Done......

An hour in front of the TV and I'm up to date.
Now I can go on holiday and take more photos and maybe I'll be more prompt in uploading them next time.
Maybe......

The dam

The dams are full.
That's right. 100%. Full.
I took a photo just in case I never see it again.
Funnily enough now that it is full 'Lake' Burley Griffin looks less like a lake than it usually does. The large trees and so on floating downstream really make it look like a river in flood.

Sold!

Yep, we sold the house in Sydney.

WOOOOOOTTTTT!!!

The School Disco

The boys went to their first disco. The Mountain Man took them while I stayed home watching grown up TV.


They insisted on posing with their skateboards...


and then hugged each other for a while.

They had a blast but Y6 was a bit traumatised by not being selected by the DJ to win a dance competition.

Young

We drove to Young to pick Cherries!
Yum!


The boys ate as much as they put in the bucket....

but we filled it in the end.


Look at the little guy! I'd go and give him a big squishy hug right now if I wasn't scared of waking him up.

Lennox Head

I love Lennox Head. Every time I go it's a bit busier and a little more chichi. I guess one day it will lose its charm but for now it's still wonderful.


My gorgeous niece came to visit.


We went for coffee.


We went to the beach...

and fished.


The Mountain Man caught a fish (and learnt that if you keep bait in your pocket you don't need to visit the bait bucket so often).....


and enjoyed the signage at the local gym.


We built sandcastles.

Dad took us out fishing on a boat.




Dino Boy caught a Bream...


and Y6 caught a flathead.
Later we ate them.


We had a wonderful time. The boys went to the bakery with their Aunt almost every morning. I would have taken photos but I was too busy sleeping in. My sister rocks!!


The boys were worn out by end of the week.

Another birthday.

Graciousness is 13.
A teenager!


We celebrated with cake. She was very enthusiastic.

Dress-up day

They had international dress-up day at pre-school.


Of course DinoBoy had an outfit ready for just such an occasion.
No idea what's up with that pose.

Happy Birthday Y6.

Mr Y turned 6. That's pretty grown up.


We bought a cake and the mountain man decorated it.


The Mountain Man also makes a pretty handy ladder.


T-Rex was meant to be Dino Boy's consolation prize but Y6 adopted him.


Mmmmmm cake!!!

Playing catch up again......

I keep meaning blog more but I keep finding other stuff to do and now I'm miles behind....
I'm going away for 2 weeks soon so if I don't do it now I'll be even further behind.

I guess that I'll do about 6 posts tonight and then I won't bother again for another 4 months or so

Blog Of The Month.

For reasons I can't be bothered to explain this blog entry made my day. My week in fact.

So I'm awarding Pithy Shit the highly coveted inaugural Quacking Quackeroos Blog of the Month Award.


It comes with a trophy.

Congratulations DinoBoy

I'm having a bit of a moment here. One of those nauseating proud Mummy moments that makes everyone want to vomit. Turn away now if you don't want to hear how amazing my son is. On Sunday my little DinoBoy had his first ever ski races.

The races were funnee. Other than DinoBoy my favourites were the boy who assumed the position and missed half the gates and the little girl with hot pink bases who whizzed down in a snow-plow and nearly wiped out at the bottom (she won the littler kids race).
We judged that maybe DinoBoy had gone fast enough for a 3rd so we were pretty chuffed with him.
I nearly fell off my chair when they called out 1st place. It was DinoBoy!!! I'd put down the phone when he didn't get called for 3rd so there was a mad scramble to find it and get a picture.


For a moment there I channeled Damir Dokic. It's a heady moment when your little boy wins the under 5 ski race.


He's kind of shy is DinoBoy so he was pretty unsure about all the attention but he was also really, really happy. It's not easy being 16 months younger and always coming second to your brother.

The Rules!

I just found this in my lounge room. Y5 has written down the rules so that DinoBoy won't forget them. Y5 is very keen on rules. I have no idea where he gets that from.

No food in the toilet. No toys at school. No hurtin'.

