Too MuchTo Do

Like everyone else at this time of year I find myself drowning in a sea of busy. I am up to my middle with have to, got to and must do and sinking fast. As I lay in bed, my head buzzing with what I haven't managed to finish off today and what I need to do tomorrow, I find myself asking, when did Christmas stop being fun and start being hard work?

Why is it that to do lists always include things like-

• pay bills,
• worm the cat
• find the source of mystery smell in the bathroom,

And never include-

• read trashy novel under shady tree
• drink cocktails at sunset
• lay in bubble bath until skin is all wrinkly and prune-ish.

So right now in this unexpected lull I am going to write myself a fantasy to do list. What would I do if time, money, talent and responsibility were no barrier. Hmm, let's see in addition to the above I would-

• sleep solidly until I woke up naturally
• learn to crochet
• learn to dance
• learn a language
• take up fencing
• create a garden
• sky dive
• run a marathon
• learn to play a musical instrument
• climb a mountain
• see the northern lights
• walk on the great wall of China
• drink Champaign in a hot air balloon
• scuba dive in the tropics
• stand beside an active volcano
• visit exotic destinations (Versailles, Rome, Pompeii, Petra, Egypt, Paris, South America)
• photo safari in Africa 
• finish PhD (start PhD)
• see a glacier up close
• write a book
• laugh heartily and often (I never seem to do it anymore)
• slow down, ease up, let go

Now that's a far more interesting and fun to do list. Merry Christmas.

It's not mess, it's art: apparently.

Master of the Bleeding Obvious has a busy weekend as was evidenced by the pile of shoes that had accumulated just inside the back door (the selection included shool shoes, a pair of docs, a set of heels and a few ballet flats-for those who are interested in that sort of thing). By Sunday night I was well and truly tired of tripping over them every time I came inside and suggested she might like to put the mess away or feel my wrath.
This threat was met with a deadpan: "They're not mess, they're an art installation."
Nice comeback.
The shoes were removed nonetheless.

Improbable Assumptions

Today my copy of the Fortean Times arrived in a plain black plastic wrapper.
I do hope the postman, and any neighbours that saw me carrying it inside, think it was some kind of kinky porn mag.
It would be fun to believe, that for just a momnet, I'm not perceived as a staid, middle-aged housewife. Not that anybody around here would notice or care to speculate about the contents of my letter box-even if it was kinky porn packaged in lurid green with "SEXYMART!!!" stamped all over it.
Not that I've ever been to Sexymart or have any idea what colour packaging they use. I really am a staid, middle-aged housewife.

The Ghost of Chistmas Past

The wrapping paper is in the recycling bin, the turkey carcass has been picked clean and the final cracker pulled. Christmas has come and gone again yet somehow I feel like I missed it.
Maybe the magic of the season was tempered by the lack of excitable young children in the house. Teenagers might enjoy the day but they don't have that same breathless wonder they did only a few years ago.
Perhaps over exposure to the commercial aspects of Christmas (the shops here were pimped out in tinsel and Xmas sales from mid October) somehow inoculated me against the charm of the season.
Or could it be that the Christmas cards from far flung relatives still trickling in through the post box have left me with a subconscious sense of not quite reaching the big day yet.
Whatever the cause, Christmas left me completely ambivalent this year.
I do hope it's not an indication of Christmas future.

Bah Humbug!

It just doesn't feel like Christmas.
The tree is up, gifts are wrapped. There's turkey in the fridge and fruit cake on the sideboard. Shops are crowded, television is a never ending parade of Christmas "specials" and carols are being played on the streets.
But the Christmas spirit is yet to move me. Somehow it all feels a bit hollow.
I'm drifting through the season in a dream-like state not quite wanting it all to be over but not anticipating the day either.
What ever happened to the thrill and magic that used to accompany Christmas? When did buying and wrapping gifts stop being fun and start being work? Where did this lethargic attitude to it all come from? Will it pass before the big day arrives?
I'll just keep on going through the motions and see where it all leads.

