flies and heat I'm well and truly over it. That's when I start to look longingly at my jeans sitting on a dusty shelf in the closet and begin to count down the days until I can wear them without melting.

That day has come, and yet mingled with the excitement of Jeans Weather comes the despair of realising that Jeans Don't Fit No More After Wine-filled Summer.

Bugger.

Let's face it. Is there anything more depressing than jeans shopping when the reason for said jeans shopping is that your much-loved perfectly good existing jean collection has mysteriously shrunk over summer? Shopping for jeans because one suddenly inherited a zillion dollars and can now happily splash out on $800 denims is most exciting. Shopping for jeans because you woke up one morning a size 8 and simply swim in your size 10 - 12's is simply fabulous, darling,.

Shopping for jeans because your muffin top expanded and someone injected your thighs with fat while you were sleeping SUCKS.

I don't even want to buy nice jeans. These newly fatter bits of me don't deserve nice jeans. They don't even deserve KMart jeans. They are only worth ex 1980's High Pant acid wash numbers fresh from the nearest op shop.

Maybe it's time for a jeans-free winter.

Or not.

STxxx

Thinking out loud

2009-12-29T11:56:00.001+08:00

I'm sitting here on my bed, too hot to continue with the housework that so desperately needs to be done, finding my mind wandering around like a wandering-around-thing so thought this a perfect time for a final blog post for the year.

I've neglected both blogging and Twitter for the last few months, and I'm not even really sure why. I do know that I was finding myself spending far too much on Twitter and getting even less done than usual, so I guess a big break was called for. Blogging seems to kind of go with Twitter, so it fell by the wayside as well.

Venturing hesitantly back to Twitter last week I was touched to see so many "Hi, wherethehelluvyoubin?"messages and therefore felt immediately guilty for disappearing without a trace and not letting my lovely tweeps know I was just having a break. So sorry. Again. I know I have also neglected to follow all your lovely bloggedyblogs, so am going to make a cuppa in a minute and play catch-up!

So, here we are at the tail end of 2009. Good year? Not so much. It's been a year of dithering and Really Bad Employment History. I've spent far more of this year unemployed than otherwise, and have gotten lazy and meh in the process.

On a good note, however, Tall D and I have made it through the year without deciding we hate each other, lol! In fact, we are on the verge of moving in together, assuming I can find a job before the kids start at their respective new schools! This blending of families will, I'm sure, be a big adjustment for all concerned, but I'm hopefull we can find some mishy-mashy way of squishing us all together in a reasonably acceptable fashion!

Another tick on the positive side is the fact that I've finally obtained my Certificate IV in Training and Assessment, so am now actually qualified to do vocational training and assessment. Now I just have to get past the rather massive obstacle of all job ads stating unequivocably that they REQUIRE all applicants to have 2+ years of experience. Hmmmmm...

Anyhoo, that's my end of 2009 rambling rambles. Time to get re-acquainted with the blogosphere. Wishing all of you lovely people all the best for the New Year and may 2010 bring you all that you desire!

STxxx

Beeping frikken BEEPS!

2009-10-14T19:51:00.000+08:00

We live in a world controlled by beeps.

The dishwasher beeps when it's finished. 5 times, then 5 more times every few minutes for at least half an hour. Guess what, dishwasher? I DON'T CARE! You rate very low on the list of things I care about, so SHUT THE BEEP UP!

Microwave beeps when it's finished. At least it's only once, twice or 10 times, though. It can stay, but I'd appreciate a little quiet please.

Washing machine, you are the bane of my existence. Not only do you beep when you are finished, but you continue to do so every 5 minutes until I open your lid. You don't care if that is 5 months from now, you will continue to beep. While I truly appreciate your dedication to clean non-smelly clothing, can I also please request that you SHUT THE BEEP UP? I will empty you and hang up the clothing on my OWN schedule, not on yours, you self-absorbed metallic hulk!

Call waiting - hello? I'm on the phone already! I don't give a flying monkey's testicles if someone else is calling. I'm busy. Fuck OFF!

Fridge door. Yes, I know. You're open. Who cares? I'll get to you when I'm good and ready, thanks very much!

Reversing delivery vans - while I'm eternally grateful for the audible warning that you are about to go backwards, I really don't need to know that when I'm in the next suburb. Kthxbai.

Phone messaging service. Not much to say here except GET KNOTTED! If I had wanted to know what that person had to say I would have answered the phone in the first place.

And last but not least, security screens at shops. I have NOT stolen something from you, you excremental morons, it's merely that some dropkick of a shop assistant has been remiss in their duties and has failed to remove the security advice. I do NOT appreciate having 17 spotty, gadget-wielding teenagers zoning in on me like the goddamned SAS. Train your staff appropriately and leave me the fuck alone, will you?

That is all. Please carry on.

STxxx

Friday Fotos

2009-09-25T09:48:00.001+08:00

I just had a look through my old Photobucket account and re-discovered some of my favourite shots of Z and thought I'd share them.

STxxx

You can't fix stupid

2009-09-20T16:20:00.000+08:00

We're just back from a birthday party for one of Z's little kindy friends at the local bowling alley, and I'm quite simply flabbergasted at how totally and utterly appalling the service was.

The faintest of alarm bells started clanging the minute we walked through the door and went to the reception desk, behind which slouched at least 4 bored looking teenagers. 8 minutes later, I was still standing there, hoping against hope that one of them would spot me there, 70cm in front of them and direct me to the party. No such luck. A very exasperated "exCUSE me?" and one looked across at me, managing not to lose 1 iota of the bored look on his face. I was then pointed in the direction of the party, not asked to get shoes, not asked for our name or anything.

Whatever.

I must admit, the bowling session wasn't too bad, with 20 3 - 6 year olds over about 4 lanes. Two attendants were there to help, but decided it would probably be easier if the parents did it, so we did. The one thing that did seriously piss me off was when the attendant on our lane switched the monitor off just as the last kid took his last shot, thereby ensuring that none of the kids actually knew the final outcome of the game.

On this point I must digress a bit. Z was doing well. She nearly won, and I'm embarrassed to admit how frigging competitive I got! I was mentally willing those nearest to her in score to throw themselves down the lane, fall over, or drop a bowling ball on their toes. Sad, isn't it? Z didn't give a shit, she was just having fun. I was the one sweating bullets when little Johnny nearly got a strike on his last shot. As I said, embarrassing, but totally out my control!

Anyhoo, as the bowling came to an end we were all ushered into the "dining room", which is used as a creche and storage room when not used for parties. There were boxes piled up half way to the ceiling against one wall, 3 long tables with tacky plastic tablecloths and absolutely no sound insulation whatsoever. Add in the 20 excited kids and the noise was deafening.

The kids had pre-ordered their meals - chicken nuggets and chips or hot dog and chips. Both utterly revolting options, as far as healthy eating goes, but I suppose for a kid's party one is expected to overlook these things. Heaven help any poor child burdened with food allergies, I suppose they would starve in such an environment.

This brings me to another bit of a digression. Children's party venues are a huge business, and generally charge through the roof for incredibly mediocre food and service. Surely, with the current trends towards a healthier lifestyle, these places would start to cotton on to the fact that some of us do care what our children eat, and avoid deep-fried sodium-filled lard whenever possible. Would it be so terribly difficult just to throw a couple of healthy options in? Even sandwiches and popcorn as opposed to hot dogs and over-salted chips? Apparently it is, and I'm just not happy about it, thank you very much!

Anyway, back to the party...

Our 2 attendants were there, I assumed to serve food, tidy up, refill drink cups and so forth. Again, no such luck. One chap brought in a tray loaded with about 8 paper plates of nuggets and chips, put them down on a nearby table and walked, taking one tiny plate at a time, doling these out according to some mysterious list. After 2 minutes or so, he had managed to hand out around 3 meals, so the host and I took over, getting the remaining 18 kids fed within a minute. It wasn't even that difficult, amazingly enough!

Oh, look, I could write pages and pages of every single fuck up, which would ease my need to vent, but would probably be highly boring to read, so shall just sum up the basics:

When serving hot dogs, please don't wait to be asked before providing tomato sauce. It's pretty much a given.

When serving finger food to 5 year olds, napkins should not be on a request basis only.

When you are finally asked for tomato sauce, don't tell me you're re-supplying (WTF?) and that it will be there in 5 minutes. The hot dogs will either be cold or eaten by then. Sort it out.

When the host asks you to bring out the cake, would it not be GLARINGLY OBVIOUS that you need to clear the table of the nugget-hotdog-chips mess? No? Morons!

Once again, when feeding birthday cake with masses of luminous green icing to a bunch of small children, please don't make me ask you for napkins. Again.

When charging ludicrously high rates for this "food" and "service" please have the decency to wipe that blank look off your face and try and look interested. These are kids. The birthday boy's parents have just spent a small fortune to be here. Smarten up, Emo kid!

To be fair, apart from the sullen attitude and blank looks, it's not really the teenagers' fault. I blame the management. These kids need to be properly trained and supervised. I didn't see a single employee over the age of around 16 today, and that's simply not good enough.

Now, I realise that I look at these things a lot more judgementally that other parents may do, as I have 20 years in the hospitality industry, however the vast majority of the things that went wrong today were simply a total lack of common sense.

Since I moved to Australia, I have been horrified on a weekly basis at the standards of service in the hospitality industry, compared to other countries I have both worked in and visited. Unless you are dealing with a seasoned industry veteran, and one who both loves and takes pride in their work, chances are you're going to get a slouchy, bored looking blank-faced twat serving you.

I have tried for years now to train the staff that I have worked with to take pride in their job, and to put themselves in the position of the customer to attempt to anticipate their needs. It's been a losing battle, I can assure you.

It would simply appear that you can't fix stupid, and you can't train someone to care.

STxxx

(image courtesy of http://matchstic.com/blog/?cat=4 )

Things I'm just fed up of doing

2009-09-18T09:37:00.000+08:00

Refilling the pets' water bowl. It's boring and tedious.

Checking the toilet seat before perching thereon, and invariably finding spots of wee to be wiped up. Aim better, children.

Not using up all the veggies I buy before they go mouldy and ewwwwww.

Trying to hang onto even a semblance of respect for Aussie politicians after watching Question Time. I'm struggling here, people, can't you lot just TRY to grow up and act like responsible adults?

Looking at mountains of papers and unopened mail. Can I just put a sticker on my mailbox saying "No Mail, Please"?

Dealing with dust-bunnies. Seriously, can I get hold of some dust-bunny contraceptives and put an end to these little bastards once and for all?

DVDs. Everywhere. Piles of them. Not in cases. Needing sorting. Getting scratched.

Weeds. 'Nuff said.

Filling up car with petrol. Up there with filling water bowl - boring and tedious, with the added bonus of being fucking expensive.

Looking for a job. Come on, employers of Australia, you KNOW you want a part time employee with a myriad of skills who will have to call in sick every time one of her children is sick.

Dealing with stupid people. They're everywhere. Like case-less DVD's and dust-bunnies. Can't someone just make them all go away?

Hearing daft Americans likening their president to Hitler because he thinks healthcare should be available to everyone, including the *gasp* poor. Freaking idiots.

Trying to keep track of socks. Where. Do. They. Go???

Figuring out what bra size is actually right for me. They're all either a bit too small or a bit too big. Goldilocks, anyone?

