tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89622184007595771322024-03-14T08:05:41.322-07:00artistica domesticaanniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.comBlogger341125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-84152783957717465912016-12-19T07:04:00.000-08:002016-12-19T07:04:14.627-08:00Vex-erciseHexercise...<br />
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She is not my leetle friend any more. We have fallen out. It was a little tiff. She felt I was not prioritising her over other pressing issues in life- like eating and gestating. Anyway, I just ran into her late at night or rather walked into her in a dark street and it all came rushing back to me..<br />
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Having done little or no exercise for some time now, I was knocking back some crab dip at my thin friend's house the other night when she mentioned she might have some clothes I could use for work. Since all my old work clothes seem to have paint on them, I thought I'd have a gander as she has much better taste than me and doesn't ever use paint. On her way to the laundry to gather her gear, I realised how trim she was looking and commented on her equally trim jeans. "Yes, these are size tens...", she shyly mentioned and the penny dropped.<br />
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She was going to give me her fat clothes.<br />
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Don't get me wrong. I love any of her clothes even if they are a little tatty, for her tatty and mine are poles apart. I have been known to bolster up a hem with a stapler if pushed to an extreme. She gives things away if they have a busted zip. I am happy to repair such items. All of these clothes though were completely intact. They were just too big for her. They are her fat clothes ... and they are too small for me!<br />
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In a desperate bid to fit into these gorgeous off casts, I am going to try to shed a few kilos to become the woman she one was. Strangely, doctors' dire warnings about improved prognoses with exercise and a slowly dwindling range of my own fitting clothes did nothing to spur me to action. I was just too tired. However, there is a sweet pair of her nipped in black capris that I'd love to prance about in.<br />
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The issue is when to exercise though. The morning has been claimed by the fiendish "Where are my" brigade. So instead, I have harnessed my cranky pants and will ride into the sunset every evening at precisely the time they all start to give me a bad dose of the irrits. There will be no trainers or lycra, no dimwit doggy, sniffing concrete and walking three times around a post. Nor will there be water bottles or gadgets that tell me how many steps I have gone. No ipod or phone shall sully my serenity for I will go on a spur of the moment in thongs and jeans and an old jumper. I will be driven by the hunger for skinny trousers and some brain zen. There will be no set time, simply the impulse to lose my saddle bags and not my shit. It should take me a good forty minutes to cool off, heat up and do a lap of the block.<br />
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Last night I came back invigorated, calm and convinced I had lost five kilos. (The ugly Kmart boyfriend jeans stretch very easily.) My son was shocked that I had walked around the block on my own in the dark. "There are crazy people out there, Mum! You could be in real danger!" I smiled at him, intoxicated with oxygen and the wagging of bath time and muttered through gritted teeth, "They wouldn't dare and if they did, I'd shred 'em. Bring it on!!!" It hadn't occurred to him that maybe his mother WAS one of the crazy people, bless...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting exercise last century some time...</td></tr>
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<br />anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com107tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-66868638792912568572015-05-07T00:35:00.000-07:002015-05-07T00:35:57.407-07:00Burnt bunting and baggage<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We have baggage. Heavy, hormonal baggage. Ironically, whilst I'm on drugs to suppress mine, I've particularly noticed the proliferation of grunty, teenage hormones that are charming and chatty one minute, then snarly and monosyllabic the next. At least our three he-teens generally like to rotate the foulness between them. When they get a little tired of being grouchy they pass the baton of beastliness to another brother from the same mother and have a little lie down in a scratchy bed of angst. It's harder for the she-teen for she must carry the banner of flouncy, high pitched she hormones nobly aloft on her roller coaster mood ride though. Tres dramatique!!!<br />
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The one below (see fig. 1) doesn't usually carry much "baggage" although, like most students of today, she does need to carry a ridiculous number of bags. For Year One there is the swimming bag, the library bag, the homework folder and the big bag for anything else you might need. Remember when you took a "port" with a pencil case, a sandwich and an apple allowing us to grow up with healthy backs and undamaged spines except for the fact that we have to carry<b> their</b> bags!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilwS3YYqI_I9Xc-d7GmQTI7EO_tH0JjsR3DXoP-WBULq3jISf8ibWByi08fJ0pdh_cy2jz2vOvE4MldZh69kXHi8ZmnFzJUqcyQSrOUWtNQ8c5IGE9dbIHSO2yToPC_1KyAtihFYwOpA0/s1600/IMG_2853.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilwS3YYqI_I9Xc-d7GmQTI7EO_tH0JjsR3DXoP-WBULq3jISf8ibWByi08fJ0pdh_cy2jz2vOvE4MldZh69kXHi8ZmnFzJUqcyQSrOUWtNQ8c5IGE9dbIHSO2yToPC_1KyAtihFYwOpA0/s1600/IMG_2853.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">figure 1</td></tr>
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Due to the excessive number of bags required to deliver a six year old party to the park, the Short One was told quite clearly that we would not be playing musical chairs and carting 15+ chairs or cushions to her party. (I never did know exactly how many children came to that event.)<br />
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It was the one game she wanted and she would even forego the tedious parcel passing if the chair game was permitted. So we compromised and played musical paper plates. They stood in a line and passed the plates along so they had one each and stood on their plates in a row. Lala's friend played the Gruffalo's Child on the portable Barbie CD player and they all flitted about being fairies and elves and butterflies and mosquitoes. (see fig.2a) We just took a plate away each time till it was over. Much more fun than a line of hard furniture. Each child that was out got to run up for a lolly and a pat of the dog with the father of the birthday girl and there was no prize for last man standing- just another lolly and pat of the dog. You could even recycle the plates and serve deconstructed rainbow cake on them (see fig. 2b) but I didn't - people were watching.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXdDhKbtn6XbB4FDKoOabelOgQm2JKYK-sSESKPm2e9uhGjHhDvOmq3oto1qax6XiKVx-88tutBn16NxJH7dwsH2esPtDFmL8K558n3CfgevsZzCrIYC-AO56M1X8e8vGWp5IaRVXeDI4/s1600/DSC_0054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="411" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXdDhKbtn6XbB4FDKoOabelOgQm2JKYK-sSESKPm2e9uhGjHhDvOmq3oto1qax6XiKVx-88tutBn16NxJH7dwsH2esPtDFmL8K558n3CfgevsZzCrIYC-AO56M1X8e8vGWp5IaRVXeDI4/s1600/DSC_0054.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">figure 2a</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWyt3KPju2f8VtkEViHWQgTungsFL3wFcGBrmpF47ZL6XKHLWnOU_ulf5UtGPZ6mRXi5E-5OgDfUQHPMRA-hqOvQWWy4U0osrelUiVb2AFpbyucYHG7ROl98Jj3BWBDlseg0Amnrr5XpA/s1600/IMG_2900.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWyt3KPju2f8VtkEViHWQgTungsFL3wFcGBrmpF47ZL6XKHLWnOU_ulf5UtGPZ6mRXi5E-5OgDfUQHPMRA-hqOvQWWy4U0osrelUiVb2AFpbyucYHG7ROl98Jj3BWBDlseg0Amnrr5XpA/s1600/IMG_2900.jpg" width="348" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">figure 2b</td></tr>
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As it turns out I could have though because they were distracted by the beautiful Japanese paper bunting on the cake which is apparently highly flammable. Who knew? (see fig. 3) I cheered and blew out the bunting before throwing it on the table and patting it out. They all looked up and paused and cheered too. She will always remember the birthday where there was hot flung bunting (not to be confused with hot flung chicken from the boys' parties) and they danced on the mock crockery. Hopefully it will be a good memory and not something she will consider "baggage".<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijsKbmIim273Lcutgzp7wqRXIneKu_acgCFyCH1lUk2W9rO0MOPCwxDs2PVrXV-_pAGP3sZuhPI4H-FeQmxnrIIEL_UqVCIAni8fI723x5YUJN8LXlfOhsmPwXegB2TDp2FoR9h2Sfj4U/s1600/DSC_0080.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijsKbmIim273Lcutgzp7wqRXIneKu_acgCFyCH1lUk2W9rO0MOPCwxDs2PVrXV-_pAGP3sZuhPI4H-FeQmxnrIIEL_UqVCIAni8fI723x5YUJN8LXlfOhsmPwXegB2TDp2FoR9h2Sfj4U/s1600/DSC_0080.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">figure 3</td></tr>
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Luckily the big boys were there to take photos....<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifkp5aTCWfLhn5YBPHIM92lz4W7OpABhn1ym0P0PfnNxg4mZrHMhR3Q-EqFQ3KMNz15DlY5g2APgZLUT6nE9hF7hMAu-c_dcZmCNXha4qN67QXdrcOTFq64Ahdsai9IsHQU6r8peZNFm0/s1600/DSC_0032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifkp5aTCWfLhn5YBPHIM92lz4W7OpABhn1ym0P0PfnNxg4mZrHMhR3Q-EqFQ3KMNz15DlY5g2APgZLUT6nE9hF7hMAu-c_dcZmCNXha4qN67QXdrcOTFq64Ahdsai9IsHQU6r8peZNFm0/s1600/DSC_0032.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Go figure</td></tr>
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<br />anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-47032664733912367762015-03-29T18:11:00.000-07:002015-03-29T18:11:07.872-07:00ReunionHello my lovelies. It's been so long but a lot happened since that last post.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAsJ_Z0ms1_lrylw2k9TDzSjOruPd_4cTpdc8Mo8ISf2g2dcjpoKGqSojhd4vxqizcapFHK8vgR8DMWPU4Ck9yLJgLufZbHTOi5JjzYbj5j57pv2MGqiwxYanrObCPefGr1Md7MWKbIVk/s1600/IMG_0840.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAsJ_Z0ms1_lrylw2k9TDzSjOruPd_4cTpdc8Mo8ISf2g2dcjpoKGqSojhd4vxqizcapFHK8vgR8DMWPU4Ck9yLJgLufZbHTOi5JjzYbj5j57pv2MGqiwxYanrObCPefGr1Md7MWKbIVk/s1600/IMG_0840.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wonder where that mug got to...</td></tr>
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I've wondered about continuing here and would like to keep the record of our life happening for the childers. I have been guilty of climbing on the Instagram express because it is just so easy and quick and you don't have to be at a computer. Not that there's anything wrong with that it is just not as nourishing sometimes- a Macca's snack as opposed to a balanced full bloggy meal It just feels like time to reconnect and get some thoughts down and out of my head.<br />