The Year That Was

The defining event of the past year has been My Hero's unexpected health issues. Much of the past eight months has been spent in and around hospitals and researching supplementary treatments (mainly dietary) while trying to keep things at home as routine as possible. This has meant downplaying the seriousness of My Hero's condition so as not to worry the children. With the Professor of Pedantics half way through VCE and Master of the Bleeding Obvious about to enter senior school the last thing either needs is to be worried about their father's health. Fortunately it hasn't been too difficult since he has few overt signs of illness.
On a happier note Boy Genius succeeded in getting a place at his first choice adult centre. He now attends Beachlynn Centre. He's settled in well and by all accounts really enjoys the program. Though it would take over an hour to get there via public transport, it's only about half an hour drive from home, so we bought a little car for me to ferry him out and back each day.
The car has also come in handy for the Professor of Pedantics to learn to drive. Yes, she got a learner's permit: and she's keener than she is skilled. At least I've got a year before Master of the Bleeding Obvious can get hers.
So that's the edited hilights of the year that was. It really doesn't sound like much but the time has swept by in a blur. I just keep breathing deeply and telling myself that everything is going to be just fine and so far, it has.

Missed Milestone

Last Saturday the country went to the polls, for all the good it’s done. I went and did my democratic duty at the local community centre; since my hero was at work I had to take boy genius with me. As we waited in a queue that I’m sure could’ve been seen from space, we were approached by the usual suspects handing out ‘how to vote’ cards. Each and every one of them attempted to give one to boy genius and that simple act made me a little sad.
Boy genius turned 18 earlier this year. He’s now old enough to vote. And he never will. Even though voting is compulsory here.
At least he got to vicariously enjoy his first non-voting experience. He got to line up for ages on a windy grey morning and listen to the bored conversation of strangers discussing the chances of rain. He got to stand beside me in a booth while I numbered squares. But best of all, he got to post my votes in the boxes, an activity that filled him with delight the likes of which I’m sure the scrutineer didn’t see again that day.
Voting complete we slipped into the shopping centre next door and rewarded his good behaviour with the morning-tea of his choice and a peep at the 2011 Melways on display at the newsagent.
I know some people find voting to be a pain (obviously not those people in some countries that risk grievous bodily harm or death and trek for days to reach a voting booth anyway) but just you try to take away their right to vote. Boy genius will never be able to exercise that right whether he wants to or not. He’s an adult but he’s a child, it’s a mixed blessing we live with, but the reminders occasionally make me wistful for what might have been

Resolved?

The year has hit the half way mark and I thought this might be a good time to review the progress made towards my new year’s resolutions.
Surprisingly enough, there is progress to be reviewed.
So far this year I’ve managed to see seasons 1, 2 & 3 of The Tudors in their entirety. Likewise I’ve watched all three series of Primeval completely. I’m part way through the first series of Dead Like Me and I’ve even managed to see a couple of movies I missed at the cinema (though let’s face it I miss most movies at the cinema).
I’m slowly working my way through my cd collection. And while there have been a couple of OMG what was I thinking (All Saints-really?) there has been much more rediscovery of old favourites (Eva Cassidy and Bryan Ferry).
I’m making inroads on my library list, even though said list is growing faster than I can keep up with. I’ve also finished off an anthology I’ve had sitting around partly read for 10 years, yes, that’s right ten years and now I’m working my way through another partially read collection. While I haven’t yet finished any particular series I am working my way towards the end of a couple and following up on trying new authors that have been recommended to me.
Attempting new recipes hasn’t happened so much as trying new recipes of old favourites. Not surprisingly we tend to prefer our version rather than the newer ones. But I have had a go at a couple of new recipes that worked well and I still intend to try my hand at others as the year wears on.
I’ve not made the progress on craft projects that I would have hoped for, arthritic fingers keep my knitting to snails pace and prevent me from doing any cross stitch or tapestry at all. Hopefully when things improve (which they do on occasion) I will be able to get back into things.
And finally, I’ve made a concerted effort to wear more of my wardrobe. It’s actually been a bit of fun. Old clothes are just like new ones if they haven’t seen the light of day for a couple of years.
So forward ho, into the rest of the year.