Watching my big toenail go black, crack all the way over and now waiting for it to fall off. Also fed up of wondering what on earth is underneath it? Can one buy fake toenails? I may need one for summer.

Waiting for the Child Support Agency to pull their thumbs out of their collective arses and chase up the $$ I am owed!

Please feel free to add your own!

STxxx

Madness dressed as Lamb?

2009-09-14T09:35:00.000+08:00

There's a bit of a #musicmonday theme to today's blog post, which was inspired by spending All Day yesterday playing with iTunes, from installing the new iTunes 9 onto new computer, copying over files from external hard drive and then the hard part: playlists. I admit I cheated and just made 1 - stuff I actually listen to.

I also spent several hours exploring the iTunes store. Being less than flush with the readies at the moment, I concentrated on the free stuff. Podcasts and iTunes U. Imagine my excitement to discover that you can, for absolutely FREE download lectures from Yale, Oxford, and some bloke named Ned on anything that tickles your fancy! In the near future I am going to be a World Expert on subjects ranging from "Cooking in Ancient Egypt" to "What is consciousness", oh yes!

Anyway, back to music.

To sum it up, I am a 40 year old mother who listens almost exclusively to Triple J, a radio station aimed at the teen and 20-something market. They simply play Stuff I Like. My idea of utter hell is being cooped up in the car with kids demanding to listen to commercial FM radio. I cringe at the sound of Lady Ga-Ga, sob when I hear Beyonce (except that shouldaputaringonit song, that gets me bouncing around the drivers seat) and think the Pussycat Dolls should be banned for lack of talent. Oh, and that I kissed a girl chick. *vomit*

Other ideas of musical hell for me include Mariah Carey, Boyz to Men (or whatever they're called), Britney FUCKING Spears, J-Lo and anything hip hop related. Let's not forget Guy Sebastian, Shannon Noll, Backstreet Boys and Kelly Clarkson. Oh dear, I'm feeling nauseous. Enough with the stuff I can't stand, already!

I think it's safe to say that I prefer "alternative music", although I don't know why they call it that. It should be called "good music" and the rest of the crap should be called "alternative" or "forced to listen to at gunpoint" music.

I don't know if this is normal, I really don't. When I hear the average listener call into JJJ they sound somewhere between 15 and 25. What are other 35+ people listening to? Are they REALLY grooving to J-Lo, appreciating her noise in some mysterious way which I am completely missing? Or are they stuck in the 80's, with Queen, Blondie and U2 on continual replay?

Don't get me wrong on the 80's. As an official child of the 80's myself, it's what I grew up with. It's what I know every word to, and every song holds a special memory of what I was doing at that time in my life. There would be at least 300 or 400 80's classics in my library, and they get a lot of headphone time, I can assure you!

But there is only a finite supply of 80's music, to state the bleeding obvious. I've heard it all before, and, although I adore it, life trundles on, and so does the music industry.

I suppose even back in the early days I was into slightly off-mainstream music, being influenced by a few Goth friends from high school and Uni, who introduced me to the joys of Nine Inch Nails, Love n Rockets and lots and lots of The Cure, but I still appreciated most of the top 40 tunes. Has mainstream music changed, or have I?

These days my iPod is blasting out Muse, The Panics, Tame Impala, the Presets, Sarah Blasko, The Wombats, Eskimo Joe, The Shins, Blue King Brown, Regina Spektor, Josh Pyke and the like. I hardly ever get to go to any live gigs, basically because (a) I can't afford them (b) they don't provide creches and (c) I don't want to be the oldest person there!

*sigh*

It's not just me, is it? What are all the other ageing children of the 70's and 80's listening to these days?

The Eagle Has Landed

2009-09-10T14:11:00.000+08:00

Two words designed to instill fear into the toughest mother: School and Play. Inevitably this is going to lead to the single most terrifying word in a mother's language. COSTUME!

My son came home a few weeks ago with the joyous news that his school is putting on a production of Jack in the Beanstalk, and that he has a starring role. A starring role as an... eagle. Now, I know I've lost a few brain cells over the years, but for the life of me I don't remember an eagle playing a starring role in the story of Jack and the Beanstalk. Jack - check. Mother of Jack - check. A cow - check. Some beans - absolutely. A cranky giant - yep. An eagle - WTF?

Let me just state for the record that as far as arts and crafts go, I am about as useful as a chocolate teapot. I am all for it, in principle. I can dream up the loveliest of arty and crafty goodness however I am genetically incapable of transforming my ideas into tangible objects. I have an entire cupboard full of half-knitted scarves, quarter-made necklaces, oil paints hardened into stone, beads, wires, strings, ribbons, glues, buttons and so forth. I even (laughingly) dabbled in scrapbooking to the tune of about $300 with sweet FA to show for it.

Anyway. I was stuck with the task of creatively transforming my 10 year old son into an eagle. Oh, I had some doozies of ideas. Huge feathered wings, spanning 6 feet or more, detailed ankle whatsits with talons glued on, a tail that a peacock would be proud of and so much more.

PPPFFFFFFTTTTT. When whining and moaning on FB and Twitter to more crafty friends yielded no help other than detailed instructions of what their talented hands could put together I did what any mother could be expected to do under the circumstances. I blanked it from my mind entirely.

Dear son reminded me ever so gently on Monday that this Friday is the dress rehearsal, and that the Big Performance is next Tuesday night. Right. Time to get my arse in gear. Fortunately, I was informed, one of the pre-primary teachers has some wings lying about that will do the trick, so all we needed to come up with was clothing (yet to be comed-up-with) and some sort of head gear.

This being Thursday, it appeared I was going to have to take action Today, and Not A Moment Later. My first thought was to use a baseball cap, bend the visor into a beak-like shape and stick feathers over the rest of it. Let's just say the bending-of-the-visor-into-a-beak-like-shape part of that had me totally stumped, so it was back to the drawing board.

A brief forraging session in the garage unearthed a detachable hood from one of the kids' old winter coats, one which tied up under the chin. This looked promising! Surely I could fashion a beak out of something and then use strips of felt as feathers. YES! This would work.

Off to Spotlight I went, returning armed with hot glue gun, felt and more felt. Plus 2 huge googly eyes that I just thought were funny.

You think it would be easier to fashion a beak out of stiffened felt. Sensibly I tried a few practice ones out of paper. Not working. Finally we got there on the beak, and glued it onto the hood. It looked great! I was ecstatic! I'm not kidding here, I was dancing with glee around the house!

I suppose at this point I should say a big thank you to the water carafe and football who generously offered to model the headpiece during it's creation, and didn't complain once, not even when hot glue went all over the footie. What good little helpers!

From this point on it was fairly easy. I cut long triangle-shaped strips of different coloured felt, and glued them around in rows. The crowning glory of googly eyes went on and... it was complete. It sat there on its football just staring at me. I called my son over to look and there was, well, silence. He looked at me, I looked back. We both looked at the result of my efforts. I'm not sure which one of us collapsed in a hysterical puddle on the floor first, but within moments we were both there. Literally Unable To Speak.

Once he caught his breath, he agreed to try it on. I must say, I was impressed. It was less scary than it had been on the football. He agreed to let me photograph him in it, on the proviso that I didn't get his face or any other identifying features in the shot. I agreed.

Naturally I had to try it on as well (as you do) and, having no qualms about my scary mug being exposed to all and sundry on the WWW, demanded that M play photographer this time.

Well, that was fun, and here's the result:

God help us all if any of my children take up acting. I'm going to have to marry a seamstress!

*Update* I went to the school and grabbed the wings so M could try on the whole costume, and thought I'd share:

STxxx

Growing up Island style - Bermuda

2009-09-08T13:23:00.000+08:00

I was born and brought up in the islands - Bermuda first, and then the Cayman Islands.

My parents ended up in Bermuda sort of accidentally. They are both from Belfast, and had left Northern Ireland to go and live in Canada. On the way they stopped for a holiday in Bermuda, at which point my mother took one look at the pink sand beaches and turquoise sea and basically told my father to "Get a job dear, I like it here!"

I'm very glad she did, because it was a fantastic place to grow up. Small and beautiful with great weather and no income tax. And cocktails. Lots and lots of cocktails. Shame I was a bit young to enjoy those, however my parents have told stories of my toddler-tendancies towards mine-sweeping cocktails at adult gatherings (and yes, I am still known to indulge in this).

First I think I should dispell a few myths:

1. Yes, Bermuda is one corner of the Bermuda Triangle, and no, I have no idea what it's all about. We don't sit around cauldrons in Bermuda concocting potions to draw down airplanes out of the sky, or lure sailing vessels to a watery death.

2. Bermuda and the Bahamas and Barbados are three entirely different islands, located miles and miles apart. The names cannot be used interchangeably.

3. Bermuda is not actually in the Caribbean. It is in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, and is kept warm by the Gulf Stream. Let's hope it stays that way.

4. Bermuda is a British colony, and desperately proud of that fact.

5. No, we did not wear grass skirts and coconut shell bikini tops to school. (I kid you not, I lost count of how many times I was asked this)

At the time I lived there Bermuda had a population of around 53,000 and a total size of 21 square miles, which actually is made up of 140 separate islands, the largest of which are connected by bridges.

OK, them's the facts, now as this is not a history or geography lesson, I just wanted to share a few of my favourite memories (all of which are a bit hazy, as I left there in 1982 and haven't been back since).

Horseshoe Bay

My mother used to take my sister and I to this beach pretty much any time the weather permitted it. Behind the actual beach were miles of sand dune trails, which we would spend entire days exploring. A small cove off to one side had a fantastic cliff for jumping off (into the water, of course) and the little cafe made seriously yummy chips!

Freedom

Either this was the safest place on Earth, or in the 1970's my parents were supremely confident of my ability to look after myself. From a very young age I remember having total freedom of the outdoors to play and explore. Whether exploring the cliffs and tractor-graveyards near the house, the trails behind the beach, heading out to the nearest jetty armed with stale bread and hand fishing lines or building an illicit "fort" in the bushes with the other neighbourhood kids, we were generally out of the house from daylight to dusk on non-schooldays.

In these WAY-pre mobile phone days, there was no way for parents to contact us, and, to be honest, they wouldn't have wanted to anyway! We could be relied on to come home when we got hungry enough, or when it was too dark to play.

Looking now at my own kids' freedoms, I realise that they are truly missing out. I suppose part of that is because we now live in a city, rather than on a small island, and the news and www fill us with our daily dose of fear of what-can-happen-to-kids these days. It's still so sad, though, to know that they have missed out on what was a truly treasured part of my own childhood.

Culture and History

Bermuda has a very colourful past, having been settled in the 1600's and also having played a big part in several wars. There is no shortage of historical sites to visit, including Fort Hamilton, which was a favourite with us kids to head off to on our bikes, squashed sandwiches on board, to explore for the day. The dungeons, in particular, were a great place to accidently misplace our younger siblings. Yes. We were evil.

Bermuda is also colourful in another way - the literal one. As the island has no groundwater, households rely on rainwater collected on whitewashed limestone roofs. The houses themselves tend to be a rainbow of pastels, with contrasting wooden shutters, and surrounded by plenty of green. I haven't seen anywhere as pretty anywhere else.

