When do you become old?
What is that miracle cutoff age?


I read in a novel recently that babies stop being babies when they have knuckles you can see.... 
Most children spend time wanting to be older, to be bigger and old people want to be younger. 


This wasn't especially evident when I was away recently where even the older people (of whom there were plenty) were embracing vintage (albeit in a "ye olde" village kind of way). Complete with their wheely frames, busloads disembarked to shop in stores where the prime fashion items related to lawn bowls and blacksmiths, and tourist traps peddled olde time photos and paddlesteamer rides. Not all were embracing growing old with grace with the occasional stringy ponytail descending from a balding dome and short skirts and lacy tops barely constraining and definitely not covering the leathery flesh residing within.


In my head I'm still 23, but just as I haven't quite accepted the fact that we are now in March, I seem to have lost the last 10 years somewhere along the way. Not that they haven't been memorable. Between meeting my husband, moving overseas and back, moving to the country, getting engaged, married, working, studying, travelling and oh, having a child, I'm pretty certain that I've lived the past 10 years several times over. So why do I have trouble adjusting?


I don't have quite as much trouble as the botoxed reality TV participants of Big Rich Texas  which I had the dubious pleasure of exposing my eyes to over the weekend. In my defence, I claim extreme fatigue that necessitated me retiring to the couch and failing in the basic skill of movement when I realised that the remote was on the other side of the room. Unlike them (oh in about a million ways), I quite like being the age that I am now.  I like vintage things, but not enough to want to go back in time. I quite liked being the age that I was when I was 23. 

23.....

I liked being thinner and blonde and mortgaging my tomorrows by expending an entire week of energy and money on a Saturday night. I liked being able to make a spontaneous decision. I liked the fact that the future was still blurred (again more so on a Saturday). I forget the bits I didn't like. I forget that I worked 100h weeks at times and one memorable 35h shift. I forget working for 21 days without a day off. I forget the frustration of never seeing my friends or family and thinking I'd be single forever.


Most of all I forget at times that my other life, my mother life that I have now is the one that enables me to work part time, to have moments of pure spontaneous joy that would rival any night out and that the commitment of a mortgage is more than offset by the stability of coming home each day to a family.


I may change my thoughts when I am a similar age to the bowls set, but for now, I'm pretty content with the age that I am.




I wrote this post over a week ago now and haven't had a chance to upload it, but looks like others have been thinking similar thoughts! (See fatmumslim for the post!)

It isn't going to be too long before we are faced with the prospect of the end of daylight savings for another year. (Sunday April 1 for those who want to be organised). That means we get to get back an extra hour of life! I was thinking about this this morning as another weekend disappeared in to the ether.


The time equations in our household always seem to be in the red. Jobs are delayed rather than done and I have been known to bemoan the lack of an extra hour or two in the day, especially since having the little fish who seems to be an expert at making the hours fly by.

It seems that others have been thinking about the same things with some recent release of research on the topic. Apparently 30% would sleep, 20% would exercise and 50% would do a leisure activity. I don't think they could possibly be parents (well, maybe the sleepers). I'd still be using the hour in a frantic catchup on all the things I didn't get done earlier in the day and even then I'd only be able to if the little fish was one of those 30% sleeping.


Today I have been undertaking the zen activity of cleaning. Similar to the calligraphers who write their art in water, knowing that it is going to disappear, I have cleaned the couch three times, only to be thwarted by a combination of vegemite, ink and crayons. I have stacked books back on shelves for them to be rearranged on the floor again and wiped a nose optimistically a thousand times. It's not that I do nothing all day, it's just that I do the same thing over and over.


Would an extra hour change that? I'm not sure it would.

I've also recently had the added bonus of insomnia - frustrating because it seems to come with the paralysis of not actually being able to get out of bed, but the anxiety that I should be sleeping or doing something and not wasting another minute. Exhaustion is not helping my efficiency this week!