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The very evening I wrote the last happy post in the cubby, we got a call that something nasty had been found in the excised breast reduction tissue. There I was all happy and chilled on my cloud 9 drugs thinking it was all done and dusted. Finally I had symmetry, new perkier ladies that were mine, all mine and they tell me it's all about to start again??? That was a whole three days of thinking we could maybe get back to being normal again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixpw7sY5xcRUHENr-aZfgphPt8qb8sISj7lbqmmZwCd2jaFnrj-whBJaSptw3u894Q3227wY4zLhDX-FTSR6jA6Y-bnixfl28R4Yf_qPkhXQSgWFB8GbBEq0xa-Em7HU7okNeC7j0jqCM/s1600/IMG_0856.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixpw7sY5xcRUHENr-aZfgphPt8qb8sISj7lbqmmZwCd2jaFnrj-whBJaSptw3u894Q3227wY4zLhDX-FTSR6jA6Y-bnixfl28R4Yf_qPkhXQSgWFB8GbBEq0xa-Em7HU7okNeC7j0jqCM/s1600/IMG_0856.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Must get back to the cubby this holiday for R and R.</td></tr>
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So it was a bit of a shock. When I mentioned this to the doctor who had performed the operation he commented that he was "a bit surprised" too. Of course he was, as he had not bothered to mark the tissue or request tumour margins or mentioned that I had a tiny bit of breast cancer history on his pathology request forms. So the pathology told us nothing- just that it was there. We don't know if there was more or if it was contained or if there were safe margins because he didn't ask for them in the most routine of tests usually done for that procedure. To make matters worse, the wee beasty lump had not shown up in the $500 non-rebatable MRI weeks before- or the ultrasound or the mammogram earlier in the year. I have rather lost faith in these ridiculously expensive tests. Anyhoo, the surgeon said he was a little surprised as he gazed out the window, giving me no eye contact and no apology. I would prefer not to see him again.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The annoying doctor Tweedle with his poking fingers.</td></tr>
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So the option was another mastectomy which could be followed by months of reconstructive surgery with expanders and implant to follow or a more conservative course of radium again. I opted for the latter. There was just one person who thought I should just be off with it's head to be sure to be sure, but I am still at more risk from the original B.C. and really could not face more surgery and hospitalisation after last year. The possibility of another muffinectomy to rebuild a breast was impossible as they had used it all up. If only they could do a buttockectomy- but alas. Maybe I'll regret it later but my mind just could not accept another major amputation and surgical recovery. My family simply wasn't up to it either.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-n8CTJEUJJvAu2Lel0MU9OaRspCZCNAoan0Ib81-xfqrd4rHCnNEBMCQgS1LrEsMM1nodEbH5ugHmeG6wJR3GDc5zojpnu_CLSdgBpn3OewsqCZy7Lai5DPpx_yThDA0fY2DskEPzNts/s1600/IMG_0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-n8CTJEUJJvAu2Lel0MU9OaRspCZCNAoan0Ib81-xfqrd4rHCnNEBMCQgS1LrEsMM1nodEbH5ugHmeG6wJR3GDc5zojpnu_CLSdgBpn3OewsqCZy7Lai5DPpx_yThDA0fY2DskEPzNts/s1600/IMG_0001.jpg" height="400" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Part of a graffiti piece from work that reminds me of radium treatment...</td></tr>
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The radium was much easier than last time as it wasn't as deep or ferocious. I kept working and going for the daily treatments but it got tiring toward the end as much from the daily drive to the hospital as from the radiation. It all wound up on Christmas Eve as a rather lovely present. The staff and doctor at the Wesley unit made it infinitely more tolerable and were like the gentlest family to me. To be honest the tiredness from the radium only hit me in the back to school weeks as it was the first time I had stopped and been without the offspring for a few hours. Oh yes. Did I mention I had to leave the most wonderful job in the world as it just didn't pay enough to cover the medical bills and children's expenses.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgncP-OP5NiPAiDMoVhhwhLZAZ2cZ2mhFtTonhnoc3xpEjhQercn0HnuIeWx3l18tPnGr032LLjtB33tf6gF1uRAanxJRcJUFF3Te70K0uAzSuOtC7tUUKJa_o0BKfbZD1W1cPkTWCo8-U/s1600/IMG_0446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgncP-OP5NiPAiDMoVhhwhLZAZ2cZ2mhFtTonhnoc3xpEjhQercn0HnuIeWx3l18tPnGr032LLjtB33tf6gF1uRAanxJRcJUFF3Te70K0uAzSuOtC7tUUKJa_o0BKfbZD1W1cPkTWCo8-U/s1600/IMG_0446.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from my old desk- sigh</td></tr>
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This is all a bit of a tirade. There was a lot to explain and a lot to get off my chest. (excuse the pun!)<br />
I have the time for a brief window to regroup and reconnect with you all if anyone is still out there. It seems many of us have gone over to the instagram side and I have caught up with a couple of you there but it did not feel like the way to share this wee story. Hopefully this clears up a few of the questions and kind enquiries from you gentle souls. Your support was always beyond imaginable when this began in 2012.<br />
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Sometimes it feels easier to be open to people outside the immediate family and friend circle where so much is clouded by emotion and angst and a misguided compulsion to try to help in all the wrong ways.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixVp65h-O1bMHS4_CJ7AWhek-j5X486tediB7kRErA7-mPg5BilK_IHVDBoJcnV77lf5N5x9q7yEI0huKQAX7b-eq7iChLG77sDl1K3IKmz9SU2ay5hhAzZGcwGMJg80AxNVLsutfxyYQ/s1600/IMG_1767.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixVp65h-O1bMHS4_CJ7AWhek-j5X486tediB7kRErA7-mPg5BilK_IHVDBoJcnV77lf5N5x9q7yEI0huKQAX7b-eq7iChLG77sDl1K3IKmz9SU2ay5hhAzZGcwGMJg80AxNVLsutfxyYQ/s1600/IMG_1767.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a "foxy-moron": when love stings</td></tr>
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Thanks for the past and for the now and, hopefully, for the future if I can get my blogojo back and there is somebody still reading out in the cyber wilderness.<br />
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Later....anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-51968090884236237392014-10-16T23:24:00.000-07:002014-10-20T21:35:50.879-07:00Pop Art Class<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The kids at work have been making pop art paintings. </div>
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I posed for some of them as I sped through the rooms.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq-AniSgvZAH1ZtshjZLwn8ERtz9eXMylVYCVdCrdSd_KQwwvL9E-08px2au2BIJgpkt45diTcFvgHzF25nNJg1KQzzNlRoP3kmwq68697tzIVALHH9BHiV8Z7kIm3yFJwGUxECIe7BEI/s1600/IMG_0505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq-AniSgvZAH1ZtshjZLwn8ERtz9eXMylVYCVdCrdSd_KQwwvL9E-08px2au2BIJgpkt45diTcFvgHzF25nNJg1KQzzNlRoP3kmwq68697tzIVALHH9BHiV8Z7kIm3yFJwGUxECIe7BEI/s1600/IMG_0505.jpg" height="400" width="302" /></a></div>
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Then mine made me cross on the way home because they wanted Maccas and I simply shan't buy it for them again. I shan't! </div>
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The big fella has been consumed with love for his puppy now she is one and all devoted and such. </div>
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We should have named her Diablo, the vixen!</div>
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Life has progressed with more deep and meaningful twists and turns of the medical and philosophical types. Questions, questions....I am all questioned out now and just need a little lie down. I am also very tired of popping my girls (I may start calling them "the nuns") out of my shirt at Dr Anybody-who-needs-a-look, last week three days in a row. I'd have less demand made on them if I loitered at Hooters, I tell you. </div>
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So I made a couple of these for my own boys' rooms. This one isn't finished as he needs his jewels (aka skull rings) to be tweaked.</div>
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This one is looking at me like I'm mad sitting here at 4:35 pm on Friday. I think I shall hang him at the entrance of the house to ward off all the teens that seem to wandering in and out of late. Some of them aren't even mine!</div>
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Speaking of Pop Art...my gorgeous four sisters took me to see a real live piece of Pop Art last Saturday night for my birthday/ recovery/ reunion celebration. It was at the Powerhouse which only rivals GOMA in my building affections and it was the funniest thing I have seen in years. We laughed so hard our throats still hurt the next morning. Maybe there should be a Medicare rebate for comedy tickets 'coz it's a LOT cheaper than the Wesley and it actually makes you feel better!!!!</div>
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"Sing out, Louise!"</div>
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anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-28131552203927855242014-10-01T22:35:00.000-07:002014-10-01T22:48:37.699-07:00Sanctuary<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today I realised why I had been blogging a lot less. Of course there is the obvious lack of time and energy when work becomes a full time prospect but there is also less quiet, still time to just notice those everyday marvels that I used to feel so compelled to record.</div>
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Due to the disease (whose name we will not mention today for I am cross with it)- I have spent a lot of this week lying on my back in an endone haze. Monday I had some reconstructive surgery which is all good and fine and dandy, then I read a whole book Tuesday, much of which I may not remember, and Wednesday I walked to my neighbour's for a cuppa and leg stretch- quite limited activity for a gadabout like myself.</div>
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Today Shorty and I were alone in a quiet house...like the olden days of yore when it was just her and I... everyday. We decided to do one of our favourite girl things together.</div>
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"Down the back" is getting less and less use from the older offspring as they tend to use out the front more with their own friends and a little more independence. Down the back has languished a little since the Year of Chunders.<br />
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The giant ginger plant that sheltered and fed the ladies with all manner of bugs and lizards has shrivelled to dry stumps in the drought but the recent rains has sent new shoots popping out all over.<br />
The ladies scratch around in relative chicken luxury under a bower of red hibiscus and taller natives.<br />