Bye-bye Baby

Yesterday Boy Genius turned 18.
There was no wild night at the pub with mates-just a small party at shcool, followed by a quiet night at home. Once my hero gets back from his current job we'll do something special to mark the occasion. His godmother baked him a cake-as she always has-and got a bit of a surprise when hearing her voice he wandering into the kitchen stark naked to say hello. After he was appropriately attired, candles were lit and blown out with almost as much joy as the chocolate mud cake was then eaten.
If I'm honest I must admit that when he was born I never really consisdered what his 18th would be like. But I would never have guessed it would be like this.
In some ways I feel a little sad about all the things he's missing but on the upside I never have to worry about him getting drunk or doing drugs, going halves in a teen pregnancy, getting into fights or a dozen other things 'normal' lads of his age get up to.
So I'm sad but not too sad-really.

Failing Resolve

So, here it is almost a week into the new year and I am yet to commit to a resolution.
In the past I have valiantly failed to drink two litres of water a day (easy enough in the summer but as the temperature fell so did my water intake), exercise for 30 minutes a day (because, as any mother could tell you when you need to be in three places at once and something's exploded in the microwave and you can't get from the front door to the letter box without a machete the first thing to go is exercise), lose weight (no that's not a conjoined twin behind me, it is, in fact, my arse), or live more spontaneously (who was I trying to kid. Military campaigns have been fought with less precision than boy genius's daily routine).
Inspired by these heroic failures past I have decided to run with the idea of the unfinished. This year I will endeavour to complete, or to at least make substantial progress on, the unfinished craft projects, unread books, unwatched DVDs and undone jobs about the place generally.
I'll report back as to how it goes.

Verily I say...

Yuletide hath passed me by with unwonted haste.
One moment I was felicitating my husband on the anniversary of his birth ere I knew it the last of the turkey carcass is discarded and I stand on the threshold of a new year.
So I send thee salutations for the season passed and pray fervently for a salubrious new year for all.

Translation Fail

I lately received an annual progress report from World Vision. These reports invariably take on an overly thankful tone that makes me uncomfortable (we chose to sponsor a child for many reasons-none of them a desire for approbation), so I usually give them a quick scan and file them away. This time my eye was caught by its opening paragraph which reads in part:

It is for me a great honour to write on behalf of your sponsored child and his community to express our heartfelt gratitude to you for your unvaluable support. (emphasis mine)

Putting aside the fact that our sponsored child is a girl, I was greatly amused. Is this a passive aggressive attempt to get us to increase our donation or an unfortunate translation glitch? I’m going with the latter. I’m sure it is my invaluable support they appreciate.
It gave me a laugh anyway.

Potpourri

I know, I know, it’s been quite a while since my last post. I wish I could say I’ve been busy with Important Things but the truth is that I’ve been preoccupied with a whole lot of nothing much. That is, after all, what life in the suburbs amounts to: a string of mundane, repetitive tasks occasionally punctuated by an Event. And my life, of late, has been blessedly devoid of Events.
However, time ticks away and even in my inconsequential household history is being written, albeit a rather dull history, though no less noble for its insignificance. But please, judge for yourself.
My Hero had some recession induced holidays during which time I finally got him to paint the lounge room ceiling-a job he’s been promising to do for quite a while. Cough-2 years-cough.
The girls introduced him to the joys of you tube. They quickly realised their mistake when he spent the next three hours getting drunk while singing along with video clips of the Dubliners. (I know what you’re thinking and it’s too late: we’ve already bred.) Fortunately for all concerned he’s computer illiterate and can’t remember how to access the site making an encore performance unlikely.
The Professor of Pedantics turned 14. She opted for a low key event. We were joined by four giggling girls at a local Mexican restaurant, where cheese allergies were accommodated and a good time was had by all.
The Master of the Bleeding Obvious has started high school and is coping well in spite of the fact that all the teachers hate her, the uniform blazer has shoulder pads and her best friend isn’t in her class. Truly her bravery knows no bounds.
Both are very excited about their upcoming trip to Ireland and quite taken with the idea that they have cousins. Cousins being exotic personages that other people talk about but of which my girls have little personal experience to speak of.
Boy Genius continues to improve slowly but surely. We’ve been experimenting with medication regimes and have finally struck upon something that seems to work for him. He’s still not quite back to normal but is much closer than he was a few months ago. Violence and aggression are practically a thing of the past. Though he still requires a lot of behavioural management, which can be exhausting, I am cautiously optimistic.
So optimistic in fact that in the last couple of weeks I’ve actually begun to believe that he and I will be able to accompany the rest of the family over to the UK in June. Something I really didn’t believe would be the case back in March. Fingers crossed.
As for myself to those of you who have noticed my absence and were concerned enough for my well being to get in touch, thank you. When I’m at my lowest and loneliest (and I have been living there of late) it’s always nice to be reminded that I do have friends. (And in the back of my mind I sigh in relief to think that should I die somebody would notice me missing before I was completely consumed by a ravenous cat.) From now on I promise to make more of an effort to post regularly. Whether I have anything to say, or not.
Yes, I will.
Stop laughing.