A different question would be what do you feel you are missing out on in your day? If there was unlimited time and a tree full of money, my answers would probably differ greatly!


As long as there is always time in the day for an extra story, an extra hug or a kiss, I'll be satisfied with 24 hours a day and I can postpone everything else until tomorrow....

I wasn't going to get angry this early in the week. After all it is Monday and the recovery from the weekend is still interfering with most people's thought processes, including mine. However, like most of my Monday resolutions, this one has already failed.


As I sat down to my newspaper with a freshly squeezed apple, ginger and mint juice and freshly ground coffee - don't for a moment think this makes me organised, or one of those braggy fabulous bloggers who have their lives in a much more controlled state of order - it was instead done out of necessity and at the expense of other essential things like having a shower or getting out of my pyjamas, but I digress - I found myself reading about bloggers and blogging in The Age. 


I'll get on to that in a second. First, I have to confess. To murder. Apparently as the author of a blog or two, I am partially responsible for the death of good journalistic writing. I do like to have apostrophes in their correct locations (refer below to the superman of the grammatical world - thanks Judy Horacek) and the misuse of their / they're and suchlike makes me visibly cringe, however I will admit to my commas being in the wrong places, sentences that are too long, too short or lacking in sense or substance entirely. And that makes me a killer. Apparently.

The opinion piece by Michael Kinsley, a senior and experienced journalist, editor and writer refers itself to an opinion blog by Felix Salmon lamenting the lack of well written work on the internet compared to volume.


Agreed, there are a lot of blogs out there that do make you want to weep, not due to the content, but more the inane ramblings of the barely literate, but I doubt that many of them are purporting to be high end journalists. Can we criticise people for putting something on the internet when it is more and more difficult to be a published author by other means?


Not all journalism is accurate, moral or unbiased (News of the World and Andrew Bolt - I'm talking to you!). Note triple use of punctuation !). If this was Scrabble - the punctuation version, I'm sure it would get bonus points (or possibly a lifetime ban). 


It has been a long time since the population has referred only to one source of media for their news content. It is patronising to assume that we no longer want facts or accuracy. In fact most of us are quite good at assessing information due to a general (and probably warranted) mistrust of what is fed to us.


A few bad blogs won't change that. There are some fantastic blogs out there providing independent and fascinating content in a well written manner. They may be more conversational than an article in the Australian or the Financial Review, but they make issues accessible and give some of us without journalistic training the opportunity to have a say.


Who's to say that our opinions on a section of life from us with our expertise in our own fields are less relevant or well written than one from someone with yes - more training in that area, but dare I say it possibly less experience?




- Conflict of interest declaration - I may in fact be married to a journalist. Fairfax pays our bills. Please don't make journalists obsolete either - mortgages are expensive!

Kids or career? The Herald Sun Opinion

I'm a little late in posting this given this piece by Susie O'Brien was actually published Monday, but when given the choice between career or blog, wine or blog and sleep or blog this week, the blog lost.

First up, I actually would like to eat any angry words that I may have spoken out against the Herald Sun recently. Oh OK, perhaps not all of them, any words written by Andrew Bolt are likely to leave a sour taste in your mouth and should therefore not be consumed, even after being processed into a contradictory argument by myself.

Why? Because the Herald Sun employs Susie O'Brien. And lets her write opinions. I may not always agree with her stance on things, but then again I'm equally as likely to argue with people I actually know. Head over to her blog for some really interesting discussions of topical issues (and some random comments by psychopaths, just to remind you that you're still reading the Herald Sun). Did I mention she has a PhD? Not that that fits with my views that I shouldn't be putting labels on people, but hey, contradicting my own arguments is also a specialty.

This week the issue was about how parents define and prioritise their roles while trying to obtain that elusive balance. This seems to be hardest to do while simultaneously being bombarded with messages from all around about how to do x best.

Living in the country, I recently thanked my lucky stars that I live where I do and am removed from the world of high pressure child classes purely designed to make parents even more guilty that they can't afford the time or money to get them there. 

