Does My Arse Look Smaller To You?

Mr M knows that the correct answer is 'Yes'.

This has nothing to do with anything.

Just thought I'd throw that in for free.

I love this pic of them just bumming around at home. Somehow, I've managed to capture the Ratbag with a writing implement in his hand. I'm pretty sure he was only chewing on it, but still, it's something.

So, it's been an exciting couple of weeks! I feel my creative muse returning (the fickle bitch) and I'm planning a drawing (actually, I have been planning the bugger for about 3 months, and it's been laughing at me the whole time). As well as this, I've had a go at writing some fun stuff, which may never be read by anyone other than my trusted Beta and BFF (you know who you are baby), but it was so much fun to do. I always fancied myself as a 'not completely shit' writer. Please don't tell me I'm a 'completely shit' writer because that would be followed by the sound of things breaking at my house (since I don't know where you guys live, otherwise it would be your garden gnomes and letterboxes).

Remember last post when I said she was overdressed in her nappy and fairy wings?

Clearly not the best photo, but god bless her cotton socks, she's so cute!

On another front, my arse is in gear, and I'm pleased to report that somehow, somewhere inside this mother-of-two, there is a little bit of Alby Mangroves that likes to exercise. To run, and to sweat, to be exact. And so, I've accepted a friendly challenge from some girlfriends, to step up and run in a little Fundraiser, called Run For The Kids.

My gorgeous man-child, wearing his putt-putt-bang t-shirt,

so called because he likes to wear it when we go to engine shows.

I can understand your scepticism. When I mentioned this on Facebook, my sister immediately volunteered to be there with her camera to capture the moment. I believe the moment she is referring to is the one where I die in a fit before I even get half way.

The Ratbag took this photo. He loves it when the camera comes out. He kind of just slides onto my lap and presses the 'click button' indiscriminately. But then, I can't complain when I see gems like this!

Another so called 'friend' thought that it was a clear case of mistake identity; I had mistaken myself for someone who doesn't have junk in her trunk. I address this point by saying that while me + running = unlikely, this is remedied by strapping myself in, so to speak.

Decorating the path with her gigantor pavement chalk.

I will give the naysayers the finger as I'm running gracefully past them, strapped into my two best sports bras and full-body Spanx, if that's what it takes. 3 friends and I are training for this on every second day, and I have to say that I no longer feel apoplexy coming on after a couple of laps of the footy oval.

Her eyes are the exact colour of her Dad's. Kind of a cool blue grey. Such amazing eyes! Sometimes I can't believe she's my daughter. I look at her in complete amazement. Her colouring shouldn't have made it past my darker gene contribution, and yet, here she is. So beautiful.

5.2 kilometers, here I come. Wish me luck!

A Bit Feral

So, it's been a busy couple of months. Blogging felt like a chore, so I didn't blog. Or vacuum. Or put away clean laundry.

I have 50 pairs of clean underpants, but I don't know where they are.

The first present of the day was the biggest hit - the pink Tutu from Ellie, Tyler & Soph. The pink party dress was immediately discarded in it's favour.

Well, obviously they're somewhere in 'Clothes Mountain' (or as Mr M calls it - the Floordrobe), but technically speaking, their exact location eludes me.

Mr M has started a new job. He starts and finishes a bit earlier each day, but this means that I have to take the kids to their Family Day Care lady's house on my own way to work, and pick them up again at the day's end - by myself. Otherwise they'd be there from 7.00am, and I have enough trouble getting us all ready to leave the house by 8 as it is, what with having to make sure we're ALL wearing clean underpants. AND other stuff on top.

Me at the party - I really love this photo! by Janet

This job also comes with a fully-maintained car. On the surface, this sounds great, and would be great, if we didn't already have two cars, one of which is being paid off. This would still be fine, if his new salary wasn't lower because he gets the car. So, we get a useless extra car, less money, and still have to pay for the other car. This would still be bearable except that he doesn't get that day at home with the kids any more, so we have to pay for an extra day of care for them. I only hope that he loves his new job.

Peanut and I, opening her present from Grace, by my father-in-law Fred

Xmas was busy as usual, and we did the usual with it; Xmas Eve at my Dad's house, celebrating Polish style, with sauerkraut, fish is various guises, and the usual present blitz. The adults all participate in Kris Kringle, including the partners, which is brilliant -it means only thinking of one decent present instead of several, and spending heaps less money. I cleaned up this year, with Season 1 of True Blood, and 3 seasons of The Tudors (I actually haven't blogged because Jonathan Rhys-Myers is my new thang - there, I confessed). Unfortunately, I drew Mr M as my KK, so the gift couldn't be a surprise. Still, he was happy with his new Call Of Duty and renewed subscription to The Old Machinery Magazine. Yes, it's as exciting as it sounds.

