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.