Costume Drama

There are many things about motherhood nobody tells you.
The acute observer may notice these things but usually they go unseen and unspoken of, particularly by the childfree portion of the population. There’s a conspiracy of silence surrounding the more unsavoury duties of motherhood. And it is mothers who invariably end up with this particularly onerous task.
Yes, I’m talking about making costumes.
So far this year I’ve had to come up with:
A sixties mod-it’s amazing what can be achieved with a mini dress, false eyelashes and a bit of teasing and hairspray
A medieval maiden-where velvet and chiffon came into their own and a passion for gothic dresses was established
A peasant-earth tones only, mob cap, mercifully, provided
And now I need to fit an Arabian Nights theme.
I headed off to the op-shop with the Professor of Pendantics and high hopes of some harem pants left over from the early nineties or at the very least a decorative crop top. Two hours later, having trawled through every place likely to harbour costumes or clothes from which costumes could be constructed we were back home empty handed.
It was in desperation that I dragged out a bag from the back of the wardrobe with thoughts of piecing something together from some old sarongs.
And there it was-a sheer black skirt with some vaguely Arabic gold print. I remember wearing it back in the day with a black crop top. More digging and sure enough I found it. With a bit of adjusting it could do.
The Professor tried the ensemble on-and it fit!
No adjusting necessary. Hoorah!
(I’m not sure what shocked me more. The fact that my baby can fit into clothes I wore in my late teens or the fact that I was once that thin. Look see there’s the evidence-she’s wearing it.)
So tomorrow I have to develop RSI sewing tiny gold elephants and bells onto the crop top. Then I can breathe a sigh of relief until the next costume notice comes home from school.

Nice Weather for Ducks

It’s raining here this morning-a rare occurrence these days. So rare in fact that I quite enjoyed the novelty of using an umbrella when I went out earlier. Just imagine how happy the ducks must be.
I’ve never really understood why it is assumed that ducks like wet weather. Sure they seem to like paddling about on the water but does it necessarily follow that they love the rain. At least, I’d never seen any supportive evidence. Until today.
I just saw two ducks out in the park, splashing about in the small muddy puddles and pecking at things in the long, wet grass. They really did seem to be having fun doing their ducky thing in the rain. I wonder if they’ll keep at it should the predicted hail eventuate this afternoon. Even ducks must have their limits.

Is this what Bentham and Mill had in mind?