Sometimes just being outside is enough

As it is, I feel guilty at work, that I have left a little part of me crying at the door of childcare (even when I know that it stops the moment I am gone). I feel guilty at home that I haven't done whatever task I was meant to and I feel really guilty about having fun without my little fish in tow.

This isn't helped by the external pressure from people like the one who complained when a colleague was away with a sick child, saying that she needed to decide what she wanted to be - a mum or a doctor. The lack of insight from someone who was obviously sick themselves was disturbing.

On the contrary, it has been really inspiring to enter the world of blogs and have the opportunity to read the stories of some amazing women out there in an encouraging and supportive community rather than the generally negative mainstream media. It really does give you hope that things aren't as bad as they seem!

So is all our guilt self driven or external? Do we really need to define ourselves in neat little boxes such as a "full-time" versus "part-time" parent as if the role itself stops when we walk out the door in to another barricaded section of life?

I have an aim each day to walk out the door and try and enjoy at least some of what I have to do - whether that is work, play or the stolen joy of a few moments of 'me' time - a necessity in order to remember that it is the sum of the parts that makes up the whole. 

As long as I am happy, and the rest of the family is happy, how I introduce myself to you is irrelevant as it is the package rather than the label that is important don't you think?

Today is a special day, not for the reasons that most of the rest of the world is celebrating, but because I have been married for 3 years today! If you are allergic to schmaltz, go no further and definitely do not go near the Herald Sun messages liftout (unless your name is Snookums, in which case, you seem to have several suitors).   

I am not especially sentimental. Or romantic. I am not averse to romantic gestures, as long as they don't force the eyes of the world on to me. I barely made it down the aisle, such was my fear of people looking at me! Did I mention I have to give a talk in public this week, with strangers? eek!

But make it down the aisle I did. And my husband was waiting for me, with equally sweaty palms (we are such a perfect couple - there, there's the schmaltz!!! I warned you!). Somehow in this crazy world, I found a partner in life who has grinned and beared it through tantrums (mine), sleepless nights (shared) and can make me happier than I ever thought I'd be.

So where is my lovely husband one might ask? Surely we have romantic plans, babysitters and the like? Nope - he's away for work, shut up in a motel room with takeaway and I'm on the couch with leftovers. Who says romance is dead?

Feb photo a day - Heart

Ahh, but wait, there is a twist in this tale. Tomorrow you see is the 10th anniversary of our first meeting. Due to the fact that this is true love (schmaltz again, sorry), my lovely husband will be skipping footy training just for me so we can spend the evening together (well, mostly just for me, the sore muscles from his last session have nothing to do with it, really!). A bottle of wine will be chilling in the fridge, my austerity measure gift will be given (amazing what you can do with $10) and the best product of this 10 year relationship will hopefully choose to go to bed early and we can kick back and relax before our own fatigue sets in!

Not the worst dinner companion for a day like today!

Happy Valentine's Day everyone. May love surround you from all directions.

"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body" - Elizabeth Stone

Note for the internet cautious - this blog should not be confused with:

a) An unremarkable life (1989 movie)

or 

b) Notes on an unremarkable life - an S+M blog which I accidentally came across while trying to remember what the movie was about...

Other notes (this one mainly for my husband) I am not watching the shopping channel, I am watching a documentary about the shopping channel. Nuances are important!

Exploring....

Sometimes you have days where only first world problems exist and life progresses along in somewhat of a calm and controlled manner.

Success is measured in piles of stuff sorted and ready to be donated to charity and the chaos is temporarily reigned in (temporarily being the correct word).

Tiny wings (I promise it wasn't alive!)

Yum, dirt!

The unmasked crusader is happily terrorising the lounge room and the cat with his cape (sleep sack) dragging along behind him.

If it wasn't for the pile of smashed glass roped off behind the safety gate (formerly a souvenir from Italy) and the laundry basket full of business papers and receipts to be dealt with sometime before the end of the month, I'd nearly feel like things were under control.

