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2007 in Pictures

1 January 2008, 08:19

Christmas Breakfast in Newcastle

Scout’s First brush with the law in December

Scout enjoys a little Spring Racing action in November

Kinki’s appearance on Temptation. Filmed in July – shown in August.

Scout turns 18 months in July

Scout’s First Mother’s Day Craft in May

Scout Turns One in January!

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Seven Year Itch

31 December 2007, 08:26

I have to say I’ve been uninspired to write very regularly of late (says I after 4 posts in a row). Truth is my life is rather uneventful and whilst I would love to keep sharing photos of Scout with you as she grows up and out, that can’t be very interesting to anyone but me. Or her as she loves looking at photos of herself.

Most of my energies have gone into channeling Scout by way of Wrigglepot , which pings my creative tuning fork more than recounting the peculiarities of my day ad nauseum.

But I’m coming up to the 7 year Itch with this blog, enjoying a love/hate relationship with it and am finding it mentally challenging to consider giving it up entirely, so I’m not sure what to do. Perhaps a redesign will reinspire me? Change the focus to an irreverent parenting blog and piss a lot of people off? I seem to do this without even thinking in real life so won’t be difficult on the web.

Have others felt this lack of spirit with their blogs? What have you done in this situation and did it work??? I need help!

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Aftermath

30 December 2007, 09:01

In Newcastle, Scout was obsessed with two things – Chickens (aka “didditch” accompanied by flap of her arms) and the Pool. Back in Melbourne, every single morning she’s woken up and said, with a hopeful flap of her arms;

“Mummy!” Daddy!” “Didditch?” “Pool?”

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Christmas Montage

29 December 2007, 16:02

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I'm dreaming of a Dry Christmas

28 December 2007, 08:41

8 days. 7 adults. 3 families. 1 toddler. 1 House.

Considering the stats, we didn’t pull up so badly over Christmas. Uncle John accommodated us, McG’s folks and his own daughters in his Newcastle home and with 8 very different personalities zooming around within 4 walls it could have been quite the hothouse, but it was terrific fun. I feel blessed that McG’s family have welcomed me with open arms, but I’m forgetting that, hell, I’m distantly related to them even without being married to McG (sorry)!

Christmas Day was a dry Christmas for me, though. I’d had a particularly dodgy batch of Baileys on Saturday night and thought the violent heave-hoing at 2am on Sunday was a direct consequence of mixing this Baileys with red wine and rum (not in the same glass) but by Christmas Day (Tuesday) I was still sick and the thought of quaffing even a small glass of champagne (Bollinger no less) queased me right up. I couldn’t even face my own Cassata sensation! It was only on Friday, when we were firmly ensconced back in our Melbourne home, that I started to feel better.

Scout sure made up for her mum’s weak-as-piss liver, though – the “poor” mite, who’d had but a skerrick of processed sugar in her short life, had 3 of her grandma’s massive honey biscuits (special recipe), countless (shot) glasses of punch (hopefully not alcoholic, but by the end of lunch it was difficult to tell which carafe was which), pavlova, whipped cream and chocolate santas. No wonder she was ricocheting off the walls.

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Yo Cuz!

26 December 2007, 18:13

It appears that me and my husband are related.

Before you book us a one way ticket to Utah or force us into a Woody Allen marathon (a truly horrific fate), the connection is very tenuous – turns out a distant relative of his is married to my mother’s cousin. Hmm. What are the chances of that? McG and I weren’t even brought up in the same town, the only way we found out about it is that his uncle John and my mother’s cousin’s husband are on the same school board together and had worked out that there was a connection between them going a few generations back.

Ah genealogy isn’t it fascinating? All afternoon McG looked like he was about to throw up his liquid lunch. And I’ll probably get whacked by him for posting this here but hell, it amuseth me, punters.

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Scout's Stage Debut

8 December 2007, 16:04

Santa Claus is Coming Video

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Banter with Bruce Beresford (+ Name Dropping Central)

5 December 2007, 20:07

By virtue of the fact that I manage a stack of graduates (oh the glory days of having 7 Gen Ys on my books) I was invited to the Graduate Close Event at work. In particular, I finagled (speeling wot?) a spot at the presentation by Li Cunxin, who’s name I am certainly unable to pronounce but who wrote “Mao’s Last Dancer”. He was frikkin’ amazing – his story drove me to well up on several occasions (just a wee bit of dust in me peepers, thank you, graduates) and everyone was enthralled for over an hour.

His book is being made into a film next year, and the Director, Bruce Beresford (if you say you don’t know who the F Bruce Beresford is, then, my friends, you are either UN-Australian or a Gen Y and if so, what the hell are you doing reading this sanctimonious, indulgent excuse for a blog, hmmmmm?). I left straight after Li’s talk and happened across Bruce in the lift as he was exiting the building.

Now, I’m not starstruck in the least, but Bruce is an amazing director and I love his work. He is one of the Holy Trinity of Aussie Directors, along with Peter Weir and Phil Noyce, I don’t care what you say. But I forget I’m a film and drama student working in a BANK so couldn’t really expect anyone in said BANK to know who Bruce was, so my name dropping spiel fell on deaf and uncaring ears. Sigh.

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Derby Day in Darebin

5 November 2007, 06:34

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Night Falls on Hallowe'en

31 October 2007, 21:30

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Family Vent

28 October 2007, 08:39

Right, I’m gonna have a wee vent here about my family – well, my brother in particular.

Background:
We’ve always been friends (except when we were early teens and my mum would take us out of house by scruff and inform us that we were to kill each other outside so we wouldn’t get blood on the carpet). Not close in the calling-each-other-every-month kinda close, but when we are together (he lives in Brisbane) we get along great. He’s very generous when he’s around but is shit at social “niceties”. When Scout was born, we got a phone call, but no card or anything. I don’t care for myself, but I’m sentimental about that kind of thing and feel sad that Scout will have a plethora of cards, some from people we’ve never met, and not one from her own uncle.

When his second child was born, we sent a card and gift (‘cos I’m like that) and never had as much as a thank you. He’s quite a serious chap, a bit insular and very nuclear-family obse…. focussed but ffs, it shits me to tears. I would love for Scout to be close to her cousins (as they are terrific kids) but any contact we have with them is contact that I initiate, and I’m getting a bit bored of it.

Even McG’s brother, who he was never close to in childhood, sends Scout gifts out of the blue, just because he can and wants to.

Now:
So, I’m on the phone to my folks yesterday – I have a couple of niggling issues with them but we basically have a congenial relationship, albeit via irregular phone chats as they too, live in Queensland.

I arranged for one of my Roses Only deliveries to go to them this month, for their anniversary (which alas, didn’t come on their anniversary via Roses-Only stuff-up, but really, that’s another story) and they called me to say thank you and gush about how beautiful the roses were and what a nice gesture it was.

So we’re having a bit of a chin-wag, I ask them what they are doing for Christmas and they say “I don’t know, but we’re going down to see Brother at the end of next month to help them with the new baby.”

