Strange Things are afoot at the Circle K.

Well not really..

Although I do have rather a soft spot for Circle K, as the one in Gymea used to be the only place in the Shire I could get Homer Hudson ice cream. But that's beside the point. I"m just having another hit of nostalgia. It's like a drug! Bronnie Bishop is going to come and take away my children and give them to a much more balanced Liberal-voting family. I'd better watch out.

The strangeness comes from the fact that

a) I got all of my hair cut off, so now it's back to the short croppiness of yesteryear. I feel like I'm back after wandering for years in the wilderness. The liberation, the light-headedness, the joy of waking up NOT being strangled by my own hair!

b) I found a dress. In Cue. In size 10. I think the world may have shifted off it's axis, because that's just not right.

Said dress is a gorgeous black 1950s, boat-necked, cap-sleeved, belt-waisted LBD. I'm very very happy, but have been unable to find an image of it to post here.

I had an unpleasant afternoon yesterday trying to find a dress that was both professional and kinda cute/funky. To go with my new hair, see. And also was light enough to wear in KL as I'm jetting off for a week-long training/workshop seminary thing there in a couple of weeks. But nothing fitted. Nothing was right. Everything this season looks like it'll be gorgeous and then you try it on and it either looks like a sack (a very expensive sack) or looks like you have a behind the size of Russia. There was no happy medium. And that was before I made the mistake of entering Veronika Maine.

I have no idea how that place actually makes any money as every single thing I tried on made me look fat or dumpy or fat and dumpy. And every single garment was in a colour that made me look so jaundiced I nearly dashed off for a session under the nearest UV lamp. It's shops like VM that make me wish that I could actually sew and then I would never have to submit myself to such exquisite torture again.

So why I decided to give it another go last night, when I was already exhausted, I'll never know. To further confundment, I decided to bring both Big Girls along for the ride. I obviously wasn't thinking straight. As we sailed through Myer en route to the Cue concession, I asked them to remind me to buy some Innoxa bath foam. This was a mistake because they then spent the next 30 minutes interrupting my concentration by constantly repeating every single variation on the word 'Innoxa' they could think of - 'nonixa' 'ipoxa' 'nextoxta' etc. They also gave their considered opinion on every item of clothing I picked up. And poured scorn on every suggestion I made... 'Ooh, this lovely red belt will go with the black dress' said I, 'Er, I don't think so *intense eye-rolling* it so doesn't go' said Miss M.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

How I managed to find The Dress, try it on, and actually purchase it, will remain a mystery forever.

Life is Good: Reason #539

Moments which make you realise that life is full of sunshine and puppies (when you know what to look for)...

This morning I went downstairs to check on the sole remaining rabbit baby(cub? kitten? cherub?) - it's now 10 days old and is a gorgeous little thing, ever gradually growing the softest fur with the cutest little ears. It still hasn't opened it's eyes, and I suspect that Pixie (the mother) has been feeding it slightly more than the once-a-day Professor Google told us to expect, because it's a becoming quite a little roly-poly rabbit... As it now befurred it can be handled and so it was snuffling around in my hand when I became aware of a warm wetness dribbling between my fingers... it piddled on me! And got put back in the nest quick smart.

Of course Miss H thinks this is The Single Funniest Thing that has ever happened...

Misses O and I were also quite amused and have been telling anyone who will listen that Mummy's hand is a toilet! A rabbit toilet! I love 3 year old logic.

And I realise that this post would probably be more at home on WDTAOK, but I posted photos of the Wet Weekend on there this morning so it will have to languish here.

Oh! And I just remembered...

Yesterday sitemeter recorded the 15000th visitor to this humble blog... and amazingly it was that most lovely of bloggers - Miss Gigglewick! Thank Goodness it wasn't a freaky lurker type...

wOOt etc...

So You Think You Can Recap

Well, yes, I think I can.

I can't guarantee the quality of the snark, but I can definitely get it all down...

And it's here, over on Square Eyes, Square Arse, which is a much more befitting home for SYTYCD, don't you think?

So go have a peek, just don't be expecting high-grade recapping like over at Bland Canyon. It's just not going to happen peoples...

