Tigers and Teapots

Real Love chemist style

2012-02-13T01:31:00.000-08:00

It's almost Valentines day..and...well the most Valentiney thing I've received this year is a card that Poppy "made"me, ie: her lovely and creative childcare carer made with Poppy adding a few scribbles.

But Eduardo and I aren't really into St Val's - nor anniversaries. In fact we've only been married for 3 years and were hard pushed to remember the date recently. Major Fail.

However we have some majorly big love going on...and here is a little rewind post that sums it right up for me.
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The list in question was this:

Nipple shields

Thrush cream

Anaesthetic cream

Heat pack

Cabbage

And my Edward showed true grit by setting off with this very list in hand and returned with the said items in record time. To add insult to injury it was his birthday, what a guy.

In case you think I was just being very cruel or testing the limits of our relationship I must explain. Last Sunday I had the most horrendous bout of Mastitis which is an unbelievably painful infection of, well I won't beat around the bush, the boobs. In agony I was willing to try just about anything to relieve the pain and after consulting the net, friends and doctors I had amassed a list of things I wanted from the chemist but unable to to leave my house to obtain these magical objects I had to send Ed instead. I am impressed. It's funny you know, once upon a time my step-grandmother commented on the fact that she worried that seeing as we ain't married that perhaps Ed wouldn't 'stand by me'. Well I'd say this is the ultimate litmus test.

So my advice is this - Ladies if you are worried about your man not standing by you, don't send him to the altar, send him to the chemist instead.

A two wheeled time machine

2012-02-01T23:55:00.000-08:00

Ed loves getting me surprises - and mostly (damn him) he is bloody good at it. This Christmas he was looking particularly pleased with himself and I for the life of me could not even imagine what he had in store for me gift-wise.

I must be getting old, because short of a million bucks, a full time nanny and a new house I couldn't think of anything I wanted. It's a nice place to be in your life though, when you feel like you have everything you could ever want. Then I discovered that some of the best presents are the ones you don't even know you wanted until you get them.

This beauty was Ivy's idea - the madness of a four year old or sheer genius? Ed bought it and my parents were coerced into hiding it. It...which quickly became a "she" under my ownership was stashed in the garden for me to discover Christmas morning.

Apart from being glorious to look at, from my first ride I realised she could give me so much more than just looks. She gave me freedom, fun and the ability to fly back to that feeling I don't think I've had since I was a kid.

Riding her along the waters edge near our home brings my 70's childhood zinging back. Suddenly I recall zooming around my hilly neighbood at a kid, at sunset, on my own, with my friends, singing Abba at the top of my lungs and more often than not pretending that my bike was a much desired horse.

The horse, sadly, never happened but these days the bike gives me the same feeling. And now being a responsible grown person, a partner, a parent and now a boss jumping on my bike is just all about fun and no responsibility.

When the kids are driving me nuts, work is stressing me out - Ed just tells me "go on, get on yer bike, you always come back smiling." And I do - I am addicted.

Like a tiger

2012-01-23T18:08:00.000-08:00

When I started this blog this title came from a description of some presents I'd received for my 31st or 32nd birthday. I lived in a sharehouse with 3 friends and we had a pretty good, non responsible kind of smoking drinking life.

On this particular birthday I was the lucky recipient of a beautiful cream teapot with a curly silver handle (thank you Emma) and a massive bunch of hot pink tiger lillies. (thank you girls from the opera house - my fave flowers in the world.) Hence the phrase Tigers and Teapots.

Once I met Ed and we headed overseas for a year this blog was named after those two domestic things but quickly became reality as we travelled south america drinking endless cups of tea and working with wild cats (the locals called my cat a Tigre) and then onto Thailand where we got to do our fair share of cuddling real live tigers.

When I got home I lamented my life had become "less tiger - more teapot" and it certainly did. Ed and I bought a house with a white picket fence, we made a baby, I stayed at home for a year, went back to work, starting going to bed at a sensible hour and kind of grew up. Then I got pregnant and had another baby - hello Poppy and it seemed that tigers were a long way from my life.

Until Poppy got a little older - by the age of 14 months Poppy fell in love with a toy of Ivy's. A lovely soft floppy toy tiger with big soft paws and a sweet face. His name? "Tigery". Soon enough Tigery became Poppy's bed companion and best friend. Then Poppy started growling and "rahing". My mum accused me of teaching her but I swear I didn't. In the mornings I'd go into her darkened room and the first thing I'd hear was "ah-raaaahhhhhh". My tiger baby was here. Then our tiger child started growling at people and her favourite - birdies. Her standard answer to what you say to birds is "raaaahhhhh!"

Then my sister bought our tiger baby - a toy baby. This particular toy baby is dressed like a tiger, odd? yes. Suitable for Poppy? Absolutley.

Then at a garage sale recently I spotted another lovely toy tiger for 2 dollars. Before I could say a word she snatched this tiger up and covered him with kisses. She is amassing quite a collection.

I explained to her carers at childcare not to be alarmed if she starts growling or rahing and while some of them looked perplexed, one of them - a chinese lady called Jing said "of course Poppy likes to growl - she IS a tiger" Huh? "She is born in the chinese year of the tiger." SO there you go - it was meant to be.

So now I really do have a tiger AND a teapot in my house once again - funny how life comes full circle eh?

On ageing and dying

2011-06-21T14:52:00.000-07:00

A quote from Fran Robson in the Good Weekend this weekend:

"I just want to live until I die, like the song says. What's starting to filter through though, is that the world we're accustomed to actually dies before we do.In undertaker speak it precedes us. The real pathos of ageing isn't the inevitability of death but the long slow shuffle into an alien landscape."

Hello Dolly

2011-06-12T16:54:00.000-07:00

The email came late last week from Emma. "Interested...it's bloody expensive but it IS Dolly".

Am I interested? Hell yes. Dolly Parton, that boobalicious, blonde, living walking, talking, cartoon country and western singer (and so, so much more) is coming to Australia after a 30 year break. She's playing Acer Arena for just one night and I am sitting here poised at the computer waiting for the tickets to go onsale online so I can snap some up.

Having done the maths I realised that I haven't been to a gig for about 4 years (I think the last one was when I was pregnant with Ivy) so even at $165 - if you average that out over 4 years it's pretty good value AND apparently Ms Parton is renowned for pulling off 3 hour shows on a regular basis.

What has suprised me more (more than my own discovered passion for the lady herself) is just how many other Dolly lovers have leapt out of the closet. When I posted that I wanted to go on Facebook messages of solidarity, envy filled up the comments box. And currently the number of those of us going together to the show is at 15.....I am buying the tickets....I just hope I don't max out my card, but if I do, it IS for Dolly.

I look good on Thursdays

2011-05-05T17:09:00.000-07:00

On Thursdays I look good.

If you dropped into my place at say around 1pm there would be a tidy nay immaculate house, washing wafts on the line, the laundry basket tamed and sorted and sitting on the dining table. The floor is devoid of it's usual layer of spattered pureed fruit and specks of cheese and the dishwasher is stacked.

Poppy is either a: clean and happy and playing or B: magically asleep, which is usually unheard of at this time of the day. It is a scene of domestic bliss - and I will not be part of it. In fact I would not even be in the house.

Because Thursday mornings is what I like to call 'Dee day'.

Dee is my friends nanny who I have borrowed for a princely sum to take care of Poppy while I go to uni this semester on day a week (having not been able to secure a spot for Poppy in Ivy's childcare centre - despite being on a waiting list since 2009.)

Now I've experienced the magic of using a nanny my life may never be the same, though sadly unless I rob a bank the experience will end mid July for us. As a friend said to me recently when she found out we were using a nanny. "Oh man, having a nanny is like flying business class....once you've done it, you'll never want to go back to economy."

And so it is true. Having someone come to your house means you can swan out the door when you are ready - whether your darling is still asleep, still spattering yoghurt around the kitchen or still in their jammies. There is no waking up a cranky child, stuffing breakfast into them and then stuffing them in the car to get them to a childcare centre where they will join the ranks of other snot encrusted babies lined up in their highchairs. No - there is nothing but calm and it makes me realise why all these godamn celebs and millionaires look so bloody good a few weeks after squeezing out their kids.

Sadly at 20 bucks an hour with no Govt rebate, this kind of bliss does not come cheap. The other night Ed and I were having our usual discussion about what we would do if we won the lottery. A few years ago our millionaire fantasies revolved around moving to Thailand, travelling 6 months of the year and buying a holiday house. The other night you know what our ultimate fantasy was? Building a bigger house with a separate apartment in the garden and unlimited access to Dee.....these days that would beat the best tropical island in Thailand hands down.

Some numbers

2011-05-03T02:14:00.000-07:00

3 - is the number of colds that Poppy has had in 6 weeks

3 - is the number of days this week I have spent unable to do anything except hold a crying sick baby who doesn't want me to put her down, ever.

2 - is the number of colds I have had. I have one now which arrived the day the first one was just on its way out.

3 - is the number of people in the house who have also had stomach bugs.

4 - is the time of the morning we have seen more frequently than we would have liked to thanks to a sick baby and a weird almost 4 year old.

9 - is the time we have started going to bed in case we start the day at 4.

400 - is the amount of dollars we have paid in Poppy's childcare fees which we haven't been able to use because of reason number one.

0 - is the amount of energy I have - having been sick or looking after a sick child since about mid March.

0 - is the amount of time I have had to be able to do any uni work in the last 3 weeks.

The TV

2011-04-21T14:21:00.000-07:00

My friend was telling me how her 3 1/2 year old daughter had pushed her to the limits last week after a long and fractious day. She finally said to her daughter "that's it, I'm leaving. I'm going to leave home." She grabbed her handbag and headed to the front door.

As she did her daughter started crying hysterically and screaming "NO! you can't go mummy, you can't leave..........who will turn on the TV for me?"

Snot and Vomit

2011-04-19T15:46:00.000-07:00

In the last week I have been vomited on 6 times....by two different children. Spew in my hair, spew down my top, all over my legs and one time right down to my bare feet. Mountains of japanese tofu flavoured vomit (thanks Ivy) to small stinky measured doses from Poppy on a semi regular basis everyday at the moment.

Then there's snot. Poppy has had a cold for a month now, and if my experience with Ivy at a similar age is anything to go by this cold will last until approximately June 2012. Everyday I go in to get her out of the cot and am greeting by a little face that looks like a glazed donut. I then spend the day trying to balance the gross out factor of others seeing her with two green slugs coming out of her nose and trying to wipe it away with the severe screaming and crying that this induces in Poppy which just causes more snot anyway.

Currently I am wearing a cardigan that has several layers of dried snot on it. I don't really see any point washing it or getting changed as our water bill is already horrendous from all the washing we seem to be doing.

So I am sitting here in my snot covered cardigan listening to my daughter trying to fall asleep in between almost choking to death with her terrible cough and I come across a few comments on a news website about the potential cutback to the childcare rebate. Several commentators (who I would have thought would know better) have made snide comments about "yummy mummies who do yoga and have coffee."

What I have to say to that is rather than deriding these women, you should be falling at their feet and worshipping them as goddesses with superpowers. Frankly, any woman who has a baby or a small child who can manage to look semi yummy and get out of the house for a coffee is a bloody legend - it has probably been a herculean effort on her part to do so and possibly will be the only part of her day where things are going well. No doubt an hour later she too will be at home with vomit in her hair and maybe a bit of snot too, but of course those who judge won't be there to witness that bit.

And this is where yet again mothers cop it no matter what they do. If we headed out of the house in our crusty snotty pajamas with snotty vomity kids we would be castigated as lazy and slovenly and will have 'let ourselves go.' If we manage somehow to look semi decent and give the appearance that we have it together suddenly we are lazy bitches who do nothing but have coffee all day and don't deserve any kind of social services support.

Of course what I find fascinating is that if you see a dad out with his kids....he will be hailed as a deadset legend - snot covered or otherwise.

The Shopper

2011-04-17T21:00:00.000-07:00

When I was young - well about 11 years old a wonderous shop opened in our local Westfield. It had a rainbow coloured logo and the words "Sportsgirl" in splashy black writing emblazoned across the door. Inside was what every 80's tween girl could have dreamed of, fake pearls, hot pink plastic jewellery, floral prints, tight jeans, ra ra skirts and more. From the minute I stepped through the door that first time until I was about 34 - it was my favourite place to shop.

This weekend we were foolish enough to think that a trip to Pitt St mall in torrential rain would be a good idea with two small children - by the time we arrived in Sydney's shopping mecca we all looked like drowned rats (except for Poppy who was hermetically sealed in her stroller under the rain cover) and Ivy had developed a pronounced limp having soaked her canvas sneakers right through which then proceeded to rub the crap out of her heels. But for once no-one was complaining (much) we had made it to the city and we were there to enjoy it.

First stop the new Westfield - it's my 3rd visit there and I have to say I'm disappointed. It's dark, disorientating and altogether average. If I have one message for the city of Sydney it is - you MUST TRY HARDER. If I am going to drag my arse all the way into town I want something more than what I can get at my local shopping mall. Please see downtown Melbourne for more inspiration.

So apart from our disappointing trawl around the usual crappy chainstores (oh and a peek into all 3 storeys of Zara which is just days away from opening and genuinely looks very, very good) it wasn't a very exciting trip until we took a stroll down Pitt St mall. Out of the blue Ivy lights up, points and says "there, I want to go in there." "There" turned out to be the newly refurbished flagship Sportsgirl store.

Although she's not even 4 yet - Ivy May has a very VERY strong sense of fashion and a huge interest in the aesthetic. While I was also keen on the odd bit of clothing myself as I got older I've never massively encouraged Ivy in this area yet she is famous amongst everyone we know as being completely mental about clothes, jewellery, makeup, hair product - you name it, the girliest kind of girl possible. She is also a very tactile person - even as a very small baby she could be found just stopping to lie down on an interesting surface, be it carpet to grass and zoning out running her fingers through it. And of course being not quite 4 - excess is her middle name.

When we step into Sportsgirl for a moment I think her head is going to explode. The store has been decorated in a very over the top way. Store dummies are standing / sitting everywhere with long wigs and dressed in maxi dresses, cloaks and tonnes of jewellery. There are wooden cutouts of deer hanging from the ceiling and giant coloured balls of wool swinging in between. Chairs, lamps and cushions have been covered in rainbow coloured nana blanket fabric and there are baskets everywhere filled with woolly scarves, silky fabrics, soft cotton throws, mountains of silver and gold costume jewellery, cloaks made of feathers and racks of stockings.

Ivy goes into a trance and moves from spot to spot - hands running over everything, jigging to the pulsating dance music track that plays over the stereo. She touches everything and is totally deaf to my entreaties to "be careful - don't touch everything too much." Once she's had enough of touching (and discovers no-one is going to tell her off) she gets a little bolder and starts trying things on.

Within a few seconds she looks like this:

She finds an audience of giggling shoppers and sales girls and installs herself in front of the full length mirror in her new outfit. She then proceeds to dance around with her hands in the air, smiling at herself until she decides an outfit change is in order and hares off to another corner of the store where she starts loading up every available limb with bangles and necklaces. By this stage I'm half laughing, half horrified (and maybe just a little bit half tempted to pretend she doesn't belong to me). But it's like I don't exist because Ivy has found her mecca, her nirvana. All up we are in there for half an hour and despite pleas and threats the only way to get her out is with the promise of a cupcake. As I lead her out I catch the eye of an older mother walking behind a sulky looking teenage girl. She smiles at me and I just know she is thinking "you'll be back - and in the future you will have to buy the clothes you sucker." I have been put on notice - maybe I will have to get a full time job sooner than later.

Loot

2011-04-15T15:19:00.000-07:00

After Ed came home from the Masterchef launch we apart from the usual gossip about who was there and who said what it was straight to the best bit - the goody bag.

Goody bags do strange things to people. I remember at the Opera House packing goody bags that were often just a random collection of marketing tat, stickers, brochures and say the odd sachet of coffee or something. As single items they are nothing to get excited about, but stick em in a bag and hand them out at an event and grown adults go beserk, even as one of the goody bag packers suddenly I would be overwhelmed with desire once the event began.

At TEN things were the same, and initially staff were told that the Masterchef bags were off limits but when there were a few leftovers Ed was a lucky recipient.

So back at home we fall upon the large hessian bag with the Coles logo on it. Inside - a bunch of random brochures, the usual Telstra logo-ed bottle opener (which goes in the drawer with the other 6 identical openers we have) we discard the tacky tea towel and fall upon the big ticket item that everyone had been talking about - the Sunbeam hand mixer. Before scoring it everyone was trying to get their hands on one - Ed had got a little confused and told me it was a blender then that it was a stick blender which was disappointing but frankly any kind of free white goods is exiting. We rip the box open and then after a little while we wonder what we might ever use it for...cakes? Scones? Considering baking is something I do once a year for Ivy's birthday or when I am in the occassional PMT induced frenzy - I do have to wonder.

By the next day the loot bag has been dismantled and the hand mixer already destined for a life in the back of the old pantry (ie: the shit we don't ever use cupboard.) Ed later confesses that his favourite thing is the Coles shopping bag while I admit that the two rolls of paper towels were probably the best thing in there. Says a lot really doesn't it?

Sidelined in one second

2011-03-29T20:12:00.000-07:00

Nothing like a sick kid to turn your week to shit. Monday morning I drop off a slightly snotty but otherwise very happy Poppy to daycare for 5 hours so I can go home and *study*. Well by studying I generally mean doing a lot of procrastinatory cleaning whilst thinking about studying but nevertheless I get things done. Clean house? - tick. A few uni notes typed on the computer? Tick. Another email to my other group assignment studens who A: never get back to me or B: have bizarre chinese email addresses that constantly bounce back my attempts to communicate? tick.

A quick shop, a last admiring glance around the house and I hop in the car feeling pretty damn pleased with myself. The smile I have is quickly wiped off my face as I arrive in the Goldfish room to fine a sweaty, snotty and very unconcious Poppy in a baby rocker with a disapproving carer staring at me and saying something about her not having socks. When I ask why they didn't call me when they realised she was sick they say 'oh we didn't want to worry you' before continuing to ask about socks. She then says "how long has she been sick?" I start to shout "she wasn't sick, if she was I wouldn't have brought her here" before realising there is no point and decide to leave.

I grab my sweaty bundle in an outrage, walk into home and all hell breaks loose. Poppy wakes up, starts screaming, panadol is searched for, boxes ripped open, packets discarded on the floor, snot everywhere, food rejected and discarded, clothes whipped off, and a very disheveled me marooned on the couch with a sad lump of a baby who does. Not. Want. To. Be. put. down. For.One.Second.

By the time Ed makes it home I am collapsed on the couch like an exhausted zombie, covered in snot, mess littered from one end of the house to the other, patting sick Popper on the bottom like it was the only thing keeping us both alive.

Next comes what I like to call "Mummy's delight" yes - it starts with a little scratch in the throat, an ache in the bones and then before you can say 'share and share alike' you too are struck down with exactly the same lurgy. And here's the really fun bit, unlike in childless times gone past where I could just head for my bed, call my boss and stay there til I felt okay, I get to be up and down all night long, and then get rewarded with not just one cranky child at home the next day but two. Ivy is feeling quite fine and in the midst of all the screaming and coughing and crying (and that's just from me) cheerily enquires "what will we be doing tomorrow Mummy?"

I don't answer but I already know. There will be coffee, lots of coffee for me. And a hell of a lot of something called ABC kids, for her. Happy days, and fun times ahoy.

Ch Ch Changes

2011-03-19T23:45:00.000-07:00

This week it seems my baby and little daughter have been stolen in the night and replaced with newer and slightly re-calibrated versions of themselves.