“What baby?” asks I.

Follows a deathly silence – you can hear the crackle of the phone line, and mum says,

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought Brother would have told you by now.”

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Why yes, most normal brothers would tell their sisters that they were expecting a third child, but HELL NO, not mine! He couldn’t even be bothered throwing it in as an aside, even though we’ve spoken on the phone at least twice in the last 5 months. Dude, this shit’s important.

And my folks, who know what he’s like, didn’t bother to ask him whether he’d told me.

Oh I’m shat. Seriously.

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The Big O

25 October 2007, 08:57

And not even an interesting Big O, hell no.

I’m talking O-besity.

I went for a fitness assessment last week at our local gym, expecting a fairly average result and was told I was clinically obese! OK, the girl didn’t frame it in those terms exactly, I actually worked it out for myself through my BMI.

Then on Monday, a beautiful little two year old at Scout’s creche came up to me, put her delicate little hand on my tummy and proclaimed “Baby!” Oh. God. Then I discovered her mum was expecting a bub and she was doing it to everyone, including wiry fathers, so mortification turned to relief.

I know I’ve got a fair layer of pork crackling lining my body. Certainly helps if I were to fall on my bum, but alas, I’m not clumsy enough for that to be a solid winner.

So I joined aforementioned gym and have been going twice a week. It’s actually not too bad – the gym I joined is pretty down-to-earth with a fair smattering of posers (usually male) hanging out next to the weights (oddly enough, not using them?) I think I’ve lost about 3kgs so far, with another 15 to go!!!

Now I’m trying to get my BMI into the overweight category (baby steps people). Who needs size 0 when you can pitch for overweight!

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Same Couch. Different Year.

5 October 2007, 17:42

July 06

September 07

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hIgH vIbEs

25 September 2007, 19:54

The little McG family trotted down to High Vibes in Northcote on Sunday. High Vibes is a massive day-long street party on High Street Northcote, the last day of the famed Darebin Music Feast. There were mini raves outside cafes, street performers, weird feral guys parading half-nude in alcohol-induced fervour and spliffs being handed around in plain view (oh how prim I have become on the hearth of motherhood!). Oh. And 20 month old babies grooving along the tram tracks to the music.

Scout frikkin’ loved it. Her new phrase (because she, like, totally knows what it means) is “Bomb da bass”. True. And she only has to hear a bass in the distance and she starts dancing. In fact, the world could be deathly silent and she’d find something to dance to. There were thousands of people milling around, passing spliffs and stripping off their flannies (horror!) and she wasn’t fazed at all. That’s me girl…

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So McG is off to Sydney tomorrow for 4 days and I think Scout knows. Today, as she polished off her “bapple” for dessert, every sound outside would be greeted with “Daddy?”. When I explained that it wasn’t Daddy, not just yet, soon, the bottom lip protruded sadly and quivered ever so heartbreakingly. So I think she suspects he’s pissing off to days of beer-infested “talks” masquerading as “work”. Just as well she’s hanging out with a woman who knows BETTER!

What else? Blah blah. I’ve just finished a whole frikkin’ hour of major dejavu conniptions. It’s really f^&%ing annoying, just quietly, one after the other after the other in a steady stream and usually precedes a migraine which is, of course, why I’m on the computer because that makes it SOOOOO much better. Sigh.

We are under siege in our home with a mini plague of mice in the kitchen. Here I was, congratulating myself on a rodent-free winter, when the little fuckers decide to spring clean the back of our oven in late September. Mouse poop dusted off with a little splash of pungent mouse pee. Sweeping the spaces in the walls with an incessant “scratch, scraaaaatch” (a bit like Toshio, only smaller. And less blue). Oh, those mice are so yesterday’s mice when Kinki gets a hold of them. Problemo is we can’t use poisons in the house because of Scout, so it’s those ineffectual little Mortein “No See, No touch” traps. Terrific. No see the mouse sliced in half with their arses full of cheese lard, NOT. If they can even be bothered catching them in the first place.

Right then. Off to watch my ABC trilogy – Spicks & Specks (hoping Hamish is on), Chaser and Summer Heights High (20 mins later: Kinki realises they are on Wednesday, not Tuesday. Sighx2).

More High Vibes photos .

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Run of luck

22 September 2007, 10:39

Warning: Self-congratulatory masturbation ahead.

McG and I don’t often enjoy financial windfalls. We’re like every other middle class working couple with a child – we have a fortunate life and are very lucky, but we have an inner-city sized mortgage and we’re always watching our $$$, deciding not to buy a plasma TV when our existing TV is perfectly fine (geez, that’s such a hardship, I mean, really). McG loves his gadgets, but apart from that, neither of us is particularly frivolous when it comes to material gods, I mean goods.

My win on Temptation was the first sign that it would be a fruitful couple of months. Since then, McG won a snazzy Macbook through a friend’s company referral program, Johnnie Howard lovingly provided us with a year’s family payment (which I had no idea about, assuming we’d be over the cutoff for any kind of government assistance) and yesterday I received a massive payrise backdated to 1 August. And as a bit of well-timed indulgence, today we’re receiving our first instalment of my Roses Only prize – 18 long stemmed roses, Moet sparkling, lindt choccies and, oddly, rose pot pourri and rose oil.

So we’ve decided to get a plasma TV after all but will generously give the rest to the mortgage (who was starting to look under-fed) and to my parents who donated coin to us so we could buy this house. The plasma is extravagant, I know, but what the hell. You can’t take the coin with you when you shuffle off!

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We’ve just returned from a trip to Adelaide to see McG’s folks. I have bronchitis at mo, so I could rest while grandma and papa smothered Scout with love. She had an absolute ball, hanging out with cousin Blake who adores her, but really, how could he possibly help it?

She sat on her first real ninny and bewitched a plane full of passengers. She even sang us a lullaby in the car driving home from the airport. It was way past her bedtime but she was happy to sing as we shuttled home in the darkness…

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Hippy Chick

7 September 2007, 20:07

I love this photo of Scout, taken by a dear friend of ours, Sean, at Ceres in Brunswick, our neighbourhood oasis in a sea of inner city highrises and concrete…

I keep thinking that we need to buy a bigger house, but I love where we are living and couldn’t bear to buy further out (where we’d have to to afford a larger block). Our neighbours are fab, Ceres is down the road, we live in a street lined with cherry blossoms and populated by other young, groovy families (sorry, did I say “other young, groovy”?)

Ah, the trappings of the corporate mortgage-grind.

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But where are we going to put it all?

31 August 2007, 19:13

Kinki second-guesses her decision to take the third big prize ...

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Snazzy Yamaha Home Theatre System with sub-woofer(s) and enough speakers to, literally, wake the dead.

Kinki of course, forgot she only has a little single-fronted Edwardian and nowhere to put all the snaz.

Scout shares her pain. At least she’ll get all the boxes…

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Just like old times

30 August 2007, 09:20

Get the whiff of Spring in the air. 20 degrees plus, the 15 cherry blossoms on our street (yes, sadly, I counted them) as well as the countless ume blossoms in front yards are all in bloom and starting to scatter their petals on the pavement.