The kids brought home so many toys that we virtually had to remove all their old ones, otherwise we'd have to open a shop. And that's just from Xmas Eve.

Grace at the party, by Janet

After this, we had Boxing Day with Mr M's lovely parents in the country (I love going there. I love my other parents, they're just good people) where my two year old daughter learned how to emulate fart sounds by blowing raspberries on her own arm (and laughing maniacally). It seems having 6 boy cousins under the age of 10 can be useful after all. This happy event was followed by Mr M's birthday, he thought he was turning 43, and was pleasantly surprised to be corrected down to 41 (and so was I, hating the idea of being married to a decrepit old man). We then had a quiet New Year, celebrated by playing Mafia Wars on Facebook against each other, sharing a nice cuppa, reading in bed together (Marching Powder for him, Ancient Evenings for me), and sleeping in to a leisurely 6.30am the following morning. Aaaaah, life is good.

The most important event of note in the last two months though, was our daughter's 2nd Birthday. She's an astounding creature, all rosy and fair curls on the outside, cheeky independent little monster on the inside. She's quite capable of turning on a performance if necessary to get her way. She's quite spooky sometimes, in her understanding of the world, and constantly surprises us with what she's able to comprehend and use. We've always thought she was clever, but honestly, I think that a few years down the track, she's going to completely kick our arses. She's an extremely fast learner, and off the scale in intelligence. She's also quite simply the most adorable baby girl ever. E V E R.

Birthday Peanut, held by her Babcia, by Janet

So, her Birthday was great fun, there was face painting and balloon animals, chips, lemonade and chocolate cake. There are lost of photos to prove it, courtesy of thoughtful people like Janet, who knew I wouldn't be thinking of my camera on the day. Thanks fer helping commit the day to memory and sharing your photos with us. I hope that you don't mind me showing my favourites here.

And now, it's time to saddle up for dinnertime. The kids are Wiggled up this afternoon, and are running up and down the house, calling each other 'Monkey Man'. The Ratbag has one of my belts hanging out the back of his shorts, and his pumpkin-head Halloween mask on. Peanut is clearly overdressed in her nappy and pink fairy wings, curls plastered to her cheeks with smears of yogurt. Dinner? More like cheese & crackers.

A Hot Week in Melbourne

So, I wrote a massive review of New Moon for you. By massive, I mean ridiculous.

Then, I took pity on you, and didn't post it.

Suffice to say, I'm now Team Switzerland; I refuse to be affected by territorial disputes between mythical creatures*.

Basically, I'd go Team Jacob when Team Edward wasn't looking.

I've been having a bit of fun with my new obsession, and have discovered the huge community of fans out there have been having some fun too, sometimes too much fun.

I went off on a tangent one night, randomly browsing through fan related sites, which sent me off clicking from one link to another, until I stumbled on some fan fiction. I've previously read some Harry Potter fan fiction which was excellent, but it didn't really prepare me for this.. Among the to-be-expected sweet/gooey/sickly alternate universes created by fans, I happened upon some Twilight *adult* fan fiction.

Here is a random selection of subject matter I encountered:

1. All the characters are present and accounted for, but they speak like jocks and cheerleaders, have no superpowers, and the handsome, out-of-bounds main character's name is Eddie (which I found VERY disturbing. Eddie? EDDIE?!

2. Bella and Edward break up and she ends up with Jake, who doesn't have the same reservations about physical intimacy, so they basically go at it hard.

3. Edward cuts a hunting trip short and catches Bella.. attending to her own needs.

4. A sleeping Jake unwittingly taps into the pack mind and shares Leah's dream of being serviced by Sam Uley, the ultra-buff, super-hot wolf man.

And my personal favourite:
5. Edward enlists Jake's help to prepare himself and Bella for Bella's only demand before he turns her into a vamp. This ends up in a pale/white/brown threesome in the meadow..

Are you feeling me girls?

I'm going to keep looking until I find one that's a massive bonfire-side gangbang between vampires and werewolves. If I don't find one, I might have to write it myself.

*That's a direct quote from one of the books; I'm not that clever.