Poppy sprouted a epic four teeth in seven days - two at the top two at the bottom which has not only changed her appearance but also it seems her demeanor. Suddenly my sweet smelling, placid little gummy baby has become a complete livewire. Full of giggles and chuckles, grinning, dribbling and babbling non stop complete with a rakish rabbitty looking toothy grin. Despite being the new energetic version of herself she is still a diplomat choosing to start her talking life with "baba" instead of "da da da" (like Ivy) or my personal favourite "mum mum mum". It's "baba baba baba" we hear all day, as well as squeals of frustration, whoops of delight and non stop noise. She is also into everything, desperately trying to crawl and generally finding life SO very exciting she cannot sit still to feed, cuddle or even sleep in til 8am everyday (oh no!)

In the meantime Ivy is becoming more and more grown up. While this has many upsides there are some funny ones. She's suddenly picked up a bunch of things I guess she hears us saying. Including when the smallest thing goes wrong she clutches her head, sighs and shrieks "ohhh my gawwwd" at the top of her lungs. I also heard her berating Ed saying something like "you're just not LISTENING to me! You NEVER listen Dad" - I simply can't imagine where she's picked these things up. She's also decided that most words that end in an 'ed' need to be over pronounced ie: "kissed" becomes "kiss-ed" - "burped" becomes "burp-ed" which is rather sweet as it makes her sound a bit like someone in a Shakesperean production.

It's good to get this stuff down cause I've just realised that if I wait another few months Ivy will be FOUR and ever so grown up even more and Poppy will be careering towards the age of ONE where not only will she be a brand new piece of work again but sadly we will no longer be the custodians of a little baby. Feels a bit sad, and a bit fast. I'm starting to see how people can be sucked into having yet another child now - thank goodness I've got my blog to remind me of how bloody sick I was with Popper to keep me from straying down that dangerous path.

Out of the cocoon

2011-03-13T21:44:00.001-07:00

Yeah yeah...like always it's been ages since I've done a blog. With Facebook and Twitter now, even though I seem to be recording my daily activities more than ever it means that longer forms of writing are suffering. And while Facebook and Twitter are so fleeting and in the moment no one can really be sure if all that info will be around forever. (as fascinating as it is to scroll though a few months worth of status updates.)

Anyway I digress - here I am and gosh it's March. When I first had Poppy and was in the painful, early throes of parenthood once again, scared, sore, exhausted and wounded I sobbed to Ed that I couldn't wait to turn 40. He asked why I was wishing the last months of my 30's away. My answer was that I figured by the time I was 40 (which was 8 months away at the time) I would have healed, Poppy would be a big baby and most likely sleeping through the night, I would be winding up intensive breastfeeding and that I hoped that I would finally be able to stop, relax, have a few drinks and say 'bloody hell - I'm glad the last 18 months is OVER."

Well it's true and here we are I finally feel like I have leapt out of my fragile little baby cocoon and returned to the normal world fully functioning. Not only is Poppy a very, very big baby - she suprised us all by sleeping up to 13 hours a night without waking from 3 months, my scar has healed, I'm no longer tired and that endless run of non stop nausea and vomiting that stalked me for 9 months straight is now a very, very distant memory. Not to be forgotten, Miss Ivy has also morphed from a volcanic tempered irrational toddler into a far more moderate, reasonable and lovely little girl. All things I couldn't have imagined back in July 2010.

So March was a big one. For starters Kath came to visit - one of my oldest and bestest friends who I have seen in the flesh in the last 5 years for a total of 24 hours until this month. As she likes to live like a bit of a gypsy she had been living in far, far, far North Queensland where a quick visit North (for us) or South (for her) just wasn't an option. But now she lives in Northern NSW it was a quick plane ride and a reunion for us both. Lots to talk about, lots of beer to drink and many laughs were had.

Just to up the ante - I started my Masters Degree the same week. The challenges of this first day were many and to be honest the actual Uni part gave me the least concern. My two main worries were A: leaving Poppy for the first time for 5 hours with a babysitter and B: making the epic drive out to Penrith and back alive. Of course the night before I managed to stay up late, Poppy decided to wake me up (for the first time in 4 months) and I got about 4 hours sleep. In the morning super nanny Dee arrived and fortunately Popper seemed very happy with her and I was able to whirl out the door, whilst saying goodbye to Kath at the same time.

Sitting in the car with a thumping head and a pounding heart I set off on the drive. Fortunately Lisa had taken me for two test drives out there for practice so I sort of knew what I was doing but even so I felt like I might want to vomit. I start the car and immediately the windscreen wipers start wiping (whaaaat?) our car is new and compared to old one is like the space shuttle - and I have about as much idea what all the controls do AS the space shuttle. After 15 minutes of swearing and flicking switches I was finally off.

As I reached Parramatta Rd and the massive turnoff onto the M4 I put my fingers to my neck. My pulse was thumping so hard with fear my fingers were actually bouncing up and down. The lights changed - I gulped and I was off. I can lie and say the drive was fine, but frankly it was utterly terrifying. The notion of driving faster than I ever have, amongst 4 lanes of speeding vehicles and trucks all changing lanes on 4 hours sleep in a car I'm not familiar with was very full on. I think it was only the fact that I didn't actually know how to get off the bloody thing was the only thing that kept me going and stopped me bolting for home and the safety of Poppy's chubby cheeks.

I drive sitting bolt upright chanting to myself "you can do this, you can do this" and guess what? It turns out I could. Apart from the terrifying moment when I was sandwiched on either side by semi trailers and when I looked in the rear vision mirror only to see another behind me it was ok and the drive home even better. Who knows? Maybe I will become a hoon one day.

As for Uni itself= it was fine. Any academic achievement was somehow diminished by the startling revelation that I didn't kill myself on the roads there or on the way back. Fab. Apart from that I seem to have established myself as that annoying mature age student. You know the one who sits up the front, puts her hand up constantly and already knows the answers to everything. Yes- I used to hate people like me too when I was an undergraduate in my 20's.

So that was the week done. Now for the weekend - my birthday was to be on an uneventful Monday so I had organised some pizza and beers with Emma, Erin and Jason on the Sunday night. Ed had told me he was taking me out for dinner on the Saturday so I booked Dee the supernanny and was ready for a fairly sedate weekend.

On Saturday evening Ed told me all sorts of things - to dress warmly as we were going to be outside, to wear sensible shoes (grrrr) and that was it. Of course I was convinced we were having a bit of dinner somewhere and then heading off to do the Bridgeclimb or to watch the Mardi Gras. When we arrived at one of my favourite pubs the 3 Weeds I was delighted and couldn't wait to sit down to a yummy dinner and big glass of red wine and relax. Once we walked in Ed started to lead me towards one of the lounges which I thought was odd and then I spotted one of the girls from my mothers group, then a friend from my Optus days, then I saw my sister and then I saw my school friends and then my work friends...my brain started whirring as I came to the horrible realisation that it was no co-incidence that they all happened to be at the same pub at the same time and that they were all here for........ME. "Suprise!"

Oh shit - was the first thing that went through my mind and then oh god and, I will admit I did think "oh jesus I'm so tired all I wanted to do tonight was sit down with a nice glass of wine." but that was quickly forgotten as champagne was thrust into my hands and I started greeting what seemed like everyone I had every met in my life. Ed, the master of mystery had totally pulled the wool over my eyes! And once i was into the swing of it (and forgiven him for telling me to wear sensible shoes and warm clothes to my own glamorous party - grrrr) I was delighted and had a fabulous time.

Of course no matter how good your own party is parenthood always likes to take you down a peg. Once we got home and into bed at around 1.30 in the morning Ivy managed to wake me up, convince me to sleep in her bed, then she managed to wee in her bed and all over me before finally allowing me to have a delicious 2 hours sleep before shouting at me that "it's morning!" - thanks.

Sunday was possibly the longest day in the history of the world, followed up by dinner and drinks with old friends. When the big day rolled around I was over it but rallied at the sight of my new stunning silver bracelet and a gift card for 2/3's of a shiny new ipad - Eddie you are a champ. Follow that with Poppy's first successful day at childcare and I finally feel like I am on my way (even if I did have to fill out a survey later that day that put my age in the 40 - 50 category - OUCH.) So here's to the fifth decade - and as Ed put it, lets hope it holds more sleep, less mum jokes, more fun and more freedom. I'll drink to that.

The sisterhood

2011-02-15T16:10:00.000-08:00

Last night Ivy and Poppy were having their usual bath together. It's a nice thing for them both to do, Ivy spends most of it maniacally arranging her barbies and bath toys and bossing them about in her own little world whilst Popper sits in her little bath seat either trying to fit a stray barbie into her mouth or watching Ivy in a state of wonder while Ivy mostly ignores her.

But this bath was different. I was outside sweeping the pavers while Ed was watching the girls from the door, not long after they were in the water he called me over quietly to watch something. Ivy was pretending to feed her hands and then her feet to Poppy, waving them in her face, sticking them in her mouth and then pulling them out giggling and saying "I'm not pear and rice Gummy" (Which is Poppy's fave food and Gummy is Ivy's nickname for her.)

In response Poppy was killing herself laughing. Ivy's foot would go in, then out and then both of them would crack up laughing. Then the hand would go in, they would both snigger in anticipation and then collapse in fits of laughter. And on and on it went as they snorted, chortled and giggled their way through bathtime.

It was truly the first time I've seen the two of them interact with each other with no help (or hindrance) from me or Ed. It was just two sisters, hanging out and having a laugh together. Such a lovely thing to witness for the very first time.

Smiles

2010-12-21T19:22:00.001-08:00

My mum said yesterday "When Poppy smiles she uses her whole face."

It certainly is true and she really is just a lovely, happy, chubby baby.

Poppy magic

2010-09-29T18:42:00.001-07:00

She smiles, and smiles, and grins and smiles some more. She coos, she gurgles. Occassionally she cries. Poppy at 3 months is truly a little ray of sunshine.

Someone once told me it's worth having a second baby just so you can stop and smell the roses and enjoy the experience. I thought this couldn't be true having survived (and survived is the operative word) my first child which I found incredibly hard, but it turns out it is.

Not that I can blame Ivy, she was a pretty good baby too but I was stressed. Stressed I would never sleep again, stressed SHE would never sleep ever. If she was asleep I was worried she was sleeping too long, if she didn't sleep I stressed she would never do it again. I worried constantly that I would do something to 'ruin' her - and believe me there are plenty of books, websites and people who will love to convince you that this is the case.

This time I'm relaxed, I'm staying away from all the expert advice that's out there and as a result I'd say Poppy is relaxed too. But I do have to acknowledge having an easy baby is a lottery to an extent so in that I am truly grateful as I wake up after 9 hours uniterrupted sleep while plenty of mothers with much older babies are still being bludgeoned night after night by crying unsettled kiddies. I like to think it might be karma after throwing up for nine months but either way motherhood this time round is a pleasure.

And like all pleasant things...time is flying. Can our little Popper already be three months old? It scares me that my little baby will be gone so soon, but I am consoled that in that little babies place will be a funny, fascinating little girl - it's going to be an interesting ride.

We won't break you

2010-09-05T16:31:00.000-07:00

And another few comments from Ivy.

"You're SO special Mummy......we won't break you."

Me: "what happens if you do"

Ivy - very matter of fact: "We'll get another mummy.....another Kate"

And yesterday at the end of a lovely Fathers Day at Mum and Dad's -

Ivy: "But when is the father coming?"

Ed: "I'm your father"

Ivy, indignant: "No you're NOT!"

Not a door

2010-08-30T18:42:00.000-07:00

Me to Ivy after she has told me something about 8000 times in a whingy voice:

"Shut it Ivy, just shut up"

Ivy: looking indignant:

"I'm not going to shut it. I'm not a door"

Touche.

Secret smiles

2010-08-24T18:15:00.000-07:00

So Poppy Sylvia Holmes (formerly known by Ivy as baby George) is here. I only seem to do pregnancy and birth in a dramatic unpleasant way and this time was no exception. It's a story for another time but involved going into labour 3 weeks early, banging on the neighbours door in the early hours of the morning, lots of vomiting, an emergency caesar, a non breathing baby, a stint in intensive care, rides in a wheelchair, lots of hysterical crying (from me and Ivy), problems feeding and then finally arriving home. Not one to romanticise having babies it was with great pleasure that I walked out of the ante natal ward at RPA knowing I would never be back again - unless I was visiting.

So now time has flown and Pops is seven weeks old. Parenthood second time around feels easier. I'm not sure the regime of 3 hour sleeps and feeding and settling and vomiting IS actually easier or it's more a case that as parents we've now been trained by our first borns to have NO expectations. As a result you are pathetically grateful for 5 hours sleep when as a first time parent you would be bitter - not realising that things could be a lot, lot worse.

Poppy is a sweet little thing and so far seems to be a mummy's girl. Her eyes light up when she sees me (or my boobs) and from as early as 4 1/2 weeks I was the recipient of little smiles. Only problem is, she is a secret smiler. In the early hours of the dawn when I sit in the loungeroom feeding her she will stop, look me in the eyes and then break out in the most beautiful little grin, she will the lavish her smiles on nearby lightfittings, cushions and anything else nearby. It's sweet.

Only problem is when she sees her Daddy. She either cries or stares at Ed goggle eyed like she's been picked up by a serial killer. There are no smiles for Ed - just looks of horror or extreme crankiness. This is a suprise as Ivy lurved Ed from the get go. She was always happy to have a snuggle with him as a newborn and could be carried around in his arms for hours. Popster on the other hand is not convinced by this strange man who changes her bum and holds her in the evenings. In her opinion he is not to be trusted.

In the meantime she smiles secretly at me like we are in this together. While it's nice to be numero uno after playing second banana to Ivy and Ed's relationship I am a little wary. Afterall I suspect it will be me Poppy cries out for a 4am when she's older rather than that oh so familiar cry of DAAAAAADIEEEEEE that left Ed staggering to Ivy's assistance and me to roll over and go blissfully back to sleep. Has my luck run out?

suffering for fashion

2010-06-17T16:18:00.000-07:00

Ivy is so going to be one of those girls that suffers through winter in a pair of sky high stilettos and not many clothes all for fashion's sake if this mornings conversation is anything to go by. (Which would have to be the polar opposite of me)

It's about 11 degrees this morning and she says "ooooh it's so hot" and starts fanning herself. She then strips off to nothing but her flimsy fairy dress.

Later - she complains that she's cold. I say "well what are you going to do about it?"

Her response?

"I'll put on my silver ballet slippers, my fairy wings and some jewellery."

Why not add a warm cosy spray tan and some glitter. Who is this child and where did she come from?

Pregnancy makes you stupid

2010-06-15T01:34:00.000-07:00

While I am not feeling the sharpest at 34 weeks up-the-duff it seems pregnancy makes plenty of people around me stupid. I've heard some crackers in the stupid comment stakes of late - and if I wasn't so slow on my feet I'd be getting a little violent with some of these people.

For example:

"You're huge!"

*Well in about 4 weeks a human baby is going to come about of my body - it should weigh about 3.4 kilos or so, so what the f**k do you expect?...that I have a tiny little pot belly and give birth to a kitten or a little mouse? Now that would be worth sounding surprised over.

(a few hours later from someone else)

"you're tiny!"

*I'm not, the fact I haven't been able to do my pants up for a couple of months now would clearly indicate there's something sizeable in there that's going to be coming out soon.

"Is this your first child?"

Asked to me as I stand holding the hand of my 3 year old.

*Yeah - that's right, my first child. In fact I'm only 14 not a year off 40 and this 3 year old is actually my little sister.

"Ooooh you won't know what's hit you when the baby arrives!"

Told to me by someone who knows full well I am the mother of a 3 year old.

* Yes bringing up my first child was a cinch - in fact she brought herself up while I lay in bed eating chocolates and having sleep-ins til midday. I'm obviously clueless about what it's like to look after a newborn and I'm going to be in for a shock, thanks for letting me know.

In response to me saying I can't wait for the baby to be born

"oooooh no, savour your pregnancy, enjoy it. Remember they're much easier in than out"

* really? Is that right? So despite throwing up every day now for 8 months, despite having massive headaches, anaemia, a hernia, constant indigestion and feeling every morning like I have had a bucket of vodka for dinner and have a monster hangover, that's something to 'savour' because once the baby is out it might cry and wake me up at night. Yep I'll just get back to savouring another bout of vomiting right now and brace myself for the horror of those few months of broken sleep.

Upon seeing or hearing about my cat

"oooh you'll have to watch her when the baby comes - she might smother it"

* Please see above notes regarding my still alive, non smothered 3 year old who grew up with my lovely cat.

Upon hearing that I've been told that I need to have a Caesarian this time by my obstetrician as I have about a 2 percent chance of delivering naturally this time around.

"But why?? Are you too scared to have a natural labour"

"Oh you're obstetrician shouldn't have told you the odds - cause now you won't 'try' to have a natural labour'''

* Yeah dickhead, I would much prefer to have a tube put in my spinal column and be sliced open on the operating theatre and then spend weeks in pain and off my nut on painkillers and not be able to sit up or cuddle my baby or feed them properly - all by choice. And thanks, I already had a natural labour last time, a natural labour that lasted about 18 hours, went extremely pear shaped and resulted in me being carted off to an operating theatre and sliced open anyway. And yeah you are so right I think that Doctors should always lie to their patients about their odds in regards to anything in order to make them 'try'....that's just what you want from the medical community and of course why would I listen to the medical advice of a Doctor over a so called 'friend'? I must be crazy.

Anyway I'll stop now. No-one wants to see an angry pregnant woman. I should be glowing and smiling and maternal and cooing over tiny socks or something. But really now I'd better go but thanks little blog - I do FEEL so much better. It's good to vent - afterall it's much better to have it out than in (except when we're talking babies apparently...)

A man

2010-06-13T00:44:00.000-07:00

Ivy to Ed this morning after he got his hair cut.

"Nice HAIR Dad!"

"Thanks Ivy"

"You look like a nice young man"

Funny bird

2010-04-11T18:14:00.000-07:00

As we get closer and closer to the age of 3 Ivy's language skills are now supercharged...she is full of weird and wonderful observations about the world and more alarmingly has an answer for everything. While this can be frustrating she is usually so funny that rather than disciplining her I end up trying to hide my face while laughing. Here are some of her latest lines:

Ed to Ivy: "Hurry up birdbrain"
Ivy to Ed (tearful and outraged): "I NOT birdbrain...pauses...I MERMAID"

At Easter - Kate offers Ivy an Easter Bun.

Ivy: "Mummy, I love Easter BUMS"

Ivy - also at Easter after a big tantrum and general crying and sobbing

"I..*sob* know..*sob* what would make me feel better *sob*"

Kate: "What?"
"
Ivy: "Chocolate rabbit. Chocolate rabbits make Ivy all better"

This morning after an argument about what to wear:

Ed: "Put your leggings on"

Ivy: "I don't like leg-lings"

Ed: "too bad, put them on please"

Ivy: "no thanks, I just wear my legs today".

Another morning she comes over walking a bit funny with her undies all twisted up:

"Mummy, my undies have gone silly"

And finally after forcing her way into the bathroom while Ed is on the toilet:

"Daddy, you did a poo! You get a chocolate froggy! You make mummy SO proud"

back from the dead

2010-02-14T15:35:00.000-08:00

hello! I just looked and realised that the last post I wrote was from Ocotber 2009 - I could make excuses and frankly I will. Just one excuse in fact - the fact is that the last time I wrote in this blog was probably the last time I felt normal.

Can't really remember what normal is anymore but I'm guessing that it has something to do with not feeling like you've had two bottles of vodka the night before, been dragged through a couple of hedges, been given a severe case of food poisoning and bashed over the head. Happy news: I'm four months pregnant. Bad news: I don't do pregnancy well. Unlike some women who feel full of beans and joy I tend to feel like the above vodka description (or sometimes worse).