There are so many things I loved about growing up in Bermuda, but I don't want to bore you to death, so will leave it at that. I do miss it, and hope one day to be able to take my kids there on holiday.

And maybe show them the dungeons...

STxxx

Happy Fathers Day to Me

2009-09-05T20:20:00.000+08:00

I was inspired by Not Drowning, Mothering and So Now What to do a bit of a Father's Day blog post. But one with a difference.

My daughter has only had one parent since she was born, and that would be me. Her SD (sperm donor) has had next to nothing to do with us since long before her birth, for reasons best known to himself.

Z's childcare and school know the score on this, so when it comes to the annual make-something-for-daddy time of year they gently guide Z towards completing the same arts'n'crafts project for me. Because I'm Mummy and Daddy.

I guess the purpose of this post is to thank them. I thank them for being sensitive enough to realise that she wants to make the same symbolic gifts as all the other children, and sensitive enough to know that she realises the score and wants to gift them to me.

To all of you, I thank you. Most of all, I thank my daughter for being the most amazingly together little chick on the planet, and for not holding it against me that she doesn't have a dad in her life.

It's his loss, honestly. Fortunately it's my gain.

Oh, and so far I've got a way cool keychain and something else Mysterious that I can't have until tomorrow morning...

And on another note, to my own Daddy, I miss you so much. I miss you every day. I miss your cheeky attitude, the fact that you were never wrong, your intelligence, your love and just your face. I love you.

STxxx

RIP Jai Morcom

2009-09-05T12:31:00.000+08:00

As taken from www.abc.net.au:

"More than 1,000 people have gathered in Mullumbimby to honour the memory of 15-year-old Jai Morcom.

The teenager died last weekend after becoming involved in a schoolyard fight.

The town on the New South Wales north coast was awash in a sea of colour and emotion today.

A local student had suggested that balloons be displayed as part of a campaign for peace at the Mullumbimby High School and scores of local houses and shops complied.

Last Monday students staged a mass walkout from the school.

Today, they retraced their footsteps to the town's Heritage Park, where Jai's sister Kyra and his uncle Paul Drummond, who travelled from New Zealand, spoke of a boy who wanted to be a chef.

Tears flowed freely but laughter also rippled through the crowd as speakers shared their memories of a boy described as beautiful, funny and peaceful.

He also loved Harry Potter, Sarah Lee desserts and sticky date pudding.

Kyra Morcom broke down after a short tribute and embraced her brother's coffin, which was painted bright green.

At the end of the service, which featured Aboriginal and Maori ceremonies, Jai's family released a flock of white pigeons and his friends set free bright multi-coloured balloons."

I am in tears reading this. I am also angry. Very, very angry. How does our society permit children to be beaten to death in the school playground? Quite simply, HOW CAN THIS HAPPEN?

Well, happen it did, and it's got me wondering what the parents of this country can do to prevent further tragedies of this nature. I have 2 sons, one of whom will be in two years the same age Jai was when he died. Perhaps it's just my over-protective Mummy instincts here, but I see my 13 year old as a child. I send him to school every day fully expecting to see him again at 3:00pm. So did Jai's parents. School is supposed to be safe. It's supposed to be supervised and safe. We parents are handing our children over, trusting that they will be properly cared for.

Obviously until all the facts of the case are made available we don't know how this happened, and if the 'system' failed this child, or if it truly was, in fact, simply a tragic accident. I don't mind saying that I'm leaning towards the former, because I'm not quite sure how someone can 'accidentally' get beaten to death.

And what of the perpetrators themselves? What makes teenaged schoolboys capable of such violence towards each other? Is it upbringing, mental illness, social problems, bad role models and so forth? Or could a seemingly completely normal child, with no history of violence, simply lose the plot and strike out.

Again, I'm leaning towards the former. In fact, I'm hoping and praying it's the former. You can get your head around that option just a little bit. I don't think I could cope with the latter. I know many of my son's friends, and simply can't picture any one of them capable of such a thing.

So, what can we do? Apart from hiring bodyguards to accompany our children everywhere they go (which isn't such a bad idea, actually, but is probably out of my budget) we have to teach them the best we can, and hope for the best. How overwhelmingly terrifying is that for any parent?

I have always been very strict on the subject of violence with my kids - in our house shouting is ok, hitting is not. That's not to say that they always listen to me - siblings will be siblings and there will be rivalry and bickering! I think they understand how important a non-violent approach is to me, though, and, more importantly, I think they understand why.

It would be nice to be able to assume that everyone they will come across throughout their educational years and beyond understands that as well, but that's probably a bit of a big ask, though.

Maybe there is something to be said for wrapping our kids in cotton wool...

Rest in peace, Jai, and thoughts and prayers to your family and loved ones.

STxxx

Not Learner plates, Idiot plates!

2009-09-03T20:10:00.000+08:00

I am constantly amazed at how incredibly badly some people drive. I mean, we take tests to see if we have the faintest idea of what we're doing when in control of a 2 tonne beast moving at 100kms an hour. Surely, one would think, if one passes the test it is assumed that one knows the basic rules of the road, and how to handle said beast.

Apparently not.

Here are a few of the things that Really Piss Me Off:

Roundabouts
It's quite simple. If you are turning left, indicate left at the roundabout and then turn left. If you are going straight, indicate left just before that particular exit of the roundabout. If you are turning right, you indicate right on approach to roundabout, then indicate left as you exit off roundabout. The things I have seen drivers do would curl your teeth in horror. Every possible variation of indicating, leaving me with the sense that no matter what a person's indicators are doing, they could quite easily do the absolute opposite.

Traffic Lights
Green means go, you arseclowns! Even my kids knew this basic tenet of driving from the age of approximately 18 months. Red = stop. Orange = hit the gas and squeak through hoping there's no camera. Green = keep going. At current speed. Green does not mean slow down to 20km per hour 800m before green light Just In Case it's thinking about turning red.

Tailgating
Just don't fucking do it, ok? It's horribly ill-mannered, excruciatingly irritating and also somewhat dangerous. It's also not going to make me speed up. In fact, you may find it will, in fact, make me slow down to 8km per hour on the freeway if I'm in a stabby enough mood. I need the boot of my car for carrying vegetables and new shoes in. Kindly don't try to park in it.

Frangipani stickers and car seat covers
This pretty much sums it up for me:

Parking
Do it properly, please. Special note goes to the asshat in the red convertible Alfa Romeo at my local shops last week who parked exactly and precisely in the middle of 2 parking spaces. You win Twat of the Week. Oh, and being a spotty, oily and mullety 19 year old bogan doesn't qualify you for disabled parking. Sorry. Lazy pricks!

Parallel parking
Firstly, do we all know what the word 'parallel' means? Here's a hint "extending in the same direction, equidistant at all points, and never converging or diverging: parallel rows of trees. " When applied to parking, this means that your car should actually be in line with the kerb. And preferably reasonably close to said kerb. Not 1m away from kerb smack in the middle of the driving lane.

Secondly, have a heart, folks. Free street parking is in very high demand. It's awfully rude and selfish to leave 3 metres in front and behind you. Consider demand and supply and don't take up more space than you need to. Idiot.

Merging
Also not rocket science. You happily and neatly insert your car into a line of moving cars with minimum fuss and terror. You do NOT race madly up the inside lane at 100kms a hour as the available space gets narrower and narrower, thereby nearly running yourself and everyone else off the road in your insane attempt to get Just One Car Ahead. Moron.

So-called 'Soccer Mums' in whopping great 4WDs
Yes, my environmentally friendly Barina and I are insanely jealous, I openly admit that. I Want To Be You and Drive Your Beast. However, since I can't afford to either buy, run or maintain one, I shall resort to petty bitchiness about some of your habits. Just stop being such show-offy wanks. Don't block me in on all sides and then whinge because I can't see whether or not I can pull out. Learn how to Park Your Beast. Oh, and stop driving while talking on your mobile. Just because you are safe in your tank doesn't mean I'll pull up ok if you drive on top of me.

And just one more special mention to one Soccer Mum in particular. Yes, you. The one that always parks next to me outside the high school. If I have to watch you squeeze your spots in your visor mirror just ONE MORE TIME I may get violent. Kthxbai.

STxxx

My new greenie blog!

2009-09-03T17:53:00.001+08:00

I've decided to separate all my environmental, veggie-gardening, save the planet, treehugging hippy posts out into a completely separate blog.

I even decided to try out Wordpress, and have been having oh-so-much-fun (!!!) getting things set up on there. It wasn't as simple as I first expected, but the basics are there now, along with all appropriate posts from this blog.

I do hope you'll go and have a look and free free to bow down and follow me there as well, because, well, my ego would like it, thanks very much!

The site is called Geckomama, which is a username I've had around the interwebz for a few years now, and I hope you can swing by and say hello!

STxxx

Another instalment of Pretzel Art

2009-09-03T14:05:00.000+08:00

Today is Thursday. Thursday usually, if not always, follows Wednesday. Wednesday is Hump Day. My friend L comes over on Wednesdays so we can help each other Over The Hump with the assistance of a great deal of wine. This often leads to playing with our food - pretzels in particular.

You can find our last instalment of Pretzel Art here if you want to get up to speed before moving on to last night's efforts.

So, without further ado, I am delighted to present An Impressionist Collection of Salty Food Shaped into Other Stuff:

How it always seems to start

Spider Pretzel

Kangaroo Pretzel

Strange Prehistoric Animal Wearing Pretzel Frisbee on Head

Froggie Pretzel

Teeny Weeny Boat being tossed about on Sea of Pretzels

Loch Ness Pretzel

Next we're considering another medium. Twiglets. Or possibly frozen peas. So many choices.

STxxx

I am never wrong...

2009-09-02T01:10:00.000+08:00

When it comes to issues that are a matter of opinion, rather than proven fact, it is, indeed, possible to never be wrong.

I love this concept! I was raised on it, in fact. My father (may he never rest in peace, because he would get bored out of his skull and start annoying people) Was. Never. Wrong. Not even about indisputable facts. It was, in fact, dreadfully annoying to live with him, because he was usually right about not being wrong.

There was that one time he said a bathmat was a towel, and shouted at someone for not putting it on the towel rail, but we moved past that, and he does concede that that the one time he was wrong was when he doubted himself on the bathmat vs. towel saga.

I adored my father, and although his I Am Never Wrong drove me absolutely up the walls, it did teach me to stick by my convictions, even in the face of Overwhelming Opinions To The Contrary. I like to think that I have learned to give slightly in the face of said overwhelming contrary opinions, but let's be honest; not always. Or even usually.

Sometimes one must be right. Especially when it comes to matters of opinions and the capitals of South American countries. La Paz is to Bolivia as social inductions of labour are to Just Wrong in my world.

And yes, that's what this post is all about.

I stand (on my soapbox, of course) comfortably buoyed up by the fact that the Overwhelming Opinons (and medical evidence) on this issue agrees with me.

The very act of inducing labour comes with a multitude of medical risks. There are many situations where that risk is absolutely warranted - maternal high blood pressure, placenta previa, foetal distress and a million others are all very good reasons to get that baby the hell out of Dodge before more harm is done to either mother or child.

Daddy being about to play in the AFL Grand Final and doesn't want Mummy to go into labour on 26th September and fuck up his chances to both be a footy star and a new daddy on the same day is quite simply not one of them.