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The ladies' garden is back on track with egg production back to where it once was and the rain tank being full enough to get water down there.</div>
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That will help with getting these dormant old vege patches back into action. They died off and dried out when I lost the energy and will to tend to them in the Y.O.C. (Lets just call it YOK from now!)<br />
I'm thinking that stump of gum tree left over from the 2008 Gap storms would be good as a stool or table up the front. Too rustique? It will be considered.<br />
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Back in the cubby there are residual shells and stones from the beach holidays of years past and dingly dangly stuff from when the bigg-uns were wee-uns. All these things hold their own memories and make me smile.<br />
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Sitting, having a cup of tea, while Shorty Divine makes glitter sand cakes and chatters along with the cockatoos and chickens is like a restorative salve. I feel my back unknotting, my mind clearing and the anaesthetic residue wafting away on the warm, spring breeze. It's not New York or Straddy but it is my sanctuary above the chooks in the cubby with a cup of tea and my baby. Things are looking up.</div>
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Sing it, Johnny!</div>
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<br />anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-41444160338443392532014-09-18T19:52:00.000-07:002014-09-18T19:52:00.579-07:00Street Mermaid weekIt was that week again where the streets are cheerful and blingy and laugh out loud hilarious. I saw a mermaid, a Cat in the Hat and a superhero walking along with backpacks on within a few metres of each other and they made me laugh out loud- not an easy feat after I've just got the fearsome five up and out in the morning.<br />
Book week was on and we threw some gear together for the two youngest offspring. They kind of had themselves sorted this time as they are independent lasses and I'm a little jaded and time starved in the a.m. SO Lala found an old furry tail from when the boys were little, a fluffy jumper and the face paints to put her scary wolf eyes on. She said later her teacher yelped when he was marking the roll and she was looking down at her desk.<br />
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It reminded me of that scene in Indiana Jones where the besotted student writes "Love You" on her eyelids for Dr Jones to notice her. We recently bought the original movie for nix and watched it with the offspring. The big ones vaguely remembered it. I loved it. Have to go back for the other ones now.<br />
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I've just introduced the girls to Mary Poppins. The boys saw it years ago but like many of their original films, it was thrown out as it was on a video. These two love Ms Poppins and Lala in particular has been singing "Feed the Birds" endlessly. At least it's a break from "Let it Go" which like loom bands seems to have (thankfully) been let go. Last week we went to a Frozen party and, for a freaky, frozen second, I couldn't pick my own child out of the crowd. How do penguins do it?<br />
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Meanwhile back at book week, the shorter one decided to go as Thumbelina as there was to be a sea of blingy blue frocks a la Elsa in Frozen. In the dodgy $2 version of Thumbelina that we have, she is wearing a pink dress so Shortstuff seized the opportunity to sport a hot pink tutu under the guise of being the Thumbster.<br />
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Likewise this morning was "wear something pirate" day. The black eye patch was not in the yellow dish where she said she left it. We were already late when my eye fell on a pink tiara in the <strike>junk </strike> ornaments next to her bed. "Pirate Princess" I exclaimed and the ruse worked. She bunged on the bling and trotted off happily to school perhaps for the better as I did see one preppy walk into his car door, no doubt due to his impaired monocular vision from the eyepatch that he was wearing. Clearly his yellow dish had not been tampered with.<br />
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May all your yellow dishes be untampered with too.<br />
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<br />anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-11312300264648759692014-08-19T22:28:00.000-07:002014-08-19T22:36:41.013-07:00Dr Skyring in the library with a Powerhouse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The Powerhouse is one of those lovely old buildings where you feel the presence of the people who were in it originally. If these walls could talk they'd tell stories of gruelling work and noise and smoky air in the time of the original power workers. The era that saw it used as a graffiti producing, homeless sheltering, rave venue may have experienced the same- noise, smoky air and challenging logistics. How did they ever get up to those high wall tops to make some of that graffiti?</div>
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It seems you can now go on a tour of the Powerhouse which is well worth the visit. There is a treasure trove of amazing artwork hidden in the non public spaces of the building. Some are backstage, others are in mouldering corridors in the basement. How dark and creepy would this have been when it was an abandoned building? Did they have torches, generators, exorcists? There is, of course, a ghost story which is gruesomely industrial and lots of other little secrets that you don't normally see.<br />
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This tiny door is high up in the building and was used for managers to keep an overseeing eye on the workers down below. You have to love a secret door especially in ghostly green. This one would look quite at home in any horror movie that a sneaky 13 year old might try to watch with his friends in your house on a Saturday night. (Just saying....I know what you've been watching, Fish Boy.)<br />
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Creepy clowns are also present while we're touching on the whole horror genre. This is an enormous example of <a href="http://anthonylister.com/">Anthony Lister</a>'s work. It is high up on the roof where they have now incorporated a stunning terrace with views across the river to Bulimba. It can be hired for functions. I'm thinking my Dad's birthday next year if I win Lotto or inherit from a long lost relative. </div>
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Meanwhile a mere ferry ride away there is this little gem of an exhibition on at the Southbank library.</div>
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It shows so much of what is quirky and special about Brisbane and it's development in the mid- 20th century. There is a selection of lovely furniture, much of which is on loan from local collectors. I could have enjoyed a few devils on horseback and a martini in this mock up living room quite easily. Perhaps a mid century snack bar could be incorporated next time. </div>
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The most mouthwatering part of the exhibition for me was the drawings though. Long before CAD and digital graphics were around, designers used paper and pens and paint. The examples of these plans are mouth wateringly lovely to look at. There are huge books with drawings and plans of once futuristic buildings, exquisitely rendered. I think this one was once the main admin building at Queensland University. Maybe it still is. It's been a while.<br />
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Imagine a time where plans for a building or landscape portrayed not only the features of the space but the personalities of the clients. </div>
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Note Dr Skyring's casual yet stylish group of friends conversing about music, life and a perfect world with nary an iphone in sight. There is a water feature and modern sculpture with the ladies sitting together and men slightly apart. Particularly note Uncle Eric marching into the frame in a jaunty fashion in the top left corner!!! Dr Skyring may well have been a Bond villain given the luxurious features and his name.</div>
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Another favourite was this design for a single bedroom. The little details are delightful. There are the cutting edge features like Sputnik legs on the furniture, an innerspring mattress and a light switch on the desk. Perhaps most telling though is the fact that she has a dedicated, mirrored make up applying area with a token letter writing shelf. All a girl needed really.<br />
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The accompanying screen prints are tempting too. </div>
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<a href="http://www.scrapbook.com/poems/doc/629.html">"Tell me which would you choose if you had your way?"</a></div>
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<br />anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-27344764257452996932014-08-10T23:40:00.000-07:002014-08-11T23:08:17.514-07:00Far Ma<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Excuse the crop on the photo but we have a new farmers' market in our neck of the woods and it is GOOD!</div>
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I've been a little off farmers' markets since the last one I went to whilst heavily pregnant with number 4 and three toddlers under four trying to get on the pony while the big fella went to look at some tools.</div>
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I ended up perched on the curb holding them by their shirts in the dust. It has taken me years to recover. Sunday, a friend summoned me to the new local ones. The trick, it seems, is to go later when it is less busy and amazingly cheap.</div>
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So this year we are wagging the Ekka*. Once upon a time the school took the kids for us but those days are long gone. The youngest two offspring are Ekka-neglected. However, as far as Shorty Divine and her friend No-no go, they have been to something Ekka-ish and it's all good.<br />
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At the market there were farm animals- baby ones to cuddle and large fibreglass ones to climb.<br />
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There was fabulous food and a generally orange theme it seems. These tangellos were such a big hit they were deemed worthy of brain break for Prep. We bought a bag for $2.<br />
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There were rides and games to play...<br />
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We also went to the local shops to do free craft activities as I love anything free/ crafty and Shorty was desperate to show No-no the medallion making area. (Commonwealth games related)<br />
The rides at this sideshow alley were $2.<br />