I really must stop droppin' my G's.

Memories...

I didn't write this. I found it while I was going through old files on my computer and deleting the dross. My sister's friend wrote it after Mum died and was kind enough to send it to us (or maybe she sent it to my sister and my sister sent it to me - I can't remember). It made laugh and sook just a bit. I'm posting this one for me, so that if my house burns down I don't lose it.

I've changed some names into initials because I'm a bit uptight like that....

Memories of Mrs G (Iona)from JB

• I remember her first in the kitchen at Merriwee, sitting down to have a cuppa from the old kettle that was on the ever-hot Aga, smoking cigarettes, her hands and face brown from the sun, taking L and I seriously when we talked about the books we were studying with Mr Rose in English, probing us to check that our education was indeed progressing as it should, being NEGS girls.

• The time we went digging for asparagus spears in the old chook yards with old kitchen knives, and then transformed them into food-of-the-gods at dinner with melted butter and black pepper, served by candlelight in the dining room with proper silver and napkins.

• How one time she chased C round the kitchen table with a wooden spoon and I was horribly embarrassed, but also secretly comforted that other mothers smacked their children too.

• Pruning old heritage roses outside the verandah, admiring their tenacity, and her tenacity, talking about things in a way that helped me feel like I was a growing-up person and worth knowing.

• Her hooting with laughter at some joke of Anthony's, her face creasing with delight, and that husky throatiness that I knew came from her smoking - that I wished she'd give up, but knew she never would because she enjoyed it.

• When I was despairing of ever finding a suitable boyfriend, she quietly reassured me that it was much better to be single and have a happy life than marry someone I didn't love completely.

• The way she always seemed to respond to drought and disasters stoically and somewhat wryly, but mostly showing how much she loved the land and her life at Merriwee and was not going to be daunted by a mere climatic set-back. She almost seemed part of the landscape, seeing her walking across to the woolshed in her jeans and faded old shirts, with her ancient cloth hat and scarf (in spite of the heat) to protect her neck and décolletage.

• Making mayonnaise one day from scratch, on a hot still day, flies stuck to the fly-papers so thickly there wasn't room for any more, learning how to use the ancient Kenwood and finally triumphing with a "de-lish-ous" creamy mayonnaise that was all eaten up the very next day by the rous-abouts and shearers.

• The fierce combativeness between her and Mr G when they were arguing over things like solutions to the Times Crossword in the evenings after dinner, but-darling-ing each other and sometimes getting very cross - a new experience for me, as I had rarely heard my parents disagree with each other, let alone get cross with each other.

• The surprise at seeing her, dressed up, with pearls gleaming against her weathered skin, looking like her elegant youthful portrait in the dining room, her beauty glowing through in spite of the Aussie roughening that seemed to blur her features in the white light of day.

• Driving into Warwick with her in the "baby-pooh tank", going ever-so slowly at 80 kph ALL the way, when we were newly licensed and itching to experience life in the fast lane, and learning that perhaps there is more to life than increasing its speed. Certainly you save on petrol if you only drive at 80!

• Quiet talks about God and prayer, and how faith is something that one either has or doesn't have, and that you don't actually need to go to church or act religious in order to have it. And that thanks-giving is probably the best sort of prayer to pray.

• Letting L and I have our freedom and go to parties and stay up late talking to the jackeroos, knowing that only by trusting us would we learn those things that no mother can teach.

• How she insisted on building the ha-ha, even though it took ages, and how wonderful it was at L and P's wedding reception when we were waving good-bye to them in the helicopter.

• Iona's abiding message to me was that a good education allows a woman to respect herself and stand her ground in any company, and that men and women can work together as equals. She also taught me that drinking shandy is an excellent way of limiting one's alcohol intake at social gatherings, and never to mix my drinks!

Please vacate this seat.....

Please vacate this seat because judging by her body language you've got about 5 seconds before the angry expectant mother punches you in the face.

Of Empathy and Psychopathy.