Sometimes in between the madness that are the days with playgroup, swimming, music or childcare, you get the opportunity to stay home and see the world through the eyes of someone small. At these moments, everything else tends to fade further in to the background, work and the outside world with its depressing news seem far away and really, that's all you need!

The boy and his banana

I know our music tastes might differ, and I could probably get over the premise of her tv show as an organic vegetarian in Spain (well, no, not really, Spain without meat is just a waste), but I can't get to grips with Gwyneth giving parenting advice.


Even her new year's "Clean" diet makes marginally more sense (I'm clutching at straws here. I'm far too hungry for protein shakes).


In a recent interview quoted in my favourite paper (note sarcasm, although the addition of Mia Freedman helps push it a little in the right direction) -  the Herald Sun, Gwynnie was quoted as saying that women who want to have children should seriously consider being stay-at-home mothers. In between visits to the personal trainer no doubt. 

This is definitely how I look  - just like Gwyn - all the time. Really. Complete with smile...

While I admire the fact that her husband has changed his own work schedule to make it family friendly, blanket statements like these don't help those of us who have to try and make work and parenting balance. Really it's hard enough without having celebrities demonstrating how different their lives are to our reality. That is unless any of you have too much money, oodles of time and an extensive staff, in which case, why don't we hang out at your house for a change. I promise H won't make a mess, maybe....

Home for stories before dinner

In my world however, things are a bit unbalanced today. I'm headachy and tired - it appears I can't sleep without interruption! H did survive his time without me with only a few tears as he searched the house for me this morning (yep, my heart broke a little when I heard that), and he has been a little grumpier and clingier than usual this afternoon (the typical - "I love you, no I hate you, actually I'm not sure, so I'll just lie on the floor and kick a bit until you sort it out for me"). I'm hopeful that tomorrow will me give a few more chances for me to win him back over - at least until the next toddler tantrum.

I've done it. The hard part at least. I'm 200km away from my baby boy and life seems different.

With all the kids heading off to school and kinder this week, it seems a good week for firsts. My little boy is growing up and is gradually getting a life that is separate to mine. I still struggle to remember that H will like things that differ to me (even though he tells us in no uncertain terms), so just cause I hate a food, doesn't mean he will and vice versa. I struggle to remember that with the cat though who always seems to end up with foods in the salmon and duck range, rather than jellied pilchards and liver.

I have to keep telling myself that I am at work tonight to make our life better, but it's hard when all I can think about is how long it is until I can give my little man a big "squeezle". Leaving the house today was hard. While realistically I know that I haven't given him less time and attention than I would on other work days, it feels different when that time is overnight and if he needs me, I won't be there.

We had a big play this morning, with lots of stories and slides and a ride on the toy horse at the shops. My little man loves being "side" (outside) and the cooler weather was lovely to be out in.

Not all about being away is bad though. This is my feb photo of the day for today - "Dinner". I love  nothing more than kicking back in my hotel room and watching bad tv, having a bath without having to remove ducks and turtles first and I am looking forward to having a bed all to myself with a quiet coffee to start the day. The scenery here is beautiful with towering birch trees and willows weeping over the edges of a stream. Nearly enough to distract me from where I am.

Enough writing for today though, as the lump in my throat is threatening to overwhelm me. Who'd have thought that I'd be sentimental :-). I guess it's just the fact that although this is the first time we are apart, it probably won't be the last....

Good night until tomorrow Ham man, Love you bigger than a squeezle!

Today was a proper Sunday. Complete with freshly made coffee, eggs on toast, papers spread out and just the hint of a struggle to get out of bed. Luckily the little fish must have understood my need for a little extra rest this morning as he managed to sleep in too, to the point where we had to go and wake him up after we got up.