*****

And for those who want to know, Miss M received the Regional U-10s 'Achiever Award ' (What used to be known as the 'Rising Star Award' which unsurprisingly M prefers) for AFL last night. Woohoo &etc!

Shhh!

Today the Twins turn three!!!

I have posted over on We Do Talk About Our Kids... we don't want C&C going all clucky and mommy-bloggy now do we????

Introducing...

To tide me over while I formulate my response to Howard's policy in relation to Aboriginal Communities in the NT...

Let me present the most wonderous Miss M and her (second) attempt at blogging.

monkeymagick.blogspot.com

Chesty and I are trying to help her understand the difference between blogging and chatting. I think she's getting there.

I'm trying to shield her from the more grotty elements of the blogosphere, so if you do visit her, and have a not particularly PG rated blog (I'm looking at you Donnie!) then please don't use your Blogger log-in so she can't follow you back to your blog! She's almost 10 years old, but is pretty street-smart, so she'd probably cope, especially when you consider what she's exposed to at school, but still- I like to think I'm protecting her...

The Shame

I am in rather a dilemma.*

I have a shameful secret to confess...

I actually read, and more extraordinarily agreed with, an column by Miranda Devine.


I know, I know... I'm so ashamed. I'm worried that this may be a consequence of 'getting older'. It is an unsettling feeling that perhaps I am slowly morphing into Mary Whitehouse or Gerard Henderson or other fearsome conservative muppet. Could this be why I can't handle Dom Knight's pathetic 'blog posts' anymore? Is it bracket creep? Oh, the angst...

The column decries the slipping of standards in film classifications, allowing 'moderate swearing' and 'implied sexual scenes' in PG and M movies. Although she was hysterical about the blatant pedophilia and homoeroticism apparently depicted in 'The History Boys' recently, this time she was more rational and cited more evidence that indeed, it's not my imagination, they are allowing more previously unacceptable words, scenes, themes etc through the classification process.

...We are witnessing the acceleration of "ratings creep", the steady erosion of film classification standards, as more and more adult content seeps down into PG and M ratings, leaving parents powerless and confused about what to allow their children to watch.
Even G ratings are not what they used to be. A 2003 revision of movie classification guidelines allowed drug use and nudity "in context". Mild coarse language has always been allowed, as has "mild and very discreetly implied" sexual activity and drug use...

...The Sydney film reviewer Kevin Sadlier is one of the few who openly rails against the trend, on radio 2GB. He says he has noticed a "disturbing change" over the past 18 months in the work of the federal Office of Film and Literature Classification, which is responsible for movie ratings.
Movies that once would have been rated M, he says, are being released as PG - Marie Antoinette, with a nude love scene, for example.
The F-word, once restricted to MA movies, is now commonplace in M movies with a note from the censor warning of "moderate language"...

I agree with pretty much all of this - since when is 'mild drug use' ever going appropriate in a G rated movie? Although I guess it depends on the 'drug' in question...
However I disagree with this comment:

Ratings creep also applies to television, where the F-word is so liberally sprinkled through prime time it has lost its ability to shock, which is a pity. A program such as Supernatural shows graphic scenes of werewolves ripping people's hearts out of their chests.

Firstly: Pah! Supernatural SO does not show that much graphic violence. You saw the werewolf attack. And then you saw a chest cavity that had been shredded. You didn't see the shredding! Geez! Get it right Miranda!

Secondly: I'm not sure that the argument necessarily extends to TV. It is much easier to exercise parental control in regards to the TV - much easier to switch off and switch channels - than it is to up and leave a cinema. Also - I don't allow my children to watch prime-time TV, unless I'm absolutely positive that it'll be OK, and I would NEVER allow them to watch Supernatural, so that is such a pathetic straw man argument, and makes it easier for me to continue my Miranda H8ing**.