This blog is not the place to go into the medical risks of inducing a labour before the due date, so I will leave you and Dr. Google to research that yourself. Let's just say that my own research, as well as my own in-depth debates with my personal obstetricians have given me a pretty good idea of what those risks are.

All birth carries inherent risk. All birth carries inherent inconvenience. It might, God forbid, start in the pickles and ice-cream aisle at the supermarket. It may start when Dad is about to be deployed to Afghanistan or sent to an oil rig off the Pilbarra. It may EVEN be thinking of starting around Grand Final Day, or on the first day of the Myer-One cardholders only presale special event.

The point is, we don't know when baby is going to decide to make it's grand appearance, and we have to schedule our lives accordingly. Nothing can be written in stone around Due Date. Our children only get one birth. Isn't it our responsibility as parents to make that birth as safe as we possibly can?

To say in a cavalier manner that we are going to schedule the birth of our children around the other events in our lives, by using a medical intervention that holds risks to both mother and child is both irresponsible and selfish.

It comes down to priorities, in my book.

And this is my blog, and in this perfect world of mine I am never wrong!

STxxx

PS. It's all my dad's fault, ok?

All About The Blogging

2009-09-01T13:55:00.000+08:00

Liss over at Frills in the Hills has started a bit of a blog meme, so I thought I'd join in and pass it on to the rest of you because, well, I'm nosey, ok?

Here are your questions, please comment and let me know if you've added this to your own blog so I can come and have a sticky beak at your answers!

How did you come up with the name of your blog?
What was the first blog you followed?
What's the latest blog you followed?
What blog do you follow that surprises you doesn't have more followers?
The blog you adore the style of?
The blog you visit first thing in the morning?
The blog you go to for a laugh?
The blog you go to live vicariously or get inspiration from and why?
Which blog did you get this from?

Name of my blog: It's almost embarassingly corny, but true. I was having an utter SHYTE of a day, and was nearly in tears for some reason or another. My gorgeous 5 year old daughter saw me ready to throw the dishwasher out the window and the dog over the fence and disappeared into her room and came out wearing a plastic princess tiara. She handed me another one and said if I put it on I would be a fairy princess just like her, and wouldn't be cross any more.

After I melted into a puddle of motherly love on the floor, I took her spare tiara and wore it for the rest of the evening until it bored holes in my skull, but she was right - you can't be cross when you're wearing a sparkly tiara!

Warned you it was vomitously corny! Actually, that's more about my username than my blog name, but it'll do. The poncho thing kind of follows the same train of thought and comes from a BBC comedy show called The Mighty Boosh. It's also something my boyfriend says all the time.

First blog I followed: A blog by a dear friend of mine called The Crone at Wit's End. She is an inspiration in all things environmental, veggie-garden-ish, maternal and spiritual and is also highly amusing when she's been nipping at the gin. She was off blogging for a while there, but is easing herself back into it. I highly recommend a visit!

Latest blog I've followed: Cluttercut, written by the lovely Daharja. I found her blog via Eat at Dixiebelle's and am looking forward to reading much more.

Blogs I'm surprised don't have more followers: this one is tough, I find it hard to remember how many followers each one has, but I think a special mention should go to this one, of particular interest to mums of premmies. The Smallest Pencil is a daily journal, written retrospectively by a mum of a 10 week premature baby who is now a bouncing 8 year old. Also Hipbubbymama, written by Spiralmumma, who, as we have discovered is me and vice versa. It's kind of cool! She also makes way cool baby slings, which are NEARLY cute enough to tempt me back on that merry-go-round(but not quite, sorry J!).

Blog you adore the style of: Oh bugger, I can't possibly pick one here, there are so many. I guess I'll go with one of my fave Big Bloggy Sites Mamamia by Mia Freeman, as I love how her site is so interactive and how she's not afraid to say it as she sees it!

Blog I visit first thing in the morning: Well d'uh! Mine, of course! I have to see if anyone has commented on anything, or if I blogged anything dubious when under the influence the night before!

Blogs I visit for a laugh: Oh, there are a few. My Twitter bloggy friends in particular. Here are a few of them Not Drowning, Mothering, Life and Other Crises, Pottymouth Mama, and Waffling Along. Damnit, I just know I've forgotten some, so if I follow you, and you make me laugh and I rudely forgot your blog, just kick me in the butt and post it in a comment below!

Blog I go to to live vicariously or for inspiration: Honestly, all of the blogs I follow inspire me in one way or another, and in some way I'm also experiencing each blogger's life vicariously, so I'm going to put my foot down and refuse to answer this question as it would take too long to explain each one, and I'm about to be late to pick up the kids from school anyway!!

Blog I got this from: That would be Frills in the Hills!

Thanks, Liss!

Bugger, I am seriously going to be late. Please comment, please post on your own site, please indulge my nosiness!

STxxx

PS - please excuse formatting errors. I have absolutely NFI how to format properly on here *blush*

September - Eat Less Meat challenge

2009-08-31T09:56:00.000+08:00

I've taken the challenge issued by Dixiebelle from her Eat At Dixiebelle's blog (the mere sight of which will make you hungry, I promise) to make September an Eat Less Meat Month, as well as Fair Trade Chocolate Month.

I'll be honest, I hardly ever eat chocolate, so this part of the challenge won't be a problem at all, although I'll have to be vigilant on the occasional choccy treats the kids may have.

The Eating Less Meat will, however probably live up to the word "challenge". I happen to love legumes, pulses, vegetables and tofu, and would quite happily live on them. My children, however, are another story. The mere sight of anything green on their plates guarantees an instant whingy chorus of "Mu-u-u-u-u-u-m! Do we HAVE to eat the (insert name of offending green item here)!

It's still something I want to do for a huge range of reasons, most of which are already outlined perfectly on Dixiebelle's site, so I won't go into too much detail. Personally, though the main benefits for me and my family are as follows:

Health - I'm determined to put a bit more effort into coaxing my stubborn offspring gently along to a healthier diet, one that includes a much wider range of fruits, vegetables and legumes than they currently tolerate.

Cost - As a single mother who is fully expecting to be fired later today from her most recent part-time job, this one's fairly obvious. As I nearly only ever buy free range, organic meat anyway, it can get pretty costly. Lentils, by comparision, are nearly free!

Environmental issues - Many more of the planet's resources are required to raise livestock for meat than are required for vegetarian alternatives. More information available on Dixiebelle's blog.

Education and awareness of all the above points for my children. I hope they will learn something by this little challenge. They are going to be invited to assist with meal planning, shopping and food preparation, and I'm hoping they'll take a little interest in the "why" of the whole exercise as well. That may be a little hopeful on my part, but it's worth a shot! During the same month we will also be planting our home veggie garden, which will round out the experience for all, I hope. Details of what I'm planting to be found here.

My next step is to mealplan my first week, which I'm hoping to do after work today (unless I do actually get fired, in which case I'll be too busy drowning my sorrows in a vat of wine). Again, I'm counting on Dixiebelle to help me with this, as she's already put together a few weeks' worth of menu suggestions and hey, why re-invent the wheel, right?

Stay tuned for screams of horror from the mini-Tiaras as they realise what September holds for them!

STxxx

One Million Women can make a change

2009-08-29T12:42:00.000+08:00

I was just reading Kebeni's lovely blog Looking out a broken window, and her most recent post is about a fantastic initiatiative of one million women committing to take action on climate change.

What a great idea! I've joined, and I hope some of you will as well. Here's a brief blurb taken directly from the organisation's website, and thanks again to Kebeni for sharing the concept!

The Campaign

1 Million Women - A campaign of daughters, mothers, sisters and grandmothers - Committed to protecting our climate, our communities and our future, leading change for the better.

Our goal is to inspire 1 million Australian women to take practical action on climate change by cutting 1 million tonnes of carbon dioxide (CO₂), the main greenhouse pollutant causing global warming.

Every woman who joins has a personal goal to cut 1 tonne of CO₂ from their daily lives within a year of joining the campaign.

Here on our 1 Million Women website you'll be guided through ways to cut your 1 tonne, and to track your progress as you go along. You don't have to be an expert on climate change. Just join up and we'll guide you every step of the way.

1 Million Women - a million tonnes of CO₂. It's a huge challenge.

With your help we will make it happen.

5 Years of Z and Me - Part 2

2009-08-28T14:20:00.001+08:00

*Warning - if you're squeamish about poo and icky stuff, you may want to reconsider going any further*

The Birth

I had a plan. Although going with a hospital birth, I was going to be surrounded by essential oils, dimly lit lamps and gentle voices. My female ob/gyn together with my doula would be the elder wise-women helping me gently and safely usher a new little goddess into the world.

And yadda, yadda, fricken, yadda! Best laid plans and all that? Well, as it turns out, my senior elder wise-woman obstetrician had the audacity to fall down the stairs and break her collarbone a few days prior to my due date, and I was unceremoniously foisted off on her locum. He was very well-known male OB who fit into my little vision about as well as Benny Hill would have done.

I first met with him when I was several days overdue, and had been into the hospital for a routine stress-test, where they just hook me up and listen to baby's heartbeat for a while. Being a dab hand at this whole pregnancy gig I wasn't in the least bit stressed by the stress test, and was a little shocked to discover that my baby was. After consulting with both the midwife and my OB I very reluctantly agreed to book in for an induction the following morning.

To give a little more background, my first birth was absolutely godawful. I don't know if you've heard of the whole concept of the chain of intervention in labour, but basically it says that just one medical intervention can often lead to another, then another and so forth. And so it was with me. I started with induction, and ended up with a high forceps birth with no pain relief. Yeah, that sucked.

My 2nd birth was glorious. Spontaneous labour at a midwife-run birthing centre, huge tub to labour in (but unfortunately not to birth in), and the opportunity to write myself a note in the middle of it reminding me never EVER to attempt this without drugs again! Despite that, it remains without doubt, my best labour and birth.

Anyway, being the dutiful patient that I was, I showed up obediently at 6:30am the following day, all ready to get this all over with. The first stage of the induction was the insertion of some lovely prostaglandin gel to the cervix, in the vain hope that a few well-placed hormones would convince my stubborn baby that it was time to come out.

It was not to be. By lunchtime absolutely NOTHING had happened, except extreme regret on my part for also agreeing to let one of the midwives torture me with an enema. I do not use the word "torture" lightly, and was very reluctant to agree with it purely because "the doctor prefers it". Now, I can see the sense in that, I'm sure it's rather unpleasant to have ladies pooing on your hands all day long, however I respectfully point out that you are being paid upwards of $3000 for the privilege and suggest that you could suck it up, princess.

As it turns out, my memories of the last birth when I didn't partake of the joys of enemas came flooding back (particularly of my midwife friend's description of "snapping off logs") and I decided to accommodate my OB in this one teeny weeny request. FAIL! If you haven't had one of these things before it's hard to explain. The actual, ahem, administering of it isn't quite so bad, apart from being totally and utterly demeaning. It's the effect they have. Imagine the worst case of Bali-belly you've ever and double it. And doubled over I was, half hobbling, half being carried by slightly amused midwives to the toilet.

Anyway, crashing on past the seedy side of labour, still nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing and a side order of absolutely sweet FA was going with my cervix. It remained sealed shut like an Egyptian canopic jar and no application of hormones was going to change that.