Hence no blogging. It's hard to have an opinion about anything when you are spending the majority of your time with your head down the toilet or passed out in bed wondering if you will ever be able to eat again.

And so it goes. I'll try not to curse myself and say that now - mid February I am starting to feel a little bit better, still quesy and tired but not like I'm going to die. For this apparently I'm meant to be grateful. Meanwhile Ed works with a girl who feels so good that she didn't even notice she was pregnant until she was more than 4 months, I hate her.

So that's about it for now - not very inspiring but nor is constant nausea. XX

The devil wears Pumpkin Patch

2009-10-13T22:37:00.000-07:00

So the fashion battle continues.

Many mornings Ivy will take me by the hand, lead me up the hall into her room and indicate she wants me to lift her up onto her change table (for a birds eye view) she then gestures towards her tall boy which is my cue to open the drawers as she shouts instuctions.

"Dis, dis, dis one dare" she mutters. I pick up a crumpled blue skivvy and show her. "NO NO NO NO NO!" she shrieks. "Dat, dat, dat" I hold up a pair of jeans "NO NO NO NO NO NO!" and on it goes until we have amassed what she thinks will make a suitable outfit for the day.

Often this can be several skirts, no top and something random like two purple socks that she will insist on putting on her hands like gloves. The skirts are wrestled on one on top of the other and then when she realises that she had no top she shouts at me for a bit longer, refusing to put on an actual top til I relent and pull one of the dresses up under her armpits giving the outfit a lovely, not so form flattering Xmas tree effect.

Once the basics are done it's time for accessories - a pair of sneakers or perhaps some hideous sparkly purple plastic crocs. Top this little ensemble off with a pink Dora the Explorer sunhat (that she stole from her childcare centre cause we've been avoiding buying her anything that makes her an advertising board for Disney, Pixar etc etc) and we're done. Ready to face the world....

Suddenly I'm overwhelmed with a desire to stay home and perhaps play inside the house, maybe with all the blinds down. On one such occassion Ivy was happy to do this and then flicked through a trashy celebrity mag I had nicked from work and picked out the outfits that she liked - noting which ones were for her (basically anything pink or purple) but was generous enough to point out a few slutty hideous looking ones for me too. A delightful mother and daughter bonding session.

As a fellow mother of a two year girl who also likes to choose her own clothes said "It's great she wants to dress herself but it's just she's got no idea about good taste." And perhaps this is where the great generational fashion divide between mothers and daughters begins - because according to the toddlers the no taste look is all the rage. Who knows, perhaps my little Anna Wintour will be influencing thousands of women in the future to wear 3 skirts at once and socks on their hands?

I PINK colour

2009-09-21T00:01:00.000-07:00

"I pink colour" annouced Ivy last night. It was nice of her to tell me but frankly she didn't need to considering at the time she was dressed head to toe in a variety of mismatched pink garments.

Oh my god. I always bitched when I saw little girls dressed head to toe in pink. Yuk I would think, what's wrong with these parents, what's with all the pink.

I swore that by hook or by crook MY daughter would not sucumb to the evil pink. Sure a little splash of hot pink or dark rose would be allowed but in my world it would be mixed up with purple, greens, yellows, blues, browns and whatever other colours came our way.

Seems like Ivy didn't get that memo. About 4 weeks ago she suddenly landed on what I like to call 'planet girl'. Suddenly she started poking herself in the chest and shouting "I girl". She got angry about the lyrics to Baa Baa Black Sheep (where they say one of the 3 bags full is for the little boy down the lane) she would shake her fist and shout NO NO NO BOY - GIRL Girl in lane. So, I figured I had a budding feminist on my hands - this was cool.

Then she found the pink dress. A sickening shade of pink, lolly like and something that some well meaning person had given her as a gift. Generally I tried to avoid dressing her in it except when I was desperate but one terrible day she found it in her chest of drawers, waved it aloft and tried to tug it on. From that moment on she wanted to wear that bloody horrible pink dress constantly, to daycare, to playgroup, to bed. After a few days it was covered in stains and looked feral - if I could get her out of it under the premise of washing it she would insist on depositing it herself in the washing machine and by the evening would be asking if it was clean again.

So I cracked and bought her a few other pink things rationalising that this might stem the obsession with the hideous pink dress. It didn't - she simply wanted to wear all the pink things that she owns - at once. Two t-shirts, a skirt all worn over the original pink dress.

At this point I have given up. Although I despise the pink I can remember what it was like to be little and be dressed in something that you don't like. In fact one friend of mine tells me that she had a jumper that she hated SO much when she was little that she cut it up into little pieces and buried it in the garden. Ivy isn't quite that resourceful yet but if I dress her in other colours she will stands there plucking at the offending garments shouting "off off!" and sobbing, actually sobbing real tears. That's how much she cares about what she wears....and when the tears start my resolve crumbles.

Interestingly she doesn't give Ed much trouble at all. Yesterday I was astonished to see that he'd dressed her in a green skirt and a black top. There were no tears, no shouting "I pink". When I asked him how he does it his reply is "I just stuff her into whatever I want to put her in if she cries, too bad."

I think I've cracked his secret - being a man Ed also "stuffs" himself into his clothes each day without much thought, his day certainly isn't ruined by the wrong choice of shirt. While I can spend ages fretting and digging through great piles of garments despairing that I can't find anything to wear.

I, like Ivy, know that it's hard to have a good day if you don't like your outfit. Ivy has worked this out and has found my weak spot - so for the time being pink it is.....even if it makes my eyes ache. I only dread the day when she discovers the concept of a bad hair day.....

The eternal land

2009-09-02T00:14:00.001-07:00

Vanuatu and I go waaaay back. The first time I went there I was nine. My dad had been there a year or so before after (I presume) being prescribed with a severe case of executive stress and was ordered to go somewhere were there is nothing to do and no distractions (something he is not very good at.)

Vanuatua, or the new hebridies at the time turned out to be perfect for that. No television, no radio, no fast lane just slow moving folk operating on 'island time' a tiny capital city sporting a clutch of shops and restaurants and as much azure blue water in the forms of perfect coconut fringed beaches and lagoons as you can handle.

By the time I made in there in 1980 not much had changed. Well the country was now called Vanuatu (which means the eternal land) the locals had got rid of the colonial French and British and had themselves a new new and a new flag. I remember the guys at the airport in uniforms so new and starched they looked like they could shatter, reading carefully from their instruction books as they stamped us in to this old/new land.

First impressions? Coconut palms, banana palms, green lush vegetation, a kind of sweet almost slighty rotten smell that is so common to humid hot places. I remember dark skinned people with afros, quite diminutive in size and a little shy but not shy enough not to wave as our bus went by. The ladies were wearing lairy flouncy mother hubbard dresses covered in lace and ribbons (a legacy of those pesky missionaries who popped up in the 1800's to save the native people's souls supposedly) while the men got about in shorts and flip flops.

When we arrived at our hotel I remember being amazed at this long, glassy, glittering lagoon. To say it was blue would not do it justice, it was multi coloured, striped in wide swathes of pale aqua, sea green in the shallow parts grading down to cobalt, aquamarine and cornflower blues where it was a little deeper sliding into a rich navy and an almost indigo in the deepest parts.

Fat skin coloured starfish with red and black spots dot the edge of the shore, some more red others more skin toned, all plump looking and although they are covered in pointy spikes, totally harmless.

Local people glide across the stripey lagoon in outigger canoes loaded with food and shopping from town as they head to their village on the other side.

I visited again another four times with the last visit in 1988 - my first overseas trip at the age of 17. It was very exciting to be 17 and ordering cocktails in the bar and exchanging travellers cheques, spending all our money on diving lessons and having to nick paw paw fruit off the trees to eat. I remember watching the landscape disappearing as we flew away on our plane and I wondered when I would be back and what I would be like then.

It took 20 years but here I am. While I might have changed a lot the place hasn't a bit.

back from the past

2009-08-23T22:36:00.000-07:00

got back from vanuatu last night..I just love how travel can take you back to the past and then when you come back all that's old seems new again. Like my house. Walking in the door after just 11 days away made it look all shiny and new.

As for vanuatu it was a trip down memory lane for me......a time machine that spanned 30 years in fact.

More on it soon...in the meantime I'm back in the office with a rather hard bump back into reality.

Interesting babysitting experience

2009-08-10T17:33:00.001-07:00

Ed coming back from babysitting his mates four year old boy last night.

Kate: "How was it?"

Ed: "fine, good.........*puzzled look* though he kept showing me his willy - it was weird."

Kate: "Oh dear guess we won't have that problem with a girl"

Ed: "I told him to put it away and he said "I'm going to keep it out forever"

Kate: "hmmmm that could make life interesting for him when he's older"

back in the USSR

2009-08-02T17:27:00.000-07:00

I can't resist a queue.

On Saturday Edward, Ivy and I took a stroll down Darling Street Balmain. We did a bit of shoe shopping for bossy boots (who insisted she wanted a pair of baby sized pink mary janes and shouted at the shop assistant "Go Way!" when she suggested they were too small), we bought coffee and looked in all the pretty windows.

About half way down we noticed a very small shopfront that belongs to Adriano Zumbo - master pastry chef and recent star of Masterchef. (He was the guy that got them to make the Croque en bouche and the chocolate mousse cake.) This in itself was interesting but what made it more interesting was the fact that there was a massive queue snaking out of the tiny shop and onto the footpath.www.adrianozumbo.com

Peeking inside beyong the hordes all I could see were empty display cabinets. But channelling my best 1970's USSR persona I decided to join the queue and take whatever i could get.

Once I was inside it was hilarious - people were just pointing at anything in the display cabinets and taking the lot, which wasn't a lot, just a handful of candy coloured macaroon type things, a few loaves of bread and some mysterious small hot pink cakes. The woman in front of me pointed to the hot pink cakes and in a panic said "I'll take five" five of em would feed about 15 or so people so it was quite a mystery what she was going to do with them all.

Finally it was my turn - I just pointed at the candy coloured little things and just said "four please" and in a panic also pointed to a loaf of bread and said "that too". By the time I left the remaining handful of cakes were being fought over by the rest of the queue.

Such is the power of television.

having said that though the said macaroons were bloody delicious - one tasting like rice pudding, one like berries, another like passionfruit and one like salt and vinegar (bizarre but quite tasty).

Perhaps there's something to be said for having to take what you can get?

A thank you

2009-06-22T15:24:00.000-07:00

After two years of servitude as a parent to little miss Ivy May after at least a year of NO NO NO being shouted at me, or lately NO WAAAAY! And MINE! And NO SHARE! I have learned not to expect too many positive verbal declarations (I do get my fair share of sloppy kisses and bear hugs ) but when it comes to words it's strictly orders and negatives from my little dictator.

The other afternoon I brought home a little cooking stove for her as a gift. It was pink plastic, came with pots and pans, lights up and makes funny cooking noises. All in all it was pretty damn cool and I could tell she thought it was too. She examined it from all angles then declared "oh WOW!" before muttering to herself and getting busy making some plastic food for her plastic baby.

I sat back happy that she liked it thinkg that was that.....then I almost fell off my chair. Out of the blue she stopped, looked up from the stove, smiled and said as clear as day

"Thank you Mamma".

Like a rabbit in the headlights

2009-05-29T16:04:00.000-07:00

Just filmed my first video for CHOICE recently..it was a lot of fun but bloody hell I have a lot of respect for those tv journos now (yes even the ones on ACA and Today Tonight) I thought delivering a piece of script down the barrel of the camera lens would be a piece of cake compared to slaving over a long in depth print article but boy was I wrong.

Despite having a good memory I couldn't seem to remember more than one line at a time and needed my version of an autocue...the budget version, a piece of paper printed up in enormous font stuck under the camera lens. This I learned, you can look at and even though it looks like you are looking into the camera you aren't. Spooky - what it meant is that I had to emote to a piece of printed paper all while making sure I didn't flick my eyes up into the actual lens (a giveaway that you're not really looking into the lens you see). While doing this I had to make sure that I didn't drop my eyes too low - gives you a kind of zombie eyes night of the dead look.

SO once I got the eyes sorted then there was the rest. At the age of 38 thought I was pretty competent at walking and talking yet when I was asked to do it on camera I discovered I could only do one or the other...but not at the same time. We decided that I would stand still.

It's a similar story with my hands. I don't usually spend much time thinking about them yet when I was on camera I simply didn't know where to put them. They either hung by my sides like useless tubes or waved about so much that I on camera I looked like I was mentally deficient. There were points where I was reading my 'autocue' and thinking shit SHIT use your hands and my hand would rise up and then it would hang in the air waiting for further instructions - eventually it settled on my hip when no further instructions were forthcoming which kind of made me look like I was scolding the viewer - and left our video producer in stitches.

Add to these problems hair getting blown around, lipstick smudging, a microphone pack that won't transmit, a small audience of a homeless man, a few office workers having a ciggie and some nosey shoppers and of course traffic and jackhammering filming al fresco isn't as easy as it looks.

Finally I deliver a perfect take - in the middle of it a truck rumbles past. From the camera comes a hesitant voice...'ummm could you do it like that, again?"

To view the carnage head here to CHOICE

Cupcakes Cupcakes Cupcakes

2009-05-17T22:33:00.000-07:00

The world, or perhaps it’s just Australia, has gone completely mental for cupcakes. Formerly know as patty cakes in Aus, thanks to Sex and the City and Carrie’s predilection for sweet little cakes, cupcakes they are and popular they be.

I don’t really have anything against them per se, I just don’t get why they are deserving of the fuss. While I’m not averse to a nice chocolate or cheesecake cupcakes tend to be bland little things, covered in an entirely flavourless greasy and sweet topping of some unnatural colour. They are hardly a taste sensation yet people go crazy for them.

Someone having a baby? Bring cupcakes. It’s the day before easter in the office? Cupcakes. At a wedding? Oh look they’ve got cupcakes instead of wedding cake how cuuuute. Going to a work meeting? Cupcakes. Visit a friend. Cupcakes.

Even in my neck of the woods there is now a massive installation in the local shopping centre selling, you guessed it, cupcakes. Hundreds of the bloody things in different sizes and colours yet all tasting strangely sweet, greasy and unremarkable. And a constant queue of suckers all lined up waiting to hand over their cash.

Now the ultimate blow. Last week I was asked to host a kind of round table discussion with some members of the media and the blogging world about an article I have written. I was excited, I don’t get out of the office much these days and the idea of being somewhere glam like a nice inner city restaurant or bistro was very appealing.

This morning I got an email from the agency organizing the event. Someone in their office has had a brilliant idea – we’re not doing lunch anymore….we’re doing…errrr...'Cupcakes'. In a place that actually refers to itself as a ‘cupcakery’.

Great – my dreams of 2 hatted gourmet savory delights have been shattered. Instead I will be in mild sugar and champagne shock before lunchtime as I endevour to make some kind of sense in front of my esteemed media world peers as we devour those cutsey little coloured bit of confectionary. Glad I'm not a diabetic. Wonder if they will mind if I bring my own vegemite sandwiches to offset the sugar?

OUCH

2009-05-14T16:36:00.000-07:00

the running hasn't been going well - I think I'm permanently crippled. Seems that it's not a good idea to try running in flat as a tack converse sneakers on concrete. I mentioned this fact to two friends last weekend who indulge in fitness activities (well one of them does really, the other much prefers smoking and drinking but likes to pretend that she's out running the streets a few times a week)

either way when I said I was running in converse they shouted me down and it seems my legs and knees have joined in with the shouting. So my choices are: spend 100 bucks on ugly white runners that look more like small ufo's or go back to the couch.

I know which one I prefer the idea of.

Run rabbit run

2009-04-24T21:49:00.000-07:00

I don't run.

I would say the last time I ran was on my last day of primary school where all of us kids ran, and ran, and ran until the bell went and we had to go inside to learn a few things before it was home time where, not suprisingly, we ran home. And then ran around in the streets until the street lights went on where we would then run to our respective homes to see what was being served for dinner.

When I arrived in highschool at the tender age of 11 I remember being gobsmacked watching the the students in what was still called the playground. Despite the name there was absolutely NO playing, let alone running. Instead groups of girls sat huddled in little groups dotted here and there chatting and no-one moved unless they were taking a saunter down to the canteen to buy chips or a chelsea bun or to the toilets for a smoke. (of course NO one ever used the toilets for anything but smoking...I wonder how my bladder coped for those 6 years but that's another story.)

Anyway from the day I started high school I sat down at lunchtimes and eventually took up smoking. While I'm happy to report I no longer smoke I really took to sitting down like a duck to water and at the age of 38 I'm pretty damn good at it. Running seemed like something unpleasant, only necessary if my life was in danger, and after developing a fairly impressive rack, inadvisable unless I wanted two black eyes.

This morning everything changed. I ran. Having watched the biggest loser for weeks now I started to realise that all the middle aged and even old aged former fatties on the show were running. Even the 62 year old who started his journey weighing twice or maybe 3 times my body weight. Suddenly I felt ashamed, if they could run couldn't I? I wasn't sure. I suspected that if I attempted to run I might collapse and die, or before I could even get to the dying part I simply wouldn't know how to run.

A fan of running, Ed was delighted when I expressed an interest. So this morning we headed for the park...after a lot of fear and negotiation we agreed I would run to an allocated tree, and then back again. I took off at a shuffle....then after a few ungainly lollops it started to come back to me....suddenly I was transported back to the playground of Hornsby South Primary School - albeit with bigger boobs. It was almost, dare I say it, fun. I started to run fast, back and forth, back and forth before starting to gasp like a fish out of water. It seems I can run - but I am bloody unfit. All fixable says coach Ed. I think I'd like to try it again tomorrow.

In the meantime it's like the scales have fallen from my eyes. For the rest of the day I can't stop noticing people running. Yummy mummy's with joggers strollers, tough looking guys pounding the pavement. Even in my own street this morning on my way home one man was bolting down the street like he was being chased and then a spotty teenager emerged from another house and took off at a clip. Is it a sign? Even my own neighbours seemed to be saying "c'mon Browne, RUN!"

We'll see. I do suspect I'll always excel at sitting down though.

Our wedding via Wordle

2009-04-06T20:55:00.001-07:00

Thoughts on camping via wordle

2009-04-06T03:51:00.000-07:00

GFC? What GFC? I need an iPod, like, NOW

2009-03-31T22:33:00.000-07:00

I had a weird experience yesterday. Having lasted 5 years with my iPod I finally cracked and decided that enough was enough with it’s piss weak battery ways (after an hour of music it gets tired and needs a lie down) and that I was ready for a new one.

As a consumer journalist I am always interested in what makes people buy and how and I must say as a consumer I am a strange one. I am not a researcher or even really an impulse buyer. I am more of a wake up in the morning hysterically decide I need something NOW NOW NOW and will do anything to get my hands on it immediately. (Ed funnily enough is similar – we will both put up with something for months or years and then when it’s decided we must consume immediately.) Funny cause I’m always writing advice like “take your time, do your research, shop around” in all my articles.

Anyway I mustn’t be alone because yesterday after decided I MUST have a new iPod RIGHT NOW I threw Ivy into her stroller and sprinted up to JB Hi Fi. It was just on 10am and there were a handful of people hanging about waiting for the store to open.

Inside the sleepy looking staff were still wandering about setting up when me, a guy dressed in gym gear and an older woman all walked straight to the ipod cabinet and stood there expectantly. It was almost awkward – no browsing or wandering. We all arrived at the cabinet and stood, arms crossed. Finally when no staff appeared I went to the cashier and asked if we could get some help.

A young staffer arrived and served the gym guy, “Mate can I have a shuffle and an eight gig nano thanks” “what colour do you want?” says the staffer “oh um blue will do”says the gym guy who acts like he is just buying ciggies not several hundred of dollars worth of mp3 player.

I’m next “8 gig nano please” I say and then add “purple please” ( like I am buying ciggies.) the guy looks amused and hands over the loot.