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Then all that fresh produce got the baking mojo fired up again. This double batch of cookies lasted till breakfast this morning. They can't eat while they sleep.<br />
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Ekka schmecka. Too hard basket with the fivesome this year. Maybe next time.<br />
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*Ekka- The Brisbane Exhibition or show. Big, loud, noisy, expensive and you always get sick afterwards but it is FUN!anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-37877546985700692472014-08-03T19:51:00.002-07:002014-08-03T19:53:20.288-07:00MakingLately there has been a little flurry of making going on at my place of work. There has been nothing in particular but lots of small demonstrations for different classes which make work quite a soothing prospect on certain days. Meanwhile, at home there has been not much more than the making of huge piles of dirty laundry followed by piles of folding and making the occasional batch of biscuits or pancakes. There has been:<br />
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. the making of a small snug away from the busy parts of the house. This room has had several incarnations over the years but is now a playroom and snuggery.<br />
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. the making of graffiti with the boys at school on their dedicated graffiti wall.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVylaOjvQKGya7TFdGOnSLmmB9PR00foWesPN1RJqe-dkBk6wkMmA9EGVWSzHre3ZCD3qpU1TlAxAcIu9fzKn055yjgN2r0L8t4AUZ3iZNjsRNtXBbou-HDDh2HvfJAELIhifJ1ORHY3Q/s1600/IMG_0015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVylaOjvQKGya7TFdGOnSLmmB9PR00foWesPN1RJqe-dkBk6wkMmA9EGVWSzHre3ZCD3qpU1TlAxAcIu9fzKn055yjgN2r0L8t4AUZ3iZNjsRNtXBbou-HDDh2HvfJAELIhifJ1ORHY3Q/s1600/IMG_0015.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a><br />
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. the making of Warhol pictures.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqp-qnQ7mgmsN6ndi3aq-kcNHa8LGjbLuwDGP6KghVaITJxvbhM_nAxkY_WHdFB5A6aztQO4xNEvb1e0iB-tzAXPxX5R8YwdE16QU3hQnG8Jf4UM6uRxDGDq_v0ptJ14UrkYzJSZbmMlI/s1600/IMG_0018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqp-qnQ7mgmsN6ndi3aq-kcNHa8LGjbLuwDGP6KghVaITJxvbhM_nAxkY_WHdFB5A6aztQO4xNEvb1e0iB-tzAXPxX5R8YwdE16QU3hQnG8Jf4UM6uRxDGDq_v0ptJ14UrkYzJSZbmMlI/s1600/IMG_0018.jpg" height="258" width="400" /></a></div>
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. the making of prep paintings.<br />
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(This is the fifth and last time I'll be doing one...I think...)</div>
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. the making a nuisance of herself with the chickens.<br />
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. the making themselves at home in the new digs.<br />
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. the making of clay monsters for the little monsters.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQ0SBg5a2ATzzRj2fR3Th_X7_ICQWP8exnYkvFAsOYqgeAZtV7vTQxiQjpkjQ0YmXZwDh1Dl_C2UDEhlNCvXFk1SPVwzWMGvWENOTwQ0ASs_upLzroCF0uQKmIgNCDeVJJFjXXDnZnSA/s1600/IMG_0088.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQ0SBg5a2ATzzRj2fR3Th_X7_ICQWP8exnYkvFAsOYqgeAZtV7vTQxiQjpkjQ0YmXZwDh1Dl_C2UDEhlNCvXFk1SPVwzWMGvWENOTwQ0ASs_upLzroCF0uQKmIgNCDeVJJFjXXDnZnSA/s1600/IMG_0088.jpg" height="400" width="286" /></a></div>
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. making a grand exit. Always a favourite! (let it go, let it go!....)</div>
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. Making an effort to pop out a blog post once in a while now there are a couple of tentative toes back on the wagon.<br />
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anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-49227035175811665592014-07-31T01:52:00.000-07:002014-08-03T19:40:44.829-07:00Five Random Things1. The dog is slowly eating her way through the house. She has eaten a chair, a family assortment of stuffed toys, a substantial section of the front door and I found her gnawing the corner of the building itself one day. She should have been named Pacman or Cujo or Fang. Stop eating us out of house and home, Dog!<br />
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2. What kind of front door would suit an old farmhouse of no particular style? Modern with glass slats seems all wrong although it would let in more light. A recycled older model maybe with a winding bell mechanism and round glass would be perfect but a lot of work to restore. A plain, solid, door from a door shop painted in a jolly, chi friendly shade of buttercup yellow might work. I must consult the dog as she has good taste in front doors.</div>
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3. Why is the hour before work such a maelstrom every morning. No matter how organised we are the night before, something will always go awry. They suddenly need $30 for an armband or can't find special undies or a sheet of music. Check with the dog, I say. Cough it up, Lola!<br />
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4. Somebody in this house is shaving something and it is not the big fella or myself. The safety razor was not where I left it leading me to believe it is either-<br />
a. A tweeny twelvey having a go at the lily lolly legs before soccer tonight.<br />
b. A man-child defluffing those sweet baby cheeks well before I am adjusted to the idea.<br />
c. The dog has eaten it.<br />
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5. Tonight I sat in the car waiting for somebody to finish doing something somewhere and listened to a Mydoona song and contemplated the lyrics. I missed out on Mydoona back in the day. Probably busy listening to old musicals or Dad's Ella Fitzgerald records. So I never really got Mad-on-her but I like the "cherish" sentiment. Is this what happens when we get mummy-fied and show signs of liking anything that is twenty year old musack?<br />
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A family beach holiday or a cautionary tale of delusions brought on from eating bad seafood?</div>
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*These random thoughts are generally flitting through the brain whilst driving in a holding pattern around the burbs "picking off" childerbeasts. (Shorty's words not mine.) They have no usefulness or logic and no chillun were harmed in the making of them- much.<br />
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<br />anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-89657464261876050152014-07-28T23:06:00.000-07:002014-07-29T17:01:30.376-07:00Why we love the beach.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We love the beach. I mean this collectively as a family, as a culture, as a species. </div>
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It is always special, magical and deeply restorative. I remember going on all those great holidays as a child often from way out in Western Queensland. We'd be sleeping all over the Holden station wagon, distributed across the front bench seat to the boot beside the basket with the baby/ies in it. Then the car would come over the last rise and the first call would break the restless boredom. </div>
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"I can see the sea!" Mine still say it. I make them. It is the first tick in the box of nostalgic balm.</div>
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There are other important elements in this perfect holiday.</div>
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The cousins. </div>
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They mooch and roll and bury each other and argue and laugh and throw sand and play footy on the same beach my cousins and siblings played on.</div>
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The Dad. </div>
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It used to take my Dad a good week to wind down till he could really relax. This one is the same. They can't garden, tinker, work, build or mow. They walk. They sleep. They cook. It is good.</div>
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The sea.</div>
We live in a part of the world that some old dears that you meet at posh functions call God's own country. The water is glassy clear and perfectly flat on one beach and waves on the other. There are fish and critters and birds. There was a python in a tree for the whole two weeks we were there. There are noisy gangs of rainbow lorikeets. One year there were dolphins out the front.<br />
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The childerbeasts go swimming in mid-winter and bask on the sand sheltered from the wind to dry off. They only do this with cousins to egg them on. Cousins are good that way.<br />
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Games.</div>
We play games that only the girls play at home. It may be the relaxed atmosphere or the different team members. The absence of laptops and internet may have something to do with it. Bananagram, Bingo and cards played on a sheet or blanket. The glass table got the gong from all involved as it was too cold and hard to snatch cards up from.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing two pack cheaters' Hawaii</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bananagrams</td></tr>
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Sand.</div>
We like to bury ourselves in it, get it in eyes and mouth and nostrils, make it squeak when we kick it and put in in our brothers' beds as not so hilarious prank. It is throughout the house and gets brushed off the feet at bed time and out of the sheets before you snuggle down to listen to the surf through the open windows.<br />
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Fishing.</div>
This gets bigger every year as do the fish. The big fella and the uncle indulge the fishing needs. We throw every thing back but we draw the line at kissing fish. They can go on their own now, untangle snags, bait up hooks. One boy fished from 7 am till 10.30 pm the last day over several locations. Boys are nice when they fish. There is no u tube on a fishing line.<br />
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Pictures.</div>
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Every thing is a picture. Every moment seems marvellous. </div>
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Even the rocks are photogenic. </div>
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Books.</div>
I got through three of them up there but didn't quite finish this one which I have read snippets from over the last nine years. It is the beach house book of choice. This time I tried to read it cover to cover. That's a good sea faring name if I ever saw one.<br />
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Sunset, moon rise, tide change, sunrise.</div>
These happen at home but we rarely see them. We are sleeping or ferrying people between orthodontists and soccer and last minute grocery runs. It's good to just sit and look at it and soak it up slowly.<br />