I guess my response is that surely it's easier to err on the side of caution in regards to film classification. I don't understand how 'society' could have changed so drastically in the last generation, that these aspects need to be reflected in G and PG movies. It's so hard to exercise the much-vaunted 'parental control' when the goal-posts keep moving! I'm not the type of parent who rants and raves about the rubbish on TV, and the possibility that my children might be exposed to sex and violence at 11pm, as it's my responsibility to ensure that they're not watching TV then... However I'm quite happy to rant if they're exposed to what I consider 'unsuitable' material if it's being broadcast through a medium I would normally considered 'safe' - eg G movies.

I'm lucky though, that I have a relationship with my children in which they are welcome to, and feel comfortable, discussing things they have seen or heard which left them puzzled, intrigued or uncomfortable. And for a parent that's more important than any film classification system.

* I would really appreciate discussion on this topic! People don't seem to 'discuss' things anymore - they either leave a comment saying 'yes I agree' or nothing. I would love C&C to be a place where we're happy to exchange ideas, and disagree with each other, yet still bask in the BlogLove!

** Stay tuned for more H8ing in the not-too-distant future!

Sublime and Ridiculous

Phew! Well that was a weekend of contrasts...
(Edit below for those who've already read it - I is useless with the memory at the moment)

Friday night was magical!
* Dinner at the pub with Chesty and the lovely MrL - the boys talked about, um, I dunno - vaguely intelligent stuff... Chesty and I continued our MSN conversation mostly consisting of all things Big Brother. My husband despairs of me...
* Some nice people playing pool decided to have a retro night on the jukebox, and thus I was treated to a bunch of music from high school/ Uni. It put me in a very relaxed and happy happy joy joy mood... MC hammer does that to you. (but only if you only hear 'can't touch this' once every 5 years)
* Adam Hills ROCKED. We spent 2 hours laughing. It's very very good for the soul. Highlights included Katie Noonan singing 'Muna muna' and the 'Footloose' dancing on the car roof. Joyous indeed. And it's always nice to see a Shire Boy come good...
* You know how you often have a little monologue running in your head - where you can make the most inappropriate comment you like, because only YOU can hear it? Well there was a woman sitting directly behind me who kept that running commentary up the entire night. Aloud. In a really irritating loud voice. She reminded MrB of his Great Aunty Joyce. And strangely, one of things she really needed to talk about was her wish for Adam to 'take his kit off' . Baffling.
* Coffee and dessert with the RevJen and the ClergyWife in what has got to be the dodgiest Italian restaurant on Enmore Rd. We were getting desperate as the Enmore theatre had spewed out hundreds of caffeine-needy ABC snobs, and we needed a seat. Meh - it was coffee, it was ice-cream... who can ask for more?


And then Saturday Morning arrived, bright and shiny and full of promise...


MrB had taken the Big Girls to footy, and the twins and I were hanging out in the sun. The babes were playing in the garden, I was sitting on the deck reading the paper with the sun on my back. Blissful.
Until I happened to look up, and saw Miss I coming down the hallway with an odd expression on her face. She was fighting a battle between the need to keep a secret as she'd obviously done something naughty, and the need to tell me something very important. Namely that there was something yucky in her mouth.

She'd been playing in my room, and gone through the packets of tablets still on my bedside table from the Headache Fiasco of 2 weeks ago... There were a number missing, and she couldn't spit them out.

I freaked. I call MrB - he immediately left the footy game, but would still be 15 minutes... So I called the ambulance.

I was trying to stay calm, because Miss I was just getting more and more flustered, but I failed dismally. I was sobbing and shaking, peering into her eyes to check for any changes...

Luckily she'd taken my anti-nausea, anti-dizziness tablets, instead of the kickarse migraine or pandeine fortes. But still, she'd taken 5.

The ambulance arrived at the same time as MrB, and he was the picture of calmness. The fact that he'd just done a full day First Aid course at work probably helped... Anyway, the ambo decided that I was upsetting Miss I more than anything, and suggested I NOT travel in the ambulance to the hospital. Besides by this stage Miss O had figured something was going on, and was standing on the front porch screaming for her sister.

What a drama.