As I head to the cashier I hear the older woman say “can I have an ipod touch please?”

The guy at the cabinet looks quite shocked by now. It is only 4 minutes after opening and he has just sold about one thousand dollars worth of ipods.

There must have been something in the air…..

I'm back

2009-03-21T14:17:00.001-07:00

Just like those well intentioned new gym goers and exercisers (as mentioned in my earlier post) after a spurt of activity I have settled back into my bad blog avoiding ways. Yet a quick message from across the seas afar has pointed out my slackness and put me back on track - well at least for today. (Jan you should be some kind of motivational coach...or perhaps its the high school teacher in you : )

SO, plenty has happened in the last few months. One of the weirdest and most exciting things was Mr Edward Holmes and I got hitched. Never one to be a bridezilla the wedding was a bit of a shambles but as a friend put it "yeah but it's a beautiful shambles" kind of great compliment really.

We all survived the afternoon / evening / early morning but here are some learnings I've gained that I would like to share with anyone with bridal leanings.

* Try not to pick a day that weather-wise will end up being on the front cover of the paper. Our wedding day clocked the unprecedented and most umpleasant record breaking high of 42 degrees.....yes that's about 107 in the old temperature. This meant on the day in question most people were melting like wax dummies. It also meant that we set a record at our non airconditioned venue in question by clocking up the biggest bar bill they have ever had for a function of that size. (yeah!)

* Don't be at your own wedding as the guests arrive: I thought in the spirit of being casual Ed and i would arrive at the same time as the guests (or a little before as we'd hoped until we got stuck in an underground car park for 15 minutes in Bondi)rather than do the spectacular bride and groom arrive and everyone gawks thing. This is a mistake - unless you enjoy trying to kiss hello 120 people whilst simultaneously trying to fix the sound system, chase after a toddler, find a spot to leave presents, deal with the caterers and a relative who decides that 4 minutes before the ceremony is a good time to want to discuss whether we would like her to get a pot plant out of her car and include it in the wedding ceremony for a blessing. Note: someone will always plant a massive red lipstick kiss on your carefully made up face and someone else will subject you to an affectionate but ultimately rugby-like hug that involves squishing and messing up your carefully arranged hair. One this note: the bridezillas have it people. Stay away from your own wedding guests until after you get hitched it's dangerous.

* Don't decide to have the photos taken at the venue. I also thought this would be a good idea thinking that the whole bride and groom go off for four hours to take photos on the beach whilst thristy hungry guests are left cooling their heels in a park somewhere was a bit thoughtless but it seems there is method to the madness. Doing it in front of 120 people who all want to give you drinks, kiss you some more, ask about pot plants, cover you in lipstick and follow the official photographer with their own cameras and videocameras whilst your softly spoken photog tries to get you to stand somewhere and look halfway normal doesn't work. result: slightly weird distracted shots of Ed and I looking in different directions at all the different lenses of the hundreds of cameras. bridezillas have it again - theres a reason your photographer wants to get you away and it's not to have the beach as a location.

* Don't let your mother see you in the dress you are wearing before the big day. This may result in her exclaiming brightly "oh that pattern on your dress makes it look like the top of your dress has slipped right down makes it look like you are wearing a bright yellow bra!" This will guarantee that you will go from loving to despising your new dress in 2 seconds flat and spend the big day pulling at it, racing to the bathroom to look in the mirror and scrutinising it for further visual faults and wishing that you had a potato sack to get changed into.

* Finally, don't let your father have one too many drinks and decide to have a deep and meaningful discussion with one of your new husbands friends at the very end of the night. Enough said.

that's enough of the don'ts here are a few dos.

* Do make sure you invite absolutely everyone you want and throw them all together on the big day. I was delighted to see totally random combinations of work mates, school friends, rellies and more all getting along like a house on fire.

* Do make sure you do what you want to do. Ed and I decided to ditch the boring speeches, the naff covers band and dedicate that time to some african drummers who got everyone into the spirit by bringing drums for everyone to play. I loved it and so did most of the guests. Although I caught the disapproving looks of a few who were obviously expecting babies breath and violins if it's your wedding you should do what you want to do.

* Do have a wonderful wedding celebrant - Ed and I were spoiled in this regard. The lovely Megan has known me since high school and Ed for the last 5 years and was all out show stoppingly fabulous. She was funny, she was warm and she totally struck the right note for the ceremony and worked really hard on putting it right (despite at times my and Ed's lack of enthusiasm.) Thanks Meagie, you are a star.

* Do have an excellent time and make sure you have friends that will too. Our guests rocked! From those who burned up the dance floor, drummed til their fingers bled, got naked in the car park, frolicked on the terrace, drank the bar dry and the one friend who shall remain nameless who staggered up to Ed at the end of the night and slurred "Thankschhh for having meeee, had a great noingt............Happy Birthday mate" and slapped him on the arm before staggering off into the night THANK you. It truly was an excellent and beautiful shambles.

How to be a working mother - lesson 101

2009-01-09T19:39:00.000-08:00

When your mobile phone rings on your day off just after your cranky 18 month child has awoken from a nap.

Answer phone to discover it's a very senior player in the medical industry who has decided to share some very juicy information off the record for a story that you are writing.

Tell person on the phone politely you are not at work today and could you have a conversation on Monday in the office.

Person says yes but then continues to talk and talk about government submissions, scandals and dirt that is very compelling.

Maintain professional demeanour as your toddler starts grabbing your leg and trying to pull your pants down.

Say "yes yes - this sounds like a great initiative" whilst not really listening and trying to cut a piece of cheese for cranky toddler whilst trousers are around your ankles.

Continue to "mmmmm" and "yes" in an authoritative tone whilst toddler shrieks "no no no" and throws the cheese at the cat.

Absentmindedly give toddler a piece of chalk and a piece of paper to keep them occupied whilst still "yes-sing and mmmmm-ing" Realise toddler has gone in the other room and is now quiet. Good.

Continue to listen and catch up with what the caller is saying - realise that should be taking notes as this information is gold.

Walk into other room where toddler is to see that the good couch is now covered in blue chalk swirls. Mouth falls open in horror whilst still managing to sound knowledgeable.

Look at watch and realise said toddler was due at the doctor 5 minutes ago...at same time unpleasant smell is coming from the rear end of the toddler.

Try and get the chalk off the toddler whilst discussing Government regulation whilst toddler lashes out and shrieks "no no no".

Eventually plead with caller to send me an email before he launches into another 5 minute rant about topic.

Almost break neck trying to cradle phone hands free and change a nappy with spare hands.

Finally beg to get off phone and virtually hang up on caller.

Leave house - covered in blue chalk - wriggling toddler in tow with no idea what was discussed in the last 20 minutes and with an awful feeling I may have committed to something..........

Resolutions ahoy

2009-01-04T19:03:00.000-08:00

Others it seems have had New Year’s resolutions of their own. A few days ago I headed off to my usual aqua aerobics class at the pool (yes I’ve finally found an exercise I enjoy after 37 years of not really doing anything much with my body apart from eating and drinking beer – I think it’s the appeal of not getting sweaty, no-one seeing me while I exercise and best of all the fact that the majority of the class are at least 20 years older than me so I can kid myself I am still young and lithe…well until I walk past the actual gym where amazing looking people my age are doing full on pump and body attack classes..) but I digress, I headed to my class expecting to see a dozen or so of the regular old ducks and dears that do the class with me when I was greeted with an extraordinary sight – 38 people leaping into the pool, mostly strangers, but all with a weird gleam in their eye. When I looked at my instructor she rolled her eyes and said “oh it’s always like this in the New Year”.

It’s true, I remember this scenario when I worked at the Opera House. Once the new year had been rung in and the bottles and chocolates swept away suddenly the paths around the Botanic Gardens would be crowded with throngs of over zealous exercisers wearing brand new trainers and tracksuits throwing themselves about vigorously. By around Australia day mysteriously they would have disappeared, shoes and trackies presumably hurled to the back of the cupboard as the allure of the pub, café or even just a nice lie down started to win out over those resolutionsfor yet another year.

I’m researching an article on gymnasiums at the moment and I have uncovered an interesting factoid in this vein. 80 percent of people that join a gym stop going after approximately 12 weeks.... never to be seen again. Of course for the gym this is the perfect paying customer, the one they never see, and subsequently most gyms build their business model around over subscription.

I will bear this in mind when I try to enforce my own blogging resolution – do you give me approximately til Australia Day before the Tigers and Teapots get foisted to the back of the wardrobe of my mind?

A new years resolution....

2008-12-30T21:12:00.000-08:00

To blog more!

Apologies to all four of my readers.

In the meantime check out this fantastic blog suggestion courtesy of my good friend Tiff - I don't really know how to explain it it has to be seen to be believed:

www.goop.com

Happy New Year.

Australia?

2008-12-02T18:20:00.000-08:00

At my work we have alphabet fridge magnets....everyone usually has a bit of a play with them and writes the odd rude thing about their co-workers etc etc. However this morning when I went in to make a cup of tea this was spelt out in no uncertain terms in colourful plastic magnets.
"Baz Lurhhman you stupid mongrel"
Hmmm perhaps I should cancel my date to go and see the abovementioned film afterall?

A random fact to leave you with that I have uncovered during my research for an article on the advertising and marketing industries...

The smell of melons helps sell electronic products.

You have been warned. I recommend a peg on the nose next time you head to an Apple store.

Blind as a bat

2008-11-13T19:43:00.000-08:00

It's happened at long last......finally yesterday the optometrist uttered the words I've been longing to hear for about 25 years. "Err I'm afraid you are going to have to have reading glasses."

"Yes!!!" My internal voice cheered and my heart soared.

Y'see for years I had wished I had glasses. In fact a couple of times as a teenager I convinced myself or more likely I convinced my mother that I had headaches and blurry vision. To no avail usually after the test the Optometrist would compliment me on my perfect 20/20 vision and I would be turned away naked faced.

Eventually I gave up on my dream and got on with life but now and again over the years I would have the chance to have my eyes checked and that little of frisson of hope would be extinguished with the news my eyes were perfectly happy thank you very much.

Over the last few weeks things have changed - my eyes started twitching and after 6 or 7 hours in front of a computer at work I would be squinting at the screen, leaning forward, leaning back, blinking. Hmmmm so of course I became convinced that something was terribly wrong with my brain...after complaining for a few weeks I Ed finally convinced me maybe it was just my eyes...hence the test.

So prognosis in hand I was swiftly dispatched by mr optometrist into the store where an assistant was instructed to help me fine some frames. I was excited, I was pumped until I realised that in the glasses fashion world at the moment (on my face anyway) were two very distinct looks.

Either this:

Or this:

While the Nana look could almost be construed on many other women as looking a bit arty, a bit cool a bit left of centre. On me I simply looked like I could be doing the Nana Moskouri tribute show at Canterbury RSL.

As for the Sarah Palin look - while I don't usually wear my hair in a half up half down beehive it's possible with a bad day in the office and a resulting bad hair day anything is possible.

I was gutted - after all these years of wanting it turns out that I look quite stupid in glasses. I sullenly chose a pair and put them on the counter...dreams dashed.

Before I could think about my dissolusionment the sales girl calls out happily "that'll be six hundred and eighty dollars thanks" and I almost choke. What??? How could this be???? Seems this is exactly how this is - this it seems how dodgy upmarket designers make their money flogging samey samey frames onto unsuspecting folk like me. The frames (which I don't even like) are 400 bucks...then the rest goes into the little pieces of glass that will stop me going blind. Sigh. It's all I could do to console myself that I haven't needed the bloody things before this otherwise I would be out on the streets begging to afford my frames.

So sadly in this particular case it seems that it's not always a good thing when your dreams come true. Specially when it means you might just end up looking like an out of pocket Sarah Palin.

The Sign of the Spider

2008-10-26T03:00:00.000-07:00

Beware ordinary folk, there is a sinister cult developing out there in the inner west. Seemingly normal looking people are starting to worship a new idol. This idol is small, chubby and quite cute. When people spot their idol they greet her in the manner in which she is accustomed to by crossing their forefingers in a triangle shape and placing these fingers on their foreheads in a triangle shape. If the idol is feeling benevolent she will do it back.

The cult of the spider is growing like a cancer...from elderly grandparents to your childcare workers, young babies to shopkeepers, baristas and visitors from afar everyone is slowly being indoctrinated by the Sign of the (Incy Wincy) Spider. Will you be NEXT?

You know you live with a toddler when....

2008-09-16T03:24:00.000-07:00

You sit down at the computer and there is a potato balanced on the keyboard.

Sultanas form a trail up and down the hall

The tv is stuck permanently on teletubbies

You have snot all over your top - and it's not yours

Stuffed toys whir in the clothes dryer because someone has insisted on taking them into the bath

You know all the words to the opening sequence of Postman Pat, Miffy, Teletubbies, In the Night Garden and Seasame Street and you find yourself singing them loudly to yourself in the office.

When you walk down the street pushing a stroller and sounding like a lunatic talking to themselves as you are shouting "ah ah ah - stop rubbing cheese in your hair" and "good girl! Put on your hat! Put on your hat! Oh okay....don't throw it on the ground then."

A chorus line of teddy bears stare up at you from your (formerly) stylish and immaculate loungeroom.

By 5pm you are more than ready for a lie down on the couch with the first of many glasses of wine.

Shoeless

2008-09-09T02:33:00.000-07:00

I went for a walk at lunch the other day with a friend in a pair of most unsuitable pointy high heeled boots. After half an hour of walking I could no longer stand the pain, wrenched them off and walked back to the office in my socks.

Back at my desk a closer, sockless inspection revealed three massive blister bubbles on my toes. Too painful to even wear socks I had to carry on the rest of my working day barefoot.

I trotted back and forth to the printer, perched on someones desk to discuss a problem, made a cup of tea in the tearoom and even attended a meeting yet no-one seemed to notice my shoeless state. Or did they??? Perhaps they were just being incredibly polite. Or are just so socially maladjusted and shy that they couldn't find it in themselves to say anything or even just have a laugh.

Then again maybe they really just didn't care. Afterall our photographer was cruising around the office last week after injuring his leg on an office chair, then in a wheelchair and then finally in a wheelchair minus his pants (but thank god still with his boxers on) yet no-one batted an eyelid.

Incredibly cool office or incredibly socially repressed?

I can't decide.

I work in a glam neighbourhood pt 2

2008-08-10T20:04:00.000-07:00

Forget about sparkling harbour views, when I pulled into the company car park this morning the view from my windscreen was far, far more interesting.

One young guy, pinned to the ground by 2 police officers. Young guy wriggled free and tried to jump over a cyclone wire fence and into the dirty canal behind it. The police gave chase - caught him and pinned him to the ground once again. After removing his shoes, they body searched him and threw him into a paddy wagon.

Love a bit of downtown Marrickville action.

Dis......and dat

2008-08-06T17:59:00.000-07:00

The dawning of Ivy's 14 month in the world sees me and Ed living with (to paraphrase the great Cliff Richard) a walking, talking living doll.

The little bird took her first steps a few weeks ago and each day is consolidating her lurching about the house skills more and more. It’s a little unnerving having what looks like a tiny Frankenstein swaying awkwardly across the room, arms outstretched but the big, big smile she has confirms just how proud she is of herself. In case her audience needs further convincing upon completing her walk – she usually likes to give herself a round of applause.

As for talking, it seems to have arrived with pointing. No longer happy just to look at her surroundings, Ivy likes to whip out her index finger, point at something random (such as a door frame) and declare in an authoritative tone “dat”. At which she looks at me like she expects an answer. I declare something inane like “yes” or “hmmmm” and then when she is satisfied with my response she then moves on to something new like a piece of paper on the floor with another point followed by another deeply intoned “dat”. This can go on for quite some time.

Of course it’s not always about ‘dat’, things that she can reach out and touch are often referred to as ‘dis’. In fact words pronounced with a “d” are a favourite – which is what I’m trying to convince myself, as her most favourite word in the world is “Da Dee” (Daddy). All day all night she likes to talk about Da Dee. She points at photos of Ed, her face lights up and she says “Da Dee”. She wanders around the house chanting “Da Dee”, in the mornings I can hear her lying in her cot chanting to herself “Da Dee” in every intonation possible. To try and even things up I point at my self and say “mummy” or “Mama” but she just looks at me like I’m a fool and then says “Dis”.

So I have had had to resign myself that at the moment it’s just all about daddy, daddy, daddy. My only consolation was what I took her to the doctors recently; while we were waiting to go in she was looking at a picture of a green tree frog. When I asked her what it was her face lit up, she pointed and said “Da Dee.” Not so special afterall Eddy.

I work in a glam neighbourhood

2008-07-16T22:05:00.000-07:00

A few years ago I used to work for the Opera House, while the job itself had some dubious qualities at times the location couldn't be beaten. I would sweep off the train at Circular Quay feeling like I was in a movie, taking in the sparkling saphire harbour, the mighty bridge rising out of the water on one side, the white sails of the opera house shining on the other and the gleaming towers of the city behind me. I would stride along the waters edge sipping a perfectly made fluffy flat white dodging artists and starstruck tourists on my way into the office.

How things have changed, today as I stopped at a semi industrial estate near my current office to buy a watery coffee from the factory canteen I noticed a new business had opened over the road. Its sign proclaimed
"SECA - lifitng the lid on sewerage technology." I wonder if SECA's employees like to dine at the Goat Meat Restaurant up the road. It's a long way from the Bennelong baby!

Shiny happy people

2008-07-15T20:37:00.000-07:00

Well it's World Youth Day here in Sydney and the city has been overtaking by a sea of delirious, smiling young people clapping their hands, waving flags of the world and worst of all..singing. As a friend pointed out it's a bit like when Sydney hosted the Olympics but that at least the sports fans didn't piss everyone off by breaking out into song constantly.

I don't work in the city yet in the last 48 hours I've spotted starry eyed mediterranean types in Leichhardt, groups of happy (?) Germans in Ashfield and a massive group of Mexicans at Broadway all clogging up the streets wearing silly hats and red and orange backpacks. It's funny, I've heard so many people tut tutting about all these overjoyed, clean living 20 somethings, and I understand. You're not meant to say "what's wrong with the youth of today? Why don't they drink, smoke, take drugs and have sex?" all very confusing.

What also cracks me up is how many people I know say that they hate religion, churches and things like WYD yet will, in the next breath, tell me that they will be sending their kids to a 'good catholic school cause the education is excellent'. Or all the people I know who wouldn't be caught dead going to mass but suddenly felt the urge to have their babies christened, in a church, with a priest - quite incredible. But nothing like having a bob each way I guess.
But I worry, have they just created the next generation of annoyingly wholesome youth who will be blocking up someone elses city in the future?.....only time will tell.

Living in the 70's

2008-07-02T03:10:00.000-07:00

"Heeeeey good paaarrty" croaked an old friend as she staggered out the door in the wee hours on the night.

"thank you for the party" emailed another "sorry it's taken me a week to write but I think I have been hungover for the last six days"

"With the way your party was going when I left I wouldn't have been surprised if all everyone had ended up in the spa together" commented another mate's husband.

Ed and I awoke the next morning with woolly heads, furry mouths and bloodshot eyes. The collateral damage:

2 cases of wine - gone
2 cases of beer - gone
two large tables worth of food - gone
One ladybrid cake - gone

The occassion? Just a one year old childs birthday party.

Having a baby is a big deal and getting to one year without damaging that baby, and still being reasonably sane seemed like a good reason to celebrate. Ed and I also had never had a proper housewarming party so we thought we'd chuck a bit of a do. And what a do it turned out to be.