I've always thought of myself as good people. I feel bad for those less fortunate than me. I've been known to have a sook at the news. I believe in the presumption of innocence. I've never started inappropriate fires or tortured pets.
I hate it when people laugh at the misfortunes of other people and I've always assumed that if something bad were to happen to someone I didn't like I would feel bad for them.
WRONG!

I have discovered that if I don't like you and something bad happens to you that I won't care. I won't laugh but even though I know I should force up some sympathy I will find it impossible. I've been a bit freaked out by this. For a while there I thought that maybe I was a psychopath after all. No-one likes psychopaths (except those women who write to them in prison) so obviously I wasn't happy about my new-found psycopathy. I have been reassured that I'm not a psychopath and it's ok/human not to have much sympathy for people we dislike. Even so, I'm a bit disappointed in myself. Maybe I'm not good people after all.

Now, where did I put the gaffer tape and my cable ties?

Spring....

I saw a Rosella eating Cherry Blossoms today. It was kind of incongruous and rather beautiful. I was going to go all Sei Shōnagon on you but I'm just not channeling the Heian ear today so I took a photo instead. The Rosella flew away so you just have to imagine it.

Moral Turpitude

An ad for a $907 fare to L.A. just appeared in front of me. Which led me to wondering about U.S. visas, which led me to the U.S Customs and Border Protection website, which led me to their visa application section where I read this question.

Have you ever been arrested or convicted for an offense or crime involving moral turpitude*.... or are you seeking entry to engage in criminal or immoral activities?

Crimes involving moral turpitude - Such offenses generally involve conduct which is inherently base, vile, or depraved and contrary to the accepted rules of morality and the duties owed to persons or society in general. There are factors, such as the age of the offender or the date of the offense, that may affect whether an offense will be considered a crime involving moral turpitude for purposes of the Immigration and Nationality Act.

What the? I once owned a pair of denim cowgirl boots with rhinestones**. That is definitely depraved and contrary to the accepted rules of morality. They do say that factors such as the age of the offender may affect whether it is considered a crime so in my defense I can say that I was only 13 at the time.

Am I seeking to engage in immoral activities? Does ordering porn on the hotel TV count because I never do that.
I do swear - I swear a lot. Some people consider that immoral. I'm not seeking to engage in any sweary activity but if the oppurtunity to swear arises I will not shrink away from it. If I'm not actively seeking to engage in immoral activities but the opportunity for immorality arises is that OK or is it a violation of my visa? Say a stripper in Vegas propositions me..... hmmm am I even allowed to go to Las Vegas? Many people consider gambling to be immoral and I've just said that I'm not seeking to engage in immoral activities.
OK a stripper propositions me in...... maybe not a stripper because visiting a strip joint is immoral..... OK, an off duty stripper who I meet whilst photographing some morally upright tourist site.
You know what. I've forgotten where I was going with this.

If I have to fill out that visa I'm just going to tick the box marked 'NO' because I doubt that the good people at U.S Customs and Border Protection want to discuss comparative morality they just want to know that I'm not going to blow them up.

I won't. I promise. Not on purpose anyway.


**Can I just say that I love the phrase moral turpitude. It's almost as marvelous as slatternly wench.
*I have committed other crimes against fashion but that's the only one I'm admitting to today.

What does my loo say about me?

OK!! I've been stewing on this for a long time. Maybe 4 years by now, maybe longer, ever since the offending ad made it's debut appearance on TV. Even though I don't watch enough commercial TV to see it anymore and it may in fact have been removed from the air it still bugs me.
You might know the ad, the one where a mother has all her friends over to coo over the newborn (it looks about 3 months old but that's how babies are born in Advertistan) and one of her friends asks where the loo is. Mother looks freaked out but then remembers that she's got some kind of chemical loo blue in there which will save her from the humiliation of a dirty loo. Even if I could remember which brand it was I wouldn't tell you.
AAAAGHHH!!!!!
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. So wrong!! On so many levels!!