I think he was worn out from a evening with Aunty 'O' as he managed to sleep through the night as well. Fantastic timing really as after two nights out in a row, I've realised that a) I'm getting older and b) there's a reason people are doing Febfast.

We had a wedding to go to yesterday, a gorgeous outdoor event at a winery. I love weddings, even more so since I've been married. I know people don't have to get married in this day and age, but there's still something really nice about watching two people stand up in a room of their closest friends and family and proudly declare their love for each other and their ambitions for a future ahead as a couple.

It's been nearly three years since we got married and I'd do it again in a heartbeat (although my dress probably wouldn't agree at this point in time). H managed to sleep through the ceremony, but woke up for the photos afterwards. I'm a little bit excited at having my camera back in working order, so I might have taken quite a few pics yesterday!

The flower girl was definitely the highlight of the evening - she took to the dance floor long before the rest of us had worked up the courage and also took over the microphone at one point to sing 'twinkle twinkle little star'!

My little fish is an intrepid explorer. He has been busy climbing, crawling and tasting his way through the world his week. I love this set of photos  - the joy of figuring out that you can fit through spaces that your parents can't definitely shows!

Sometimes I can't quite believe how lucky I am to have the life that I do. The paper today really brought that home to me with an article about the inspirational Debb and Chris Meyer - parents who lost their tiny boy Xavier after he was born prematurely. Please stop by the Bears of Hope website to see some of the great work that the organisation is doing for other parents out there in similar situations.

Anyway, enough rambling from me today. I'm off to read as many stories as I can before the little fish gets sleepy as a pre-emptive strike against the guilt I feel about leaving him overnight for the first time tomorrow. Wish me luck!

Yep, the press is against me. No Age delivery today at all. Which is a pity as I really have nothing to rant about apart from that. At least not until Gina Rinehart gets a seat on the Fairfax board. That might change things. At least I'm still in the running for mother of the year given that my child isn't actually taking me to court for cash....

Some might claim that the lack of newspaper delivery is possibly related to the fact we failed to change the credit card details over after the little fish stole the card, (I'm waiting for the bill to check for spending sprees at Toyworld), but I choose to believe that the lack of delivery is the result of a personal vendetta. Apart from trying to hold on to its shares, I'm sure that our paper delivery is next on the Fairfax to-do list.

Waiting for Daddy at the gate - Feb 3 - Hands

Daddy's home!

You'll have to forgive me if I'm a little fuzzy this morning. I appear to have been kicked in the head. Possibly by a margarita, or maybe it was the appletini. I'm claiming last night as me doing my bit for the little people. Like the alcohol retailers. I was getting concerned that their Febfast profit margins may be a little lower, so I thought I'd help them out. Selfless of me really, but I couldn't just stand back and drink nothing. Have to love a mothers group catch up that involves just mothers. And food without interruption. Apart from feeling a little (ok a lot) older than the majority of the crowd by the time we left, it was a fantastic night.  I did spend a bit of time alternating between jealousy of the stick-thin girls and wanting to give them some clothes to put on, but in general I was content with my world. I had the perfect day really, with a small sleep in (it's all relative) and time to myself to get the house / my work in order. Just having that time to myself, to let my hair down a little and remember to breathe made me feel a little bit more like me again.

Feb 2 - Words (a wine bottle)

It's not that I'm not me when I'm being a mother, but when my mind is full of work tasks, home tasks and "mum! mum! up! up! up!", you can tend to forget what actually makes you happy in the world. I don't miss the late nights out (only a little) or the music festivals (way too hot to contemplate this summer!), but I miss spontaneity and the option to look at something you want to do and then be able to do it without a military effort of organisation.

It's such a conflict though, cause I miss my little shadow when he isn't there and I'm really not looking forward to leaving him for the night next week. I think until there are more hours in the day or I'm cloned, I'm probably not going to feel balanced, but sometimes all the little pieces of life fit together for a moment or two and they are the ones that you need to seize and remember to enjoy for what they are rather than getting caught up in what they could be.