She's fine. They kept her in hospital for 24 hours, hooked up to a heart monitor, for observation, But she was utterly fine. So utterly fine that the medical staff were starting to think she hadn't actually consumed the tablets at all (She definitely had - I checked), the total lack of side-effects baffling them. She had got very very lethargic and close to passing out in the ambulance, but then bounced back with a vengeance. She spent 24 hours watching TV and eating, so was pretty darn relaxed when I went to pick her and MrB up yesterday morning.

But - scary.

And yes, all tablets are now locked away. Sometimes you just get careless. And that's never a good thing.

Edit: Forgot to mention that I also had an up close and personal experience with a large red-back spider yesterday. It was nesting in my 'outdoor boots which reside outside the back door. Luckily a Girl Guide indoctrinated childhood means that I always bang my boots before putting them on... Nearly died when this angry spider went me! Especially when Miss O was pratting about with bare feet just next to me, wanting to see the spider.

It got squashed.

Monday Blahness

Sorry - Intense headaches preventing me from posting actual post-length stuff. Or, you know, focusing properly... Or, indeed, balancing.
Am going to the doctor's* this afternoon, so hopefully I'll get Answers. But I highly doubt it.

UPDATED: I went to the GP. I have a viral infection causing inflammation in my head. Hence the insane headaches and dizzy wobbliness.
So, not just in my head, and all in my head, all at the same time! Haha!

*****

Mothers Day: I woke up to the sound of MrB telling one of the twins to shush and let Mummy sleep - which is the most perfect sound in the world! Then there was lots of activity and little feet running around and much more shushing, so I got up - and was told by Miss M to go straight back to bed. So I did - with the GoodWeekend.
Then there was more running, and more shushing until all four girls made a dramatic entrance into my room, followed by MrB bearing a tray. I was presented with breakfast in bed (bacon, eggs and tomatoes) and lovely flat white and a balti bowl in which frangipani flowers were floating... The girls all sat on the bed and sang 'Happy Mothers Day' to me (except the twins who sang Happy Birthday, but it's the thought that counts) and I may have shed a tear or two...
M & H had made me a bead necklace, and I wore it all day! Even out to lunch at a swish restaurant!
It was a pretty damn good day. Except for the headaches of course...

*****

Usually I adore Eurovision. Adore it unconditionally.

This year, despite the amazing Finnish production and funky Finnish postcards in between acts, I was left underwhelmed.
I'll blame the headaches again I think. Because for me not to love Eurovision is a thought too horrible to contemplate.
I think even Terry Wogan was off - he was less about snark, and more about old man bitterness. Usually he adds to the joy, this year he detracted from it. The preliminary final on Sat night was so much better - with much gentler (and funnier) snark from Paddy and Sarah.

Also - in a frightening development - I woke up this morning singing Belarus's entry.

*****

Urgh Argh.
etc.

Sorry for the utterly shitful post.

* Does this apostrophe belong here. I am utterly confused. I blame the virus. The misspelling vyrus...

Out of the mouths...

I think I may need to go see a chiropractor, or a physio or something... The pain in my back is just ridiculous - how can merely existing make my back hurt. I've been getting to sleep only through the taking of pain killers and sleeping ON a hot water bottle wedged in my lower back.

But the main reason:


The twins spent a number of minutes yesterday morning hobbling around the lounge room, doubled over clutching their backs, going 'oh! my back! It hurts! Oh no!'

MrB nearly wet himself laughing.


I was not amused.

But I may take their little 'hint' on board.

Well Trollied

A quick rant:

Why, oh why, have supermarkets not cottoned on to the fact that the incidence of twins in our population is increasing...? And why, therefore, do they not provide twin trolleys for the poor mothers (or indeed fathers) of said twins??? Or parents of more than one child under the age of 3????

So cranky!

Usually I put one child in the the seat, and one child in the actual trolley, but if (like me) you don't like your bread sat upon, then this method can be risky. Especially if you're doing a Big Shop, in which case there seriously isn't room for children...

I guess it's my own fault for taking the twins shopping with me yesterday, but our family is so damn time-poor at the moment, that it's the only chance I've got to get out to the shopping centre in over a week... There was important Mothers Day and birthday presents to be purchased for my in-laws, so it had to be done. But let me tell you, grocery shopping with toddlers in NO FUN! Especially when they're running loose, and Coles waxed the floors yesterday... I was *this* close to leaving my half-full trolley full of perishables in the middle of the aisle and storming off!