By early afternoon my OB stuck his jovial head into the room and announced that it was time for something more dramatic. I was once again the obedient (and somewhat bored) patient, and was happy for him to have a play. Little did I know that having a play would involve him unwrapping this Thing. It's a thing like those rubber thimbles bank tellers stick on their fingers when counting money, but with a sneaky little hook on the end. It's called an amnicot and looked innocuous enough when I first saw it.

I'm sure you can figure out how it works, but oh my sainted aunt, I wasn't ready for how it felt. I quite literally nearly hit the ceiling, which was rather amusing since it had been 2 months since I could get out of an armchair unaided, never mind fly through the air as if shot out of a cannon.

It did the trick, though, and I was soon lying uncomfortably in a warm puddle of amniotic fluid. One quick shower later I was clean, dry and ready for some serious baby action! I should state at this point that the only company I had so far was my mother, bless her, who had driven me to hospital and was planning to stick it out for the duration. Once the waters were broken, though, I started feeling little niggles very quickly, so we called the doula (T) and my best friend (J) and told them to head on in to join us.

T soon arrived, however J was nowhere to be seen. Eventually she came breathlessly into the room, announcing that she went to the wrong hospital first, and had to call my mother to find out where the hell her goddaughter was going to be born! Bless her.

Contractions were pretty slow to get going, but things were progressing nicely when Mr Jovial OB man came by for another visit. He had a bit of a squizz at my cervix (always a pleasure) and announced that he was going home for dinner and casually asked the midwife on the way out to just "chuck in a drip to get things going". I don't bloody think so! Why, in heaven's name, when things are progressing nicely would this man feel the need to stuff me full of labour-enhancing drugs? Fortunately my midwife seemed to agree with me and pretended not to hear him. Again, bless.

Soon thereafter we were getting to the business end of this whole ordeal, and as my contractions got stronger and closer together I decided it was time to evict Mum and J, as I felt like some freak show attraction moaning and trying not to swear while they stood around watching and occasionally applauding my efforts. Desperately trying not to show their relief, they headed off for dinner leaving me, T and the midwives to get on with it.

I really, really had planned to get through this without an epidural, but when the midwife examined me and announced that I was a whole 3 cm dilated I completely collapsed into a sobbing puddle of defeat and begged for drugs, any drugs, all the drugs and right this minute, please. An induced labour is very, very different from a spontaneous one, something I had been warned about, and was now realising to be absolutely true!

T was being fantastic - rubbing my back when I wanted to and getting-the-f%$@-away-from-me when that worked. She stepped in between me and the medical staff when she sensed I needed to be left alone, and asked questions on my behalf when I couldn't quite get the words out. Again, there really is something to be said for women supporting other women through childbirth. Don't get me wrong, I loved having my ex at my other births, and would have hated to go through it without him, but this was just, well, different.

To be honest, around this time it all goes a bit hazy, which I can only assume is the mind's way of ensuring that women have more than one child. I do remember the anaesthetist showing up, though. Even in my befuddled state I managed to take a photo of him:

OK, so some of that could have been the fact that he held in his hands the Power To Take Away The Pain, but he was actually one sexy Kiwi bloke to whom I shall remain grateful as long as I live!

Sadly I'd left it a bit late, as my daughter decided she'd had absolutely enough of this carry on, and was going to get out a bit faster. Within 45 minutes of the last examination I was now 10cm dilated and ready to push, and the bloody epidural had only just begun to take effect.

The pushing part is never fun. I really wish someone had told me before my first that it feels exactly and precisely like trying to shit a watermelon, which I'm sure you can imagine is not a pleasant sensation. Due to some abdominal muscle damage from my first birth, I was really struggling to push, and was turning into a bit of a soppy and cranky emotional wreck.

My OB had just returned, and was alternating in between keeping an eye on my pushing efforts (and being quite rudely dismissive of them too, might I add) and watching the TV, which was showing the dressage events of the 2004 Olympics. To this day I can't watch dancing horses without wanting to kick someone in the head.

At this point I felt something truly magical. My lovely little girl obviously sensed that I was really over this whole birth thing and decided to take over. I felt her do this full body turn, and in the same movement, somehow wriggle her whole self out in one go. I swear I had nothing to do with it. My daughter gave birth to herself, in a manner of speaking.

She was perfect. Absolutely, 100% totally and utterly perfect. As soon as she was out, the midwife took her and had a quick lookover and then placed her on my chest, pulling up a blanket over both of us. She also said something I found a bit odd at the time. She told me "Ah, here's another one." I must have looked puzzled, so she went on to explain, "I mean another one who's been here before - she has the eyes of an old soul." I looked into her eyes myself and melted. Anyone who has given birth will know this feeling.

As OB took care of things at the other end of the bed I found myself utterly mesmerised by this little person, who was all purple, and squished up and covered in icky gooey stuff. I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life (at least, not since her brother was born 5 years previously).

Mr. OB rudely broke into my dream state to rudely ask me who the hell was responsible for my post-partum stitching last time round. It seems he thought it was fairly shoddy work, and he felt obliged to fix the whole thing. Whatever, I had my baby, the epidural had kicked in and I knew there was a platter of soft cheeses waiting for me in the fridge. The midwives were most impressed, and one of them whispered conspiratorially in my ear that I was a very lucky girl, as Mr OB is renowned for his stitching.

OK, if you say so. Like I cared, anyway. No one was ever EVER going to see or go near that part of me again for the rest of my life, but if he felt the need to realign my nether-regions, who was I to deny him the experience.

Shortly thereafter my mother and J were brought in, and with admiring ooooh's and aaaaah's met the newest member of my family. I had a first name all picked out, but hadn't finalised the middle name. As soon as my mother walked in it was clear that the middle name had to be my mother's name. She was the one who had supported me throughout this entire pregnancy, and it seemed fitting that her granddaughter carry her name.

Well, I'm sorry that turned out to be a bit of an epic post. When I started this I thought it would be quite short, as I didn't think I actually remembered many details of the labour and birth, but it seems it was hidden under there, just waiting to escape!

If you actually made it all the way through, then thanks :-)

STxx

5 Years of Z and Me - Part 1

2009-08-27T13:12:00.000+08:00

My beautiful daughter turned 5 last week, so I've been reminiscing about the special 5 years we've had together, and thought I'd write some of it down before my remaining brain cells finally melt into a puddle of goo.

Brief background: This was an entirely unplanned pregnancy (but in no way unwanted) and I split up with the SD (that would be sperm donor, as that's the only credit he gets) when I was 12 weeks pregnant, and have raised her solo ever since. He has no contact with us, has only seen her a handful of times and provides no financial assistance.

The Pregnancy

I didn't find it too bad being pregnant and single. This is my 3rd child, so I had been around this block before, and was lucky enough not to suffer too many pregnancy-related unpleasantries (yes, I made up that word and am sticking by it).

I worked mostly from home throughout my pregnancy organising social events for singles. Anyone who has worked from home knows that it's a balance of the joys of working in pyjamas if you feel like it, on your own schedule versus the trials of keeping yourself motivated and organised.

I also attended all the events I organised, and had many regular attendees. It was so lovely to have them comment on my progressing pregnancy, make sure I had a comfy seat at the door, and bring me lovely "mocktails" throughout the evenings. Many of them were older ladies, and I think they took pity on poor-single-and-pregnant me and took me on as a surrogate daughter in a way. This was to be a bit of a recurring theme throughout the next 5 years, as it turns out - the amazing power of women supporting other women.

Financially this job was quite rewarding, so I was fortunate enough to be able to use a private obstetrician, and could easily afford the required baby gear (as well as much that wasn't required at all but I Simply Had To Have!).

Emotionally my best friend and my mother were my rocks for those 9 months. Without their love and support, as well as that of other friends, I doubt it would have been so painless. I was going to have my best friend as a birthing partner, however as the pregnancy progressed I realised that this was possibly not the best option, as, well, let's just say that's not her bag, baby!

My mother, who I thank my lucky stars for every single day, attended many appointments with me, including the all-important gender exposing ultrasound. I made no secret of the fact that I always wanted a daughter one day, and my parents were desperately after a granddaughter to add to the 2 fabulous grandsons I had already generously provided for them. To share that moment of revelation that this new arrival was, indeed, of the pink variety with my mother, and to shed tears of joy together that the little alien on the screen looked perfect in all ways, was immeasurably special.

I decided to go with a doula as a birth support person. Doulas are trained birth support partners. I found the most amazing doula who I clicked with immediately, and she agreed to share Z's birth experience with me. T (my doula) started weekly visits with me around 8 weeks prior to the due date, in which we got to know each other and came up with a rough sort of birth plan together. In keeping with the women supporting women theme, she also inspired me to do a little more work on my own "divine feminine", introducing me to the concept of the Goddess, and basically setting me on a more pagan and earthy path in life, one I have continued to explore.

The biggest negative of my entire pregnancy was fear. The fear was basically not knowing what SD was thinking / doing / planning to do regarding this baby. Not knowing is the worst of all fears, and I had a lot of not knowing. It even drove me to counselling towards the end of my pregnancy, as it was causing extreme insomnia, which I struggle with to this day.

I don't know how best to describe it. I was carrying this child. He could not answer the simple question I asked over and over again - "Are you planning to be a part of this child's life?". There were other issues as well, including a history of, well, basically abducting his own child and moving countries. I think it's pretty obvious where the fear comes in.

That said, I still look back at the pregnancy as a positive time. Going through something like that on your own is definitely good for one's inner strength. You find that you can do things you never thought you could.

Like put on 20 kilos in 7 months...

Next instalment: The Birth

STxxx

Order has been placed!

2009-08-26T11:18:00.001+08:00

I've spent the last hour perusing the Select Organic website and finally got the order sent in after much umm-ing and ahhh-ing over the zillions of varieties of tomatoes available! Who knew??

Here's what this spring holds for me in the way of growing some food:

- Bean, Bush - Provider
Packets: 1@$3.20	$3.20
- Capsicum - Californian Wonder
Packets: 1@$3.20	$3.20
- Carrot - Chantenay Red-cored
Packets: 1@$3.20	$3.20
- Chilli - Habanero
Packets: 1@$3.20	$3.20
- Cucumber - Muncher Burpless
Packets: 1@$3.20	$3.20
- Eggplant - Rosa Bianca
Packets: 1@$3.20	$3.20
- Herbs - Basil - Sweet
Packets: 1@$3.20	$3.20
- Herbs - Coriander - Cilantro - Slow Bolting
Packets: 1@$3.20	$3.20
- Herbs - Dill - Bouquet
Packets: 1@$3.20	$3.20
- Herbs - Oregano - Greek
Packets: 1@$3.20	$3.20
- Lettuce - Freckles
Packets: 1@$3.20	$3.20
- Silverbeet - Rainbow Chard
Packets: 1@$3.20	$3.20
- Tomato - Cherry Cocktail - Red
Packets: 1@$3.20	$3.20
- Tomato - Roma
Packets: 1@$3.20	$3.20
- Zucchini - Fordhook
Packets: 1@$3.20	$3.20
Total:	$48.00

Plus I'm sharing the above seeds with at least one other person, as I don't have enough space myself to grow that much, which makes it an even cheaper food option!