Our household, like so many others, subscribes to a fundamentalist utilitarian philosophy. Our everyday decisions fall back on the principle of utility by default.
(You remember the Principle of Utility, surely: We ought always to produce the maximal balance of positive value over disvalue. Or in lay terms: greatest happiness for the greatest number. )
When applied to baking this means that the number of biscuits produced should be evenly divisible by the number of children in the household. Happiness for them with biscuits, happiness for me not listening to them argue over who got more biscuits. Maximal positive value achieved.
But this happy balance was thrown off by the Professor of Pedantics going to visit a friend, leaving us with an extra biscuit.
Boy genius was the first to identify the problem.
“Where’s PP?” he asked.
“Gone out,” I reply.
“Where’s PP biscuit?” He looks expectantly at me.
As an initiate I understand that he is asking for his sister’s biscuit since she is not here to defend her right to it.
So there it is-Moral Dilemma.
If I give him the biscuit then his happiness increases but the Profs happiness is bound to decrease when she returns home and her biscuit is gone. This of course assumes neutrality on the part of the Mistress of the Bleeding Obvious, though in reality she will also be unhappy that she did not receive an additional biscuit.
Things were not looking good for boy genius and the biscuit. Then I recalled that the principle of utility allows for unjust social distribution-this is one of its main faults.
It was obvious that boy genius’s level of happiness at having an extra biscuit far outweighed the combined unhappiness of his sisters at missing out on the biscuit and my happiness at seeing him happy had to be taken into account. And so the biscuit was his.
Ethics in action.
But I’m not sure this is what Bentham and Mill had in mind.

For Decorative Purposes Only?

Four pregnancies in as many years may have put an end to my svelte girlish figure but my more ample proportions don’t maintain themselves. This requires the regular consumption of chocolate. Though admittedly alcohol also plays a part. However, that is mainly medicinal-without the fortifying drink motherhood would drive me mad. Excess calories are merely a side effect.
Mother’s day has well come and gone again. The annual offerings of chocolate have been made, accepted and consumed. My selfless children once again sacrificed themselves and ate the ones I didn’t like. As if such a thing exists (okay there is that tasteless white filth but they know better than to call that chocolate within my hearing). We all know that there is no chocolate I don’t like, just like I don’t actually prefer the burnt bit of anything, this is just a pretence that allows them to eat the gifts they gave me. You know what I’m talking about, all mothers play the game with their young.
Anyway, presentation is everything, so naturally my chocolates came in the prettiest cup the St Louis mother’s day gift stall had to offer. Fine imported porcelain covered in pink and purple unicorns and fairies. I exclaimed my delight and rushed to the sink to wash off the made in China sticker from the bottom of the cup.
That’s when things turned weird.
Underneath the sticker were the words For Decorative Purposes Only, Not Intended for the Serving of Foods or Beverages.
It’s a cup. If it can’t be used for the serving of food or beverages what’s the point of it. In fact, if it can’t be slung in the dishwasher it has no business being in my kitchen.
That aside, it has left me with a picture of somebody somewhere with rooms full of display cases holding similar overly feminised cups that have never know the glory of serving food of beverages.
I feel a little sorry for them.
The cups that is.
And maybe the person too.

What did the Romans ever do for us?

The Edithvale wetlands can be a truly lovely place, particularly on mornings when a light mist hugs the ground and sun spotlights the treetops. I was walking along basking in the wonder of it all when my commune with nature was interrupted by a long column of school children.
There were hundreds of them, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Further, I discovered as I rounded the corner at the golf course and beheld a never ending stream of them crossing the bridge. It would seem the entire student body of a local primary school was heading out for the day.
For some reason they reminded me of a Roman army on the march. I think that is exactly what a Roman legion would have looked like. If Romans had been about four foot tall, worn navy blue uniforms and carried water bottles instead of weapons. And had recently been defeated in battle and so were staggering about a bit out of formation. And were not in the least unhappy about their defeat and were laughing and joking with one another and ignoring their centurion’s commands to stay to the left.
Okay, so maybe they weren’t anything like a Roman army on a forced march. But when I saw them that was the first image that sprang to mind.
How impressive were the Romans? It’s been over two millennia since the Empire was at the height of its powers and they are still alive in the mind of a middle aged woman living on the other side of the world in a country they never even imagined existed.
Just goes to show what a mastery of Latin can do for a culture.

In Loving Memory

Thomas Kieren would have been 14 today.

Strange Times Indeed

It is 9 o'clock in the morning and I am roasting a chicken.
Time was I would have considered this a strange thing to be doing at this hour.
Not anymore.
In the past few weeks I've mopped floors at 2 in the morning, scrubbed the shower at 11pm and baked cakes at midnight.
Tell me I'm not alone.
What have you done at atypical times?