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Fish'n'chips.</div>
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They always taste better at the beach- on the beach. Always.</div>
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Lying down. </div>
I don't do this enough at home. I certainly don't lie down in the middle of a walk through the shops or into work or over to the neighbours. For some reason it is acceptable on the beach to just stop, sit and then lie down to doze off if you wish. I like that.<br />
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Rock pools.</div>
Abundant, treasure troves of goodies, they never disappoint. The big boys were still as entranced by dead wobbygongs, sluggy things spurting purple ink, starfish, urchins and crabs as they were the first time they found a dead inflated puffer fish- every day for a week. It was quite whiffy by the end.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZZEwTLC57aEBNtrIz-cXWkqaHosOmSzo3OKSfUQWbAKxw4pw7w_8HkD8FAImtZU6CZzYz3ZzPb2AMLW1e7684FTRrE9L9gBWNOE-OLGWpfhn_fhUcNtJBNfzu7-uN-eVrSiXN7glLxsQ/s1600/IMG_9888.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZZEwTLC57aEBNtrIz-cXWkqaHosOmSzo3OKSfUQWbAKxw4pw7w_8HkD8FAImtZU6CZzYz3ZzPb2AMLW1e7684FTRrE9L9gBWNOE-OLGWpfhn_fhUcNtJBNfzu7-uN-eVrSiXN7glLxsQ/s1600/IMG_9888.jpg" height="520" width="640" /></a></div>
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Offspring.</div>
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They are happy, free, unburdened by homework and uniforms and getting up early. They run and roll and generally behave like joyful, exuberant kids are meant to. </div>
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No wonder it never gets old. Sorry this was a long one if anyone is even still out there. These are the days worth recording and savouring- like old forgotten questionable wine from your brother's kitchen cupboard. We relive our memories and they make new ones with us in blues and sandy yellows and it is always good.anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-28848716812701337092014-07-22T23:01:00.000-07:002014-07-22T23:01:34.599-07:00Lighthouse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Years ago when we first settled back down to real life after travelling for several years, I saw a photo in a local paper of one of David Bromley's paintings. He was selling them for around $400 and I really wanted to go and buy one. Unfortunately, at the time we were focussing on getting jobs and paying for things like a bed and food. Looking at what his work goes for now, I may have missed the small, wooden boat there.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApSOAMqjfBi-Iu1cGsWUY9KrteBnkD1dt2iNBQVnUEy-GawPx4S2Z93AqvGj_lSMpC1aSeymZ5YZqWwOkGDoIUzBA9FChmAReyPdhmvN3xRUIAJv2GJizBd6q_ITXSEc-PN6ypSOxneE/s1600/bromley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApSOAMqjfBi-Iu1cGsWUY9KrteBnkD1dt2iNBQVnUEy-GawPx4S2Z93AqvGj_lSMpC1aSeymZ5YZqWwOkGDoIUzBA9FChmAReyPdhmvN3xRUIAJv2GJizBd6q_ITXSEc-PN6ypSOxneE/s1600/bromley.jpg" height="640" width="491" /></a></div>
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His paintings were nostalgic, painterly reproductions from old children's books illustrations but what appealed most was their use of the lighthouse image. It's such a beautiful one. </div>
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They remind me of childhood visits to the beach and books we had read about smugglers and caves. They are strong and tall and dependable and take care of you when you are most in need. Even when they are not needed they are there- like a loyal friend or good parent.</div>
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Other lighthouses crop up from time to time. This one was up on the wall at my brothers' house at the beach. Seems he likes them too. </div>
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About a year ago, we were on holiday at the beach when I found an interesting ring in the local gift shop. It was made from an old souvenir spoon handle. Of course I got all, "I can just find one of those spoons and make it myself".</div>
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But I didn't. I looked a few times but, really, what were the odds. </div>
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This year when we went to the same place, I asked the shop keeper if she had any more of those spoon rings from last year. She replied that they no longer stocked them but they had some others. So I had a look. There, amongst all the new resin and plastic and glass, was my lighthouse ring. The one I had snubbed a year ago. It was still there- waiting for me. </div>
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So I had to buy it. It is frequently on my finger to remind me to stand strong, to know that there will always be a light when it's a little stormy and that some things are just meant to be.</div>
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<br />anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-15612317167107932442014-07-18T02:28:00.003-07:002015-03-29T18:17:45.771-07:00Waiting for BloggoIt's been a while.<br />
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Not that I haven't been thinking of you...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bluebird of happiness- apparently</td></tr>
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It's become quite difficult to get near a computer at our place and I've been on the medi-go-round again too.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally a cup of tea in bed, a day nap and the "opportunity to explore new experiences".... </td></tr>
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The chillun are growing hard particularly the Fish and the Short One.This morning there was a wardrobe malfunction because they are all rather tall suddenly and were bickering like seagulls after a chip over the two locatable sports shirts. It was a breakfast round of musical shirts a la Peter Allen and the midriff brothers. Why do they like to dress in the kitchen? Why?<br />
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It's been a big week. There have been highs and lows.<br />
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Here's a high. A darling brother o' mine has been renovating and is in cull mode. He gave me an 2008 bottle of wine out of his big, high cupboard. It could have been vinegar or nectar. Hello! It was the latter! Lucky dip!<br />
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This is medicinally necessary as the big fella is away with Lala this week in a snowy place- dare I say a Frozen one.<br />
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I also got smelly cheese. Yes, Iain. I bought a cheese. I haven't indulged in either lately. I like wine and smelly cheese.<br />
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Here's a low. The dog got something in her eye. Ex-squeeze me! Yes- a teeny mote which cost us $105 for both a consultation and a tiny tube of Danish magical goop to put in her eye each night. Why don't we make magical goop in Queensland at $45 for 10 mg. Clever old Denmark I say.<br />
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Questionable high/ low point. We went to a Frozen party. It was contagious. She has caught the bug. Is it part of AKARA because I swear she caught it at Prep? I played it on the way up the coast to irritate the big boys after they made us late. They loved it. They asked for the volume to go up and for certain songs to be replayed. Would it be wrong to show a 15 year old lip syncing "Love is an Open Door" without his permission? Perhaps. Would it be wrong to use the same footage to get the dishwasher emptied? Perhaps not.<br />
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Let it go. Let it go! This phrase has become so multifunctional. You can use it when the dog eats yet another doll house citizen, when the boys won't share the sports shirts nicely or when they refuse to step away from the laptops. I sing it to them but I'm really singing it to me. The Short one sings it anywhere, anytime.<br />
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Do you wanna build a snowman? OK. Bye...anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-33823974529998345882014-05-11T20:52:00.000-07:002014-05-11T22:33:46.851-07:00Post 'Mud' Post<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Well it didn't explode or crumble into ash and shards.</div>
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Instead it resembles a large slab of fettucine in an invisible bowl. </div>
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You will note the silver Saltwater sandals in the lower right corner. The Saltwater shop near us is shutting down so they were all marked way down. They only had silver ones left. What else could I do? They needed a home.<br />
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Meanwhile, back at the fettucine slab... having never worked with oxides before, I had a little play and slopped a wash of cobalt carbonate over the whole thing. Then I wiped it back and put it in the kiln overnight to see what would happen.</div>
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The best thing about doing these experiments is the sheer unknown of the alchemy of it all. </div>
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Now what do I do with it? It may end up in the garden with the ceramic skulls and busts and masks. One day in a millennium or so the eclectic midden will be unearthed and they'll wonder what on earth it was all for.</div>
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This one was a little experiment with leftover bits of clay...<br />
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that turned into quite a handy Mothers' Day gift for the best little Mother in Law in the West-ern suburbs.<br />
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Another one was dubbed a salt pig and spoon for my own marvellous Mum. She used it for the Mothers' Day "counting" where we all convened to eat, reminisce and recover from Eurovision.</div>
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The fish was for the birthday brother who likes fishing, of course.</div>
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This Mom song was played for us at Shorty's prep Mother's Day gala girls' night out. (Last week was quite the busy one.)</div>
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It never gets old and makes me laugh out loud and every word of it is true.</div>
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Happy Mothers' Day to all who mother!</div>
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anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-56475251298589896162014-05-01T02:50:00.000-07:002014-05-01T02:50:01.466-07:00Mud<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
You know that feeling where you just have a crazy little buzz and everything feels a bit too hectic. That's when I start gnawing nails, or culling or rearranging rooms . Sometimes it an avoidance strategy to avoid an unpleasant task (e.g. laundry) or thinking about something of a looming nature (e.g. surgery) . It keeps me awake some nights and wakes me from sleep on others. Yesterday it crept into my happy place at work...</div>