The last of the summer roses

So it seems like the newsagent misread my thoughts from yesterday. I was expressing dislike for the Herald Sun, not Fairfax, but somehow I ended up with one copy of the Weekly Crimes and none of the Age.  Somewhere I'm sure there is a dissatisfied customer expecting a copy of the sun, but instead ending up with a broadsheet and likely bemoaning the lack of Bolt.

Due to today being a work away from home day, disorganisation won as usual and in the rush to get out of the house to childcare, there was no time to rectify the situation effectively, so I bought a copy of the Age. And the Australian. And the local paper. (And the Sun, but you won't tell, will you? It's a guilty secret, kind of like picking a scab. You know it hurts, but you keep going back). The shop assistant did comment that I was going to be doing a lot of reading. I should have known that it was optimistic to get through that much information, but I have started to feel that facebook being my only source of news might be giving me a bit of a one sided view of the world (or is Febfast really the number one news item in current media?).

I am taking heart in at least getting to read the Age and the local, but decided that two further spins on conservatism were more than I could take. I'm still claiming my high moral ground, but really as usual it is more due to my overestimation of the amount of minutes in an hour, hours in a day etc etc.

Note food stain in centre - can't even blame the baby for that one....

So we'll discount the local, cause the little fish and I didn't appear today (we're much more Friday edition type of people, surely, with the whole party weekend vibe and all), although their coverage of the closure of local kinders etc probably win out today. At least we weren't cut for a kitten up a tree.

That left me with the Age. And about 5 mins of reading time before work started for the day. Thank goodness for speed reading - I promise when you're waiting for me, it's not just cause I'm in my office writing blogs, or reading the paper, or checking facey - that at least I can guarantee 'cause apart from the fact it is a banned site, I get no mobile service, so I'm pretty much detached from the 'real' world for 2 days a week.

It was disappointing today to get to the article about discrimination in the workplace.
Apparently we had all better "get used to juggling work and motherhood, like every other working mother". For all those non-mothers out there, we are pretty used to juggling. Constantly and kind of in a style like the vaguely irritating circus performers on the Wiggles, with wobbly heads and eternally cheerful smiles definitely optional extras. Occasionally we drop a ball or two, but you know what? some of the time it is just due to a lack of coordination unrelated to being a parent, but I'm pretty sure if you had a cheer squad in the background, rather than sniping, it would make going on with the show a more attractive option.

I took heart in the fact that all this happened in 2002, and in 10 years a lot has changed. It wasn't that long before that when I was told in a university exam that I got bonus points for wearing a skirt (my legs were better then...) and just a bit longer still when in Agriculture classes in school I was informed that I should go back to the kitchen with the other girls. I'd like to think now that I'd be better at standing up for myself  (I'm useless in the kitchen and my husband cooks - take that Mr Ag teacher!) but sometimes I wonder if the real changes are only surface deep.

I'm a bit sick of fighting the outside world (there are enough arguments at home really, mostly ending in one-sided food fights) so my advice for today is to pick your battles and if all else fails, just throw a juggling ball at someone. Not your child obviously, or a Wiggle - you'd probably get lynched.


In other news from today.... 

I'm not doing Febfast. I may try and drink less on weekdays in support for all those smarter than me. I give no promises about the weekends.

My drawing ability with crayons doesn't equal art.

He's laughing at me, not with me

Breakfast makes me nicer. So does sleep. Neither were in abundance today.

I really can't juggle.

Single parents rock. I am on my own for the week and seriously cannot get my **** together. I don't know how you do it. Tips welcome.

I'm going to take the lead of @fatmumslim and try and make my photo a day challenge a bit more challenging (although the lack of a camera at present is probably enough of a challenge). Please join in - I like other people's pics more than mine!

Here's day 1.....

The world isn't such a bad place sometimes...

My version of multi-tasking involves writing blogs in the backyard (and staring aimlessly at the sky) while the little fish plays. Risky venture, especially given previous back yard escapades (refer to lack of camera above).