Toothy Subject

A grown woman with a demanding job, two small children, a house and mortgage, two dogs and a cat plus a psycho Polish extended family stays up to ungodly morning hours reading novels about a teenager's taboo romance with her vampire lover.

Having devoured all four books within a matter of days, and watched the movie several times including all the special features on the double DVD (unheard of, right? no one ever watches that crap, especially with director's and cast commentary) she settles for re-reading her favourite passages to while away spare seconds of life while waiting for the release of the second movie installment in the saga.

Discuss.

This Is Living

A lot of stuff has been going on, and in amongst it, I didn't feel like blogging about it. Nothing bad happened, I'm still mulling over the last couple of posts, wondering how to follow them up. Should I continue to chew your ears off with the continuing story, or just move on and pretend it doesn't matter? I've decided to move on, not because it doesn't matter, but because it is unresolved.



We've made a couple of decisions at management level, without advising all of the stakeholders. Basically, we're conducting further research, and will make recommendations accordingly.

Can you tell I've been working a lot? Anyway, we're all good, and as much as I haven't felt like blogging, this weekend was just too good not to tell the world about it.



After a nice day spent at home with the kids, yesterday evening, post-dinner, Mr M and I sat and watched TV together. We watched Anne of Green Gables. I was positively stunned that he didn't walk away or hang serious shit on poor Anne who happens to be one of my favourite childhood characters from much-loved books, and therefore; sacred. If possible though, I was more shocked than if I had been slapped with a dead fish when he asked me what happened in the time he was away in the toilet. I won't go on about it, but let's just say that last night was a revelation.

This morning, we got up, the Ratbag and I, as is our custom at around 6.30am. That's just the way his cookie crumbles, and 'one of us' has to get up to make sure he doesn't wander out the front door or burn the house down. That 'one of us' is me, because it appears that I'm the morning person. I've tried to deny it, but the crux is that actually, I don't mind. I hope Mr M never reads this post, or I will never get a sleep-in again. So anyhoo, we watched cartoons, we ate our weetbix, and had a lovely morning together. The other two eventually got up, and we decided to head out and about, to prevent a buildup of stir-crazy-bored-banshee-children who break things and scream for no reason. We looked at furniture at Hardly Normal that we had no mind to buy, we ate dinosaur lollies in the car, and had home-made hotdogs for lunch, followed by the girls settling down for a little nap.

Incredulous that I had gotten away with this so far, my olfactories picked up The Smell emanating from Peanut's room, and heard her chatting to herself, heralding that our nap was over. After the fumigation, and a quick discussion about the lack of engine shows at this time of year, we had a snack, rustled up the men, and trundled off to an amazing place; the A.R.H.S Railway Museum, at Champion Road, Williamstown. Although Mr M had taken the Ratbag there before, we had never been as a family.
Traipsing around vintage machinery is apparently our thing, but I think that even if it isn't yours, anyone would enjoy the history of the place and the fascinating era that it harks back to. The kids thought it was pretty amazing, and we easily whiled away a couple of hours before dinner. All of the photos in this post were taken there this afternoon.

Following our expedition, we drove home, starving and starting to fray around the edges, the kids cracking up under the strain of a happily busy weekend. We made it home just in time for the Ratbag to take a tumble running up the driveway, making sure that we walked back in the house in a flurry of tears (the only way to end an excursion), and then, with mutual consent and still sobbing, the kids agreed to take a shower, while Mr M made dinner. *Love That Man* With a promise of mashed potato, they were putty in my hands, and were showered and pyjamaed before you could say 'I hate carrots and there's a spider in the toilet Mum'. We had our lamb cutlets with gravy, the promised mash and sauteed mushrooms, and the staple green peas, followed by a no-fuss story and bed for the kids, Matt Damon kicking some arse on TV, and me, relishing this wonderful weekend, and sealing it with a session with Photoshop's crop tool.

The End.

.. just thinking out loud

Just a quick post, to thank all of you who commented on my previous post, and also those who emailed me directly with your words of support and advice.

None of you were out of line, or overstepping the mark, or unwelcome in commenting. Thank you all for giving a crap really.

We know what we have to do, but talking to people who know us is too close to home. You guys on the other hand, aren't going to form opinions about us or our child, and your comments all rely on your own personal experience, which is invaluable.

Thank you all.

My Mind. The Skids. Meeting in 5 minutes.

I've been wrestling with something.
Not trivial brain litter, but something really important that should take precedence over Mafia Wars on Facebook and what underpants to wear today. Something's been making me angsty.