With a June baby you are never going to be able to take good weather for granted and as Ivy's mother I suspect we will be doomed to succession of indoor parties over the years that eventually will be too much for our little house and have to take place at a community hall or one of those vile play centres. Even with a mostly adult guest list for this first birthday we tried to restrain ourselves to family, really close friends and friends who also had kids just so we could ensure that we could fit everyone in. But even with some restraint somehow our guest list topped almost 60. Reasoning that it was a long weekend I suspected lots of people couldn't make it so wasn't worried until everyone bar about 2 people rsvp'd yes, am some asked if they could bring extra kids, step kids, partners etc.

Still I wasn't fazed, while the house is small, the garden is large and would be perfect for all to mingle in with the gentle winter sun warming their faces. It seemed like a good idea, specially as our mate Megan who is a celebrant was going to perform a baby naming for Ivy as well on the big day. It would be fine I told myself - and then I read the weather report. RAIN - every day for the next three weeks.

On the big day we steeled ourselves, emptied most of the loungeroom of furniture and threw open the doors. What could have been a recipe for disaster turned out to be a recipe for magic. You see if the sun had been shining I've no doubt that everyone would have arranged themselves in polite groups of people they already knew and nibbled on food, sipped on some wine and slinked off home at 5. Instead everyone was packed into the house cheek by jowl and the opposite happened, suddenly this do felt like a real party. With the guests ranging from 11 weeks old to 86 years it was quite a scene. Forced into such a small space and plied with alcohol our disparate guests had no choice BUT to socialise. I was treated to the sight of my 86 year old uncle knocking back the wines with Eds tv friends. My mum cooing over my work friends babies, my dad holding court in the kitchen with my old flatmates and my 15 year old nephew plying my friend (and mother of two) with alcohol while she swayed on a stool in the kitchen.

The naming was hilarious, and rather than fake proclamations to God or naff poems about angels, Ivy was read the sensible and fun words of Dr Seuss, presented with my old toys and Ed's toy soldier excavated from his Aunties garden after 25 years only recently. The weather held out long enough for the ceremony before the rain chased us back inside to drink some more. As the hours passed some people headed for home but plenty stayed. Those with kids threw them into our bathtub, fed them bananas from our fruit bowl and we all settled back to watch the kids running about the house in the nuddy while we all continued drinking. Somehow Ivy got fed and bathed too before being flung into her cot (thanks Ed) while I'd had so many wines I decided it was time to spark up the first cigarette I've smoked for years before slipping and falling down the stairs. By 11pm (the party started at 2) four of us were left drunkenly gossiping, smoking and setting off sparklers before finally Emma and Erin headed off into the night and Ed and I crashed.

The next morning all three of us were knackered. Ed and I from drinking too much and Ivy probably from sensory overload and we all went back to bed.

When I told my Mum later that day of how the party went off the rails rather than being the polite, tea drinking, look at the baby kind of affairs I was used to she simply remarked. "Oh it's just like the parties we had in the 70's. You know where parents drank and smoked and the kids looked after themselves."

As for Ivy? I'm not sure if she enjoyed the day as much as her parents but she certainly looked suprised by it all. Lucky that Ed had bought her a little car to ride on for the day, which after all that wrapping paper, was the biggest hit ever.

Restaurant of the week

2008-06-25T17:33:00.000-07:00

Spotted on my way out of Marrickville last night, a new restaurant called:

"Goat Meat Restaurant"

Not a word of a lie - the sign has some chinese characters above it and then this delightfully straight talking translation below. Needless to say it wasn't exactly heaving with punters when I drove past.

Truly a vegetarians delight.

the difference between men and women

2008-06-02T17:18:00.000-07:00

This morning - 8am

Me: bleary eyed, dressed in pj's, hair a mess, clutching Ivy as I watch the telly showing a report on the Australian Premiere of Sex and the City movie at Fox Studios. I watch a bevvy of tv and movie a and b listers prance about drinking cosmos, dressed to the nines and raving about the movie with envy wondering why I never get to go to fun events like that anymore.

Ed: wandering past towelling his hair. "Oh we could have gone to that last night. I had tickets."

Me: open mouthed.............speechless..............

Ed: looking scared...."I, err didn't think we did things like that anymore so I said no"

Me: ........................... mouth even wider............still speechless

Ed: "oops, was that wrong? Sorry......." Gets on bike and heads quickly to work.

Me: ............................... gaping..........................still speechless...four hours later....................

Getting old

2008-05-27T23:03:00.000-07:00

Ye gods - how can it be that Kylie Minogue turns 40 today? Geezus, I feel old. It doesn't seem that long ago I was off my head on drugs dancing with a bunch of gay boys and drag queens at Mardi Gras to "Step Back in Time" in a hairpiece and hotpants. Whilst I might be feeling old, apart from a scarily taut immobile face and ever expanding lips good old Kyles looks like she still likes nothing better than to
spend a night burning up the dance floor.

I on the other hand have turned into a nanna. How do I know?

A: I like to go to bed at 9pm
B: I think that getting out of bed at 6.30am is a 'sleep in'
C: I get excited about dressing in nice clothes at work but don't travel anywhere more interesting than my desk in them.
D: My drug of choice these days is hot chocolate not a line or an e. And at times I find the hot chocolate just as exciting.
E: On Friday nights I get excited, not because I am going to the hottest new bar in town but because that's the day our cleaner has been and we'll have a nice clean house. Sometimes if I'm feeling really crazy I'll to celebrate we have pizza.

What's next? Spending all my time at the doctor?? Oh that's right, thanks to Ivy I'm already doing that. Bring on the walking frame....surely at this rate it won't be much longer.

Sad times in the animal world

2008-05-16T15:30:00.000-07:00

Back in 05/06 when Ed and I were overseas we had the opportunity to work with animals both in Bolivia and in Thailand. These experiences were amazing and more than often quite painful, in the literal sense, especially for Ed who still bears the scars of some savage puma bites on his thigh. Our time in Bolivia was wild, in every sense. Both of us were responsible for the welfare of a cat for a month with little training. It was terrifying, exhilarating and very bloody fun, and funny. And you can read all about it if you like here

My personal charge was a beautiful, cranky, funny little package who went by the name of Rico. Rico was an Ocelot, a medium sized jungle cat who are most famous for their soft, velvety, gorgeously patterned fur and big eyes. After his mother was hunted in the wild for her fur Rico was found living with a family while he was a kitten who were persuaded to let him go live at the park. Without the life skills he would have earned from his mother Rico was kept in a large enclosure in the jungle and was taught to walk on a long rope. This is where I came in, for 30 days Rico and I would head off into the jungle where he would walk, hunt, sniff, catch snakes and lizards and do all those Ocelot things. It wasn't the perfect companion, he was a cranky little bugger who was prone to jumping me when I wasn't looking which would scare the living daylights out of me, he would often refuse to walk and lie on the ground sulking for hours in the rain or the hot sun, and sometimes he would throw massive tantrums growling and screeching and throwing himself on the ground. (Probably good training for me life with Ivy when I think about it.) but we got to know each other and towards the end he usually looked excited (for a cat) when I turned up every morning with some juicy grass and his lead. The work was hard and exhausting but most days I couldn't get over the fact I was able to get up close and personal with such a beautiful endangered species.

Yesterday I heard some sad news from the park. A few months ago Ricos volunteer headed up to his enclosure only to find that overnight Rico had caught his collar on the cage and hanged himself. A sad end to a beautiful cat who had a sad beginning in life. But at least it some consolation to know that his life was enriched by his time at the park even if he couldn't be a true wild cat living in the jungle.

In Thailand I was keen to do some more stuff with animals and after a long search came across the wonderful Elephant Nature Park in Northern Thailand. This sanctuary rescues elephants who have been abused or abandoned.....the scary thing is that they are being mostly rescued from the tourist industry. Some elephants were dragged around the streets forced to do tricks and 'beg' for food from tourists, others were kept in trekking camps lugging tourists around on their backs in uncomfortable harnesses, others had been beaten, blinded or starved by their owners. Lek, the Thai woman who runs the park, brings as many of these elephants as she can find to her park where she rehabilitates them and then allows them to live in family groups, free to do as they please. While this park is about rehabilitating the animals it is also about rehabilitating tourist's mindsets. In short, that tourists understand that elephants just left to do their thing are just as interesting and fulfilling to watch as riding on them or watching them perform tricks such as dancing, playing musical instuments or football. The latest trend to hit is painting....elephants are being trained to do self portraits, abstracts and naff line paintings of flowers and the like. Most people think this is adorable, that the elephants are so clever and that by buying a painting they are helping to save some poor elephant from a life in a trekking camp or as an illegal logger. Companies such as www.exoticworldgifts.com are selling these paintings for over $700 us dollars and even have put up a youtube video of one elephant supposedly painting a self portrait. It has subsequently become one the most viewed videos of youtube and the couple that run this business actually seem to believe that they are helping these elephants by promoting elephants paintings.

When Ed and are volunteered at the Elephant Nature Park we were particularly taken by the littlest member of the park - a four week old baby boy. He was already 100 kilos, soft, squishy, covered in hair and very cheeky. Rescued with his mother, who had been abused while she was pregnant the little baby and mother came to the park in a very bad condition. Many people didn't think the little baby would survive but with the help of the park and some very willing female elephants who appointed themselves as 'aunties' he survived. For the last two years he has grown up in the safety of the park and had a very happy life.

Recently, his owner contacted the park to say that now mother and baby were better he would like them back from the park. The mother will be put back to work trekking and taking tourists for rides yet again, while the little baby will be taken from his mother and will be taught to paint. Learning to paint will mean being trained which in thailand means being beaten with metal hooks and being locked in a small pen until the baby is so terrified that they are willing to do anything after a couple of weeks.

It's such a shame so many people take things on face value, and will probably proudly display their elephant art believing that they have done something right. In the meantime more and more elephants are destined to a life performing tricks for people's amusement. And when you consider that an elephant can live until it's 80 that's a life sentence. As awful as it is, I can't help feeling out of the baby elephant and Rico - Rico may have got the better deal.

The trials of teddy

2008-05-11T22:00:00.000-07:00

He's a bit shapeless looking, a bit crusty and a bit smelly yet he is more loved than any other in our house by young Ivy - may I introduce Freddy the flat teddy.

Inspired by the tales my friend Tiff had told about her little baby Millie and her passion for sharing her cot with a stuffed toy called Lambie I was determined to get Ivy to invest emotionally in one of her lovely toys rather than the dishwasher which I'm fairly certain wouldn't fit in her bed despite her passionate displays of affection for it.

I offered up a selection of stuffed lovies for her to choose from, a soft plush tiger with floppy paws which she threw on the floor in disdain, a cute pink monkey made out of socks was tossed to the corner of the cot, a hand knitted golliwog didn't even make it into the cot but was unceremoniously dumped off the end of the change table in a dusty corner where he remains to this day. Things weren't looking good - faced with a child that seemed to prefer whitegoods over most things I needed to call in the big guns, and conjured up the flat teddy.

Flat teddy had been bought for Ivy by her Nanna when she was a wee baby and although I liked him Ivy wasn't that fussed. However after 10 months languishing in the tox box teddy suddenly seemed to have developed a lot of appeal and was ripped out of my hands by Ivy as she squealed and shoved him into her face, her way of declaring true love. Now teddy is Ivy's constant bedtime companion, she uses him as a pillow, can be heard chatting and cooing to him in the middle of the night and is always waving him in the air when we go and get her in the morning. If you ask her "where's teddy?" she will go and get him and wave him around with a big smile on her face. (sadly she can't quite distinguish between the words 'teddy' and 'daddy' and offers up the teddy as the answer to both questions - sorry Ed) It's adorable and reminds me of me and my siblings passion for a strange toy rabbit called Rupey who, by the time I got to have a go of, had no stuffing left, his eyes had disappeared into his head and his fur was the colour of dirty dishwater - yet we still loved him to bits.

Whoever designed the flat teddy must be from the same school that designed the teletubby. In other words something that is unbelievably attractive to babies and little kids but appears as just odd and unappealing to us adults. Flat teddy doesn't really have any facial features, he's small and well without wanting to state the obvious.....he's flat. But there seems to be method in the madness of the teddy, he has no buttons or eyes that can be pulled off and swallowed, he's small enough for little hands to pick him up and because he is so darned flat it's rare that he can roll or fall out of the cot. For me the only appealing thing about teddy was his lovely soft fur - but having done more than a few tough nights with Ivy he has been snotted on, cried on and even vomited on and in less than a fortnight he is looking quite aged and greyish. But just like her mother before her, age and the loss of looks will not stop Ivy loving Freddy. I'd say the more vomit, snot and other smells loaded onto him over the years will make him vintage to her...just like a fine wine.

Mopping up

2008-04-30T02:08:00.000-07:00

Life in the last 24 hours has been like something out of the exorcist for me. Last night I fed Ivy dinner, popped her in the bath, gave her a bottle and got her into her sleeping bag ready for bed. Just as I was about to lift her into the cot she gave a dainty little cough and then projectile vomited a pungent mix of fermented formula, cheese and carrot into my hair, all over my arms, my top, my pants, my socks, her pajamas, sleeping bag, down the doors of her chest of drawers, the floor and even onto the head of her teddy bear. It took five towels, 40 minutes, a shower and at least half a bottle of red wine for me to bounce back from that one.

This morning everything was hunky dory until I put Ivy on her change table to get her dressed so we could go out. In a flash she squirmed away from me, flipped over and smacked her face on the table edge. She looked up at me and did a fairly good impersonation of dracula complete with scary face, fangs hanging out and blood dripping from her mouth. I rush her to the bathroom as she screams and try and make my way through the pools of blood to see what the damage is - in the end nothing too drastic just a split on the inside and the outside but the bathroom looked like a crime scene. The colleteral damage from this little escapade? Two facewashers, her top, singlet, my top and cardigan (all covered in blood) not to mention me having a great urge to lie down on the floor with that other half bottle of red wine. Only thing that stopped me was the fact it was 9am.

Now scuse me, I have to go and put another load of washing on. (And consider lining the house in plastic for future escapades..)

What's in a name?

2008-04-23T18:20:00.001-07:00

At a party last weekend some girls were admiring Ivy and asked Ed what her name was. They then asked what his surname was and he said "Holmes". "Ah" nodded the girls "Ivy Holmes". "No" said Ed, "it's Ivy Browne". The girls looked confused and then horrified as he explained "she has Kate's surname".

It's amazing how in 2008 you can shock by something as simple as a name. When Ed and I found out we were going to be parents we discussed names, and then surnames. We aren't married (not that, that would make any difference) and in the interests of fairness we agreed that if we had a boy, he would have Ed's name and if it was a girl she would have mine. I was inspired by the example of my lovely friend Hanna whose parents had done a similar thing, and then diplomatically produced a girl followed by a boy so each name could get a run. In our case we had a girl so she got my name.

Older people we told were perplexed, some claimed that it wasn't "fair" to Ed while others said it would be "confusing" for Ivy. What I don't understand is that hundreds of women keep their name but dutifully give their baby their male partners name and no-one seems to think that's unfair or confusing. I kind of expected this attitude from older people but I'm amazed how many people my age or younger think it's so strange. To me it seems a total case of double standards.

In other countries it doesn't seem to be such a big deal. My German friends made the decision to choose a single family name and then decided to take Dot's surname. Apparently it's quite common to take the woman's name, other couples I've heard of have ditched their names and chosen a new name for everyone, others go down the path of double barrelled names (which personally scares me a little) but here in Sydney 99.9 percent of the parents I know tread the traditional route of naming their kids after their husband or partner.

While I'm quite proud that Ivy shares my name, I do have to wonder somedays why I bothered. Recently my brother had a new baby and there was great excitement from my family that the "Family name would now continue" despite the fact both Ivy and her cousin Jospehine already have this surname. The reason? This new baby is a boy. It seems despite claims that today there is equality between the sexes the name thing implies that, at the end of the day, boys are still more important than girls.

Rumours of my blog's death have been greatly exaggerated

2008-04-19T00:44:00.000-07:00

Okay...how long did I last? Not even a week. After a small hissy fit about the state of my life and that there was nothing to write about of late I killed off T & T in a fit of pique. I blame a combination of being sick for weeks, a shockingly bad holiday and a small baby who thinks it's reasonable to start her day at 4.45 every single morning caused me to temporarily lose my mojo and my will to blog.

But after both scolding and kind words from a few folks I have to concede it was a rather rash thing to do. So I now announce that I will do my best to resurrect T&T, however in my sleep deprived state I can't guarantee it will have anything interesting in it. Cheers to Tiff, Jan, Hanna, Morkle and Jackie for setting me straight (and for reading..: )

X

So long and thanks for all the fish

2008-04-14T16:11:00.000-07:00

There comes a time when all good (and bad) blogs must die. Rather than let mine die an uncertain death from neglect I've decided to take the humane approach and put it to sleep sooner than later. It's been fun, thanks for reading. X K

New brain required for moi

2008-03-18T19:29:00.000-07:00

At mothers group on Tuesday in the park. Some of the girls are talking about how they tried to get pregnant.

Kerri: "Did anyone try that ovulation kit? I did."

Me: "Oh really. So, did it work?"

True Love

2008-03-13T19:23:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I discoverd that true love ain't about diamonds, flowers, chocolates or candlelight dinners......oh no true love is setting off to the shops with the kind of shopping list that would have most men trembling in their boots.

The list in question was this:

Nipple shields
Thrush cream
Anaesthetic cream
Heat pack
Cabbage

And my Edward showed true grit by setting off with this very list in hand and returned with the said items in record time. To add insult to injury it was his birthday, what a guy.

In case you think I was just being very cruel or testing the limits of our relationship I must explain. Last Sunday I had the most horrendous bout of Mastitis which is an unbelievably painful infection of, well I won't beat around the bush, the boobs. In agony I was willing to try just about anything to relieve the pain and after consulting the net, friends and doctors I had amassed a list of things I wanted from the chemist but unable to to leave my house to obtain this magical objects I had to send Ed instead. I am impressed. It's funny you know, once upon a time my step-grandmother commented on the fact that she worried that seeing as we ain't married that perhaps Ed wouldn't 'stand by me'. Well I'd say this is the ultimate litmus test.
So my advice is this - Ladies if you are worried about your man not standing by you, don't send him to the altar, send him to the chemist instead.

Operatic dining

2008-03-03T10:37:00.000-08:00

It's almost the season for birthdays in this house...well for me and Ed anyway. Chloe and Ivy will have to wait til a bit later in the year. For me and Ed it's kind of a double edged sword having our birthdays only 2 days apart. It's nice to have company during this time of the year but it can also seem a bit like one birthday negates the other..kind of like "it's my birthday" quickly followed by "it's MY birthday too!" - funny, but not very exciting.

Anyway this year neither of us could think of any 'things' that we really desired for ourselves. I personally think we've both been spending a little too much time and money on things in the last two years. Not that we could help it, buying a house and then having a baby seem to mean spending a lot of time being a mass consumer but this birthday enough was enough. So I started thinking about what the most desirable commodity was for me this year - I would say in order of priority it would be: time, time away from Ivy, the ability to go out at night without a grumpy tired baby and finally SLEEP. So it was decided, instead of pressies Ed and i booked ourselves a table at that most lovely and decadent of restaurants - ARIA.

Headed up by the mighty chef Matt Moran for me ARIA has always been a favourite. In a former life I used to get to eat at ARIA for free (as part of my job) which was very nice though it was usually offset by the fact I would be sucking up to some boring corporate to try and weasel some money out of them, often under the watchful eye of my bitchy boss but hey a free lunch is a free lunch. It was a career of eating out in nice restaurants and I ate in most of Sydney's finest. However being vegetarian I quickly made a disappointing discovery, it seems if you are a veggie the more expensive the restaurant the less likely the chance of getting a decent meal.