But I persevered...

Mainly because the pantry was seriously empty...

I just don't get why Coles and Woolies haven't done some polling on this. I mean, they've been doing some intense 'study-trips' over to the UK in recent years, and brought back a lot of ideas from Tesco and Sainsbury's and the like - Tesco's Finest silver packaging anyone? - so why haven't they implemented Tesco's brilliant 'a trolley for every type of person' plan??? It was fabtastic! Single Baby, Twin Baby, single toddler, twin toddler, baby/toddler combo... and funky trolleys that hooked onto wheel chairs or Zimmer frames (or maybe that was just Eastbourne!)

And it meant that shopping wasn't such a chore. Still a chore, but without the added frustrations...

At the moment it means my only alternatives are a) waiting for MrB to get home and go shopping of an evening. But that would eat into my 'watching BB' time, and that's never going to happen... or b) shopping online - but let me tell you this Mr Coles - that ain't going to work in your favour as I've done it before and you get NO spontaneous purchases... None whatsoever...

So: If you want to sell more chocolate or 'oh look! a new flavour TimTam! I'll try that even though Arnotts is evil and American and of Satan etc etc' type purchases, then get me a twin trolley and I'll be happy to oblige....

Saturday - B stylee

OK. Am off the soapbox. I promise...

EXETEL SUCKS!!!


Oh sorry - a little attack of ISP Tourettes. Please forgive me.

*****

So - the rabbits had an eventful morning. MrB heard them go absolutely schizo in the hutch and had a WTF? moment... and went outside to discover a large bird, with a wingspan of over a metre flying out of the yard.

It was a grey goshawk (Thank you Uncle Google) wanting an easy Saturday morning brunch... It flew away unsatisfied, but left the rabbits and MrB kinda spooked.


I had a sudden image of the goshawk swooping down when Miss H has one of the rabbits on the leash, and flying away with more than it bargained for....

*****

Went to MrB's school Fete and Open Day today. Oh the mega yayness!

At least this year I didn't have the overwhelming urge to tell the teenage boys to PULL THEIR BLOODY PANTS UP!
This year I was all about the: Child, you are a size 16 at least - those footless tights are stretched to breaking point trying to keep your thighs covered. And I really don't need to see your entire bright pink bra, or indeed, the contents of said bra.

Thank goodness I exist entirely within my Bulli bubble and only have to encounter such hideous 'adolescence' but once a year.

But, yeah, the munchkins all had a good time - there were teacup rides and lolly stalls, and second-hand book stalls (they are their mother's daughters...) so the family B were happy.

But now I'm exhausted.

Some monday thoughts.

Drain the wetlands????

Dayam! Now why didn't we think of that earlier????

This from the man who thought showering with a bucket to save an excess water, was a 'little extreme'...

This from the man who says a dam on the Clarence River is a Good Idea, as it's not NSW's water, but Australia's water, and therefore we can pump it o those people in SE Queensland who last year voted against the introduction of recycled effluent into their water system.
[Mr B says, sure, dam the river, then we can all stand there and wee in the river and then they won't want it anyway...]

Question: If it's 'Australia's' water, then how come Cubby Station gets to keep the million gazillion mega litres (how many Sydney Harbours is that???) as 'their' water, and not share it with, say, the entire Murray Darling system?????

*Mutter mutter mutter, snurgle snurgle snurgle, rhubarb rhubarb rhubarb*

And in other news...

The dreaded football season is on us again, and the day I feared has come to pass - Misses M and H no longer play at the same time. They still play at the same venue (Thank you Thank you Illawarra AFL Assoc!) but now the U-10s play at 9am, and the Auskicks (U-8s) play at 10am.
Which means we were at the ground from 8:30am until 11:30am. The twins were going stir-crazy!
But: Miss M is the only girl in her team, and on Saturday was the only girl on the field, and she played a blinder! She's got a good boot on her, and is *almost* getting marks. Which is a start. And she's taken to tackling with gusto - took down a boy twice her size and then set up a perfect goal! Yay! to Miss M!
Final score: 72 to 1 (and that one behind was scored by one of our boys playing for the other side, so really it was 73 - nil)
Miss H did some kicking. And some pole-dancing. And demonstrated some impressive debating skillz - no, indeed, Wollongong is NOT part of Sydney. Yay! to Miss H!