Scout’s creche is at the end of our street so it’s a beautiful walk at this time of year. We even have two cherry trees in our backyard, which are a little on the skimpy side, but I’ll give them a couple more years. I did manage to capture the mood of the tree though…

Scout has been cho delightful lately. She chats all day (not much advancement on intelligible words though), hosts extensive tea parties with Teddy and friends (one phrase she has is “da ta tea” which we think means “cup of tea”) and scoots about on her Disney car. She may not be talking yet but her confidence physically astounds me every day. And she’s quite happy to bang on about her feats on her own blog ...

She’s become genuinely helpful as well – she helped me weed the garden the other day (until she started eating the dandelions) and assisted daddy with the onerous task of raking the front lawn. She wipes her own nose and can even get herself into her pram with the brakes off. Wish she could change her own nappy though.

Some of her favourite things:

• Teddy
• a crappy Dora the Explorer doll for $10 at Safeway
• her Alphabet poster in her room. She sings the ABC song while pointing to the different letters.
• Figs and grapes
• her crayons
• her tea set
• Her books “Swim Little Wombat Swim” and “My First Alphabet”
• Her car phone. She chats on it whilst pushing her Disney car, despite being told she could get fined.
• Any music with a funky beat
• the mirror. Can’t imagine where she got that from.

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Chalk Vs. Teddy

25 August 2007, 09:39

How does one wash a teddy exactly? The label says “Surface Wash Only” but “Deedee” really reeks. He is environmentally unsound, unhygienic and Scout shoves her gorgeous, yet snotty, face in him every day.

I dunked him a couple of days ago and have him on the clothes line airing, but he still stinks like the bottom of a budgie cage. Sigh. There’s no giving up Deedee though – she’d rather give up her parents…

Other Scout news? She is a delight. Her fave word now is “Uh-oh” but she says it like “Uh-oiye”. I swear to you she has never seen a Kath and Kim EVER. But how would I know? She has her own little secret life .

She has also never been particularly “girly” – we tend to dress her in a lot of navy and red, she has a shaggy head of hair (and refuses to wear clips or hairbands to control it), she’s into climbing and her mischief-posse at creche is made up of her and two little boys, so many people mistake her for a boy. I’m glad to report though, that she’s been doing the cutest, girliest little thing lately, when she’s hiding something. She hides something between her legs (ah so girly!) then when I ask where it is, she flashes her eyes and puts her hands to her chin as if to say “I don’t know, I’m only a cute little girl!” Oh. It’s wonderful.

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The ol’ “Temptation” prizes are slowly appearing – the Antler Luggage is divine – McG took the cabin roller to Sydney last weekend and got a few comments on it, including one couple on his flight who were practically drooling over the stitching. Others have commented to me that they were so glad I won luggage. Winning luggage must be a rite of passage for the of TV Game Show…

The Kitchenaid espresso machine (including grinder) is a work of art. We have by no means perfected our barista skills, but just looking at it is an orgasm for the eyes. It is fire engine red. Need I say more?

The cheque has come so we can now buy a new dishwasher (it has a high-pitched whine that can out-screech me on a premenstrual day) and fridge (which leaks and half the shelves/doors are broken). Oh happy day.

Yamaha were supposed to deliver the theatre system on Thursday, but did they show? Ahem, NON! I waited at home all frikkin day for them and nothing. And not even a phone call to announce they couldn’t get it for whatever reason. Poor customer service, people, very poor. I don’t care that it’s a prize and I didn’t actually pay for it with money. Oh, I paid, honey! Did you see my orange skin on the teev?

I actually have to fill out of form for Roses Only. Man, too much work, so I’ll get around to doing that one day.

And no love from the designer light shade. Your one month grace period is OVER people! Time to cough up ye goods…

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Why 80-year olds shouldn't drive...

10 August 2007, 19:12

I’m cruising down Bell Street, a 4-lane, 70 kph main road in Melbourne’s inner northern suburbs. There are parked cars in the far left lane. I hate that far left lane ‘cos idiots cruise down it at 70kph, think ah shit, there are parked cars! and cut off whoever is thundering down the lane next to them. That’s what lead to my last bingle.

I’m in the second to far left lane and as I hit my 70 kph, spy a small car in the far left lane with its left indicator on. I assume he/she is going to park, but as I get closer, realise I can’t see a head in the driver’s seat. Little old lady, thinks I.

I slow to 60kph, and as I am about to pass, she (above assumption headily confirmed) decides to veer into my lane, with left indicator still on. I hit the brakes and thankfully miss her. Then a massive smack hits the back of my car and I see 4WD in rear view mirror. Expecting the worse, we examine the damage but not a skerrick. Surprised as shit as was massive smack with Toorak Truck. The silly old woman probably didn’t even 1) see me as she crossed lanes or 2) realise she’d caused an accident, as she was long gone.

I nearly dart up next lane to track down my mobile geriatric, but decide that my giving her a piece would probably give her a heart attack quicker than an accident would.

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The Chip off the Old(ish) Block

1 August 2007, 08:32

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"Temptation's" Turbo Bunny

27 July 2007, 18:14

If there’s one thing you really should do before you die, it’s have a Busty Betty moment on National TV.

It happened on the third night of my Temptation reign (for those of you who missed it… ooops!), I got a question wrong and brought my hands to my face, my elbows scooping up my boobs and delivering them perilously close to my chin. Oh. My. God. groans I, as a nation doesn’t even notice. Then I thinks, Hey, that’s pretty cool, not everyone gets to have one of those. Moments, that is.

So during my 3 episodes, I was called the following by either Ed or Livinia, our gorgeous hosts (Livinia and Chelsea were so adorable, I wanted to wrap them up and pop them on my mantelpiece):

• Turbo Bunny
• Nerves of Steel
• Killer
• Calculating
• Energiser Bunny

I also created two signatures haplessly emulated the night after I left – “Sayonara, Baby” (who did I think I was – the Japanese Terminator?) and the Karate Chop of ye ol’ red buzzer when I went for the Vault cash (a healthy sum I’m pleased to report).

‘Twas weird arse seeing myself on TV. A curlier and more orange me, that is. I looked like I’d been toasting myself for a week under a solarium then painted a healthy jaundice going in.

And soooooo serious, oh my god. The 4-night champ I knocked off on my first night, Cam, was this wacky, happy-go-lucky guy with an awesome sense of humour and brains to match, and here I was, casting my shadow over the other contestants with shades of “I’m. Going. To. Kill. You. All”. One scary mutha. Poor ol’ Grundys would have been sitting back, head in hands wondering “What the hell have we done to let loose this murderous assasin onto primetime TV?”.

The first two nights I was very lucky to win. First, Cam tripped up on the last question of the night, seeing him lose by a measly $4 and on the second, Daniel got the last question wrong – if he’d been correct we would have gone to tie-breaker and I would have gone down for sure, as the “Who Am I’s” were killin’ me. I was fine for the fast Question-Answer rounds, but the second I actually had to concentrate, I lost it.