At the famous Bennelong restaurant whenever I mentioned I was vegetarian I was presented with one of my vegetarian cop out/ pet hates....risotto. Sure it was quite a nice risotto, bit it was risotto and as far as I am concerned any fool can make a semi decent risotto (even me) and for 35 bucks this was a little unimaginative for an internationally acclaimed restaurant. Other fine dining restaurants have fobbed me off with boring entrees, salads and at Est (which only last year won restaurant of the year) on one memorable occasion I had to explain several times to both the waiter AND the head chef what being a vegetarian means "no I don't eat chicken or seafood" and actually had to make some suggestions about what they could feed me. In the end I was presented with a pasta that had baby scampi stirred through it and they couldn't see what the fuss was about. It's like there's a bit of snobbery with chefs at this level, perhaps that vegetarian food is downmarket and everyone at five star joints should be ordering the terribly clever things they can do with venison or lobsters and anything to do with vegetables is beneath them.

Aria has always been the outstanding exception to this rule. There is always a vegetarian entree and main on offer so there are no embarrassing conversations with waiters about what constitutes a vegetarian meal and best of all the food is always updated every few months so if you are lucky enough to go there again you don't have to have the same thing (take note Guillaume of Bennelong who is still serving that bloody risotto 5 years later).

Eddy and I headed off on Saturday night thanks to my mum who took care of Ivy - no mean feat seeing as the bird decided that she didn't want to be put to bed at her usual time and stayed up to to party for a little longer than usual. In the meantime Ed and I got stuck into a few wines at the Opera Bar and then headed up to Aria for dinner. The view from Aria is gorgeous, you look straight down the barrel of the Opera House, across to the Bridge and a cruise ship as well. The food didn't dissapoint - I had an amazing goats cheese thing, followed by an amazng fennel thing (I reckon if you can't even really say what was in your meal it means it's a good one, unlike risotto! Ed also had some rather beautiful looking food and all was good.

Apart from the view and what was going on on our plates the people watching inside the restaurant was pretty entertaining too. There was the usual collection of wealthy looking people who look like they eat at palces like Aria everynight, then there were the tourists, an American couple who looked absolutely loaded and wanted to talk wine with the sommellier all night long, and two japanese girls who looked like they'd been out sightseeing all day and had rocked up to the restaurant on the offchance of getting a booking and were still dressed in hiking boots and jeans.

Then there were the two women sitting next to us, they looked like a mother and daughter. The mum looked pretty normal but the daughter was the interesting one. She only looked about 28 and seemed very normal at first, she wasn't anything special and didn't even look very dressed up, more like someone you'd see shopping at Westfield on a Saturday morning, all in all nothing of note - until she went to pay her bill. Suddenly she whipped out a big multi coloured Louis Vuitton Handbag with matching purse, checked her mobile phone which was encased in a crystal sparkles before diving into her wallet. She then pulled out a stack of pale green 100 dollar bills and proceeded to loudly count some of them out on the table. "One, two, three, four, five" she said briskly slapping them on the table next to the bill. She then asked the waiter if she could buy a copy of Matt Morans cookbook which was brought to her table in a gift bag before she added a sixth green bill to the pile before grabbing her mum, her designer bag, cookbook and headed for the door. Very bizarre, I wonder what the story was there.

As for us lesser mortals we paid our substantially smaller bill and headed for the door not long after - was a great night and it was good to get dressed up and know there was a fairly good chance of not getting vomited on (are you listening Ivy?). The final part of my birthday wish was sleep - which looked like it wasn't going to happen when Ivy decided to greet use on Sunday morning at the glorious hour of five to five. I was very hungover but Ed was a hero spiriting young madame away until a far more civilised hour. Thank you Eddie, that was probably the best present ever. X

Star spotted

2008-02-21T20:38:00.000-08:00

I'd never really realised what a powerful medium television is until recently. Late last year as a favour to a friend of Ed's the whole family (me, Eddy and Ivy) got to star in a Nokia promotion that was to be shown on the National Geographic channel.

It was a bit of pocket money and we thought it would be a bit of a laugh. Shot over two days I thought it would be fun until I found out I would be driving in the ad. I knew a car was involved but imagined I would just be driving slowly up and down the street..(as a p plater I am still a bit of a trained chimp kind of driver - I have a limited repetoire of where I can drive and still get a bit freaked when I'm out of my comfort zone.) Well this was to be a baptism of fire for me as the first request was that I drive a rented, very expensive SAAB convertible across the Harbour Bridge, the last bastion of scary driving for most Sydney siders! At first I wanted to die, and then I figured I may as well do it one day so agreed to do it. I must say there's nothing quite like driving across the Harbour Bridge for the first time being chased by two men in a white van with a camera who are yelling out "smile!".

But I survived and overall it was fun in the end - and of course Ed, Ivy and our house got to star in the final scene so it's quite a good little snapshot of our family and I got paid which was a bonus. So it was an interesting experience but it became a lot more interesting when it went to air.

In Australia it was only air on the Nat Geo channel, a pay TV channel I never watch so I assumed that no else did either....turns out I was wrong. Firstly a girl in my mothers groups spotted the ad late one night, then another did a few weeks later. The parents of Ed's old school friends called wondering what the hell we were doing in some weird ad too. I went to work and our receptionist said "I saw you and Ivy on TV last night..." and so on. In Asia it seems we are getting quite a run too. My mate Erin on holidays in Cambodia was relaxing in her room one evening in front of the telly when up we popped again. Then my old school friend Pete was at home in his apartment in China doing the washing up when he heard this really Aussie voice on the telly from the other room, then his wife Heidi called out "I think it's Kate". Finally, yesterday I went past a cafe that I haunt most days and the barrista there said "I saw you on the tv last night", incredible the impact tv has. For years I have written sizeable articles, that I've sweated night and day over that have been published in popular newspapers and magazines with a huge circulation yet people barely ever notice - but put my ugly head on telly for a few seconds and everyone is sitting up and taking notice.

It's no wonder advertisers pay millions for TVCs and polititians, lobbyists and anyone with anything to publicise fall over themselves to get their heads on the telly, tv is what seems to stick in people's minds more than any other medium, no matter how silly the subject matter.

So Ed, Ivy and I are off to Thailand in a few weeks, where the ad is also screening. I wonder if we will be mobbed in the streets?!

More Belly

2008-02-05T12:47:00.000-08:00

For those of you who enjoyed the tale of Belly a few posts below thanks to the wonders of the internet I have more news of him for you. Somehow the lovely Jessica and Tim (who rescued Belly and took him back to the US) found this blog and left me a message!

It seems that Belly has taken to life in his new home with gusto and this former Thai jungle dog has fallen in love with snow. Tim and Jessica have their own blog which details how and why they decided to rescue Belly from his former life here at www.hedgehogswithoutborders.com under the Thailand and the heading "the stuffy who fell to the floor".
I dare anyone who reads it to not shed a tear.

Who's the grownup?

2008-01-28T01:16:00.000-08:00

A park in Dulwich Hill - Australia Day 2008.

A small 7 month old baby cuts a solemn and lonely figure sitting in her stroller in a childrens playground. She stares across the asphalt to two adults in the middle distance. The pair are in their mid to late 30's, one male and one female who are busy spinning around like complete fools on a roundabout and killing themselves laughing.

Mr Belly goes to Washington

2008-01-17T13:53:00.000-08:00

Being a rabid animal lover somedays I get very down in the dumps when I think about all the terrible things that are done to the lovely creatures of the world - it's depressing, sad and sometimes I feel like I am one of the only people that cares. Now I know that's not true but when you hear about the things that happen every day to animals you have to wonder how people can be so cruel. However occassionally I hear a story that convinces me that all is not lost. This is one of them.

Back in 2006 Ed and I were lucky enough to work in Thailand as volunteers at the very amazing Elephant Nature Park http://www.elephantnaturefoundation.org/ which as the name would hint rescues and rehabilitates abused asian elephants. It's a wonderful place run by the inspiring Lek Chailert who apart from her love of elephants has also rescued a motley collection of other animals from cats, dogs and even a couple of little cows that fell off the back of a truck on the way to the abattoir one day.

The 39 dogs in particular are a big feature of park life. They are everywhere..sleeping in the shade of trees, running about, chasing sticks, dodging swipes from elephant trunks (who hate dogs) eating, squabbling, barking and generally having a very good doggy time of it. However as Ed and I quickly discovered life in Dog Paradise is not always so great for some. With a well established pecking order the dog pack had its underdogs.These poor bedraggled underlings were constantly monstered by the big bullies of the pack - the sinister "Big Head" and his general "Bite Bite" and lived a life in the shadows skulking around, eating last, living life on the fringes of dog society. One such underdog was a young pup called Belly. Not only was Belly somewhere on the last rung of the pecking order with the dogs but he was none too popular with several of the humans at the park too including one Thai mahout who would chuck stones and threaten him.

Belly didn't have a lot going for him. He had a short shout and bulging blood shot eyes, coarse ginger fur and funny floppy ears, short legs and freckles. Like a dog made out of discarded parts of other dogs. Belly also didn't have a very lovable personality, he was nervous and insecure which often manifested itself in growling, snapping and even biting. He just wasn't a Hallmark greeting card kind of hound...as an American volunteer observed one afternoon "even his butt is ugly". And it was true - some kind of skin disorder had defoliated his bum leaving it pink and scabby looking.

Despite all of Belly's shortcomings there was a quiet dignity about him - it was like he knew he didn't have much to offer but he was proud of who he was. Over the days Ed and I made an effort to get to know him and he would often come and sit with us. He would let us pat him but he always seemed tense and on the lookout. As time went on Belly trusted us more and he used to escort us home through the dark to our treehouse in the evenings. Later, for a couple of nights he even had a sleepover in our room nestled at the end of our bed. You got the sense that Belly, if he had his very own people to love, could be a better, happier boy.

Well the latest from the Elephant Park is that we weren't the only ones to see something in young Mr Belly. A lovely American couple called Jess and Tim worked at the park for a few months and fell in love with the naked bummed Belly and asked Lek if they could adopt him. She said yes and the wheels were set in motion...this couple flew back to the states to make arrangements and then flew back to Thailand specifically to go and get Belly and go though the rigmarole of quarantine to allow a Thai dog into the States.

So now Belly lives in the lap of luxury in the US - in Washington of all places. Having once been a jungle dog apparently he has had to get used to life walking in snow and ice, touring landmarks like the Capitol building, living in an apartment and going for walks on leads...but overall what I can't get over in the picture above is just how happy he looks. It warms my heart too to think that rather than buy some fabulous looking designer pet this couple spent thousands to make this funny little grumpy dog their own. Good on you Belly boy, I wish you a very happy life, and here's hoping that hair on your bum grows back before you freeze it off in the snow.

the wrap up

2008-01-03T13:38:00.001-08:00

Me, blissfully ignorant staring down the barrel of the beginning of 2007..if I could have seen what the year had in store for me would I have made a run for it?

Well it's 2008 and I have to admit at times last year I never thought I would make it. But here I am in a reflective mood thinking back to the big year that was. A friend of my sisters is into numerology and two years ago predicted that the following couple of years would be huge according to my particular numbers - and it seems she was right. During 2005 and the beginning of 2006 Eddie and I barrelled around the globe getting into all sorts of scrapes and adventures (hence this blog) before landing back in Sydney and attacking it with the enthusiasm of an animal park in Bolivia. Before we knew it we moved from Bondi to Leichhardt, got jobs, I changed careers and before I knew it I was having a baby too.....all very exciting but little did I know that my adventures were only beginning.

In early 2007 I learned to cope with throwing up in public places, nothing new for me really except this time I wasn't hungover. I learned that travelling in Thailand when you are pregnant entails being called a 'buddha' and results in being clapped and given the thumbs up wherever you go. Ed also received the thumbs up but was far more interested in improving his hammock skills.

Apart from changing careers and achieving my long yearned for dream of being a full time journalist (rather than prostituting myself to corporations during my sponsorship career at the Opera House) I also stumbled upon a second career of sorts. Somehow I stuck my big head into a couple of cheesy tv commericals and photoshoots and things snowballed from there. Being extremely pregnant didn't seem to be a deterrent either as I nabbed a gig in a very glam photoshoot for Getty Images playing a working from home mummy complete male model husband, million dollar beach house and golden retriever...strange but fun and rather good pocket money.

By March 2007 I also learned what happens when you become an L plate driver. In a last gasp attempt to finally get my drivers licence I attempted to break all records by wanting to get my P's before the baby arrived. This resulted in many, many early mornings of driving lessons with my 'bad cop' driving teacher Michael who liked to dole out a bit of tough love in the teaching department until I cried one day and scared the bejesus out of him. I endured many hours circling Marrickville learning to change lanes, reverse park, do shoulder checks with an ever growing belly and of course get used to the abuse hurled my way by other oh so mature drivers. Special thanks goes to the fifty something man who honked his horn and screamed at me for stopping at a stop sign, what a gem. A special mention too, to the guys who thought it would be funny to speed up to my car in their ute while I was attempting to drive the cross city tunnel and then scream into my open window- I'm sure it would have been hilarious for them if I'd driven the car into the wall killing myself, Ed and the as yet unborn bird, what a laugh.But Karma bit those naysayers on the arse and despite even the warnings of my driving teacher that I was not ready I took the test and passed with 100%. Take that - bullies of the road.

Once my driving caper was out of the way I had a slightly more pressing engagement - with my soon to be born baby. I finished work, bought unfeasibily small socks and waited. As recorded faithfully in this blog young Ivy bird was born and life changed completely. The downside: learning to cope with broken and sometimes no sleep, wondering who the hell this cranky little package is and whether I will ever actually like them? Dealing with boobs like Dolly Parton that seem to a have a mind of their own, learning more about sleep and sleep cycles and bums and wee and poo and bathing and breastfeeding than I ever thought possible. Learning what a breastpump is and how to use it, walking around with cabbage leaves down my bra to try and get rid of painful blockages and lumps.

The cranky package

On the upside? Slowly falling in love with the cranky package as she grew, unfolded and began to turn into the sweetest and funniest person I've ever met, meeting a whole lot more friends including my rocking Mummies group who despite my fears turned out to be a mostly hilarious bunch of cool women who are far more interested in talking about trashy gossip, politics, travel and going to the pub rather than babies, bums, poos and wee.

Another upside was having the most cheerful, patient, handsome and kind co-parent in the form of one Eduardo Holmes who certainly did it tough in those early weeks often coming home from work to find two hysterically crying women and a slightly hysterical cat and still managing to make dinner for us all.

Another unexpected bonus was learning be a local; hours spent walking with a stroller and a baby means people talk to you and now I know half the people in Norton Street. For the first time in my life I feel like I actually live in a community and I really like it.

The final upside to this whole baby thing is that despite all the stupid things people tell you will happen when you have a baby I worked bloody hard to make sure they didn't. I was told I would never....sleep, read a book, watch a movie, write another sentence, eat out, go to the beach balh blah blah and so on. I am happy to report I have probably read more books, seen more films (with Ivy in tow), eaten out and even started writing and working on a freelance basis from when she was 10 weeks old, I quickly learned that if you are organised, flexible and at times have an ability to do things with one hand they can still be done. As for sleep we got lucky, Ivy has been a champion night-time sleeper from very early on and Ed and I usually get about 8 - 9 hours solid. So apart from that scary crazy first 8 weeks of Ivy's life things have been pretty sweet with little Miss Ivy May..... so much so I'm even crazy enough to start thinking I might do it all again sometime.

So now we come to 2008 - I'm sure there will be plenty of adventures, of the domestic kind, afoot. Though I am hoping that my learning curve this year won't be quite as steep, afterall it was a blissful kind of ignorance I lived in at the beginning of the year. Now I look back and wonder who that person was who didn't know what to do with a stroller, a highchair, a nappy and a real live baby? Or even for that fact a set of car keys? How things have changed and I suspect with Ivy May keeping me on my toes things will change again this year. Stay tuned for tales of starting childcare and me going back to work, probably with a patch of vomit on my shoulder. Happy New Year!

Sweet Chilli Crime

2007-12-29T13:29:00.000-08:00

In my travels around the supermarkets and cafes of Sydney this year I have noticed a disturbing trend. Sweet Chilli sauce..that perennial fave sauce hailing from Thailand is starting to pop up everywhere and in some very disturbing guises.

Once upon a time sweet chilli sauce lived in its natural habitat - in bottles on the tables of thai restaurants or nestled in a pot next to some curry puffs or spring rolls. As time went on and Aussies discovered the delights of sweet chilli some bright spark discovered that it also tasted very nice with potato wedges and a bit of sour cream....these early days back in the late 90's were the golden years.

A little bit of experimentation can be a good thing and a little bit of something tasty is also good but just because something tastes nice doesn't mean that it needs to go everywhere. In 2007 things seemed to have gotten waaay waaay out of control in my opinion and many a sweet chilli crime has been comitted. The list of horrors I have compiled in my travels is very long and far too distressing for public consumption but here are just a few of the crimes I've witnessed recently:

Sweet chilli foccacia
felefal, hommus and sweet chilli sauce kebabs
Sweet chilli and vege pasta
And my personal favourite: sweet chilli dolmades - a true nasty crossing of the cultures where salty vinegary savoury greek meets sticky sweet thai, what an international stomach turner. I've now got my eyes peeled for sweet chilli gelato - surely it can't be far away.

Death to vanity

2007-12-09T18:18:00.000-08:00

Ed and I went out for the first time since Ivy's arrival on Sat night, well out at night I mean, and together...for the first time. (Don't want to sound like some weird person who's been in the house since the birth..but usually one of us goes out and the other babysits if it's night.) Anyway Ed got invited to a very swish Xmas party in Balmain and I thought bugger it, if I'm not going out at night much these days then this is the night to cash in my babysitting chips with my Mum, get frocked up and head on out to a fully catered, schuzchy, glam event such as this one.

After Ivy was in bed I got dressed, quite normal I can assure you..I don't spend my days naked generally but I felt quite odd as I got my outfit on. It was nothing that special, just an embroidered white top, jeans, earrings, purple suede heels, makeup, perfume....nothing out of the ordinary really but it all felt very strange. After some thought I realised why...

Babies are evil buggers, they can take a perfectly normal, self obsessed, slightly lazy 30-something and turn them into a tired, grotty servant in the blink of an eye. Without even realising it - Ivy has performed the death blow to the last remnants of my vanity.

I was never a real princess type but the other night I realised things have changed in the last 6 months. For starters I never really wear make up anymore - foundation gets smeared off on clothes during cuddles, lipstick is either smeared off by chubby little cheeks or hands or ends up on her forehead from all my kissing. My hair, in fear of being ripped out is usually tied up in a messy ponytail. If it's loose it's not only in danger of being ripped from my head but also of being coated in vomit. I have trouble wearing perfume as it smells so strong when it rubs off on her and she likes to lick and dribble on my neck and wrists...sunscreen and insect repellent - ditto.

When it comes to clothes I have to have a strategy. This usually involves having to wear two tops, both with easy access to the boob region of my bod for feeding (unless I feel like flashing either my gut or my chest when I'm out) dresses are off limits too unless you fancy pulling it right down to feed or up showing everyone your knickers... The clothes I choose must also be good at absorbing stains such as vomit, regugitated carrot and on the occassional horrific moment poo and wee so darker colours like black and grey seem to work - white is a definite no no unless you want to spend even more time in the laundry performing stain removal miracles. Skirts aren't so good for climbing around on the ground when playing with your darling (it's the flashing your knickers dilemma again) and no heels as flat shoes are a must for hoiking a stroller the size of a 4WD around the streets. Oh and just when you've found an outfit that matches this criteria you'd better make sure you have another just like it ready to go as guaranteed the first one will be covered in vomit before you reach the front door.