Sit back, if you will, and imagine that..
Your kid's Little Kinder teacher takes you aside one day and asks is everything is alright with your son. They don't know each other that well yet, it's not even half way through first term. She clarifies her question, explaining that your son just doesn't seem with it today, not answering when spoken to, looking a bit blank, a bit lost.
Yes, you assert, he might be coming down with a cold; the whole family's had it, it's his turn.
All the time, thinking; should you confide in this woman about your own mild fears?
Hmm.


This short conversation is followed up by a phone call, at the teacher's request. She explains that while today's 'absence' might well be due to an oncoming headcold, there are behavioural 'things' that she has noticed, and wonders if you've noticed them too.
At that point, it would be stupid to lie. 'Yes', you say, 'his father and I have discussed certain behaviours.' Such as?
Well, such as obsessing over something. The boy has a tendency to go on, and on, and on, and on. Not really 'about' something either. He repeats lines of shows that he watches, or one comment he heard, or just something that's knocking around in his head, and won't leave. Things like lines of conversations that can be interjected into another conversation, seemingly with no relevance.
'Aaah', she says.


Apparently, she thinks that this might be a sign of a possible problem. You mention that you've spoken about your observations to the Maternal & Child Health Nurse, and been reassured that kids learn that way, and by repeating, and testing, and practicing, over and over. Nothing to worry about. Perfectly normal kid. Let him be. The dreaded 'A' word is mentioned. In the back of your mind you're firmly committed to denial and won't even say 'autism'. At least the teacher confirms that she isn't qualified to say it either, which strangely fails to impress you or make you feel any better.
You hope that puts an end to it. Kid continues to be himself, your worries evaporate, life continues as usual.


But the teacher won't let it be. She continues to ask about the kid, about any course of action you're taking. Then, one day, she gives you a form.
It's a Referral Form, for observation by a Preschool Field Officer.
Just like that, it becomes serious.
You read the form, and in it are reasons for the teacher's concern. You brace yourself for the home truths in the form.


The reasons for concern, as stated on the form, are:
1. Mostly solitary play.
2. Copying what Teacher and peers say.
3. Limited concentration time at activities (2-3 minutes).
4. Distracts other kids during mat-time (makes trumpeting noises).
5. Anticipating verses of songs, books, etc.

WTF.

Did I just read the school report of any friggin' 4 year old kid? Mr Mangroves' reaction was: "Is this for real? Makes trumpeting noises? For fark's sake, HE'S BORED!"


Seriously, I almost expected 'does not make eye contact' or 'bulldozes other kids to the ground' or 'swears as one in a road-rage situation', or even 'has committed several burglaries'. Trumpeting noises suddenly didn't seem like the symptom of anything starting with 'A', except perhaps 'Anarchy'.


Did you notice how suddenly it's changed from a third person projection into me? It's too tiring to keep it up!


Anyhoo, tell me what you think! Am I dismissing what could be a larger problem, or is my 'Relax, he's a kid' attitude appropriate? Because having spoken to the Ratbag's Dad, we've decided not to fill in that form. It all seems a bit too full-on. I think I would prefer a private meeting with a paediatrician, if anything, rather than having my child observed in Little Kinder, and results of the observation available to Services and Agencies, School Staff, Therapists and Psychologists (no kidding, it says that on the form, asking for permission to notify all those people, if relevant).


All a bit serious for trumpeting noises if you ask me. And apparently the upshot of the observations is that he might be declared 'not ready' to go to Kinder next year. NOT READY FOR KINDER. So he'd get to repeat Little Kinder. At the age of 5. GIMME A BREAK..

Happiness is pilfering last night's left-over prawn crackers.

That'd go down well with prospective girlfriends.

He's toilet trained, he can spell and write his own name, he knows the alphabet and can count to 100 consecutively or in 10s, he knows some of his many books off by heart. These things and so many others that are his achievements on their own don't mean squat, but coupled with my loving, beautiful son's sunny disposition and playful nature, with this sense of humour and his love for his family, make him the most perfect, intelligent, age-appropriately ego-centric, wonderful human being that he is. I love him so much that sometimes it hurts to breathe. I know his smell, his laugh, his eyes, more than my own. None of this has anything to do with the post, except to say that if there is something wrong, none of those things will change. He will still be my joy and my life.


All the photos in today's post are from this afternoon's trip to the newly-constructed playground at the local school's footy ground. Who'd have thunk that there'd be any cash left over after the new council buildings went up! Hooray for beaurocrats, they have children too, you know.