She's just pushed out a 3 month old baby and she's worried that people will judge her about her loo?
Where is her husband in all of this? Obviously she has a husband because the only single mum in Adverdistan is the one in the Salvos ad (I'm going to take a leap and say that blue loo Mum and Salvos Mum aren't in the same mother's group). Why is no-one staring at her husband in horror because her loo isn't clean enough to operate in?
Why on earth do our loos need to be clean enough for us to perform surgery in them? My uncle once spayed my cat in our laundry (he is vet not just an enthusiastic amateur) but generally operations are performed in rooms specially designed for them. Loos are specially designed for performing our natural functions. So why, oh why, do they need to be polished till they sparkle with antiseptic this, that and the other? There is no need for something to be antiseptically clean in order to receive our waste.
In most homes the bathroom has less germs than the kitchen!! This says to me that maybe we can relax a bit about our loos. Just so long as the smell is kept to a minimum (a window can help with this - the best air freshener is fresh air) and skid marks are removed by the offender I think we can all survive without loos that smell of lavender in spring or green tea and cucumber.

So anyway....... before I got all ranty what was the question?
What does my loo say about me? Nothing!! It can't talk! If it could talk it would probably say that I have more important things to worry about* than keeping my loo pristine in case a visiting medical team need it for surgery.


I can't write for so long about loos without including this one from Japan.

*Important stuff such as ranting on the interwebz, visiting People of Walmart, checking with the BOM before doing a load of washing, reading novels and other riveting and important matters.

Brothers - a tip for you.

If you can still count the years since you reached puberty on your fingers you are too young for a moustache.


If you are Tom Selleck you can grow a moustache.


If you are Brad Pitt you can grow a moustache.

If you are the Mountain Man you can grow a moustache.

If you are a 20 year old snowboarder with a goggle tan you should hold off for a few years.

This has been a public service announcement bought to you by Quacking Quackeroos.

There's no need for anyone to go hungry in Canberra.

You can just eat a 'roo.
I saw this mob on the golf course when I was taking the dog for a walk this morning. I counted 50 but I'm sure I missed some. It must make putting interesting. I wonder what the rules regarding 'roos are - are they a loose impediment? A movable obstruction? An immovable obstruction? Can they be moved or must one play around/through them?

I'm such a numpty!

I went to Brisbane for the weekend with Y5 & I4. We had a blast and I didn't take a single photo. I'm really kicking myself right now.

Which is actually a pretty funny image once you think about it literally.

I rode the pipe!

Oh yes I did!!
I never saw myself in the park. I'm more an off-piste/back-country kinda girl (in my head at least - the half-hour I once spent digging myself out of some powder shall not be spoken of) but on Sunday before last I had an hour to kill and the pipe was empty. Someone has to ski there....
I'm still sort of surprised that I tried it but you know what - it was fantabulous. Heaps faster and steeper than I expected and it was less uniform than it looks from outside. It was really icy on skier's right where the wind had scoured it and has some fresh blown into the middle. I haven't had an adrenaline rush like that for ages.
I might just go back.
Sometimes it's good to take a jump out of your comfort zone :)

I didn't have my phone because it was in the Mountain man's pocket so here are some other people's pictures.


Here is one of the sucker being built.


And here is the finished product.

A tooth!!

A lost tooth!!!

Y4 lost his first tooth. No-one was expecting it so were all a bit freaked out for a moment. I was thrown into a bit of a spin about what to pay for a tooth. Luckily facebook helped me out and he got about $3 worth of change for his tooth.

Another first

I4 started pre-school 2 days a week.

Periser

See anything wrong with this photo?


How about this one?

The mountain man has many admirable qualities. Spelling isn't one of them.

Snowman

We built a snowman at Perisher. I campaigned for a stumpier neck but I was outvoted.

His head had fallen off within an hour!!

What's that?

I bet you're trying to figure out what the hell that is.

That, my friends, is a percussion based musical instrument that is played with a pencil in one hand and a chop stick in the other.

I guess it's my fault for not letting them have battery powered toys.