Once the clothes are sorted it's time for accessories. Namely none. Earrings are pulled out, necklaces become garotting devices, are slobbered on or become vomit catchers that are mighty hard to clean up. Scarves suffer the same fate. My favourite bracelet has been shelved also as it's a solid silver square and tends to stick into little backs and arms which results in screaming. My final resort was rings, which I thought would be completely baby proof. Wrong again as it seems that 6 months of endless stain removal experiements and laundry chores have meant constantly wet hands which means dermatitis on my fingers - so the rings are off now keeping the rest of the jewellery company in my cupboard.

So here I am, the real me, stripped of all my smoke and mirrors by my little darling. It's not glam but I've got used to it and on the bright side I'm pretty quick at getting ready these days. But I must say again that babies are evil buggers. As nowadays I can't spend anytime making myself look good, I find myself having to channel my asthetic energies somewhere each morning. So how do I do it? By dressing her in the cutest things I can find - and somehow babies can still look cute even when they've just vomited. Evil.

Mobiles, mobiles everywhere

2007-12-03T21:51:00.000-08:00

So after a few fits and starts my beloved mobile, a second hand Nokia, purchased in Bangkok after probably being stolen, or traded in by some young fashion conscious thai chick who needed a smaller, better phone...anyway I'm getting carried away..in a nutshell my beloved phone, after a few feeble bleets shuffled off this mortal coil a week or so ago.

I knew the writing was on the wall and quickly arranged to buy a replacement on ebay some weeks ago. Said new mobile arrived by courier and after much excitement I discovered it to be a bit of a lemon - bad sound, nasty to operate..not my bag at all. I contacted the vendor and arranged to send it back for a replacement, they said no worries. I trot off the Australia Post, pay for a pricey express post envelope and send it off.....then........nuthin.

It seems that good old Australia post have lost the bloody thing. So as it last stands I still have no mobile, am out of pocket 130 bucks and someone out there has nicked my new lemon of a phone.

Unhappy but undeterred I decide to buy a phone from a shop instead. This is where I discover that buying a new mobile is easier said than done. I go to Kmart - 'hi I just want to buy a replacement phone, I don't want a contract, I don't want to switch to vodaphone blah blah can I just have that one?' spotty young sales guy shakes his head. "Oh, to have that phone you would have to switch to Telstra, pay an unlocking fee, commit to a monthly spend but then you could cancel the contract but there would probably be a cancellation fee.." what the??? I then ask which phone out of the rows of shiny phones sitting there would be available without all the palaver and he shakes his head..I would have to go on a contract.

I head to Dick Smith, there out of all the sexy shiny phones in the display cabinet I am told I can have one dodgy looking Nokia without committing to some kind of dodgy contract. When I ask to have a look at the phone (that they want to charge me 150 bucks for) this particular spotty teenager says "nah, we're not allowed to open the boxes.....you can just look at the picture." Gee thanks spot boy, great customer service. I walk out in a huff.

On my way downstairs I pass a shiny shop front bursting with mobile phones and then notice the Vodaphone sign above the door, I then walk past a stand set up near the escalators piled high with mobiles and then discover it's for Telstra only. Finally I check the shopping centre directory which shows a shop called "All Phones" - surely they must stock, errrr, all phones for all the carriers..

I arrive at All phones to be greeted by a spotty boy who then puts me in the hands of a smirky looking 20 something girl. As soon as I utter the fatal words...'no I don't want to go on a contract I just want to buy a phone' she throws me a look of distain and points to a single box containing a crappy looking Nokia. That's it? Out of the whole shop that's all that's available to me? I look closer.....'is that phone hot pink?' I ask...'yeah' she says. I say I don't want a hot pink phone, she then reluctantly rummages around and finds a black version. I then ask what would happen if I agreed to buy the hot pink or black phone and then decide I don't like it - could I exchange it? "no" was her bored answer. I retreat to the mall via a pitstop at Donut King to ease the pain.

So here I am.....24 hours later still with no phone and everywhere shiny mobile phone shops seem to be taunting me..even at frickin Australia Post, where all my troubles began you can buy mobile phones so why is it just so tricky to JUST BUY A PHONE.

I'm now cruising ebay again, ordering yet another phone and just praying this one arrives safe and sound. Otherwise I'm heading back to Bangkok.

Now it's getting personal

2007-11-25T18:35:00.000-08:00

In the last week Ivy has giggled her little head off at:
* My friend Kath
* Kath's girlfriend Erika
* Kath's Dad Stewart
* Ed...as always
As for me? Nuthin' not even a half hearted ha ha.
In other news she has gone and grown herself two little bottom teeth without telling anybody - I discovered them the other day when she was chewing on my finger. I really can't picture her with teeth, I've got so used to her funny little gummy smile. This growing up caper must be on my mind though as last night I dreamt she was up on her feet, staggering around like an old drunk man before falling over and crashing into the coffee table. A portent of what's to come I guess.
But in the meantime I still want to know why I am not funny?

Am I really not that funny?

2007-11-17T20:55:00.001-08:00

When we were away on what shall forever be known as the "Rainy holiday" yep 10 whole days of it, however there was one rather lovely diversion from what was falling from the skies which was Ivy's decision to start to laugh.

Laugh number one was actually elicited by my Mum otherwise known as Super Nanna - she tickled Ivy's ribs and out came these little chuckles and squeaks. Then while we were away Ed was covering her with kisses and suddenly the loveliest sound I've ever heard bubbled up from deep in her belly and burst like bubbles into the daylight. It was SO lovely it reduced me to tears which quickly turned to embarassment as the lady we rented the cottage from had just turned up at the door and thought I was a bit of a freak.

Keen to re-enact the giggles I tried my own hand at getting the little Ivy bird to laugh - I rasberried her, tickled her ribs, pulled silly faces, made sillier noises while my darling daughter just stared at me like a stone monster...undeterred I went on until I was so exhausted I was ready for a lie down..still nothing.

Here we are 2 weeks later and still nothing for me. I've decided that it's perhaps because Ivy was once part of my body that I can't tickle her (much in the way you can't tickle yourself) . When I suggested this to Ed he just looked at me and said - 'no, you're just not funny.' My take on that is that as a new baby Ivy has a rather undeveloped sense of humour and so therefore finds Holmes crude jokes funny...at the moment. One day my time will come..........I'm sure of it.

Chubby Cheeks

2007-10-30T02:14:00.000-07:00

It's true...my darling daughter does have chubby cheeks, in fact if you view her from above her cheeks are actually wider than her head. As I carried Ivy through a cafe with a bunch of other mums and babies the other day I heard this comment from a far flung table as it was carried past on the wind "chuuuuuubby cheeeeeeeeeks." No prizes for guessing which baby they were talking about.

The mulberries cometh

2007-10-21T19:52:00.000-07:00

Who ever coined the term 'as boring as bat shit' hasn't been to my house lately........ our backyard holds the biggest mulberry tree in the history of this planet. When Ed and I moved in last year we were charmed by it's magical faraway tree-like qualities. Its branches covered the back garden, lush green leaves waving in the late summer breeze. 'Oh and we'll get fruit to eat' we said, yummy mulberries. We can have silkworms!

Then the berries arrived, thousands upon thousands of them. Suddenly the mulberries were not so cute. They didn't taste as nice as I remembered as a kid, and after a week our backyard is unusable - the whole yard smells like rotting fruit and the washing line is now out of bounds for the next 8 weeks. Ed and I look like serial killers as our cream bathroom tiles are covered in purple and red smears, Chloe has purple paws and even Ivy has had a patch of the dreaded purple juice on her from time to time.

Everyday birds come from everywhere to feast on the berries and at night our place becomes some kind of fruit bat paradise as the bats gorge themselves on the berries. This is where the bat shit problem comes in. Bats eating too much fruit means bats pooing purple poos all over my cream coloured house, windows, skylights and whatever laundry I had managed to hang out of the way of the berries. Boring it is not let me tell you. I cannot wait for mulberry season to be over and I can only guess whoever coined the boring as batshit term also must have made up the saying 'sleep like a baby' - lies, all of it lies!

Dads today

2007-10-17T23:29:00.000-07:00

It's funny how much things can change in a generation.....

When Ivy was first born several times we asked the more elderly men in our respective families if they would like to hold her. Most looked scared, horrified or totally ill at ease before saying 'no thanks' or 'I've never really held a baby'.

Cut to the men of today. As I wander the streets of my suburb I always love to check out the dads. When I stop at a cafe to order a coffee I see a very macho looking Italian guy sitting with a macchiato and a tiny little girl in pink, who he delicately helps spoon the froth from her babycino into her mouth. At the supermarket a tradie looking guy in shorts and work boots is lugging three huge bright pink boxes of nappies on the roof of a stroller. In Norton street two groovy looking guys order coffee in a cafe whilst parking their space age strollers containing toddlers. In the park more dads can be seen with little tackers on their shoulders, in prams or cradled in their arms.

And the thing Dads seem to love the most is the baby sling or pouch. While most mums are happy to push around a stroller it seems that dads love to have the baby dangling from their chest - I've lost count of how many guys I see each weekend strutting around proudly with a baby hanging from their chest. Not sure why they love it so much....or than again do I? Whenever Ed takes Ivy out like that he is showered with compliments from strangers about 'how good he is'. He also gets a lot of winning smiles from the ladies and I have to admit I am always smiling at other men with babies. So forget a dog, perhaps these days babies are the ultimate attention getting accessory when you are a guy.

Ivy versus Chloe

2007-10-05T02:53:00.000-07:00

Out of these two rather beautiful ladies who share this home with me and Ed...which one do you imagine causes the most trouble?

This one?

Or this one?

To help you out I'll give you a hint. One of them is responsible for waking me regularly at 3am needing attention. This same character is also known for waking me and Ed at the crack of dawn crying her head off and wanting to be fed. She is also clingy, rarely lets me out of her sight and makes it difficult for me to get anything done. Oh she also regularly makes a mess by vomiting.

If you guessed Ivy......you'd be totally wrong. It's Chloe. Ivy is a dream.....however my feline 'baby' is proving to be quite the demanding one of late. My advice? If you're thinking about getting a cat, have a baby. It's easier.

Burma

2007-09-27T15:56:00.001-07:00

Last year Ed and I were lucky enough to visit Burma for a couple of weeks. After weighing up the pros and cons of going and all the valid arguments both ways we bit the bullet and decided to go (particularly as it was at the inviation of Lek the elephant lady from Thailand.) Obviously while we were there we were keen to avoid spending our money with the vile dictatorship and found it very simple to do so when we got there by staying in small local operations and doing regular local things.

I wasn't sure how the Burmese people would take to us being in their country but I couldn't have been more suprised. Most of the people we met were very friendly and so happy that we had come to Burma. They were eager to talk and quite desperate for news of the rest of the world. Despite being cut off from the world for so long and being so desperately poor I was suprised to discover most people were fluent in a second language (usually English) and loved to read - yet most were limited to secondhand books and magazines left over from the 70's available in the market. But as much as people liked to talk there was always fear. One trishaw driver we caught a ride with started to talk about how much he hated the government before stopping and saying "I'm sorry I cannot talk anymore - there are too many ears on the streets." When we asked our guide about the Government moving the capital out of Rangoon almost overnight he replied 'we can't talk about it here....we'll talk about it when we're in the jungle". To use the internet was an elaborate affair where one would have to very subtly ask for access to yahoo or hotmail because they, like nearly everything are also banned.

It's so sad to see the footage of familar places around Rangoon in chaos and people running from gunfire and who knows how many people whisked off never to be seen again. One comedian we met did 8 years hard labour breaking rocks just for making a joke about the dictators so god knows what will happen to the protesters. To me it seems that most Burmese people don't want that much, they just want to be able to make a decent living, read what they want, travel where they want, talk and have opinions without fear. It's a shame such an amazing, interesting and vibrant country is being stifled thanks to a few. One guy we met even told us that he wished that "George Bush would come..like he did in Iraq." Pretty desperate when you wish that I would say, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I for one have my fingers crossed that change is in the air.

I like where I live

2007-09-24T21:16:00.000-07:00

I went out today and passed a house around the corner - on the outside of the house was a colourful homemade painted sign on paper bluetacked to the house's facade that says "Vote Howard out!". Later I spied a pretty, demure looking redhead walking down the street wearing a t-shirt that simply said "John Howard...f**king lying rodent." Leichhardt likes to wear it's heart on it's sleeve I'd say.

Projecting

2007-09-16T21:20:00.001-07:00

I'm worried about the state of my mind, it seems I can't see things for what they really are, I can only see them for what I want them to be.

I just went to my room and got out this lovely scarf I bought in Bangkok last year which I've never worn before because I didn't have anything that matched navy and red. Finally today I found the perfect reason to wear it and when I got it out I discovered that it's not navy and red at all but brown and orange. And the thing is I really, really wanted a blue and white scarf which is why I bought it in the first place. Now before I can write this off as colour blindness only the other day I went to get the nice big piece of rockmelon that we'd got in our vegie box and I'd been saving to have for a snack only to discover that it was actually a nice big piece of pumpkin - guess I really wished it was rockmelon and my eyes were playing tricks.

I hope I don't discover after 3 months that Ivy is actually a boy and I've just been wishing to have a girl. Someone did refer to her as 'he' the other day...maybe I'd better go and take a closer look.

Things have changed

2007-09-13T23:43:00.000-07:00

I caught myself looking at a Kmart catalogue this afternoon at my Mums house and thinking, 'hey those t-shirts don't look too bad'. Good god, what's happened to me? I also found myself talking about how much I love Broadway Shopping centre because it's got a Kmart AND a Target. Ooh la la!

On another note I went down to Balmain yesterday to go for a walk in the gorgeous spring sunshine. There's just something about Balmain, it seems to have all the goods, amazing location, beautiful old houses, twisty charming little streets, stunning views - I really really want to like it, I do, but I just can't shake the feeling that it's really Mosman in a slightly groovier disguise.

There are just too many women with blonde streaks in their hair driving over sized SUV's down those streets I reckon. And then...just to confirm it further I popped into a baby shop to have a nosey at the clothes in there. I spotted a cute little cotton dress for a baby, the price tag? $149. The brand name? Collette Dinigan. After almost having a coronary I left the shop and was then confronted with another fun looking shop filled with cute little toys, decorations and numerous tiny colourful outfits that looked like they might be a little bit cheaper than the other store. Just before I walked in I then realised it wasn't a store for kids at all. It was a store for...............................dogs.

Wah ergh ahhh!

2007-08-31T00:12:00.000-07:00

Ivy is trying to talk.....already. My mother says this is not suprising as A: She's a girl and B: She's my girl. Ivy watches me and Ed talking intently and then interjects with very enthusiastic "argh, la, wah AHHHS!' before looking slightly suprised with herself.

I've also caught her trying to engage the cupboard, her toys and other inanimate objects in conversation. Weirdly she chooses to completely ignore Chloe, who in my mind looks like a gorgeous fluffy toy come to life and should be irresistable. Perhaps Ivy hasn't forgiven her for jumping on her head the other night.

Smile

2007-08-16T01:33:00.000-07:00

And then...just when parenthood starts feeling like the most thankless and badly paid gig in town babies must get together and come up with a strategy to ensure that their parents don't trade them in for a new plasma screen tv. Their tactic? Flash one of these and said parent melts and decides all is forgiven. All together now - AWWWWW.

Kindred spirit

2007-08-06T21:36:00.000-07:00

I was chatting to a girl at Mothers group who admitted she calls her baby by her cats name all the time. (I do this too....a lot). As a fellow cat lover I found this quite endearing...and then she won me over completely with her next comment when we were chatting about the 'having the cat in the bedroom with the baby' dilemma. I said "oh decided to let the cat stay in the room so we were all together" to which she said "Oh we were worried to have the cat and the baby in the same room together.....so we put the baby in another room."

Love it.

Whose bed is it?

2007-08-05T00:14:00.000-07:00

As per my last post thanks to my angsty sleeplessness in the presence of Ivy (and the fact she is getting so damn big and is hitting the sides of her basinette) we decided to move her into her own room and her own cot last night. I felt a bit mean at first leaving someone so, so small in a room all alone in the cold but I have to admit that once she was in there and asleep it was nice to be able to go to my own room and turn lights on and off and talk to Ed without freaking out that I was going to wake her. Dunno why I bother being so quiet to be honest - in the daytime she will sleep anywhere...except for the peace and quiet of her bed. In the last week her favourite daytime sleeping places have included: The movies (she was out for the count the whole way through the Simpsons film), travelling down the west link with semi trailers belting past, in the kitchen with the radio blaring loudly right next to her head and my personal favourite; with her pants off, legs akimbo sunbaking under the heat lights in the bathroom with the washing machine going.

Last night I decided to cosy up her little room, make up her little bed inside the cot and get things ready for her nightime solo sleeping debut. Seems I did a good job as later that evening when I couldn't find Chloe guess where I discovered her?

I guess she was testing it out for Ivy, and frankly if it got the stamp of approval from a fussy spoilt cat I guess it must be comfy. Seems to be true as Ivy slept like a lamb in her new bed last night and everyone was happy.

In other news Ivy is losing her hair, quite the tragedy - she is now starting to look a little bit like John Howard in the follicle department and Winston Churchill in the chin and chubby cheek department. Poor little bird, I am hoping her new hair makes an appearance soon. In the meantime we've had to crack out the impressive wardrobe of silly hats she's been given to detract from her funny newborn baby looks.

The baby whisperer

2007-07-29T15:37:00.000-07:00

I like to think of myself as a chilled out kind of parent, you know, the type that effortlessly gets around and about with a baby dangling casually off their hip - pooh poohing strict routines and other new fangled parenting theories....however I've realised it's not true. In fact I've realised that I am quite the opposite - I am the epitomy of the worried neurotic mother.

Take last night for an example - I fed Ivy and as she started to drift off in my lap into a deep slumber Ed and I talked about how we would stick her in bed and then we could all head off for an early night. I restrained from doing the happy dance at the thought of some extra sleep and sat with Ivy like an unexploded bomb in my lap waiting til I thought she was deeply asleep. The lights went off, we headed to our room and I lowered my little darling into her basinette relishing the thought of being in bed myself in a few seconds. As I lay her down suddenly Ivy's eyes popped wide open, she looked around and gave me a sneaky little smile. ARGHHHHH! Pannicked we decided we would try turning off the lights, ignoring her and getting into bed anyway and see if she could be convinced to sleep.

Ed hopped into bed, joined by Chloe finally followed by me. Chloe settles to sleep down purring away as I lay rigid on the bed, fully clothed not wanted to get comfortable lest I should be ripped out of bed as Ivy yelled out, and too scared to speak to Ed. I lie like a coiled spring barely breathing. I can hear Ivy making all sorts of funny little noises, sighing, grunting, gurgling, kicking her little legs and arms. I wait for the inevitable cry - tense as can be. Ten minutes later I am still in the same pose, assuming Ed is doing the same when suddenly I hear a huge snore and a contented sigh. Eduardo, far from doing the neurotic thing is so supremely relaxed he has just passed out and is sleeping the sleep of the innocent. I continue to lie there waiting for Ivy to rip me from my bed with her cries any second now. My arm, lying in an awkward position has gone to sleep, I am cold and my neck is sore..........I continue to wait - Chloe purrs next to me and Ed is snoring like a train. After waiting some more I realise that bloody Ivy is asleep too and that the only person torturing themselves and lying awake with eyes like saucers is, ME.

I ask Ed in the morning how he could relax enough to go to sleep when there was a good chance he would be woken up and he just smiled and said "oh I just knew she would go to sleep, I wasn't worried at all". It seems I obviously need to take a leaf out of all their books and chill out - bloody cats, kids and men, why are they all so supremely relaxed will I do all the worrying for them?

Three in a bed - some mornings are so cold at the moment we just have to make like hilbillies and all get into bed together. For those that don't approve of cats and babies in bed together, please don't call the authorities.