Sunday Bloody Sunday

I'm sitting here in my kitchen on a blustery Sunday afternoon watching the clouds scoot over the Escarpment, causing the sky to alternately lighten and darken again in response...

Some randomness for you...

* I'm cooking Bolognese, as it's Miss H's birthday in 2 days time, and her grandparents are coming down for a special dinner tonight. She proves her kinship with her uncle PossumBoy in that her response, each and every time, to the question "What do you want for your Birthday Dinner?" is "LASAGNE!"
Dad has taken her on a shopping trip for her birthday. To Westfield Bondi Junction. Her present is whatever they pick out together. Last time he did this she ended up with a pair of bright pink tassle-y boots which she adored. I am dreading her arrival home this evening...


* I'm eating a pomegranate. I love them, despite the extreme effort involved in eating them, and also despite the fact that my fingers are now stained pink... They make me feel exotic and Greek Goddess-like.


* I'm supposed to be writing a post for the new collaborative blog We do talk about our kids, but I'm having a shocking attack of blog-fright. All the other contributors are so articulate and intelligent and intimidatingly Melbourne... And besides, my kids have done nothing cute or sweetly-sentimental in the last couple of days. In fact I think they've got a bet running as to which of them can irritate me the most.


* I have atrocious sinus-allergy type sniffles. I'm blaming the fact that I had to go sifting through the vacuum dust-bag to rescue various pieces of Lego... Plus, even though we supposedly got an extra hour sleep this morning, nobody told the twins, so they woke up at 4:30am and refused to go back to sleep. See! I told you they're in cahoots!

* Is it sad that I love watching the ABC's election night coverage? L.O.V.E. it! Antony Green is the thinking woman's, um, political analyst?
I stood at the polling booth yesterday, confronted with my ballot paper and was overcome with dismay. I couldn't vote for any of them - I just couldn't bring myself to do it, and so voted informal for the first time in my life. I made it back to the car before bursting into tears. MrB thinks that I have too strong a sense of social responsibility. Is this possible??? I couldn't even vote for the CDP, which is my usual two-fingered salute to the Establishment. Yeah, I know, Don't say anything.
(Oh My Goodness - whoever tried to read that sentence last night would have thought I was going mad! Its's fixed now...)

And now I must bake. It's a Cross I must bear...

Sleeping Like a Baby

I'm not feeling overly well right now.

I have a headache.

And it's a big fat headache that won't be shifted with either caffeine OR Extra Strong PainKillers.


I'm blaming neither the 1/2 of a bottle of SSB, nor the 1/2 200gm packet of Raffaello chocolates (they're use-by tomorrow - I had to eat them, otherwise it would be profligate wastage) I consumed last night while kicking back and shouting at the TV (as is my wont).

I'm blaming Miss O who was hysterically screaming when I went to bed.
And, because MrB needed a good nights sleep due to his attendance at some special course in Parramatta over the next two days, I decided to take said Missy to the spare (double) bed.

Bloody Child!

I swear she managed to squidge around so much I got zero sleep. ZERO! She slept like a log. A log that moves around a lot. At once stage she was lying across the bed, with me clinging to spare 5cm of edge. And everytime I moved her, she'd magically roll back into the exact same position. Without waking up.

And the worst bit: being woken by an extremely bright and chirpy child demanding her 'brekfrust' at 6am. Urgh! Argh!

Need more coffee...

She's my Barbie Girl...

Yesterday Miss M and I took our first faltering steps on the Slippery Slope.

Together.

Holding hands.













*whispers* We shopped at Supre.



And now we're doomed. Or rather, she's doomed. Doomed to an adolescence wearing ugh boots and canary-yellow short shorts. With a hot pink headband.

