Poo vs Wood

Have I told you that the Ratbag is now fully toilet trained? Which means that I see him silently get up and walk away, I yell 'do you need help?', he yells back 'NO MUMMY', so I go into stealth mode, follow him to the toilet and hang in the hallway, wait to hear if he's standing or sitting, wait for the bomb drop, and then casually walk past and offer to help again. At which point he gives in and let's me do the paperwork for him.

If I don't perform the above pantomime, he will quite happily drop said bomb and simply pull his pants up and go back to his play. Only later will I see the fruit of his labours, as I have to bleach and scrub them off his underpants. Mostly it's a clean snap, but sometimes I'm not so lucky. So, I persevere with the 'help' act instead. I'm, looking into what the hell kind of crap someone's feeding him.


To cheer myself up, I've had this made. I love this spoon! I haven't used it yet, even though it's fully functional as the image is burned on, in a process called pyrography. Maybe it will help me make food that doesn't turn into sludge on the way out.


I loved it so much that I had one made for my Mum, featuring her favourite Lily Of The Valley, and another for my mum-in-law, featuring a Waratah for her very Australian tastes. I LOVE THEM. I met the lady that makes them while temping in the Packaging Department at the head office of a major retail chain recently. She can do her art on any wooden objects, not just spoons.

If you love them too, drop me a line and I'll hook you up.

Tinkerer Heaven

Sitting at work today, phones silent, in-box empty. Why? Because the boss is in Sidney and I don't feel like workin'? Not really. It's because it's the Melbourne Cup Day Weekend, and all smart people have the day off. All the smart people that would normally be calling and emailing to get work done here, at our friendly little design studio. So, in the absence of clients, paperwork caught-up on and filing completed, I thought I would let you know about the amazing weekend we just had in Ballarat. Obviously, I survived all the fun.

We headed out on Saturday, mid-morning, after Peanut's nap. Despite nursing another cold and hacking his way through an already-beleaguered pair of lungs, Mr Mangroves decided that he didn't want to stay home by himself, and came along too. Beats me why, he could have actually had some sleep and stuff, without the cheeky monkey and the teething baby in the house. I was kinda looking forward to doing it all myself, but am now glad I didn't have to. We had a wonderful family weekend and it was nice to be together. By choice.

So, off to the Ballarat Wildlife Park first, where there were hordes of overfed, pushy and very inquisitive kangaroos roaming free, following us around, nosing through the tray under Peanut's pram, looking for food. The highlight was definitely the echidna enclosure, and I have to say that we were all fascinated, watching them scratch and waddle around in the dirt. They were fantastic! Off topic here: a few years ago, we found an injured bird and called the wildlife rescue people, and were directed to a kooky woman who nursed injured animals back to health. She told us a story of being a little girl and remembering that they once had an e-kin-da, which they put inside an old fridge, locked the door and put a rock on top, but it was a viciously-strong e-kin-da and it got out and made a run for it. We kept saying echidna, and she kept correcting us with e-kin-da. I'm not sure what I remember most; the way she said e-kin-da, or that she once tried to murder one in a fridge and was now nursing sick animals. Anyway, I found myself saying bloody EKINDA all day, and now the Ratbag is saying it. Thanks, you crazy old moll.

So, from the porcupines to the alligators, all the while being followed by insistent nose-nudges from the 'roos, which didn't need no more to eat, I can tell you. There were a couple of joeys-in-pouches which were delicious, their gangly legs poking out everywhere, and they were all so docile and friendly that everyone got their share of pats. We got our cue to leave when the Ratbag lost interest in anything in an enclosure (a nice way to say cage) and started to chase the magpies around the lawns instead. We packed it up and went off to check in at the motel.

The rest of the day was spent exploring all the motel cupboards, going to the toilet 400 times, eating all the complimentary biscuits and bouncing on the beds, And that was just the Ratbag. He was so wired that I left the others to have a little nap, and took him to the Vintage Tramway, where he refused to get on a tram, because "it's too big mummy". So, we played in the massive park with heaps of other kids, watched the trams come and go, shared ice-cream, and came back in time for dinner and showers, then bed. We all fell asleep watching Spider Man 2, very tired and happy.

By far the worst part of our trip for me, was waking up at 4am, and finding that I had a serious backache from the hideous bed. I couldn't go back to sleep, and ended up walking around while everyone slept to ease it.

The kids woke at the usual 6.30am, and off we went, on another day of Ballarat adventure. Scrambled eggs for breakfast followed by motel check-out, then drive about half an hour to Lake Goldsmith. And so, arriving at the 97th Annual Lake Goldsmith Rally, we disembarked to the familiar sounds of "putt-putt-bang", the call of a vintage engine being manhandled into starting. Cameras charged, hats and sunscreen on, pram loaded with water bottles, ready for the long haul. Amazingly, we all enjoyed it, made a couple of round trips around the massive grounds, got heaps of footage of engines running and the Ratbag's huge eyes as he devoured the sights, had a ride on a massive trailer being pulled by a steam tractor, ate fresh strawberries, chatted to some of Mr Mangroves' mates, changed nappies on the go, and generally had a ball. At this point, I would like to say what an amazing baby Peanut is, taking it all in her stride, interested in everything, and not a whine out of her all day.

Mummy, can we take it home?

To give you some background, Mr Mangroves inherited a love of vintage engines from his father and grandfather who were both fitters and turners of excellent quality, and grew up around the sights, smells and sounds of the kinds of things I'm describing. This same love he has now passed onto our firstborn. There are some engines in our shed, in various states of repair. He and the Ratbag restore them together, as much as a 3.5 year old can grasp that concept. Mostly, he just collects screws, washers, and any other bits and pieces he finds on the floor of the shed, and hangs them off any protruding bits of the engine hull, so that it ends up looking like a mechanic's Christmas Tree. I try to nurture this love, and I reaped the fruit of it on Sunday, when I saw how much enthusiasm he actually had, and how much patience he was capable of when faced with waiting for an engine to be started. He was absolutely entranced.

Both sides of the fence

We had an amazing day, capped off by minimum fuss when it was time to go. I think we were all so tired, dusty and generally rallied-out, that it just didn't take much convincing. All I had to do was produce a packed of PLEASE DON'T JUDGE ME Twisties, and the Ratbag was safely buckled into his seat falling asleep next to his absolute trooper baby sister on the way home to Melbourne. That night, the kids sound asleep, I made movies from the footage and saved the photos as screen savers, so the memories will be savoured over the next few weeks.

Happy Days.