Ride the gerbil

2007-07-22T18:23:00.000-07:00

I know I'm tired but this morning, if I'm not mistaken, was an ad on the telly for "Sexpo 07" as i sat on the couch holding Ivy I viewed it through my birds nest hair and bleary eyes without much interest.... it was all the usual tacky hoo ha, same old same old. But suddenly at the end there was an enthusiastic male voiceover stating that the "fabulous gerbil ride is back!" accompanied by a small graphic of a gerbil with the words "ride the gerbil" above it. Can it be true? Is there really a gerbil ride at Sexpo? Or is the sleep deprivation caused by parenthood better than any drug I've taken before and I've spiralled downwards into crazyland in just 6 weeks?

Facebook Frenzy

2007-07-16T20:45:00.000-07:00

I love when a new trend truly embeds itself. I've been hearing about Facebook for ages now but hadn't checked it out and didn't know of anyone who used it.

Last week a friend of mine sent me an invite to join because he had. 3 days later all the way over in the UK my mate Jen sent me a similar invitation and 2 hours later my mate Kath in Far North Queensland did the same thing. None of them seeming to know about the other - spooky! So now I've joined and a wee tsunami of invitations arrive in my inbox as more and more of us join up, it's all rather cool but it kinda makes me feel old. I sort of get the point of it all....but not entirely. I mean it's not as bad as John Howard turning up on You Tube or anything (that is just desperate and tragic) but still I'm trying to grasp the facebook thing totally, and I'm not quite there yet, but it is getting to me.... now if only I could work out how to make my world map appear on my profile page.

I don't like wednesdays

2007-07-11T07:19:00.000-07:00

It's the middle of the night and I am awake....so is Ivy. For some reason she has something against Wednesday nights. This is the third wednesday night in a row (in her short 5 week life) where all of a sudden everything that usually puts her to sleep goes out the window and she goes feral.

The week seems to go as follows, 5 reasonable nights, one freakish night where she sleeps for 6 hours straight and we start to think she's a miracle baby and then come Wednesday BAM! We're up and down and living on 1 hours sleep snatched here and there.

What is it that she's got against Wednesdays? I mean I've always thought it was quite a cool day, halfway through the working week and all. Hump day and all that. But not according to the tiny tyrant who squawks and cries and is generally outraged about everything for hours on end. While she doesn't like Wednesdays it's Thursdays that I don't like cause invariably it's the Thursday where I really suffer all day sleep deprived and crazed. The domino effect means that then poor Ed suffers when he comes home and finds me red eyed and ranting about no more children and going back to work early. Magically by Thursday night the tiny tyrant reverts back to her normal reasonable behaviour and all is well again. But I have to say after 3 weeks of this weird cycle I'll be putting a black mark on every Weds for the next month!

Ninja Cat

2007-07-05T22:49:00.000-07:00

My new credit card arrived today in Homemaker hot pink - ooh la la. I have to say it is rather splendid looking despite my initial doubts although I suspect it is already doomed. As I took a pen out to sign the back of it just a moment ago Chloe leapt up on the desk ninja style paws flying and knocked the pen out of my hand but not before rendering my signature unrecognisable and more like something a two yr old might scribble....

Fabulous...how do I explain that one to the bank? Chloe thinks it was a hilarious trick and is now purring and looking very pleased with herself from the top of the cabinet she is perched upon.

For Jen...the many moods of Miss Ivy May (well maybe just one or two.)

2007-07-03T23:46:00.001-07:00

Homemaker

2007-07-03T23:36:00.000-07:00

Me on the phone to the bank yesterday applying for a credit card.

Customer service guy: Occupation?
Me: well I'm on maternity leave at the moment but......
Customer service guy interrupting: Okay...so you're a homemaker
Me sounding horrified: No, No I'm a journalist normally it's just that I'm on maternity leave at the moment and....
Customer service guy: So you're current occupation is homemaker (sounds of tapping on a keyboard)
Me: Oh, oh...sigh okay then.
Customer service guy: What colour card do you want, blue, black or pink?
Me: oh I guess pink.

Customer service guy: 1
Me (homemaker): 0

Big foot

2007-07-01T17:03:00.000-07:00

She might be small but her footprint is huge....

Once upon a time, before people picked up on the whole environment cause and the term carbon footprint even existed in our everyday vocabulary I walked this earth with a featherlight touch. The sad thing is I didn't even know it at the time. For 35 odd years I had never driven a car, loved public transport, walking and even cycling. I became a vegetarian at the age of 9 and mostly lived in houses that were bereft of luxury whitegoods such as clothes dryers and dishwashers, clothes were put out to dry in the sun and tea towels were put to good use drying up dishes. In short, my footprint on this earth was quite dainty indeed.

But it seems I am just a late bloomer. In the last year just as everyone else who were already meat devouring, gas guzzling, whitegood loving folks are trying to change their evil ways to improve things I have gone the opposite way and have become the most monstrous big foot. I blame my then impending and now current state of parenthood for the change in my ways.

For starters I now have my drivers license. I'd never really wanted to drive, didn't give a hoot about cars and it was a whole world that didn't mean anything to me. Suddenly after I became pregnant I developed the fear...the fear of being trapped at home or in my local area with a baby and realised that everyone else I knew drove a car and I wanted a piece of the action. In record time I learnt to drive and got my license first go. A big suprise, but the even bigger suprise was that I discovered that I just love hooning about in the car. Ed has even caught me eyeing off other cars on the road and looking at the drive section of the paper and wanting to discuss which cars I like and dislike and what card I'd buy if I had the money - it's a whole new world to me! And just as everyone else is talking about better ways to get to work than driving, I am plotting out my next car trip with relish.

In other areas things aren't looking so hot either....now I am a home owner my house is full of energy sucking gadgets and big whitegood items. And while I'm happy to report that I'm still a vegetarian at the moment at the rate I'm going I wouldn't be suprised if I started ordering rare steaks next time I'm at lunch.

And now Madame Ivy has arrived things are even more out of control. Where our washing machine maybe got a work out twice a week it now is on every day washing endless little suits, socks, hats, wraps, cloths and vomit stained items of my clothing. The clothes dryer seems to whir day and night. For someone who exsists soley on breastmilk somehow Ivy even seems to have created more dishes for us to wash (or perhaps it's all the food Ed and I have been eating in lieu of sleep) so it also gets a go each day.

Then there is the southern end of our young girlie to contend with - our bin, once emptied once or twice a week is now a daily concern filled with disposable nappies, baby wipes and plastic bags to contain the mess. In short, in less than 12 months I have gone from a carbon midget to a big foot, all because of one 52 cm long person. I'm starting to think the responsibility for the environmental destruction of the planet rests soley on the tiny shoulders of the babies of the western world. What do you have to say about that Peter Costello? When you would like us all to have three of these environmentally destructive midgets each - it could be the end of the world as we know it!

Gifted

2007-06-26T16:33:00.001-07:00

Something I never counted on when I decided to have a baby was the amazing tsumani of goodwill that comes from all corners at the arrival of a new life.

Since our little baby bird popped into the world I've been completely overwhelmed by all the gestures, gifts, emails, messages, phone calls and visits I've had from so, so many people. And not just from people close by, we've had gifts, cards and messages from all corners of the world and Australia - China, the UK, Pakistan, Sweden, Germany, Far North Queensland, Melbourne and also from those incredibly close by (even one of our neighbours turned up on the doorstep bearing a beautifully wrapped package one afternoon.)

Ivy, Ed and I have felt like celebrities as cards and flowers arrived at the hospital constantly, mysterious packages landed on our doorstep at home day after day from all kinds of interesting places and my mobile almost exploded from all the text messages. It's been a wonderful way to keep in contact with so many people I know on a positive level and even better it's allowed me to reconnect with some people I haven't seen or talked to in a long time. There is something so fresh and positive about a new baby that it's like it gives people the space to be sentimental and emotional without all the usual barriers we put up around ourselves in daily life. The birth of a new life completely disarms people emotionally.

I feel very lucky to have such gorgeous and thoughtful people in my life and so is young Ivy. Call me sentimental but I'll be keeping all those cards and keepsakes for her to have one day when she is grown up so she knows just how lucky she is.

The end of an era for Superdad

2007-06-24T00:35:00.000-07:00

It's Sunday night and I've got that sinking feeling in my belly........it's the same feeling I had as a little girl when the long summer holidays were ending and Mum would take me school shoe shopping and I would be haunted by the "back to school" ads on the telly. It's the same feeling I've had as a grown up at the end of a holiday or a particularly good weekend when work starts a calling. This time the feeling is the same but it's someone else who is returning to work, yes come the beginning of the new week things will change. This time, my lovely Ed, Ivy's superdad must return to work and Ivy and I must learn to fly solo.
Superdad's special powers include super fast nappy changes even in the middle of the night, baths, strapping on the baby holder and taking the young tacker out for a walk, coffee or to the shops. Superdad plans and makes dinner everynight and reminds not so supermum of things like feeding herself and reminds her to feed Ivy as well. He also takes over during the witching hour when Ivy turns into a little demon for a couple of hours while I can sneak off to get an hour or two of sleep in case the long nights sitting up feeding are a shocker. Superdad also makes cups of tea, washes up, feeds Chloe the cat and cheers up not so super mum when she is feeling a bit crap about things.
I might be biased but I really do think Ivy and I may be of the two luckiest women around town. But sadly reality bites and superdad must return to his work at Channel Ten five days a week. It's going to be a little hard but I'm sure we'll struggle by each day and will always be looking forward to his return to babyland each evening.

Amazing new weight loss scheme

2007-06-20T21:59:00.001-07:00

Want to lose 11 kilos and drop 2 dress sizes in less than 12 days all while eating Tim Tams, bread, butter, muffins, copious amounts of creamy pasta and cheese? Have a baby! Not only will the baby ensure a large weight loss almost overnight giving you a much needed boost of encouragement but the subsequent days of constantly breastfeeding and walking kilometres each day pushing a stroller with an unsettled baby will shear off those pesky last kilos before you know it. Incredible results! I should really release a diet book.

So - I'm back to my pre-pregnancy weight alreadyand looking quite good apart from a slightly floppy pot belly. Shame I'm usually too sleep deprived and covered in baby vomit* to really make the most of it, my only audience is Chloe, Ed and Ivy who if the truth be known is really only interested in my bosoms.

*Actually that's a bit rich, Ivy's a good girl and has only vomited on me once so far. Not bad I say - though her single effort was pretty good, all through my hair and over several pieces of clothing and down into my cleavage, all at the sociable hour of 3am - go Ivy!

the RPA way

2007-06-18T16:57:00.000-07:00

It's Ivy's two week birthday today - it feels like we've had her forever but in other ways the time has flown. We stayed in hospital for 8 nights in total. Partly cause my labour was such a shocker and partly cause Ivy developed jaundice which left her looking like a piece of pumpkin.

Hospital was good.......and very bad. The shock of a 24 hour labour, major abdominal surgery and then being left to recover in a shared room with someone with a screaming baby, your own crying baby who you can't comfort because you can't actually move didn't really help ease the way. Nor did the nurse who I called after Ivy had been crying for over an hour who just told me "it's best if you just get used to not sleeping now cause it's going to be like this anyway" gee thanks. I started to dread the nights when Ed had to go home at 8pm and I was left in the dark with an inconsolable Ivy and no idea what to do.

Things improved a few days later after a lot of tears from me, total exhaustion, hideous problems learning to feed, jaundice from Ivy and culminating in me doing a runner from the hospital one morning after it all became too much! (I did go back.....) Luck turned around when on day 5 Ed was told to pack his bags and that we were going to be moved to a private room where he could stay overnight and help out. I have to say it was one of the best days of my life, it was such a major turning point and it was so wonderful to have Ed all night long with us. In fact the memory still makes me want to cry over a week later.

Things got better day by day as we inhabited our little hotel-like hospital room, taking turns looking after madame, watching some bad telly and eating some bad meals. And then finally it was time to go.....in some ways I couldn't wait to get home but in other ways I still miss the hospital. There's something really comforting about institutions: the sounds, the smells, the routine, the people, the daily bustle and cycle of life. It was a pretty amazing time holed up in that room just the three of us getting to know each other (with help always just a button press away.) Our own house feels so much bigger and looser and it's so weird that one minute you have midwives invading your space every ten minutes telling you what to do and then when it's time to leave it's just "okay then, good luck" the doors open, the training wheels are off and here we are at home.

Hopefully Ivy will forgive having such novices as parents, we're learning as fast as we can and hopefully one day we'll know what we are doing.

Answers to the big question

2007-06-15T22:44:00.000-07:00

Dear readers,

You may recall in my last post my young 4 year old friend David asked the all important question "how do you get the baby out?" to which I replied "i'll have to get back to you on that one." Now......14 days later I feel qualified to give an answer - just don't know if any of you have the time to hear it.

For most gory details Ed has logged the journey from his perspective on his blog http://www.overlandeddy.blogspot.com/ - he probably remembers more than me but here is my version of 'how you get a baby out' in 50 easy steps.

1: 8am waters break all over floor in true hollywood movie fashion. run to bathroom leaving trail of fluid on floor.

2: go into weird calm land where instead of ringing the hostpital, my doula, anyone... I decided I will hop on my email and cancel all my lunch engagements for the week while Ed dances about wringing his hands.

3: finally agree to go to hospital, arrive, don't like it, cry, say I just want to go home, bossy old midwife pats my leg and admires my ugg boots.

4: hooked up to monitor which is supposed to be babies heartbeat but sounds like I am carrying a group of mini racehorses galloping around the track.

5: It is agreed I can go home and have early contactions there - I go home.

6: decide that I want to make a lemon cake - odd cause I don't bake, or make cakes. Order Ed to stop at shops for lemons, icing sugar and butter between contractions.

7: have lovely lunch of lasagne chased by panadeine forte, feel great

8: forget to cancel Emma and Jason who call to come over, off my nut on panadeine, say "well I am having a baby but do come over anyway".

9: entertain E & J over cups of tea and contractions

10: go for walk to Mum and Dads, scare Mum by having contractions in the loungeroom - finally go home.

11: cake still not made, am anxious, cannot have baby until cake is completed. Start cake - contractions so strong I have to grip the table between mixing.

12. Cake in oven, watch big brother

13: cake out of oven, Ed has to finish icing as I am now screaming into cushions like a barnyard animal. Chloe my cat is so alarmed but wins my heart by running up to me, jumping up on me, pawing my shoulders and gently biting me as if to check I am still okay. She should be a midwife.

14: Cake finished head to hospital as contractions are now thick and fast. Ed calls Michelle the super doula and she agrees to meet us at the hospital.

15: Ed tries to drive and not lose the plot as I scream in car like pregnant woman in movie.

16: car park blocked off - Ed bashes on car park mans hut and demands to be let in. I am still screaming. have to walk from car park, oh the glamour, stopping every 30 seconds to have contractions. Surreal moment when some guy walks past and says to Ed, don't worry it's worth it in the end.

17: Arrive at front doors, while waiting to get in deliver 4 massive spectacular projectile vomits onto snazzy entrance pavers - shouldn't have eaten lasagne.

18: Am in so much pain I can't even see people's faces, midwife with annoying voice already giving me the shits as I announce first and foremost "I want an epidural' she argues "you've written that you want a natural labour in your birth plan, I don't want you to be disappointed" I growl back "I wrote that at work, GET ME AN EPIDURAL!!!" Michelle super doula arrives and confirms that I have changed my mind. Decide I love Michelle.

19: Waiting for man with the epidural...run between room and bathroom like a demented person half naked and unable to find a comfy position. Interspersed with extremely loud barnyard noises that I didn't know I could make.

20: Discover stupid bathtub, fitball, pillows, shower, music you name it totally suck and beg for chemical intervention pronto.

21: Become paranoid that no-one will give me an epidural and that they are all lying, start hissing like a nutter "are they lying to me Michelle? Where is it? Will they give it to me? Are you sure? Where is it?"

22: more barnyard screaming, too loud for my own ears

23: Jim the anethsetist arrives, does whatever he has to do - I don't care if I die at this stage. He puts something in my back and slowly the pain goes away as I shudder uncontrollably. Michelle and Ed hold me down.

24: numb, happy, good.

25: Everyone decides it's time I push - what a fast labour you will have they say. We get pushing. Pushing shouldn't take more than an hour - I look at the clock. I should have a baby by 1am I think. Ed and Michelle have to hold my legs as I can't feel a thing from the epidural.

26: Epidural wearing off, midwife suggests toughing it out cause it won't be long.

27: push and push and push. Pain getting unbearable again, start screaming for Jim.

28: Am told no-one can find Jim

29: Jim still nowhere to be found, now in total pain, no baby to be seen.

30: start throwing up between contractions - keeps me Ed and michelle entertained emptying bowls.

31: Michelle super doula unleashes her secret weapon, strawberry lip balm. It is the best thing that's happened all night.

32: Am now crying "I want Jim, I want Jim, where's Jim?" Midwife mistakenly says "here he is" and shoves Ed forward. I snap "no! Not him! I want the anethsetist!!".

33: Jim finally arrives, tops me up, pain doesn't go away. Tell midwife who doesn't seem to believe me.

34: pain still with me, still screaming, the search for Jim goes on once again.

35: hours tick by, pushing, vomiting, panting, resting. Still no bloody baby.

36: Realise that same Jack Johnson album has been playing on stereo for 4 hours, growl at Ed to change it. He puts on Norah Jones, Michelle informs us these are the two most popular artists to push babies out to. Disappointed we are so predictable.

37: stare at Michelles handbag, admire it and make mental note to ask her where she got it.

38: hear someone come in and say good morning - look at clock in horror and see that it is almost 6am. Still no baby.

39: Pain back, search for Jim back on, I start with the barnyard noises again.

40: Still pushing, feel like I will be trapped in this room forever pushing and listening to Norah Jones.

41: Start to lose plot, new midwife arrives, gets me to push, sees no baby is coming out and finally fetches obstetrician. Ob arrives just as I start to push and break down in hysterical crying fit. I am well out of gas and have no more to give - 8 hours of pushing has done me in.

42: Ob tells me that they will take me to theatre soon and will try and get the baby out with a vacuum thing, if that's no good it ceasar time. I cry with relief and she seems to think I am disappointed I'm not having a natural birth - she doesn't realise I just want this baby out. She then has to tell me the risks of a cesear which include cheery things like a total hysterectomy and death. I just hold her hand and cry as she tells me.

43: Michelle super doula has to leave cause she's not allowed in the theatre. I get all upset and hang onto her and don't want her to go. She is indeed so super she even moves Ed's car for him out of the car park when she is leaving.

44: off to theatre - I keep crying. Ed is now dressed like some spunky doctor from Greys Anatomy. I don't know what's going on so I continue to cry.

45: Big lights, Jim is back pumping me full of drugs, I decide I love him the best. Weird people everywhere, the sheet goes up the vacuum is produced and I have to do more bloody pushing. On and on it goes for another hour.

46: baby stuck, it's ceasar time. It's pushed back up the birth canal and the second team move in to cut me open. I advise Ed not to look and actually fall asleep as my insides are tugged apart and they try and get this baby out as I am that bloody exhausted.

47: Finally I hear an outraged sqawk and the announcement "this baby has a big head" - Ed and I laugh as he accuses me of the same thing all the time.

48: Some meanie says "what were you told this baby was?" I say "girl" and they say "oh well you'll just have to wait and see" I freak out thinking that it's a boy but luckily an outraged, bloodied, squashed looking nude Ivy May Browne is dangled before our eyes before Ed is swept off to cut the cord and mind her while I get stitched up.

49: Ivy May returned to me swaddled up like Afghan woman in a burqa. Am mostly dazed that I have a baby, Ed is crying so I decide to join him.

50: Ed dispatched with Ivy while I stay in the theatre to be stiched up, taken to recovery and then to the room to be reunited. Baby is out - hurrah!