On the third night, I felt like I finally earned my stripes – and thanks to the sudden possession of the Fast Money Demon in the last 60 seconds (you can almost see my eyes turning bright green), blitzed the field and I bailed on coming back to play for the motorbikes with the parting words “Sayonara Baby, I’m takin’ the Home Entertainment System!” Gid. dy. Up.

Sorry, I really should be more humble about this experience.

Sorry, can’t think of anything to be humble about.

The day we filmed was a long day. By the end of the third show, powered on by Codral Cold & Flu tablets (had been sick for nearly 4 weeks before the show) I was knackered and starting to trip out with the bright lights and huge TV monitor beaming bright shades of orange from the far right of the screen.

And don’t even talk to me about the cheesy segue they made me do at the end of the second night…

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The night I was first broadcast, we threw a little champers and pizza pahtay at Chateau McG for some of the locals. It was a buzz seeing myself on teeve, and given I’m hypercritical of the way I look, I was relieved that, whilst looking heavier than I would have liked (the TV put on an extra 10 kilos that I really couldn’t afford to add), I thought I actually came across OK. The stylists did amazing jobs on my hair and I wasn’t my usual twitchy-eyed self (you didn’t know I had that crazy habit did you?).

Scout’s little “twin” up the road, Ozman, undoubtedly stole the show, though. During the first gift shop, the groovy porn-style music accompanying the prize was also accompanied by a little 18 month-old porn-star groove in front of the TV, complete with wiggling hips. Scout was appalled. It really should have been her night.

Really, who the hell let them in anyway???

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The Many Faces of Scout

15 July 2007, 10:57

Scout has been increasing her vocabulary very slowly. Whilst her little “twin” up the road (born on same day in same hospital about an hour apart) swans through mother’s group articulating everything he sees; “Bubbles!” “Car – broom broom!”, “Pretty!” “Kin!” (yes, he can even say my name), Scout has been too busy with her feats of physical prowess such as climbing up the playground slides to be bothered with words. Although she understands just about anything we say, her vocab is limited to:

• Dadda (dad)
• Mummum (mum)
• Ets (yes)
• Deedee (teddy)
• Ba (bath)
• Eets dat? (who/what’s that?)
• Dis (this)
• Dat (that)
• Blora (Dora)

She does sing in reasonable tune though – “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”, “Farmer in the Dell”, “Bear is now asleep” and the “Backpack Song” (from Dora the Explorer) are all part of her repertoire. “Twinkle Twinkle” goes something like this:

“Dadda, dadda, dadda da
Dadda, dadda, dadda da
Dadda, dadda, dadda da
Dadda, dadda, dadda da”

Did someone say “Dadda’s girl”?

In other news, Scout has finally called a truce with her friend Mali and has exchanged pouts, bites and bitch slaps for sweet tender kisses…

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Happy Red Nose Day!

29 June 2007, 12:52

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Merri Creek stroll

9 June 2007, 10:57

Rueing the state of the Merri Creek Foreshore

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Quiz Star!

8 June 2007, 18:45

...well, not quite yet but I did pass the Temptation Auditions on Wednesday night.

I’d auditioned for Sale of the Century back in the Dark Ages (like… 2001?) and failed by a measly couple of questions and left with my tail firmly between my legs (which, ahem, felt rather nice) thinking my quiz champion halcyon days were over before they’d even started.

Then McG started nagging and pushing and whining and nagging some more that I should audition for Temptation as my ability to retain useless tidbits of crap could not be challenged. Plus I know he really just wanted to spar with Livinia off-camera and I was his best chance to do so. So I signed myself up.

Anyone can audition for Temptation. You can be the most trivia-backward person ever to grace the planet and you can take up your answer sheet at the door to the Channel 9 studios and get your chance. Some people audition dozens of times before they actually pass (one would think one would realise fairly swiftly that they probably weren’t cut out for quiz glory, but hell, everyone to their own).

Probably 120 people turned up? Of those, about 40 were women. Yes, me being one of them (how did you know?). They start off with a written test of 50 questions. The pass mark was 27. I got 32. The test was pretty difficult (just in case not enough self-gratifying sunshine was coming out of my butt) and about a quarter got through. The rest left. I was so bloody thankful I passed. In fact, if I never actually get on the show I wouldn’t care, but the thought of returning home to McG to tell him I’d failed (again) was too much to bear.

Next was a personal details sheet and the I.n.t.e.r.v.i.e.w. The Interview consisted of everyone getting up in front of everyone else, saying their name, their occupation, why they wanted to get on the show and why the producers should put them on the show.

You should put me on cos I have a nice smile and I like to talk. Terrific.

I want to go on to win the car cos my car just died.

I want to go on to meet Ed cos he’s hot! Shoot me now.

Not that my answer was any better, but I felt like I’d just sat through 10 hours of Big Brother auditions and my brain had atrophied.

Hi. I’m Kinki McG and I’m an HR Manager for one of the big banks (woohoo, that would have scored me a legion of fans…)

I want to go on Big Broth… ahem, Temptation cos my husband has nagged me for the last year and I want to shut him up. And my mum was on Great Temptation back when you were an itch in yo daddy’s pants and I want to uphold the family legacy. OK. I lied about yo daddy and the itch, but my mum was on Great Temptation. And that was a long time ago.

You should put me on because I have a reputation for trash-talking and I can wiggle my nose.

OK, I think I may have failed the interview bit. Been scarred with a big fat B for Boring next to my name.

So I may get the call next week, next month, next year, possibly never, but for now I can hold my head up with pride and confirm that I know that tartar is the build up on a person’s teeth to form decay, and not plaque.

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Slack Bird

29 May 2007, 07:18

Not much is going on in the Kinki front, but Scout has been very vocal lately. She’s a chip off the ol’ block, that one.

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Happy Anniversary

15 May 2007, 17:46

We forgot our anniversary last year (yes, both of us forgot) so I guess it’s time for a very public display of affection to announce that I Love Husband (for I, ahem, haven’t organised anything else). And for now, sorry to say, your stuck with me, dear.

Ah, how the years fly, yet the kilograms stick around like flies on roadkill…

One of my fave pics from ye of old (i.e. 15 May 2004)

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"Mother's Day...

13 May 2007, 13:56

... should be every day” my wise ol’ mum always said. Every Mother’s Day, the same thing – Every Day should be Mother’s Day, not just today. [Can anyone whisper “Martyr”?]

At the time, in my pre-pubescent wisdom, I’d think “Yeah, Good on Ya, Mum… just take your knitted doily would ya and leave me be”... Of course now, I know exactly what she meant. It can sometimes be a tough job, but I’m so grateful for my beautiful little girl, I have to whack myself (only in a good way) over the noggin when I have a trying day…

On Friday at creche, I was presented with Scout’s first Mother’s Day crafty surprise – a Scout Purple Sunflower made from an egg-carton cup, green pipecleaner wire and purple spongy-matlike thing! V. proud, me. Reminds me of a T-shirt I bought in Japan:

“Under a Lovely Smile that’s blooming…”

You crafty thing

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Can't help myself

29 April 2007, 18:06

OK. So there is a Cutest Baby Competition coming up and because I’m the mother of THE most adorable baby in the world (just ask me) I’m gonna enter Scout.