I'm married to a journalist. I should probably stop bagging the press.....

So I'm a little angry today. Only a little, and only due to reading the Herald Sun, which is kind of like looking at a car crash - you know you shouldn't look, but find yourself unable to stay away.
I wasn't even reading Bolt's column, or Miranda Devine.

I was reading the sport section, which I get to claim for my own, given that my husband is away for the week. Sport should be pretty safe and innocuous, or so I thought as I sipped my latte at a local cafe with the little fish by my side offering up his own opinions on the world.

This does give a fake view of what my day-to-day home life is like - usually lots more opinions - accompanied by the word no, and lots less latte sipping, however the fish and I were all worn out after the photo shoot for the local paper - also not an every day event - more on that later!

So on to the article.....

Not all things can be equal - Scott Gullan, Herald Sun

I have no issue with the argument that the men's final was longer, more draining and more entertaining. Do I think they should be paid more? Maybe not more than they are at the moment - hey $6515.60 per minute isn't bad, but it would be hard to argue that Djokovic and Rafa were equal to Azarenka and Sharapova. None of that made me angry. Not close.

What infuriated me was the dismissal of any inequality of women in the workplace - just cause there is a female PM and a few scattered female CEO's of large companies. Board representation is still overall low and there are nowhere near as many female politicians, not to mention the overall salary discrepancies and lower super levels due to time out from the workforce (which although "voluntary", is under-compensated and under-recognised). Further dismissing women's tennis as a chance to discuss fashion and image over the water cooler, the author thus fails to acknowledge the skill and talent of the women in getting to their elite level. Hitting a low of referring to a supermarket worker in rural Victoria as a "girl" just consolidates the overall discriminatory tone of the piece.

Maybe that was what all the screaming on the court was about.

I feel like I've been back and forward in time over the past day. Time travel really wasn't on the agenda for a short break away, but as usual in my life, my agenda never quite balances with reality.

So, heading in to the sun, down the western highway we went. It was hot enough in the car, and I had no enthusiasm for being outside during our breaks. Initially I thought I was hallucinating in my half drowsy state (this is why I don't do the long drives!) when up popped a stormtrooper! In the middle of desert-like outback, he was quite at home, pushing along his provisions in the heat. I kept expecting to see more pop up in some kind of pre-Australia day takeover of our nation, but my husband brought me back to reality and explained that he was doing it for charity. Turns out he is doing a troopertrek from Perth to Sydney to raise money for the starlight foundation. He's hoping to get to $50 000 and is nearly at his goal with quite a lot more walking to do, so stop by his site if you feel like donating to a fabulous cause.

So now, backwards.....

I promise I'm not referring to Adelaide, or South Australia, both of which I quite like! We did have to go back in time half an hour to get here, but the thought of having half an hour less on Saturday kind of tempers my excitement about the day suddenly having more time in it.

It is more that all my first memories of South Australia are as an eight year old when we came to visit family, and so in a similar way that staying at home with my parents makes me revert to behaving like a teenager, I revert back to wanting to be a child (or possibly behaving like one). I had a pastie with sauce and an egg custard tart from a country bakery (please don't count my calories - the equations will hurt you) and had to have a banana milk to go with them 'cause that is what we did'. I bounced on a see-saw at the playground and will admit to asking more than once "are we nearly there?" - so much more grown up than "are we there yet?" - I promise!

Our motel room took me back in time to the pre-smoking ban as it appears that the room has held on to the aromas of that past endeavour, but in true 60's glam style, it has its own muzak stereo system (I haven't checked to see if it plays "the girl from ipanema"), and it was set up with its own bar, not a mini-bar, but a high bench bar that you felt you should be sipping martinis at. I would have been happier with a low bar and high door handles as Hamster the escape artist saw a chance at freedom and ran for it....