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so I played with mud.</div>
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There is a great deal to be said for the joy of mud which is probably why children are so drawn to it. I've had mine swimming it from when they were little but I doubt they'd deign to undertake such a thing nowadays- except if there's a ball involved to disguise the primal joy of mud wallowing. </div>
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So I got some mud- clean, pretty, white porcelain mud that had gone hard in the bottom of a bucket.</div>
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It needed a swish around with some water and a big potato masher type of thing.</div>
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There was a ridiculous amount of shredded paper packed around some ink that came the other day. I knew it would come in handy. A generous nest of it was immersed and squished around in the mud. (Yes, of course, it was clay slip but for therapeutic reasons I prefer to call it mud today.)<br />
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The whole gooey mess was quickly slopped into a big bowl shaped mould and gently coaxed into a convex shape.</div>
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Then, after a deep and satisfying sigh, I left it to dry. It was worth doing just to see the faces of the boys walking past. A lot of them do NOT like getting dirty.</div>
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I'll fire it when it dries and see if it becomes something or whether it was just a cathartic bit of fun.</div>
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The paper should all burn out leaving the exoskeleton of the clay. A bit of alchemy, a dash of mystery. Good times!</div>
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<br />anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-24143876778667520452014-04-20T16:35:00.000-07:002014-04-20T16:35:21.366-07:00Easterish<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Okay. Maybe we got just a little bit Easterish after all.</div>
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1. The bunny's bum pancakes as spied on Pinterest.</div>
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<br />2. The rabbit's foot pancakes as invented in our kitchen this week end.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdCwSn88-bPoLtkNT1AKYw7rbQU_iNb6vW24AFlmDPQa4MXqawQ6WqQbTGWeTUpToFaP-aJkUqqGPZ97Lv60CAOh6YaVy4AIg8tx6mEHyEv2_CiDsMvOKn44EVXvLM8on_Mx-hLH_9BE/s1600/IMG_8917.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdCwSn88-bPoLtkNT1AKYw7rbQU_iNb6vW24AFlmDPQa4MXqawQ6WqQbTGWeTUpToFaP-aJkUqqGPZ97Lv60CAOh6YaVy4AIg8tx6mEHyEv2_CiDsMvOKn44EVXvLM8on_Mx-hLH_9BE/s1600/IMG_8917.jpg" height="470" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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3. Bunny's bum and rabbits' feet pancakes with ice cream for breakfast. This is a once a year day!<br />
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4. An embarrassment of chocolate and long ears for all. We were one egg short when the bunny went to dole out the booty on Easter eve so one big boy got an I.O.U. from the bunny. ( I suspect there had been a raid on the big high cupboard but have taken the path of least resistance and claimed responsibility for not thinking clearly at the supermarket. Imagine such a thing!)<br />
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5. An embarrassment of sugar or maybe just enormous excitement in the bloodstream of the short one. This year Bunny trumped Santa!<br />
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6. Ye ol' talcum powder bunny prints as delivered at midnight every easter. It never gets old!<br />
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7. My favourite ritual and family celebration of the year spent with my favourite people in glorious sunshine and all I had to bake was cupcakes!!!<br />
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Happy easter week end to you all!<br />
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anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-39801137359245278892014-04-17T22:24:00.000-07:002014-04-17T22:35:34.241-07:00The Ghost of Easters Past<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
So here we are at Easter already. </div>
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Another year is speeding by like a 15 year old bombing a sick hill on his Bustin Mechanic. </div>
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(Trans. :- boy skateboarding with unnecessary speed down a steep bitumen road.) Note how I try to fit in with the local dialect around here?</div>
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This year I feel very happy to see Easter. </div>
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Two years ago I came home from hospital on Easter Sunday. Two days ago I got a big pat on the back and congratulations from my surgeon for getting to the third year and past the danger zone. I'm laying both arms firmly on wood as I type this.</div>
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Last year I kept remembering the year before. This year I'm celebrating being here on THIS day regardless of what the future brings. </div>
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There have been no beautiful crafty Easter things unless you count the fifty or so roboturkeys made with year 8's before the holidays. I glazed mine in a pseudo Bitossi orange but didn't get it out of the kiln in time for this Easter.</div>
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Next year.</div>
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It's been good to enjoy home without the rush of school lunches and the guilt of after school care.<br />
We've done a lot in two weeks. The small one has taken to having a brekkie tea some days with me out the front with the nanna tea set.<br />
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We have loitered around GOMA a lot and been back to see the animal sculptures in the Falling Back to Earth exhibition more than once. If you're local it is well worth the visit just for the serenity of that blue lake and the photo opportunities.<br />
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It's free for all the under 13's which makes it very economical for such a big exhibition. While you're there, the upper level houses an eclectic exhibition of all the State year 12 finalists for the Excellence in Art Award in 1013. If there's one thing kiddos will look at in an art gallery, it's other kiddos' art.<br />
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Like many valiant parents, I also survived the Lego movie. There were bits I laughed out loud at, others I felt intimately familiar with and parts where the five year old was burrowing her face into my shoulder in response to the sensory overload. SO many spots! If you did it in 3D or LSD, I respect but do not envy you.<br />
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None of this is very Easterish. In fact the only Easterish thing around here is the stash of eggs in the Big-High-Cupboard. It's been more about seeing some truly good friends, hanging out with my children and family, making memories and enjoying this beautiful city. The weather is sublime, the company even warmer and the next year lies undiscovered and full of hope and new life.<br />
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Happy Easter to you all!</div>
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<br />anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-72408890118530775402014-04-03T23:40:00.001-07:002014-04-03T23:40:04.723-07:00A Fullsome Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
It's been a while hasn't it?</div>
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A lot has happened and nothing much has happened either. You know how it is.</div>
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There have been some changes. The stalwart Birkis have been thrown over for the new old Saltwaters. They are a bit lovely to wear and since summer just won't go away.....</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQ1BeLzHDKfyvEC2p1DXE8Dxnl59peVGWqt66kLVig7g7mt0BbfC3odAxydw5UvSt9SQqliFmunrJUELbRAwysEExAMC9a0OOY6PLLhGvRcTxppFz2np9pys9_v-7-SQx7yvQ_VfDaBc/s1600/IMG_8624.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQ1BeLzHDKfyvEC2p1DXE8Dxnl59peVGWqt66kLVig7g7mt0BbfC3odAxydw5UvSt9SQqliFmunrJUELbRAwysEExAMC9a0OOY6PLLhGvRcTxppFz2np9pys9_v-7-SQx7yvQ_VfDaBc/s1600/IMG_8624.jpg" height="640" width="531" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the floor at work not our bathroom after a bad eyeshadow moment</td></tr>
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There has been much handling of clay at work and fish are the critter du jour it seems. Here is my demo and there are substantial additions to the creepy skull collection too.</div>
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Meanwhile the ladies have settled into a delightful year of sisters only at their primary school and are handling the top and bottom rungs of the school ladder happily enough. Today was free dress day. I don't like free dress day. Somebody always takes issue with what is being worn, be it them or me. It's just more laundry I say. The school "nooniform" is the way of no arguments and peace among the ladies.<br />
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Lala and I have been watching The Block. I guess that means we're Blockheads but it's better than finding her watching Home and No Way and drooling into her nooniform.<br />
We like to check out the art in the background of the Block shops. We saw something like this in one of the challenges. So we made one for ourselves. This stuff is easy and everywhere at the moment. Just splash colours all over your canvea or have a beautiful small assistant do it for you, then chalk a shape over the top and colour the canvas outside the lines white. Easy Peasy, lemon squeeeezy!<br />
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Then Poopsie here went and turned all five on us. (At this point the phone was commandeered by a teen who had coveted it for his 15th birthday. He installed something hipster on the camera and I was too agog with birthdays to notice.) There was yet another dodgy rainbow cake, cream thrown over it in the boot of the car and dollar shop butterflies applied liberally. They are SO easy to please when they are little.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I forget where she got the ding in the forehead but we painted a daisy over it for the party so her friends wouldn't think she was a battered sav.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I swear chillun only taste with their eyes when they are small. </td></tr>