But I need help on which photos to submit. So here are four of my recent faves. Which ones scream CUTE!!!!!!! to you? If none of them do, well, you can just keep that to yourself…

“Cute #1”

“Cute #2”

“Cute #3”

“Cute #4”

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Just another day innit?

20 April 2007, 19:55

Ah the passing of time. I am officially now on the wrong side of “mid-30’s”.

The day passed quietly. No-one at work knew it was my birthday which was just as well as the last thing I need is cake (if McG is reading this, this is a barefaced and brazen LIE and cake is NECESSARY indulgence. Pref chocolate with strawberries and, oh, I don’t know some dark chocolate granache. Not that I’m fussy). My body has not quite forgiven me an over-intake of felafels last night.

Came home to cards from neighbours, and pressies from family, most notably some v. cool novels and ipod accessories (I swear if McG pronounces it “ee-pod” one more time he will be most likely wearing my felafels). Was serenaded by one of our neighbours with his infant son’s red ukelele and to top it off, Scout sent me this email:

Dat. Dat! Alix!
Nan nan nan nan nan. Alix! Aix!
Dad-dy! Dad-dy! Dad-dy! Dad-dy! Ice. Ice. Eyes!
Mum mum mum mum mum mum mum mum mum mum mum. Aix!
Happy birthday mummy!!
Love from Scout

“I dunno. She said they were cherries.”

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Drink a Slab Day

6 April 2007, 18:24

Easter has become 1) four days of non-stop drinking 2) four days of non-stop eating and 3) four days of fobbing off the child to papa. Hell, he’s had his trip to the States, it’s time for Payback.

Tucking into guilty hot-cross pleasures

Our neighbours have Drink a Slab Day every Good Friday, a day where the challenge is there – anyone who can Drink a Slab in one day, wins…. the honour of being able to drink a Slab in One Day. Ah, the messages we are sending our children.

The Clock has just chimed 5.30 and we are about to throw our caution to the concept, after having entertained McG’s brother, SIL and nephew Blake for the past 6 hours. I’ve imbibed one whole bottle of Sparkling Shiraz and grateful that I’m no longer breastfeeding. Or not, Scout could probably do with the uninterrupted sleep.

We are really going for Scout. She likes to p.a.h.t.a.y. Honestly, the girl is a machine – once the party starts and the 80’s music starts churning out of the stereo, she is one unstoppable midget.

Ah, Easter Fun. Bring it On.

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Got so many bad habits

31 March 2007, 08:22

“Mum, don’tcha think it’s just a tad too big?”

Well, husband has returned from his U.S shenanigans and Scout was very pleased to see him. At first. Then, the separation anxiety kicked in…

If McG tried to pick her up or spend any time with her when I wasn’t in the room, she would whinge/shriek (depending on how tired she was) and run to me, burying her head in my lap. She wasn’t relaxing with McG at all. It was a weird feeling for me – on one hand, I was kind of smug (internally of course) about it, but I was also sad for McG and exhausted by her wanting me to entertain her all the time, particularly after two and a half weeks of it. I guess it will just take time to rebuild that trust with papa and every day it gets easier.

She has started doing so many things in the last three weeks or so, not all of them pleasing to the eye or patience:

• She nods her head and says “Ace”, which we think either means “yes”, “teddy” or “no more food, please” which has proved rather contrary. She often points to her own chest, nods and says what we’ve suspected all along – “ace”...

• She spins around on the spot. This is the funniest thing she’s ever done and, given her fits of giggles, it cracks her up no end as well.

• She can navigate walking up and down a step or over an obstacle. Small children notwithstanding.

• She headbutts things behind her. We suspect our angel is going to be a sweet-natured, outgoing comedienne but not particularly bright. She will slump on her little couch and bounce the back of her head against the wall behind her. After a couple of butts you can see her asking herself “did that hurt? did it? dit it? No? OK, let’s go AGAIN”. She can go about 20 minutes just headbutting. At least I can get dinner ready.

• She can give kisses if you ask her. Most of the bubs her age give little sweet rosebud mouth kisses. Scout goes for you with a wide-open mouth and her tongue out. Can’t imagine where she learnt that from.

• If she’s in her highchair and has had enough food, she grabs a piece of food, puts her arm out to the side, looks you straight in the eye, and drops it over the edge. This pisses McG off no end.

• She’s started picking her nose. I’m assuming that this is an exploratory move, but my first thought was “ugh, who’s she picked that up from”, then I’m thinking, “hmmm, monkey see, monkey do, could she possibly have picked this up from moi?” I examine the annals of my short-term memory (what’s left of it after a year of boobfeeding and sleep deprivation) and wonder if I have perhaps had a wee dig in front of her. I think not but who knows? My little cherub is a nose-picker AND she pops her finger in her mouth after as well. Totally gross. Please tell me this is normal and my daughter is not going to turn into a festy grub.

So McG missed out on a little bit, but I’m sure there’s plenty of good stuff to come…

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Hard Slog

24 March 2007, 08:01

McG is home tomorrow and I’m counting down the hours. It’s been a looooong time. I really don’t know how single parents cope – I take off my hat (and trousers and shirts and boots and very possibly my pants) to them.

“Mummy, mummy, don’t LEEEEEEEAAAAAAAVE me”

Little Scout has been very unsettled of late. Grandma McG came over from Adelaide for a few days last week which took the caregiving pressure off me (and gave me some adult company!) but she (Scout that is, not Grandma) would still wake up at 10.30 and SCREAM for the longest hour and a half of my life. Like she was OUTRAGED that I should DARE come in and settle her and then LEAVE again! So poor Grandma McG witnessed yet another couple of meltdowns c/- Mum McG. Oh, the humanity…

I put it down to separation anxiety, particularly with McG not around, but then when I take her to creche, she holds out her arms to her main carer for a cuddle and might deign to give me a last minute hug before I leave, but otherwise, she’s not at all bothered. Obviously I’m relieved that she’s happy at creche and it’s easy to leave her there (no clingy “woe-is-me” clasping et.al) but at the same time I think “Hang on, I’m your mum, aren’t you at all sad to see me go?” But when I collect her, she’s all in a fluster to get to me and proceeds to whinge and carry-on until I put her to bed. So I just don’t know what’s up with her at the moment.

She is au contrare, my lady.

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Ode to a Weird Weekend

12 March 2007, 08:15

... for it has been a long, long weekend.