*Small Happy Dance*

STxxx

People are evil, aka WTF is wrong with some people

2009-08-24T19:08:00.000+08:00

*LANGUAGE WARNING - This blog post will contain multiple profanities and possibly some spelling mistakes and almost definitely overuse of commas, exclamation marks and ellipses*

So I watched the news tonight. It's not something I do often, but it happened to be on. Usually I read my news online and selectively click on stories my sensitive psyche can handle. Obviously I should keep on doing just that. Here are a few gems that got my blood absolutely fucking boiling:

Elderly Man Gets Hit With Tomahawk Helping Bleeding Mother and Child

Elderly dude is in laundromat, waiting for clothes to be clean and/or dry. Bleeding woman staggers in, clutching 2 year old child. Elderly man (well up and current on his first aid) begins to administer aid. No sooner does he commence his Good Samaritanship but drunken partner of bleeding woman staggers in and attacks him. With a tomahawk. At his eye.

Elderly man tries in vain to get away, fortunately drunken partner dude sees sense and stops. At this point drunken partner dude starts apologising profusely. This whole story is as told by elderly good dude in hospital bed with unspeakably horribly facial trauma. Elderly dude has no animosity, says his faith in the Lord enables him to see the best in drunken partner dude, and says that "he's probably quite a good bloke under different circumstances".

My awe is split between the fucktardiness of drunken partner dude and the amazing forgiveness and largess of elderly dude. Elderly dude has shattered eye socket, may never regain sight in that eye, and was about to take a test to be a driving instructor.
WTF is wrong with some people?

2 year old girl mauled by pitbull

Dad of 2 year old girl takes said girl to a mate's house. Mate's pitbull attacks her, toddler barely recognisable with horrible contusions and swelling to left side of face, both hands (put up to defend herself, can hardly contain tears here) wrapped in bandages. Camera goes to (sorry, my take on it) teenaged bogan-looking mother weeping about the state of her daughter with equally teenaged bogan-looking father at her side. Goes on about scars for life and therapy for daughter to ever get control of facial muscles again. Reporter states that owner of pitbull says it supposedly escaped after the incident.

My queries. Dad gets my wrath first. Why take your daughter to the home of someone who owns an unrestrained pitbull? Why allow your child in a ROOM with said dog? Owner of pitbull gets more. These dogs are genetic mutants. They have been specifically bred for viciousness and attack qualities. Why own one? WHY FUCKING OWN ONE? Don't anyone try and tell me that there is such a thing as a family-friendly pitbull. As I said. Genetic fucking mutants. It's not their fault, bless them. It's the fucking wankers that have gone out of their way to put the most vicious dog they can find with the most vicious bitch they can find and sell the offspring to total fuckwit idiots who think they are some sort of cool and tuff status symbols.

WTF IS WRONG WITH SOME PEOPLE?

Ben Cousins

Total up-his-own-arse sports brat. Got busted for drugs, got the right PR, faked the whole rehabilitation thing and somehow ended up back on an AFL team. Wanker. Fuckwit arrogant idiot wanker. Did the whole "Don't do drugs, kids, it's way bad!" spiel to try and get some street cred back. Wanker.

Tonight on the news I see a wee snippet how he got whacked hard in the head in some tackle at the weekend (not-so-secretly cheering here). Describes how it felt to the reporter. (Forgive paraphrasing, was too angry to remember verbatim quote) "Yeah, like, I felt all woozy and heady. Hey man, I used to pay $5000 to get a head that felt like that."

Unforgiveably glib, total utter fuckwit wanker from hell who should be shot.

WTF IS WRONG WITH SOME PEOPLE?

Rant over. I feel better now.

STxxx

Itching to play in the dirt!

2009-08-24T16:11:00.000+08:00

The weather here in Perth is still 100% winter. It's raining constantly, usual winter temperature, wind howling as only WA can, and yet some part of me has picked up a case of spring-time itchy fingers.

In addition to the biological welcoming of spring, doing some blogsurfing around some amazing home veggie gardening, sustainability and generally all-round-greenie blogs such as Down To Earth , The Crone at Wits End and Scarecrow's Garden really got me motivated.

Yup, spring's a-comin' and I'm feeling the need to grow my own food.

I gave it a bloody good go last year. I grew a lot, I failed at a lot and, sadly, threw out a lot. I went a bit mad on planting seeds with little thought of timing, storing and the all important will-my-kids-eat-it factor.

One of my most resounding successes last year was coriander, some of which bolted to seed, dried out completely and is still in its styrofoam container hidden round the side of the house. My excuse for this is that I can obviously use the seeds this year. Lessons to be learned this time round, though, to time my plantings so I don't have 30 kilos of coriander all ready to use at the same time. I must also get a more heat resistant one than last year. Bugger. There goes my idea of using the seeds up!

I also had some impressive cos lettuce, which ended up getting thrown away, because in my excitement of carefully cultivating the Most Amazing Cos Lettuce Ever Grown in Toy Boxes, I forgot that I don't like it, and neither do any of my kids.

The tomatoes, as always, did famously, and, in related news so did fruit fly. Fruit fly was the bane of my last summer. Bastard, buggery little evil bugs, they are. My garden is completely organic, so all I could do to compete with the evil ones was a homemade garlic, chili and pyrethum (never could spell that word) spray which, when sprayed on the tomatoes offended every dog and cat within a 2 km radius. It failed to deter the fruit flies much, though.

My leeks were fab, the spring onions are still growing since last summer. I could say that I left them in there as a botanical experiment to see what would happen, but that would be an outright lie. I just couldn't be bothered moving them.

My more epic fails included items from the cucumber / squash / zucchini sort of families. They grew, oh yes they grew. But they were, um, odd. Their very shapes made my boys giggle and my mother avert her eyes at the sight of them. I have burned all photographic evidence, but take my word for it, cucumbers were not meant to look like these.

Anyway, I plan to look at last summer as a bit of a learning experience. A Very Expensive Learning Experience! Ah well, if I've got a few things learned, a well-established compost heap on the go, lots of containers already full of potting mixture and had oodles of fun with dirt under my nails, then I consider it worth it.

This year? Well, the biggest difference is that I'm flat out refusing to buy punnets of seedlings from commercial nurseries. A little bit of research has proven that the DNA in these little things has been manipulated to within an inch of its life, and that's not what I'm after at all. I've discovered the heady joys of Select Organic Seeds and will be ordering some lovely heirloom varieties of seeds from there.

And I'm excited! Dirty fingernails, here we come!

STxxx

These pretzels are making me silly

2009-08-23T14:17:00.000+08:00

Wednesday night was silly night. It would appear that if you take 2 women and add several bottles of wine and a bag of pretzels that anything can happen. And did.

It all started with the BatPrezel.

We swiftly moved on to a human sort of figure, however as this ended up verging on pornographic, I will refrain from posting a picture of Man Prezel!

Next came Cat Prezel. We had a spot of trouble controlling Cat Prezel, as he immediately started stalking Bat Pretzel, with intent to consume.

As things get a little fuzzy around the edges in the Post Cat Prezel art phase, I cannot be absolutely positive as to the order of the next few works of Pretzel Art, but here they are.

I'd like you to meet Camel Pretzel. He doesn't make you thirsty.

Then we progressed on to Duck Pretzel and Mousephant Pretzel, the latter being a sort of genetically modified inter-species hybrid. Sounds dodgy, I know, but he was a charming fellow despite his less-than-traditional genetic roots.

I think we may have run out of wine shortly after Duck Pretzel, as the final photo on my phone was as follows:

And that was my Wednesday night!

STxx

A conversation with Z (aged 5)

2009-08-18T17:41:00.000+08:00

Z: What else is in the tacos except meat?

Me: Well, there's some crushed tomatoes and kidney beans

Z: EEEEEWWWWWWWW!!!! Tomatoes!!! I'm not eating that!!!!

Me: Well.... it's more like tomato sauce.

Z: *looks hopeful* Tomato sauce?

Me: Yes, it's like tomato sauce, but with little pieces of tomato in it

Z: Phew, I thought you meant tomato like the food, not tomato sauce.

Me: !!!!!!!

I have lost the ability to count.

2009-08-17T16:40:00.000+08:00

When did this happen? I'm sure it's something I've been doing from a very early age, and probably doing it on a daily basis since then, yes, then, back in the Stone Age. Once, in July of 1975, I was even told that I was pretty darn good at this counting gig, and was terribly proud (as were my accountant parents).

This new job (which I mocked as being not terribly intellectually challenging, oh how I shall eat those words) involves A. Lot. Of. Counting. Like, lots, like oodles and oodles of cold hard cash. And divvying it up, and writing about it in little boxes and sweating profusely when the little boxes disagree with each other. And let me tell you, these are some fucking disagreeable little boxes we're talking about. If you don't put stuff in it ju-u-u-u-st right, it changes colour on you. And bells start clanging and people with guns... ok, possible exaggeration there.

So, I'm learning about how all these little boxes have to get along and agree with each other, and I do appreciate that all bean counters have their own system of boxes and agreements and so forth, and I admit that it's early days for me to feel superconfident blah, blah, blah. Having said that, I have always prized myself on being a quick learner, and it's a bit of an ego-shatterer to find out that, where anything accounts-related is involved, this is not actually the case!

Anyway, my failure to learn a new accounts system is a topic for another day, and one on which I have consumed several large wines. Today's topic involves the simple act of counting and adding. Not difficult, really. I even have a handy-dandy machine that counts it for me! Seriously! You lob in buckets of coins, then stack up sticky, gooey notes and it weighs them, adds them and all that jazz. It's terribly cool!

There are, however, also rolls and rolls and rolls of coins, bundles of packaged and wrapped notes and soforth, which have to be actually counted. The coins are neatly stacked in rows, with the value of each roll considerately stamped on each one (apart from the 50c coins, for some mysterious reason, which one has to remember come in lots of $10). It's quite simple, really.

Here's an example. $2 coins in $50 rolls, stacked 4 across. Come on, even I can do this one! You've got $200 in each row, dontcha? So why do I have to actually get my calculator out to work this out? I sit and stare blankly at the fucking obvious, and totally fail to grasp it without the help of technology.

I struggled today mentally calculating the worth of an envelope containing $65 in notes and $2.45 in coins. STRUGGLED!

So, does this mean I am too dependent on technology, lost more braincells in pregnancy and motherhood than the average person, was actually not terribly bright to start with, or *shudder* are the threatened aftereffects of a misspent youth finally coming back to haunt me?

Maybe (this is my one shining ray of hope) it's a bit of a lost talent, mental arithmetic, and maybe it just gets rusty from lack of use. Perhaps 3 weeks from now I shall be a mental arithmetic genius, who will cast one lazy eye over the entire shelf and immediately realise that it contains $2764.50.

Or not. Today I counted one bunch of cash 4 times and got 4 different results. I think I need to face it. I'm doomed.

STxxx

"The Dress"

2009-08-15T10:13:00.000+08:00

We all have one. It may be a classic LBD, or a floor-sweeping gown, or a patent-leather micro-mini-dress, but we've all got that dress we wore back in the day that made us feel SEXY!

When you put on The Dress, you transform. You are no longer Mild Mannered Student/Bartender/SkipDiver - you are SuperStudent/Bartender/SkipDiver! You have Powers. Real Magical Powers. Men are putty in your hands, and women all either hate you or want to be you.

