Only 12 more shopping days until my Birthday

Thought you'd like to know.

Seeking Sympathy

I have cut my thumb.
It hurts-a lot.
It is bleeding-a lot.
Nobody here cares about my pain and suffering.
Does anybody, anywhere?
Show you care-leave a comment.

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.

Quiche: A guide by Boy Genius

To make:
Cut up steamed cauliflower and broccoli into small florets. Remove ALL traces of stalk. This is Very Important.
Fry finely chopped capsicum, onion and bacon until soft.
Grate cheese.
Crack five eggs into a big bowl. Remove shell.
Mix everything up together, pour into pastry case, bake in oven.
To eat:
Use brown fork (this goes without saying really. Brown fork has mystical properties that only Boy Genius is aware of. Nobody else may ever use brown fork for fear of erasing these properties. Boy Genius can not eat at home unless he uses brown fork.).
Separate ingredients from quiche using an esoteric system, possibly based on colour or perhaps texture. Eat one ingredient at a time. No ingredient may be eaten until the previous ingredient has been consumed. An electron microscope is helpful at this point to ensure no atom of previous ingredient remains rendering quiche unfinishable.
Sure it’s time consuming but the effort is worth it.
Quiche is good.

Pop Culture

I’m getting old.
The evidence is irrefutable.
No, I haven’t found any grey hairs and my laugh lines haven’t reached the point where I need spakfiller and a trowel to smooth out my skin.
It’s worse than that.
Much worse.
I’ve started to pop.
I pop things away. I pop things in. I pop things on. On occasion I even pop things under other things. I wish I could say that was the extent of it, but alas no. I’ve started to pop down to the shops, pop over to visit friends; I’ve even popped out for a minute.
Nobody under forty pops anything or anywhere.
What next?
A blue rinse and an excess of cardigans.
Hmm. It is a cool-ish morning. I might just go pop on a cardigan.

A Vistit to the Dentist

On prominent display in my dentist’s waiting room is a certificate advising that he is a qualified and recognised hypnotist. I spent a brief moment speculating as to what role hypnosis could play in modern dentistry.
Could a person strengthen their teeth through the process of hypnotic suggestion? Probably not.
I was forced to assume hypnosis is offered as an alternative form of pain relief. I can’t be sure since he’s never been silly enough to suggest I try it. When it comes to pain I’m definitely an old fashioned give-me-the-drugs kind of girl.
I scanned on skimming over the expected infection control certificates and various assorted degrees until a small certificate up in the corner caught my eye.
It appears that all members of the practice are proficient in cardio-pulmonary resuscitation.
I’m not sure whether I should be finding that reassuring or not.
I know some people find the dentist to be a bit scary but does the sound of a drill frequently lead to heart attacks?
I pondered this while I sat in drug induced numbness having my jaw pulled about but came up with no definitive answer until it was all over and the receptionist printed out the bill.
Now I understand when and why the heart attacks occur.
On the plus side I have great teeth (or maybe I just think so as a result of post hypnotic suggestion).

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.

Making a Point

Boy Genius is now sixteen. This means he is old enough to hold his own concession cards and apply for various government assistance schemes.
It’s been a long, hard road but all paperwork finally in order now we simply need to provide one hundred points of identification.
In addition to his birth certificate.
Easy, no?
NO!
Health benefits care as issued by federal government=unacceptable.
Companion card, photo id as issued by government after filling in 27 (approx) pages of forms=unacceptable.
So what is acceptable?
Motor Vehicle Driver’s Licence-did I mention he is sixteen?
Registration Certificate from a national professional registration board (eg, doctors, nurses, dentists)-did I mention he is autistic and has a functional vocabulary of around 50 words?
Firearm Licence, Electoral Enrolment, Marriage Certificate-did I mention that he is SIXTEEN and AUTISTIC?
Finally I managed to pull together sixty points of identification but where to get another forty? I scan the list of acceptable documents and there is only one possibility that I haven’t explored. A Bank Card is worth forty points.
Can you guess what happens next, boys and girls?
That’s right! Boy Genius now has a Visa card.
A Visa card of his very own.
Did I mention that he’s sixteen and autistic?

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.

Zoological Physics (domestic practical)

How much water can a 4kg, long haired cat displace from a 45lt fish tank?
This is a question that has plagued us, lo these many years. But now, thanks to Tiger’s valiant efforts, we have the answer.
For years his attempts to immerse himself in said fish tank have been stymied by the presence of a heavy glass lid and uncooperative housemates (who have the rather annoying tendency to put him outside should they catch him in the throws of aquatic investigation).
But persistence pays. And Tiger has discovered that if you land on the fish tank with just the right amount of force, at just the right angle, the lid can be made to slide into the tank allowing unfettered furry access to the water below.
In the course of his experiment he not only answered the pressing question of water displacement but also incidentally confirmed the long held belief that cats are not overly fond of swimming and established that wet glass does not make the perfect springboard for exiting an aquarium.
Tiger appeared surprised by these secondary discoveries.
Scribbles, the fish tank’s lone resident, appeared startled by the sudden appearance of a cat in this watery world. But then axolotls have no eyelids so Scribbles always looks startled, even when sleeping.
So how much water can a 4kg, long haired cat displace from a 45lt fish tank?
About two completely sodden, but not dripping, bath sheets worth.