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.