I’ve had PMT since Saturday morning and have been in a real shit of a mood. My head is throbbing, I feel shattered even though I’ve slept well (thanks to the incredible sleeping baby) and everything “not quite right” that happened, is exacerbated by 1000%. I back our car into a letterbox, scraping the back right side of the car (hate the frikkin’ car – you just have to look at it the wrong way and it buckles). The heat (33 degrees), paying for a toy in Kmart then forgetting to put it in my bag, driving all the way to the Museum to discover that my bestie, Mrs. D wasn’t coming as Milly was still asleep (totally my fault as I’d left the phone off the hook at home and missed her message) and then a very clingy baby who refused to eat her dinner and bawled until I gave her plain yogurt, causing me to go into semi-meltdown mode.

So Mrs. D rings me and says “Me and Mr. D are going to do a mini-camping trip tomorrow out to Moose Gully (Upper Yarra Reservoir NP) – are you in?”

Now, McG and I have always wanted to take Scout camping – it’s one of our major loves but we’ve never had the right size tent to do it (to fit a portacot) but Mr. D had a huge tent so I thought “Why the Hell not? It’s going to be a stretch to organise everything with only me, but it’s better than sitting on our arses for another day at home.”

So I organise food, boil water, prepare nappies, wipes, sleeping bags, torches, warm clothes, cool clothes, toys, portacot, books, coffee maker (who the hell goes camping without one, I ask you)... you get the idea. I no sooner thought I was all done before remembering another thousand things I had to pack, at the same time juggling a very clingy Scout. Cue another mini-meltdown. Nearly piked on the whole adventure.

Drove to Ds’ house and waited an hour for them both to get home from running errands, then waited another 2 hours for them to get organised. Now, Mrs. D is heavily, heavily pregnant at 34.5 weeks, so I did everything to help, but by this stage it’s 1pm and we have two very grizzly little girls on our hands.

Scout is never good in the car, and predictably only slept 40 minutes before waking up. I thought, “Shit, here we go, another hour of wriggly screaming”, but in fact she was terrific. At Warburton, around 2.30, we stopped to get beers and for Mrs. D to stretch her legs. As she did so, she had a big period pain and ahem, quite a bit of “fluid”. Not the sort to panic, she instructed Mr. D to drive on to Moose Gully and, thinking they were Hickston Bracks.. erm, Braxton Hicks pains, she assumed they would subside and we would carry on our relaxing camping adventure in the wilderness. She did call the Mercy though, as a precaution and they told her to wait another hour before calling them back with a report.

Now, she was only 34.5 weeks so none of us thought “this was it”, but we were going into a NP with NO mobile phone coverage and it is really in the middle of nowhere. There is a park ranger, but he pisses off at 6pm.

Half an hour later, it seemed very clear that Mrs. D was in fully-blown labour. We all hoped it was a false labour as she was nearly 5.5 weeks early but poor Mrs. D must have known this was it. The ambulance was called (a helicopter was even considered), the Mercy got Mr. D primed to possibly deliver the baby in the Ranger’s station, and by the look on the Ranger’s face, he was shitting himself pallid.

I have never been privy to a woman in labour (except myself of course) and it is really very horrific – I wouldn’t recommend it at all. It brought back memories of the incredible back and “gas” pains I had with Scout and how you just cannot get comfy in any position. Mrs. D was amazing though, she coped so well, particularly given the panic she must have felt knowing the little one wasn’t due for some time still.

We followed the ambulance to the Mercy which seemed to take forever and Scout and Milly were awesomely behaved in the back seat. Mr. D was still clinging onto the hope that it was a false labour, but with every mobile call I made to the ambulance to see how she was progressing, it seemed this hope was pure folly.

We finally arrived at the Mercy (mental note: when wife goes into labour, do not drive into hospital with 4WD ute and campervan at back – it really is a bitch to park) and I took charge of the girls who must have been starving – it was 6.15ish by this point. In the Birthing Suite waiting room (Mrs. D wasn’t allowed to give birth in the Family Birthing Centre, as was her wish, as she was so early) I gave Milly some yogurt which promptly ended up on the floor and Scout some Heinz pasta on my lap.

Selfish interlude: now, if it were just me at the hospital, I would have happily curled up in a corner and slept all night if I had to, but I had a little midget to think about who was seriously overtired (in fact two little midgets), I had a spliiting headache and I had no clue how long we’d be waiting for Mrs. D to pop the puppy.

At 7.15, Mr. D came out and announced that they had a baby boy. I was completely dumbstruck. I was so tired and stressed from the crap couple of days I’d had, the words didn’t actually sink in (it’s only this morning, that I have the clarity to realise what actually happened yesterday!). Little “J” was absolutely fine, just in a mad hurry to be a Pisces! He was 2cms longer than Scout was at full-term! And only 7oz shy of her birthweight – but they had to put him in a humidicrib just to be on the safe side.

After the news, I finished giving Scout her dinner, which she promptly heaved back up on top of me, herself and the floor. The whole lot. 5 minutes later she pooped a tsunami – loaded her nappy and went up her back, front and my shorts. Yup, my little girl had a sudden attack of gastro (she seems absolutely fine this morning, so I suspect it was something she ate). I burst into tears. I am so not responsible for my reactions.

I couldn’t get in to see Mrs. D as the doctor was with her, so Mr. D finally took us home about 8ish and Scout passed out for a decent 12 hours.

Today we’re going back to the hospital to see Mrs. D and Little “J” – another gorgeous little baby to add to the mix!

Gives a new meaning to Labour Day Long Weekend.

Scout helps Milly hotwire her hot car…

...Milly gets the hot hell out of there, leaving Scout bemused

Not for long! Scout impounds Milly’s car, announcing “You’re knicked, lady!”

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He's leaving home...

8 March 2007, 07:26

Go ahead… Make my Bubbles

McG left yesterday to embark upon a whirlwind tour of Austin, Texas for the next 2.5 weeks. 18 long sleeps. I was quite melancholy about it yesterday, but am feeling fine today.

I think work will keep me sane. If McG had gone o/s 6 months ago when I wasn’t working and was a bit over being a full-time stay-at-home-mum, I would have been really very anxious. But in some ways I’ve actually been looking forward to him going, not least because I know he’ll have a ball and little Scout and I will be able to have girly chats (does “lalalaladaddaddadasssssssss” mean anything to anybody?) and do the mother-daughter bonding “thang”.

It breaks my heart though when she looks up at me with that adorable smile and asks “Daddaddaddaddad?” I don’t even know for sure that she’s associating Daddaddaddaddad with her father yet, but it squeezes my heart a little. 17 more sleeps!

She’s been walking for a month now and is very confident, although still looks a little like Frankenstein’s monster, the way she walks with her shoulders hunched, arms out in front of her, slightly bent, with a somewhat splayed-toed gait. Amazingly cute though – it cracks us (me – sniff) up every time.

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Cynics Alert

3 March 2007, 07:56

I’m on the tram yesterday and standing in the aisle. A lovely younger gentleman gets up and offers me his seat.

My first reaction?

“Omigod, he doesn’t think I’m PREGNANT does he? I mean, I know my tummy is not what it used to be, but surely I don’t look PREGNANT?”

How sad that a kind gesture immediately got misinterpreted.