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The big boys constructed a sheet fairy tent thing in the trees which kept all the wee-uns happy for the afternoon. You have to love a good peg and sheet construction. It never gets old.<br />
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So she rode off into a new year of being five with all the sugary pinky sweetness that was attached.</div>
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A week later these two turned fifteen. </div>
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I took them to see a contemporary version of Hamlet where he was just another difficult whingey teenager. They loved it and went home to proceed to fence with each other over the cake. </div>
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So it's been busy and tiring and fulsome. There have been celebrations and blow ups and laundry.... always the laundry. The mother who strained organic sweet potato through a moulie for her infants is long gone. I leave you with the contents of a rushed shop before going out somewhere without the boys one night. They "cooked" their own dinner.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6jYz9deHjBb_eZEILQLKdyQH_ij4WKW1yn_0rrUl5_2ggrx1VMh4Pez2aLlhQyyOG3f6L-rPpR3d8xCTFGDdn5wK4GV9MftDqoXvYozqvLygdp3nX8dIz2XuvrYtEwr-WgQhaXwQDwE/s1600/IMG_8305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6jYz9deHjBb_eZEILQLKdyQH_ij4WKW1yn_0rrUl5_2ggrx1VMh4Pez2aLlhQyyOG3f6L-rPpR3d8xCTFGDdn5wK4GV9MftDqoXvYozqvLygdp3nX8dIz2XuvrYtEwr-WgQhaXwQDwE/s1600/IMG_8305.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paper to wrap present for the party we were off to, Three McCain's pizzas to fulfil the tastes and appetites of all three boys, muesli bars to keep them out of the pantry after dinner, a plunger for the blocked shower and medicinal wine for mother.<br />
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Ah, Life- she is always changing!<br />
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<br />anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-81381253425892006612014-01-30T18:00:00.000-08:002014-01-30T18:08:00.957-08:00Schoolies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The little boy on your left has grown 6 inches since last January and turned into this 13 year old on your right. He just started high school this week and was most gracious about it being a little overshadowed by the Short Divine One starting Prep school.</div>
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Times have changed in other ways too. I recall back when the four biggies were in early primary when a Contact and covering marathon of several days would have to be undertaken. The Big Fella would take them out while I sticky taped and peeled and folded into the hot wee January hours once with a swarm of flying ants for company. No longer! Number Four declared it highly uncool to cover any books or even to have her mothers' uncool handwriting on them. In fact I left a pile of pens and exercise pads on the table and told them all to organise their own bags this year….and it was good!</div>
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Of course, I covered Shorty's tiny selection and took great delight in going overboard with sparkly glittery stuff because I only had to do it once!!</div>
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We bought approximately (sung to the 12 days of Christmas) seven pairs of shoes, six pairs of socks, five boys' shirts, four boys' shorts, three girls' blouses, two pairs of skirts and a laptop bag of required denomination. Not to mention the padlocks, belts, lunch boxes, etc) The coffers are well empty!</div>
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There were no first day photos. This one was crying because she did not like the 'stupid' dress (aka the nooniform). She fell asleep at 3.45 pm after her first day. The second day was a breeze. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">homework- Day 1</td></tr>
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This one refused to be photographed so I sneaked one from behind the tower of lunch boxes while he was checking his diary for the thirty seventh time.<br />
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We can't get a group shot because the B1 refuses to put on shoes until we drive into the school driveway and the B2 is gone to swimming training before the normal people get up. I may have to pay them to sit for a first day photo some time around the twentieth day when we've all recovered.<br />
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Wednesday I was so tired I wagged the doctor. Yesterday I came home after drop off and crawled back into bed for an hour.<br />
Who'd have thought? Five of them…all at school. The happiness, the excitement, the bittersweet sadness, the fun, the quiet, the laundry…..the relief!<br />
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<br />anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-85795823667946057862014-01-16T17:09:00.001-08:002014-01-16T17:09:19.440-08:00NewnessYesterday I got home from a couple of weeks in the wonderful Mater Hospital. One of the y's crackin' sons quipped that I'd been in all year. I've come home to find all is well, there's a new dishwasher, the dog ate Shorty's craft table, there is a glut of eggs.<br />
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The kids have been walking the dog/ hawking the eggs to neighbours. Best of all there is a new persona here now. In the absence of ol' Lefty, we have been delivered of a new, bouncing baby breast named Alys and my (now) C- cup runneth over.<br />
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'Tis a Christmas miracle! The surgeons that made this possible and available are truly good people.<br />
We got some nice clear scans back too so it is looking like a lovely new chapter. Thanks for all your kind emails and comments over the last two slightly cryptic posts. Support comes in many forms, be it lycra, flowers or simply kind thoughts and wishes. Thank you, all. We hope to resume normal transmission again soon.anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-55130968117657045722014-01-06T21:47:00.000-08:002014-01-06T21:47:01.521-08:00 Word from the Y's<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sometimes the smallest people amongst us are the wisest. </div>
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The youngest one here has been asking a lot of profound questions lately. </div>
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She is going through the "Y" phase. </div>
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She has also taken to collecting Y's. </div>
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We have a whole vinaigrette of Y's in the living room now. </div>
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They come from car parks, beaches, kindy…U name it.</div>
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There is always variety in the Ys. Once she found a whole family of Y's.</div>
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Sometimes the Y's are quite tricky. This is known as a hairy Y. </div>
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Lately she has been asking a lot of hairy Y's about me and my "bump" and where it has gone and how I will get a new one. Answering her Y's has been oddly comforting and calming. By making the answers simple and not scary, they become so for me too.</div>
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To be honest I've been asking a lot of Y's myself. </div>
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Y me?</div>
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Y now?</div>
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Y can't they give us the all clear?</div>
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Y am I going back for more?</div>
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Y am I so lucky?</div>
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Y are all the appliances breaking down?</div>
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Y did B1 chip his front teeth sky larking after being told only last week that they are the best ones in the family? Why did he do it this week?</div>
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Y do children find all this so much easier to cope with and understand and respond to than adults?</div>
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I have learnt to never dismiss a Y as irrelevant. They are all different and all important.</div>
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May<br />
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she never lose<br />
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<span id="goog_1681693330"></span><span id="goog_1681693331"></span>anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-35339389014674335002013-12-31T15:07:00.000-08:002013-12-31T15:07:13.854-08:00We can rebuild her!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I had two nutcrackers.</div>
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One had an unfortunate encounter with the dog.</div>
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We threw it out- thought it was best for everyone concerned.</div>
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Lala thought differently. She retrieved him from the bin. With straws, bandaids and some prosthetic limbs made of plasticine and plumbers' tape she attempted the impossible.</div>
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We CAN rebuild him!</div>
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Isn't modern reconstructive surgery amazing….?</div>
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<br />anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-45140502727202691902013-12-31T00:44:00.000-08:002013-12-31T00:44:01.183-08:00Endings and Beginnings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
2013 saw some final events for us that were big moments in small people's lives.</div>
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There was the last kindy concert- the real last one this time!</div>
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I may have shed a tear. </div>
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There was the last day at kindy with friends that will go to different places. </div>
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I loved that kindy for a good eleven years. This time I did not joke about having another baby so I could stay on. I have learnt that lesson.</div>
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It was the last swimming carnival in a small co-ed school for the long pale streak.</div>
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He finally cracked an age award. There may have been another tear.</div>
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We attended another graduation. Last time we went in 2011, our family was bubbling happily along. I'm so glad nobody graduated last year. This year it was all happy again and yet more wetness in the eye-ish area. We did have to tolerate scoundrel Newman, the local pollie, flogging his dead horse for a while but the children's speeches made up for it. He should employ some of them for his speech writing.</div>