My own "The Dress" as shown here was a cheeky black and white number with Madonna-inspired cone boobs and pop snaps all the way up the front. The fact that my first boyfriend bought it for me in the spring of 1990 in Paris is just wanky and cliched enough to add to its power. Holy shit, that's nearly 20 years ago, and I still have this dress. Other dresses have come and gone, and I haven't even worn this one in at least 14 years, but I won't part with it. It's a bit faded, cobwebby and far, far too small for me now, but it's still with me.

I can remember quite clearly each and every time I wore The Dress. Nightclubbing in Paris, a corporate do somewhere in Texas where I was the youngest one there by a good 10 years, and one memorable drunken session where I felt compelled to drag my sister and her boyfriend out the back of a local bar and flash them. This dress was made for flashing, by the way, and it's a bloody miracle I only did it once (that I can remember, anyway).

Another thing about The Dress in general is that we don't lend it. That's a hard and fast rule with The Dress. It is ours, all ours, and we like it that way. My sister was so impressed with the flashing incident that she asked to borrow it so that she could also flash people when intoxicated and I very rudely refused. I think she's over it now. Hopefully.

I even remember my mother's The Dress in the early 70's. It was truly hideous by today's standards, but she loved it. It consisted of a large-collared acid yellow blouse with a quilted floor-length multicoloured skirt and matching quilted handbag. I remember being about 4 years old, watching Mum get ready to go out. She rarely wore makeup, so watching her pile on the frosty blue eyeshadow and pink lippie was a real treat. I still get flashbacks when I smell Madame Rochet (or something like that).

My god, how did fashion survive the 70's? I must see if she's got a photo of this memorable outfit - it truly is one in a million. Actually, her mother made it for her, so it's an haute-couture original!

Right, enough waffling; I am overcome with an urge to try on my dress again...

STxxx

Mini Rant

2009-08-11T20:01:00.000+08:00

School. Specifically primary school. Kiss and Drive.

It serves a purpose, people, don't mess with it. Don't be selfish bastards who block up the entire suburb because you are too fucking pathetically lazy to get out of your car, or park further away, or... or... arrive later?

Oh, that brings me to stupid. Don't be stupid. The siren goes off at 2:50pm. Why do at least 10 massive 4WD-driving parents have to show up 10 minutes early and block off the entire kiss and drive area. And not move until 3:10 if that's when your kidlet shows up?

Society is selfish. Very, very, very selfish. People simply don't give a fuck about other people, and it breaks my heart (and does wonders for my pedestal). How do you spell "pedestal", by the way, that looks right, and yet so wrong, all in one word.

It's quite simple, the whole concept of the whole kiss and drive. You pull into one of the 6 designated bays, you have approximately 1 minute to attempt to identify your child (and I admit this can be tough, given they are all dressed identically), and if you don't see your child, you pull out, drive around the block and get back in line.

This is fair. This is democratic. This is first-in-best-dressed. This is the only way it can work without causing gridlock for 3km in either direction. DON'T be the wanker who decides to sit there for 10 minutes and wait because you are too fucking lazy to put your automatic Lexus 4WD into D and spend 45 seconds driving around the teeny-tiny block. Have a heart for those of us who are racing from work at top speed attempting to collect our Small People before school admin call DOCS on us. If your child is not there, MOVE FUCKING ON!

And while I'm at it, a word to the parents of younger children who park, then wait outside the classroom. I used to be you. I get it. It's annoying that for a school of 600 Small People there are only 50 parallel streetside parking spots. But please, do you REALLY need to leave 3 metres in front and back of your car so you can easily pull out? Once again I beg you to have a heart. If you leave a space in front and back just large enough that another car can't quite squeeze in, you really don't have the right to object when I encourage my children to throw mud at your car on our way to the parking space I found in the next suburb. No, you don't.

It's actually possible to parallel park in a manner that will allow the maximum possible number of parents to fit in a limited space. It's possible to park in a manner that actually takes into consideration the amount of space you are taking up versus the needs of other parents.

Oh, and while I'm still ranting, you total and utter morons who park across the entire footpath? I hope you rot in hell. Do you not realise that kids ride bikes to school, and some parents have to push baby-siblings in prams to get to the classroom? Are you so fucking lazy that your only option was to park somewhere you blocked the entire footpath thus denying children and pram-pushing parents their divine-given right to move safely?

I realise, obviously, that there are families with special needs. I was one of them, FFS. I tore all the ligaments in my ankle, and still had to deliver kidlets to classrooms and so forth. I quite simply went to the office and explained my need and got special permission to use the disabled spot for X weeks as needed.

It's not rocket science, people; it's quite simply common courtesy.

Is this a lost art? I fear it is.

STxxx

Mum's got a boyfriend...

2009-08-08T12:18:00.000+08:00

... or so I was informed by Madame Z the other day, over and over in a whiny singsong voice.

Factually, this is, indeed, totally accurate. D and I met over a year ago, and have been together ever since. We are "dating", I am reliably informed. We do not live together, however we are looking at possibly addressing that at some point in the future, if only he lived in an area that had better high schools, grumble, grumble. But that's another issue.

I was on Twitter a little while ago and made reference to D as my 'boyfriend', however my fingers nearly refused to type the word, as it reeks of high school, giggling and airy-fairy 1960's pop songs. We are both in our 40's (although, obviously, he's been there MUCH longer than I have and is much better at it all round) and the use of the terms 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend' sound wildly inappropriate to my aging ears. I mean, I have grey hair, damnit, I'm way too old to have a 'boyfriend', aren't I?

But what alternatives are there? The preferred modern term seems to be 'partner', but I always associate that with couples who are actually cohabitating, not ones living separately and seeing each other whenever family and work commitments permit.

Significant Other, Better Half, Other Half. How wanky are those? Oh, but yes, I've used them all at one time or another in a desperate effort to avoid use of the boyfriend word.

And why is it that it sounds ok when he refers to me as his girlfriend, but it sounds absurd for me to call him my boyfriend? Perhaps it's because I still consider myself a giggly teenager and am happy to wear the expression, who knows?

I think 'partner' is probably most accurate. It's a bit sterile and generic, though. I think 'partner in crime' is much more exciting (if somewhat inaccurate), or 'managing partner' or 'partners in pissups'?

None are quite right, though. Perhaps this is all just divine retribution for failing at the hallowed institute of marriage and finding myself in this position in the first place.

STxxx

Oh, how I have missed it!

2009-08-06T13:40:00.000+08:00

The hospitality game, that is!

I just got back from my staff induction for my new and groovy, mummy-friendly job. It's not exactly the most intellectually demanding role I've ever undertaken, but it's a step back into my beloved hospitality industry, at a venue of the sort in which I actually like to socialise!

For an industry renowned for late nights, weekends and sore feet, I've landed a 4 - 5 hour a day, Monday to Friday, mostly school hours, mostly not on my feet position, dealing with bookings, function enquiries and a spot of cash handling. Just walking around the venue this morning, with the scent of stale beer wafting up my nostrils, seeing front of house staff working away like busy little bees was absolute bliss! Wow. I'm tragic, aren't I?

It's so hard to explain how this industry just gets in your blood, unless you're similarly inflicted. There's just a buzz and a vibe that you can't get anywhere else.

Signing off all happy now, looking forward to starting on Monday!!

STxxx

Bridezilla or Mamazilla?

2009-08-05T11:43:00.000+08:00

On a parenting forum I regularly frequent a common issue has reared its contraversial head yet again today; Kids At Weddings, yay or nay? Views on this issue seem to be quite equally divided into 2 camps:

It's their day, so bride and groom can impose any rules they want; and

I don't leave my kids with sitters if I can help it, so I should be able to take them with me.

I tend to fall somewhere in the middle. I think any bride and groom with half a heart would accommodate the needs of guests with a very young, possibly exclusively breastfed baby. As for older kids, especially once they get to the age where the reception venue will be charging for them, then I suppose it's totally reasonable (and often preferable) to exclude kids.

There are, of course, exceptions. If, for example, a family flies interstate to attend a wedding, is it reasonable to expect them to hire an unknown babysitter for the event? I say no, but that's just my opinion, of course! I guess my take on it is, if you are close enough to a family to want them to share such a special day with you, then you take them warts (or kids) and all.

This is only one raging wedding issue. How about wishing wells? I hate them passionately, and if there's one thing I hate more than wishing wells then it would be the cutesy poems people include with invitations explaining why they have chosen this gift option. Example:

We hope that you will not be miffed
If we ask you not to buy a gift
You see we have already filled our home
We even have a garden gnome!

But there is one thing that we would like
To tell the landlord to take a hike
We’ve been saving hard to buy a house
But if you could help it would be grouse.

There is no need to rob the banks
Any amount will be greeted with thanks
So help us grow our money tree
And spare yourself the shopping spree!

Now, don't get me wrong. I get the concept. It's definitely practical. Most couples have lived together and have all the necessary household gadgets, but I quite simply can't get my head around asking for cash, no matter how quaintly worded.

I have attended many weddings (and planned many more) which have gone with wishing wells, and I know the vast majority of people aren't offended at all. I have no problem with donating to a wishing well myself, if that's what the bride and groom prefer, but it's just so generic and impersonal, in my opinion. I miss the pleasure of picking out a gift personally, and thinking of the bride and groom possibly using that gift 20 years in the future and thinking of me.

Even though I'm now divorced, I still have wedding gifts around the house, and I truly do fondly remember who gave me what, and wonder what they're up to these days if we're not in touch.

Maybe I'm just too much of a sentimental old-fashioned gal at heart, I don't know.

STxxx

RIP SG Atlantis

2009-08-04T16:55:00.000+08:00

That's it. Stargate Atlantis Season 5 bought and watched.

Last. Season. Ever.

In my desperate search for new and untapped sources of sci-fi joy (and taking advantage of local retailer's desperate need to offload extra copies of pure shit) I purchased the Entire Series Collection of a little something called "Surface" last night. I also watched it last night. All of it. All 15 episodes of some of the worst acting I've ever seen in my life. I couldn't stop. OK, so I had extreme insomnia brought on by unwise use of antihystamines before bed, but that's just no excuse.

I'm a sucker for an edge-of-your-seat action type flick, but really, how many times in a row can these dudes face total and utter DEATH and DOOM and survive, only to do it again 2 and a half scenes later?

And how intensely annoying were the young bloke's non-involved parents? And how god-awful were the intense stares into the horizon as camera pans across... anything? Harsh, possibly, and the fact that I did sit through 15 episodes in one sitting says volumes about my poor taste anyway.

I found myself feeling sorry for the entire-fishing-boat-gobbling-in-one-big-gulp, human-engineered, ocean-going monsters and kind of hoping they'd come out the winners in the end.

Which they did.

YAY MONSTERS! Sadly, most of the actors guilty of worst acting in the history of acting also survived, and there isn't even going to be a season 2 in which they can get picked off one by one sneakily by sea monsters posing as... well, anything and it doesn't matter anyway.

These monsters lived in magma (must be said a la Dr. Evil for maximum effect), FFS. And then the ocean. And some teenaged boy's bed. Surely there's something wrong with this picture.