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New words

25 February 2007, 08:43

She has “mum mum mum mum” and “dad dad dad dad” pretty much sorted so she’s all gung ho for new sounds and flavours.

Amongst some of the newies are:

• duts – very like “ducks” and used very often in company of her rubber duckie(s), but given that she carries these with her most of the day, probably doesn’t mean a thing.

• adidas – she is the brand champion.

and the new black:

• ass – this morning, when McG picked her up for a cuddle, she pointed straight in his face and said (with cheeky grin) – “Ass”.

She’s so very advanced.

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Boob juice off the Menu

22 February 2007, 16:07

Yes. As title suggests, this post is about BREASTS and FEEDING and MILK. Not the full-cream stuff but BOOB MILK. If this makes your cream curdle, then, for the love of god, stop reading.

Scout has been a wee bit ill this week. Apparently she has some kind of virus that has caused ulcers in her mouth. I guess that’s what happens when you insist on drinking wading pool water jammed full of other bubs’ pee, dirt, sweat and germies.

So she hasn’t been to creche this week, much to McG and my chagrin. She’s been clingy and whiney and last night decided to whine every 5 minutes (I’m not kidding you) between 9pm and 2am. That’s right, for 5 freakin’ hours. We gave her panadol, we offered her water (not interested), we soothed her sweaty brow but she was so unsettled.

And the worst of it, she has decided she’s not having ANY of this BOOBY lark at the evening feed (about 6.30pm). NONE! She sucks for about 4 seconds, then pushes off with a wee nibble/bite. For the first couple of days it was no doubt because her ulcers hurt, but now I think she just can’t be arsed.

I cracked the sads a bit on Tuesday night – I mean, the way she was going she wasn’t looking like weaning until she was faking her own ID. But alas, 13 months down the track and booby is off the menu.

Permanently.

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Party Season

18 February 2007, 17:25

Scout’s social calendar has officially reached fever pitch.

Not sold on the Hat

Q: What do you get when you put eight two year old monkeys in a backyard with one 1 year old chimpanzee?
A: One poor little beaten-up Scout.

Last Wednesday was Milly’s second birthday. Milly’s mum, “D” heavily pregnant with #2 is one of my dearest friends. We met during our recruiting days, and bonded, as you do in a (somewhat unhealthy) culture of afternoon-long boozy lunches, Friday night debauchery and stressful deadlines. Oh, how those days have been well and truly sucked down the pre-baby plug-hole.

Two-year old children are a rather special breed (sweet jesus, I am savouring Scout’s guileless charm before it’s too late) – too old to have much patience for anything or anyone smaller but too young to understand that kicking someone in the head is not cool.

Poor Scout got kicked/hustled/jostled/bulldozed by the toddler tribe, all innocent of course, and she took it seamlessly in her stride, and was totally enraptured with all these big little people, even the ones who tried to whack her on the head. She did try to run one little dude down in Milly’s plastic tractor, though, so she can obviously give as good as she gets.

The mums were apologetic about their kids behaviour (as if they needed to be!) especially the one who explained that her little boy was “going through a phase of hitting, biting and wreaking havoc on society at large”. This same little boy, though, wouldn’t leave the party until he’d given Scout a sizeable hug and kiss. Then proceeded to try and pick her up. Bless…

Scout considers payback

I was careful of being too overprotective, as the kids weren’t being deliberately rambunctious (I don’t think?) and in any case, I do believe that she has to learn to stand up for herself, but when one little three-year old told Scout about 12 times (complete with wagging nana-finger), “NO MORE CAKE!” “NO MORE CAKE!” I did explain gently that once was probably enough.

**************
This weekend (impossibly sweltering days – 38 degrees with not a spit in sight) we had two more birthdays – both “firsts”. It was all McG and I could do during either parties, to lethargically raise our glasses of beer/wine/bev of choice to our lips and occasionally splash Scout in the wading pool. Oh deviant guests are we…

Saturday was Lily’s birthday and, today Mali’s birthday.

That Duck is so mine…

Mali is her special little buddy across the road. Mali and Scout have always looked rather alike (so, you can probably tell that her pool buddy in the above photo is not Mali, but rather Lily), but no clearer was that today, when one of the guests leaving Mali’s birthday party said to Scout; “Goodbye Mali!” This person was Mali’s auntie. Hmmmmm. Too much sun and passion pop methinks.

Then, not ten minutes later, Mali’s nana was watching the kids in the wading pool and said about Scout “Oh, he’s such a beautiful little boy – is this Mali’s special little boyfriend?” I thought she was joking at first, but no, she really did think Scout was a boy. When I let her in on the secret, she was suitably embarassed. Did I mention the sun and passion pop?

All terrific parties, thrown by terrific parents who should raise a glass (or ten) of champagne to congratulate themselves on such brilliant milestones. I know Scout’s first birthday was definitely of the “Fuck, we actually made it to One Year” variety.

And Scout thrived on all the pah-tay activity, which at the end of the day, means she’s gonna pass out like a drunk sailor at bedtime.

And Amen to that.

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Dancing Scream

7 February 2007, 07:13

The inevitable. Scout’s first “incident” at creche yesterday.

She had been doing the Scout Groove (she has a variation on her dancing theme, where she stands up, bobs up and down and now points to the sky with both hands – it really is tres cute. It will kill you) and she stumbled forward and hit the corner of a table, scraping the side of her forehead, perilously close to her left eye.

Apparently she screamed/cried for 10 seconds but was easily pacified. And straight back up again dancing after her ice pack started to melt. That’s my girl…

She has really found her attitude of late. She has been throwing what I suspect are fully-blown tantrums for 5 or so minutes. She stops when she realises I’m not going to pander to her or pacify her. Aren’t I an awful mum? Hee hee. They don’t happen very often – she’s usually an absolute dream, making everyone laugh and roadshowing new signature flirty looks with the boys. The girls at creche dote on her, she’s so bloody entertaining (thanks, I’ll take credit for that…)

YOU Sir, are a bolshy monkey!

Creche has been incredibly good. They do call us if Scout is being overly “emotional”, but most days she’s happy and excitable and loves the fact that they have new, cool toys and boys to play with. There’s one boy who can only sleep on the floor in the playroom (the others all sleep in cots in the cot room) so Scout spends his nap time crawling over the top of him back and forth, and (the horror!) enticing others to join her posse of mischief. Not once has this little boy woken up, though.

It cracks me up that they always say “she’s being emotional”. Dude, she aint emotional, she’s just tired and cranky and carrying on like a porkchop. I am such a harsh, harsh mum.

Yesterday, I spied on her for a couple of minutes when I collected her to see how she was acting (before she realised I was there). She was sitting on her carers lap, entertaining two boys around 3 or 4 years old. She was carrying on giggling and flirting and these two boys were visibly captivated. When I finally did leave with her, the boys followed us to the half-door, and called “Scout! Scout!”. The carer explained that Scout was leaving and one boy looked like he was about to crack the poos and “become emotional”. Goodness, lock up your sons NOW people!