ARGH!!!! It's my nightmares come to life!



It all started innocently enough - there was a rack of cheapy cheap t-shirts (Only $5!) in such bright and pretty colours - and there were some kids Miss M's age (or height anyways) perusing the rails. Hmm I thought - I didn't know Supre did kid sizes. Maybe we should check out these t-shirts...


It's all a ploy people! Next thing we knew we deep in the bowels of the shop, picking out sun dresses in size 3XS (SALE! Only $15!). She was in wonderland... jersey dresses and boob toobs and assorted crappy teenybopperwear.

And I facilitated this... I am so ashamed...


And as we were waiting in the queue for the changerooms, Barbie Girl was playing over the PA, and she was humming along, bouncing for goodness sakes... I think they were playing Hits! Of 1998 or something, as the next song was It's Like That By Run DMC vs Jason Nevins, which made me bounce. But only on the inside. Because even I realise that it is uncool for your mother to dance to the instore entertainment...

We resisted the multi-hued jersey cotton things (wasitcoats? bizarre t-shirty bits? Why does Supre have so many clothes that are really really confusing?) and stuck with 2 gorgeous crisp cotton sundresses (patterned so that it doesn't matter so much that she has nothing to fill the bodice - salesgirl's words, not mine).

Miss M floated out of the store with her hot pink Supre bag slung over her shoulder and I officially aged a full generation.


So, to sum up: I am old.
But my daughter helpfully pointed out that I could fit in the Large, nay the MEDIUM size sundresses and then we could match... 'S OK honey, I don't need the validation that much...

Wicked Witch of the East

The girls have been warned:

Social services and local authorities in the northern Austrian town of Linz are coming under fire following press reports that three girls were kept locked up in their mother's house for seven years.

The three girls, now aged 14, 18 and 21, lived in almost complete darkness, surrounded by rubbish and rats, not attending school and hardly ever leaving the house after their parents divorced, Austrian newspapers reported.

It's very sad, and not something to be laughed at. Really.

Except I left the SMH story open on the laptop, and my lurking daughters couldn't help themselves...

hahaha!

All I had to say was 'You'd better watch yourselves, or you'll end up in the Pit!' and they scurried off to bed with no hassles at all...

And then came back upstairs for kisses and cuddles, because they know their mummy loves them...

Cherub

Poor Miss I - she was so tuckered out after a mad day of, erm, being 2, that she fell asleep at dinner. This being Miss I, it is highly unusual for her to have not eaten her dinner first...

Cherish...

Mid-way through our dedicated girly-day on Saturday, Miss M came to a shattering conclusion...



Madonna spends an awful lot of her video time writhing around on the floor.




Now, I kinda knew this already, but it took the clarity of a 9 year old to really make me realise the truth...

After the first ballroom dancing lesson, (yay! We love it ! We learned the samba and the salsa and the jive and the waltz! - them. Huh? In an hour? - me) we headed into the Gong for a flippy skirt for Miss H, because as we all know, you just can't dance properly in jeans... (you also can't dance properly when you have congenital unco-ness, but that's another story). So, Best & Less provided a cheap, yet suitably flippy skirt for Miss H, (and an adorable black shirt-dress for Miss M), I avoided the urge to indulge in some blatant flirting with the lovely Bill at the DJs kitchenware counter (mainly because I was playing mother-hen to two over-excited tweens, and feeling decidedly frumpy), and we trooped off for Sushi Train. Because I have the best daughters in the whole wide world. Who prefer fish-egg sushi to maccas and donuts! Yay!