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There was the last strings concert in a little ensemble with a big instrument. I may need to bribe him to continue. </div>
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Did I mention the youngest has voiced a desire to play the tiny triangle? We are pleased. Yes there were tears again.</div>
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There is a lot of newness ahead for our little mob next year and hopefully only happy tears again all the way through!</div>
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Be happy tonight, be it noisy or peaceful and relish all the newness of the year ahead.</div>
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Happy New 'Ear, to the lot of you !!!</div>
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anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-43454422455213241172013-12-28T16:35:00.000-08:002013-12-29T14:32:14.355-08:00post Christmas post<div style="text-align: center;">
Tis the season to be obsessively writing lists.</div>
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Here's one I prepared earlier.</div>
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December 15th<br />
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1. Get Santa photo. It may involving bribery with cold hard cash this year or just the promise of a $1 slushy from Hungry Yucks. My kids are cheap to bribe. Last year I only managed one with the youngest. It is the only year we have missed a group shot. They are not always perfect. One year Offspring 2 had vomit on his shirt from Offspring 5 and Offspring 4 had just had a tooth pulled. It is one of my favourites Santa photos. Now some of their voices have broken, I am not so sure of their co-operation.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Token Christmas photo 1</td></tr>
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2. Get tree up. This finally happened yesterday between the marauding dog thinking she'd died and gone to heaven on a bauble chew-ability scale and several offspring needing to be dropped off/ picked up/ have things delivered/ have things bought for them. It is a simpler tree this year. I have misplaced a box of decorations. I don't care.</div>
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3. See family and friends on assigned dates to switch on relaxed, Christmas spirit for assigned time before re-entering the frenzy that is Christmas with a posse.</div>
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4. Stalk the local rotary Santa. Every year we track this sweaty hero down as he meanders around the streets of our suburb. </div>
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5. Attend lots of medical appointments in readiness for the impending muffinectomy and reconstruction in the New Year. The presence of tinsel and tiny conical trees in the waiting rooms will no doubt make it much less nerve wracking except that they will constantly remind me that I need to attend to items 1, 2 and 3. If one more well meaning person tells me how "lucky" I am to have the muffinectomy, I may choke (them) with said tinsel.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Token Christmas photo 2</td></tr>
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(Time passes…..)</div>
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December 29th<br />
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I never did finish that post. It was on my list. We did however get the Santa photo. Only because I booked them all at the dentist Christmas Eve morning so I had them captive in the car and drove them to the mall Santa throne. </div>
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Two of them had haircuts while we lined up so they even looked tidy for a change. This year nobody had vomit on their shirt, a bung lip or a bald head. It was all good. </div>
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They complained that it was a waste of skate boarding time. I countered with, "I am your mother and all I am asking for is an hour of your time to make my Christmas complete." Is that enough tinselly guilt for you? It was more like four hours if you include the dentist. </div>
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They did receive a free toothbrush and some foam antlers. Shorty Divine and I wore them all the way home in the car singing along to loud carols from my Rosemary Cloony Christmas CD. They shrank in horror. I do believed they loved it. I did. It was like that scene from Wayne's World with Bohemian Rhapsody only seasonal. Embarrassment is good for the teen soul. (They did also get the $1 slushy each from Hungry Yuck's.)</div>
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The tree went up and the dog did not eat any of it although we found some mysterious sparkly tinsel poos in the front garden. Must have been the reindeer. It is a new tree this year. Sturdy and bushy and I didn't even get stupidly sentimental about the old one although it was bought for the first offsprings' first Christmas fourteen years ago.</div>
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We saw the entire family this year on the pre Christmas enormo-bash. The whole 25 grand-off-spring were there from the first high school graduated 18 year old to the four year old pre school tag alongs. There was much wagging of chins, some tears, some dancing, a lot of loud joyous laughter. It is good to have a Christmas like that.</div>
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Several other late nights and carrying sleeping children from the car to the beds have followed. Sometimes we have extra children here in the morning when we wake.</div>
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The stalking of Santa was accidental this year as we nearly ran into his road block rounding a corner. This was a healthy counter to the four year old at Kindy that told my four year old "Santa is dead." Who tells their wee-uns such things???</div>
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Christmas day was the usual chaos. They all came to church although the boys' hair looked like they'd woken up in an alley. I looked around to see many similarly bleary teen boys. It must be the Christmas vogue. We sang carols and visited the stable. I cried. I'm a sucker for a newborn. Everything touches my heart a little more profoundly these days. </div>
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The Big Fella spent a lot of time on a beautiful lunch with Nanna M and we adjourned to Nanna J's for cake and drinks after as is our tradition.</div>
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I hope you all had love and laughter in your Yule tide parcels this year. </div>
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For us it has been hectic, happy and fulsome- a fitting end to a triumphant year of recovery, rediscovery and creativity. More of the same, please!</div>
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<br />anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962218400759577132.post-83901893058179293002013-12-02T19:12:00.000-08:002013-12-03T16:33:27.994-08:00How I know it's nearly holidaysEarlier this week:<br />
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1. Other people are talking about putting up trees. I have one. It's in a box. It's new and doesn't lean precariously to the right. Its under the house with the possums and the dust.<br />
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2. My old friend, Murphy, has come to visit. After waxing lyrical about our marvelous dishwasher last Tuesday, we came home to find it on repeat pump- the dishwasher version of a cracked record.<br />
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3. The clock stopped and not because I looked at it. Just stopped because all the appliances here are in a conspiracy and like to break down at the same time (which is permanently three o'clock). Please just be the battery.<br />
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4. Dinner is served. That would be sausages with potato bake and gravy. Dang- it is salt reduced so now I have to salt it. Two hungry diners just want them on buns. I don't care. Take it and eat it and begone.<br />
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5. If you want something green, there are new bananas or an old rubber coin purse. Your choice.<br />
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6. The beverage of the hour. It is a complete food so that will do me for dinner. I'll only be half way through before I hit the hay at about 8pm.<br />
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7. They are watching Home and Away. They are not allowed to watch Home and Away. This is not because it is bad for them but because I hate it with a venomous hate that can only be provoked by the direst of dire soaps. I just tell them it is bad for them like Coke. It is the final episode. The offspring have promised me the show will blow up tonight. They are so desperate for viewers they have taken to advertising this pap at the cinema invading my quality cinematic experience as well. Begone Home and Away!<br />
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8. I keep painting cow skulls- big canvases of pretty coloured giant cow skulls. What does this say about me? It is time to stop. What will I do with them? Sell them to a butcher? Deep breath. Two more days and it is holidays. Then the Christmas thing begins….<br />
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9. They keep promising it will blow up. Blow up, blow up, blow up…..<br />
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10. I drove to one school four times today, the other school twice, the third once. I have been transporting offspring and other stuff that I've made as demos with students through the year. There have been a couple of clay busts. Whenever I put one in a box to travel it whispers, "Seven…." in my self chatting ear. This one IS a little bit Gwyneth.<br />
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11. The dog has taken to sucking the window glass making her look like a scary, zombie dog.<br />
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12. The best little mother in law in the Western suburbs is coming to change the sheets with me today. She takes them away to wash them and then stores them in her linen cupboard like a sheet squirrel. By keeping the sheets, she has to be present to change the sheets with me next time. I find this odd but am prepared to go with it. Yet there are still sheets missing in action. I may need to launch a covert linen retrieval.<br />
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Today:<br />
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The car and back stairs have joined the Murphy's Law of conspiracy.<br />
Home and Away only blew up a little bit and will be back next season.<br />
It was just the clock battery.anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433701550878013807noreply@blogger.com24