Who does that? Scary thing is, as I googled madly for a little image to go with this post, I found links to page after page claiming this is the Best SciFi Series Ever Made. Go figure. Maybe I'm the one with the problem.

So bring on the next reeeeeeeeeeeee-ally badly done sci-fi series which never made it past one season. I'm ready!

Oh, and if you don't hurry up making that rumoured Stargate Atlantis follow-up movie, then I will be most sad.

STxxx

Recipe - Easiest pizza dough ever

2009-08-04T13:13:00.000+08:00

... as long as you have the Marvel That Is The Kitchen-Aid Artisan Mixer lurking in your kitchen somewhere.

500g bread/pizza dough flour
2 X sachets yeast
50 g olive oil
320g tepid to lukewarm water
1 tsp salt

Chuck all the dry stuff in the mixer bowl, give it a quick spin, then with kneading hook going at speed 2, gradually add in the olive oil and water until dough forms a ball on the hook and goes round and round in a satisfying manner.

Continue this for about a 1 - 2 minutes until it looks lovely and smooth and stretchy. Squoosh into a sort of ball-like blob in the bowl, cover with cling film and leave in a warm place for an hour or so until it's roughly doubled in size.

Punch down the centre of the ball-like blob to get all the nasty CO2 out, then scrape out onto lightly floured surface and give a quick hand kneading - just a minute will do.

Divide into pizza-sized bits and leave to rise for another 15 minutes or so.

Flatten out onto pizza pans and put all the stuff on top.

Cook!

Eat!

Be Merry!

Recipe - Less Than Sober Lamb Shanks

2009-08-04T10:44:00.000+08:00

6 X lamb shanks (although I could only get 2 today, so added 4 forequarter chops to bulk it out)
2 X brown onions
1 X shitload of garlic (somewhere between 3 and 8 cloves according to taste)
4 X sticks celery
4 X shiny orange carrots
1/2 cup flour
3 tbsp Moroccan seasoning
1/2 cup pearl barley, washed (if you can be bothered)
2 X tins crushed tomatoes (or homemade equivalent if you can also be bothered)
2 cups red wine (yes, you must spare it, it's vital)
Wee tad of olive oil
Water as needed
S+P to taste

1. Don't preheat oven at all. Locate slowcooker from back corner of garage, wipe out spider and mouse poo and plug in, all ready to use.

2. Roughly chop onion, garlic, shiny carrots and celery.

3. Drink a large glass of red wine (not from the 2 cups allocated for this recipe)

4. Mix flour in a bowl or equivalent holding vessel with moroccan seasoning.

5. Heat wee tad of olive oil in pan

6. Coat lamb bits very well in flour mixture - like pressing it in and making sure the gooby ends are all floured up and stuff.

7. Chuck chopped veggies in slow cooker and turn it on. High is good to start with.

8. Oil should be hot in pan now, so chuck flour-coated lamby bits in there to brown. Depending on your pan this may or may not have to be done in batches.

9. Drink another large glass of wine. Wash hands several times and tell your children to be quiet.

10. When meat is browned, remove it (not with fingers, that will hurt) and chuck on top of veggies in slow cooker.

11. Check that your wine glass is still reasonably full, you'll find out why in a minute.

12. Empty both tins of tomatoes into the pan you had the lamb browning in. Stir it around and scrape up all those scrumptious brown burny bits. Chuck in as much red wine as you can spare from your glass. Keep stirring and scraping. Keep drinking red wine. Once it comes to the boil, lob it on top of the other stuff in the slow cooker.

13. Refill your wine glass and take the sharp knives away from your children and tell them to go to bed.

14. Call your significant other, if (s)he's not already there, and tell him/her what a Domestic Goddess you are.

15. Your glass is probably empty by now, and you could probably do with a toilet run, so take care of these and then go back and make sure the slow cooker is actually plugged in and all that stuff is bubbling.

16. Do something else for an hour or so.

17. Ensure that your neighbours haven't snuck in and nicked off with the remainder of your red wine. You can't spare any more for cooking now, obviously, so throw a bit of water in the slow cooker if it's looking dry. It shouldn't, though.

18. Time for the pearl barley. If you didn't wash it earlier, then bully your children into washing it. Then carefully put it in the slow cooker and stir, thinking only about peace, love and harmony as you mix it in with the rest of the stuff.

19. By this time you're probably out of wine, so nip out to the neighbour's house and beg half a bottle of claret off them for coooking purposes only.

20. Re-enter your own house, marvelling at the culinary odours eminating from your front door.

21. Wait a while and post rude photos of your friends on Facebook.

22. When the barley seems less crunchy, then it's all done. Leave it to burn to a crisp, forget the mash, go to bed and regret the entire endeavour the next morning.

A lifetime love affair with Sci Fi!

2009-07-23T13:19:00.001+08:00

I just love it. And no, I don't have a techy-sciency-geeky bone in my body (well, maybe a very teeny geek bone somewhere in my toe).

Here's the thing with sci fi. There are absolutely no boundaries on imagination. Writers can dream up absolutely anything and everything, not limited by all things earthbound. I love that. The zanier and less probable the better!

Give me 3 breasted blue chicken-footed godesses from the planet Arzabon, whose sole purpose in life is to lay pink eggs. Excellent! OK, so that's a bit far-fetched, but why not?

I was lucky enough to have a Dad who was quite into the original Star Trek TV series, so started pretty young, and I vividly remember being taken to see Star Wars when I was about 6 or 7 years old, during a time of civil unrest when most of the town was boarded up!

In the 70's and 80's my mother went through a phase of being rather hooked on Battlestar Galactica and... and, oh yes, Buck Rogers (phwaaar!). I think she had more of a crush on Lorne Green, though, and my younger sister thought that Erin chick from Buck Rogers was the bee's knees!

Since then, I've tended to stick with the various Star Trek series, although Enterprise just didn't do it for me, and my more recent addictions to Stargate SG1 and Atlantis. I was not impressed with the last 3 Star Wars additions, sorry. They just didn't have the *wow* factor the original 3 did. Way OTT on the CGI, if you ask me (which, admittedly, no one did).

My lovely offspring seem to have inherited the hankering as well. Actually, they probably have had little say in that, as they have been exposed to it since floating happily in the womb! Apart from one rather disturbing incident when my then-8 year old happened to catch a full-frontal nudity scene in Stargate SG1 (I didn't know he was watching - HONEST) I've found it to be kind of all-ages friendly. Sure, there are rating-nazi-parents out there who would vow that I'm condemning my children to hell and damnation, but all I say to them is "meh". My kids, my choice!

Why this post today? Well, it's all basically in honour of the DVD release of Stargate Atlantis Season 5, taking place exactly 6 days from now. Yes, I am that sad, and yes, I shall be stalking my local DVD shop at opening time...

Come on, admit it, who hasn't looked up into the big wide starry night sky and wondered what was out there?

Rock on 29 July!!

STxxx

Yeah, baby!

2009-07-22T10:49:00.003+08:00

Had to share this one. Miss Z found my round glasses from last week's hippy party, and decided to put together an entire outfit to complement them.

I just love the final look!

STxxx

Sleep, oh ye elusive sleep

2009-07-22T10:13:00.000+08:00

Sleep issues around here are going haywire. I'm an on-again off-again insomniac from way back, that's a given, but now my 10 yr old seems to have caught it. He was awake until 2am last night, and then was crying this morning that he's too tired to go to school. He's now comfortably reclining on the couch with an electric throw rug and kids ABC telly.

He lies in bed for hours simply unable to sleep. We've done the warm milk, the warm bath, we've tried reading and not reading - he just can't seem to get himself off to sleep.

Miss Z just woke up. At 10am. She also took ages to fall asleep, even with me sitting there and doing the hair-stroky head-massagey thing.

*sigh*

I need a nap.

STxxx

Just the way it do be.

2009-07-22T01:00:00.000+08:00

Well, cookfest is trailing off. Here are tonight's highlights:

1 X large cottage pie. Kid seal of approval, hidden veggies and all
20 X chicken sausages. Green. See pic below. I have reservations on their stylishness, but am confident they will taste ok.
12 X raspberry, carrot and zucchini muffins. Another seal of kid approval despite veggies.
12 X cheese and herb muffins. Yet to be tested.
1 X currently simmering pot of potato and roasted garlic soup with a few other sneaky veggies in there. Also yet to be tested.

As promised, here's picture of snaggers:

And another one....

Yeah, I know it kind of spurted out there in a spurty way, but hey, first attempt and all that. Taste test tomorrow night. Mwwuhahahahaha, shall make kids eat green sausages!

STxxx

MYO Snaggers

2009-07-21T16:30:00.000+08:00

Help me, O Powers That Be, as I attempt to make sausages for the first time ever. I have the free-range organic chicken thighs (with apologies to the chickens who donated these) and a buncha herb and spicy stuff, and have yet to find a recipe that (a) is for the kind of thing I want to make (b) I can understand and (c) shows me how to squish the meat into the casing.

Fortunately I am all gadgeted-up, and have my handy dandy Kitchen Aid with appropriate attachments, but absolutely SFA idea on how to actually use it. Shoulda watched the DVD that came with the gadgety bits, I guess, but these have now been swallowed up by the Bottomless Pit of Lost DVD's which is slowly but surely taking over our house, a la "The Nothing".

OK. Wish me luck.

I shall either post photos of sausages later or drunken photos of self lobbing hunks of semi-ground chicken flesh at the children.

Do stay tuned!

STxxx

Just because I can...

2009-07-21T14:42:00.000+08:00

Yes, I know it's necessary to document every single moment of this day, so I am therefore sharing with none and nundry that I am, with extreme excitement, heading out to Drovers Market in Wanneroo to see what sort of local, fresh, healthy noms are there for the taking today!

Nom nom, burp, hic, yummo!

STxxx

Ewe-Neek baby names

2009-07-21T13:13:00.000+08:00

Oh yes, I love to mock. I especially like to mock really stoopid people, and if you can relate, then you absolutely must make yourself a cuppa and settle down to have a good read of these pages:

http://www.notwithoutmyhandbag.com/babynames/index.html

Most enjoyable, and puts a bit of wicked back in your day :-)

STxxx

I'm ba-a-a-a-a-a-ck, did I miss me?

2009-07-21T12:46:00.000+08:00

So w00t with a side order of w00t, I remembered the log in details for this old blog hangout, and have given it a good clean slating ready to start again.

Lots of bits and bobs to get to on the tidying up front, but first must just post today's list of things that have either truly given me the shits, or would have if they had actually happened.

1. Slow. Walking. People. Honestly, people, if you are as wide as a bus and are out with your bus-like cohorts, DO NOT WALK 5 ABREAST right in front of me at a pace which would be overtaken by a snail on crutches. I *will* get violent. And rude. And Bus-ist! Single file or pick up the pace!

2. Wireless broadband dongly type gadgets that don't work. Well, at least if they do, they refuse to share the secret with me.

3. Dora the Explorer. 'Nuff said.

4. My kettle. You are making the water taste funny, which is simply not good enough for this coffee-addict. I've cleaned you, you know I have, and yet you persist in your funny-tasting-ness. Cease and desist! Or ye shall be replaced (which goes totally against my culture of recycle, re-use, don't buy shit you don't need, blah, blah, double blah!)

Ok, toodle-pip and all that. Off to play with formatting and other stuff.

STxxx