Okuma Sushi Train has this massive TV screen over the kitchen window, and I'm guessing it was the 'OMG! Can he be any camper!' waitperson chose the DVD, because it was Madonna's Immaculate Collection. We walked in halfway through Material Girl, and left just after Cherish, having wandered the byways of nostalgia through Papa Don't Preach (Italians Do It Better!) and La Isla Bonita. It was during Like a Prayer, when I managed to tear M's gaze away from the screen for long enough to choose another plate of sushi (she was transfixed. The entire visit...) she commented, in passing,

M: gee! this person likes lying down a lot doesn't she?
Me: Do you know who it is?
M: Nope.
Me: It's Madonna!
M: Oh. Right. I know Madonna. I've seen her on Rage.
[Me, aside, huh? When have you seen Rage? Ohhhhh. That's right. When you come upstairs at 6am on a Sat morning, and I choose to completely disregard my commitment to Accountable Parenting by telling you to go watch TV. And being the good indoctrinated girl that you are, you only watch the ABC]
M: Is she a Christian then?
Me: er, no. I don't think so - the crosses are making a political statement. It caused a big scandal when it was released about, um, (OMG! How old am I?) 20 years ago. But I don't think God was really bothered about it, to be honest.
M: Oh. Right. *loses attention immediately*


It was a great little nostalgia trip, and made me think about how pretty Madonna used to be. In Like a Prayer, she's bopping around, all carefree and girly... with y'know body fat and all. Not much, just enough to cover the muscles and sinews. Just enough to make her look cuddly and glowy... Unlike the recent video clip I saw, with that feral leotard and the glazed expression *I must stay focused! I cannot grow old! I cannot have body fat! I must be a lean, mean, dancing machine! I must stay cutting-edge! I am Madonna! I am the Queen of Pop! Bow down and worship meeeee!* There's just no fun anymore.

She just seems to be trying too hard.


Says I, who's never tried hard at anything in her life. I am life's piker. Pfft.

... and waning...

I had a brainwave in the shower this morning - a total Oprah light bulb moment...
(See? Chesty - this is evidence of the insidious invasion of Ms Winfrey into popular culture, indeed, into our very consciousness. I don't even watch the damn woman! And haven't in literally 10 years! When will it end???)

Anyway, cultural snobbery aside, my idea:

(And I should probably add, that I had just waxed my underarms before stepping into the shower... 6 hours later they still hurt... Is that TMI???)

This is a professional wax warmer... For those of you who have never encountered one.

I mean, I have four daughters, so it's going end up costing me a fortune for professional waxing. I think it's the perfect solution!

I only have a couple of concerns:

• Will we turn into the creepy Nads family, with bizarre waxing demonstrations on morning television. And broad cheesy smiles with big hair and horrid lippie?

• Will the girls end up inventing an even more horrific form of waxing than the infamous 'Brazilian' sisters of New York...?

• Do I think too much???? Mex seems to think so. I'm starting to believe her.

******************

Update: A friend has just advised me that his daughter had her legs waxed last week - she started High School this week aged 12, and her mother wanted to pre-empt any 'hairiness' issues she might have. Is this weird, or is it just me?

Trains, Trains and um more trains...?

It's funny how you can live in a place for over 10 years (well, minus 4 years in Eastbourne, but that's not the point) and one day discover a magically special place that you never knew existed... You can drive past it a couple of times a month, and never even think about what that great big sign saying 'Illawarra Live Steamers' means... Wollongong continues to surprise and delight me, almost 11 years on...


On Sunday we went to a 4th birthday party. A train-obsessed 4 year old boy's (aren't they all?) birthday party. And it was held at the Illawarra Live Steamers park in North Wollongong. Now I had never heard of it, but the locals knew exactly what it was - a gorgeous shady park, encircled with train tracks. And a cute little station. And miniature steam trains. Loads of 'em. And once a month the club members all bring their steam trains to the park and drive little (and big) kids around and around the park all day. It rocked!


Unfortunately I discovered something else whilst there... something I'm not too happy about. It started when MrB almost burst out of skin with excitment when he realised what a treasure the ILS is. And continued when he started babbling about wanting to go on the LMS. The huh? I hear you ask...? The LMS. It's a train (well der...) but a particular train. A train that MrB had when obsessed with model trains. A train that his father still has, and which he's going to do up when he (MrB's dad) rededicates his life to his model train set soon... This has me worried and perplexed. Surely if I was Catholic this would be grounds for an annulment... how can he have kept this, this thing secret from me...?



And apparently we're going back next month (the last Sunday of every month! We now have the schedule on the calendar!) with MrB's dad and train-obsessed nephew.

The horror! The horror!