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Unhappiest Day of the Year?

22 January 2007, 17:45

“They” reckon that today, Scout’s birthday, is the unhappiest day of the year. The day we had Scout, it was 44 degrees, the power at the Mercy Hospital packed it in (no air con, but thankfully still backup for the heart monitors and such like) and I was as knackered as I’ve ever been (and throwing up green mush into the kidney pan – no doubt from the excessive amount of gas I’d sucked into my guts during labour) but hell, it was the happiest day of my life.

So suck that in.

Is this the face of a baby born on the unhappiest day of the year?

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Baby likes to PAH-TAAAY!

21 January 2007, 18:49

Scout had her first birthday party yesterday, a hot and rainy day. I’d usually be disappointed that it was raining, given my lofty plans for a kid’s wading pool and outdoor champagnated ambience. But everyone (including us) were stoked that it was raining – it’s been weeks since we’ve had any decent rain and everything’s dying around us.

Raindance

Luckily our little place handled 13 adults and 8 kids quite handsomely inside. Scout had had a shithouse couple of days in terms of sleeps so we were a bit concerned that she’d cut sick everywhere and I’d have a(nother) meltdown. Not so – she was divine.

Just give ‘em a beer and the cricket…

Now she can stand up reasonably well, she’s given her own spin on the Scout groove, bopping up and down with her hands in the air while pointing at the roof/fairies in the sky. Much to McG’s distaste, she is totally into ABBA, like totally into ABBA. Makes her mum totally proud, like. My girl is gonna have boo-tay. Oh, yeah.

Giddy up, you pahtay thing

Her birthday cake was in the shape of an “S” made out of alternating pink and white cupcakes, with a flurry of red and pink candy hearts along the trail. From La Cuisine de Kinki. It was Scout’s first ever taste of cake (Mum being an anal “no-sugar-unless-absolutely-necessary” type) and, not surprisingly, she’s been expecting cake for every meal ever since.

Partying is such thirsty work

We don’t have any family here in Melbourne so our friends came out in force (well, a reasonably small group with bubs who know Scout well – we didn’t want to freak her out) and gave her (us…) a day to remember.

More 1st Birthday Pahtay photos here

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...one small step...

19 January 2007, 19:51

Ah yes, the inevitable “I’m so proud, I could cut my arm off and I wouldn’t even flinch” post. Scout has taken her very first wonky step on her own. It happened so suddenly. It was only a week ago that she could stand on her own for a few seconds, now she’s steppin’ out for chrissakes.

I’d asked the girls at creche not to tell us if she took her first steps there, so for all I know she could have been spinnin’ on the ceiling all day, doing cartwheels & pirouetting like a Nutcracker. But ignorance is bliss, peeps, we saw it. First.

In S.L.O M.O.

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(Back) to School

17 January 2007, 19:35

I started work last Monday, steeling myself for the inevitable strains of separation anxiety (mostly mine) as I sauntered off into the CBD sunrise.

I arrived at work, bought a coffee (full-strength – I’ve weaned her of every feed except the evening one) and by 3pm, apart from my darling Scout for 7 long hours, how did I feel? Well, freakin’ bloody FANTASTIC actually. Work was a VACATION. I go to work to have a DAY OFF. I get paid to be creative, to have coffee with my old cronies under the guise of “work” (well, we do some) and have a one hour lunch break (can’t bring myself to take that long, it seems so DECADENT).

Did I miss her? Well, sort of, but I was just so busy that I didn’t have time to think about it. And it was so nice to come home to her after someone else (husband) had taken care of her for the day. Nice to exchange shoes with someone who’s soles were still intact.

To pay me back for pissing off 3 days a week, when I took her to Daycare on Tuesday, I left, tried to say goodbye to her, and did she even notice that I’d gone? Um, nup. Couldn’t have given a shit. She loved it. We knew she would, little sociable flirty-bird.

It hurts me to be this cute

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Bad Mum!

14 January 2007, 08:02

So we went to a first birthday party yesterday, for the child of a guy McG works with. I had a champagne. Thinking I’d have just one. I got a bit over-excited. Met a few girls from the mum’s mothers group who were uber-cool and next thing I know it’s 8pm, I’ve polished off, like, 8 or so champers and I’m (a little bit) drunk. Not the throwing up in the gutter, picking fights with the neighbours kind of drunk, but rather an excitable, don’t quite remember leaving the party or thanking the hosts kind of drunk.

When we got home, I breastfed. I sat on the chair with my head spinning, dropping off to a stuporous sleep, with Scout on my lap taking a nice, decent swig of my champagne-infested milk. She passed out at about 9pm, and she’s still asleep. Hope I haven’t killed too many of her brain cells…

I feel a bit guilty, but probably not as much as I should. I’ve been so careful with not drinking and breastfeeding, I figure a slip-up here and there can’t be disastrous. Surely.

Except if my poor little girl is nursing a hangover today. Bad Mum…

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ETD SAHM

7 January 2007, 08:02

Come Monday morning at 8 a.m, I will no longer be a full-time Stay at Home Mum (that’s SAHM for the parentally-challenged). And I must say I’m a bit relieved.

I love being at home with Scout – she’s effervescent & charming company (oh my god, that cheesy grin just kills ya!) & lately the weather has been simply marvelous for plenty of scoutings. But I’m bored as bat-shit most of the time. There is only so many times you can put triangle shapes into triangle shape holes, hoping for her to emulate and graduate from college at 4, before you start dreaming about flashing shapes chasing you down a dark alley (ah, those were the days…). No doubt the day she does figure it out will make me as proud as punch and thankful I ever made the effort, but let’s face it, all (well, most) kids work it out eventually. And when she’s tired and cranky, the “h” in “whinge” is certainly not silent.

I am looking forward to being at work, having mostly adult conversations during the day, being paid to be creative and actually taking a lunch-break. Sorry, excuse me, LUNCH BREAK. For one whole freaking hour. Someone pinch me, for gods sake. I will be tormented by Scout having to go to childcare and be looked after & comforted by someone who isn’t me but the chances are very good that she’ll love it. Probably more so than being at home with a bored mum who doesn’t let her play with power plugs & VCRs.

“People, we must stand up for our right to eat electrical wire!”
More photos from the Annual Babies’ Solidarity Conference here

And I can’t wait to lose this goddamn baby fat. Not that I’m exactly a porker but I’m busting out of all my suits with the exception of my maternity suit (shudder) so revolution is nigh. I always thought breastfeeding would keep me trim and terrific, but. Unfortunately. Not. I’m hungry all the time, and when you’re at home mostly 24/7 with a bub, the tempation to raid the fridge is rampant.

BUT I will miss my almost daily contact with 3 of the girls from my Mother’s Group who are 3 awesome chicks, a lot like me but different enough to make it interesting. Without them I don’t think I would have seen December without visits from men in strappy white coats. And I will miss my little girl those 3 days a week. But I think I will appreciate the time I do get to spend with her even more. I wasn’t cut out to be a full-time SAHM. And that’s totally OK.

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