I think the best thing about having kids is the fact that occasionally, (or really quite often, but I was pretending to have some decorum), you get to behave like a child. Uninhibited joy and excitement is underrated in adult life. So today, my plans involve playing on the Milo lawn at the cricket, jumping up and down with anticipation at the zoo (in a quiet restrained manner so as not to scare the animals) and possibly a quiet glass of something cold as the day draws to a close. Ok, so that last activity may not be from my childhood, but being a kid (and a parent) is exhausting and rest is essential!

Happy Australia Day everyone!

So I have a confession to make..... I mostly like Mondays.

Not just because I don't have to leave the house to go in to the office (although that helps), but I love the fresh start that each Monday brings. It is the day to start the diet, exercise, cleaning, the day to start on sorting out bills, drawers full of paperwork and plans for the future.

I like the thought of a clean slate, but like every New Years Day, where resolutions are stored on a top shelf and forgotten about in the chaos of reality, Mondays can set you up for a fall. Today was one of those days.

I had grand plans. The house was going to be tidy, I was going to catch up on all the paperwork I had to do from home instead of in my windowless office, I was going to vacuum, go to the gym, sort out my disastrous tax stuff-ups (again), play with my son, take him swimming, cook lunch and dinner for him, freeze leftovers, do the weekly shopping and take my camera to be posted for repairs :-(.

So you can see, I may have set my goals a little higher than I could reach, even with our extendible ladder (which I must remove from outside our front door where it was left after my rooftop cat rescue (another story entirely) as I'm sure the bad luck of walking under it must be doing something awful).

I am usually a person that time matters for. I like appointments, timetables and calendars, but have not yet managed to cope with the fact that there are only so many hours in a day that can be filled with plans that expand like balloons jostling against each other. Tick for one thing today though - I did manage to while away some time playing with balloons giggling at the look on H's face as they self propelled around the room as they deflated.... and we did go swimming, and laugh a lot and chase each other, and I did manage to get him food to eat (even convinced him to eat a vege or two). The shopping got done (thanks to my lovely husband coming home at lunch) and I tidied one room, so in the scheme of things, it wasn't too bad!

My paperwork though was another matter. Documents and crayola products do not mix. Or maybe they do, it just might depend where your goals are set. Resetting that aim of organisation to one of happiness, both for me and the small one, and today was a good day.

I just hope my accountant feels the same way about the delay....

The time is coming soon where I will have to leave Hamster at home without me for the night for work. Even though I am certain the separation will be harder on him than on me, it makes you doubt what you are doing, both at home and work.


Ahh... mother guilt - endless!

Dear Hamster,

Today was shattering. Literally.

While I understand the need to explore the world around you, rampant destruction and uncontrolled chaos seem to be more your genre for the week.

I revelled in your excitement at pulling the petals off daisies (he loves me, he loves me, he loves me....) and your joy at splashing outdoors in a bucket of water as you cooled off from the heat. Your squeals of joy as you chased the cat were musical.

I felt the need to capture the moment for posterity and indeed I now have many memories fixed in static images of a life that is rarely still.

Your father and I should have known better. Sunglasses do not belong on the ground. Not even when lying on the soft grass in the botanic gardens. Apparently they inspire tap-dancing (of the variety not practised by Fred and Ginger, but more the musical 'Stomp'). Cameras do not belong on tables. 17 month olds do not belong on chairs.

My eyes in the back of my head appear to be in need of glasses. So does my camera, its body and vision shattered by a throw to the ground. Apparently the noise it created was such a good one, that it required amplification with a second throw from a greater height.

My darling boy, while you may never have a career in a bar, balancing trays of precariously placed wine glasses (you may have inherited our genetic lack of coordination there), you may go well in olympic shot-put, demolition or other noise-making industries.

But now you lie quietly asleep, with the hint of a smile on your gently pursed lips and I can take a deep breath in, laugh now you aren't looking and try and muster the same level of energy that you have for life.

I hope the insurance company will find this as amusing as we did....

xoxo