Same old, same old

"Excuse me, Stewardess, I speak Jive."

I sat feeding the LGBB last night. A "dream feed" before bed, in her makeshift overnight room (our study) where she sleeps in her bassinett under the watchful gaze of a huge wall framed collage of Ella. Every photo we ever took of her, to be exact.

All the shit that goes on in daylight hours and here I was, feeding a most perfect miracle of life, looking up at my other little miracle who I'd almost lost sight of. Then over my shoulder I saw the email I received just weeks after Ella died from a client. I had hung it on the side of my filing cabinet drawer (and I also mention it in my writing about Ella on her web pages), it was so damn important to me for quite a while. I clung to the hope in that email, once upon a time.

Here I am after a weekend of what can only be described as typical crap, writing to her grandparents about LGBB as I attached some recent photos... and despite myself, I called her Ella. "Here is Ella enjoying a bath", I wrote, without a second thought. I don't even know how I had the presence of mind to look at it and think "No, that name looks wrong." It's still there, it's always going to be there, the sudden shock back to reality that one of my girls isn't here.

And all the while, the same old grey shit piles up because nobody wants to remember what we're dealing with here. Damn them for making it so unimportant that when they're dealing with me, they don't have more softness. A bit more empathy, if not understanding. I feel like a fish out of water at the moment, grasping for something (I don't know what), and all I want is some courtesy for my position. The shitful thing about it is, it's the usual suspects who, if they can't find it in them naturally, won't ever see the light. And the same wonderful (majority of, thank God for them) people who have to listen to bleats like this, confused as to how anyone can't remember something so goddamn important to a parent and have a little bit more compassion.

But then I think, my, how far we've come since 2004. And how much I've forgotten. So if I have moved on so much, I must find a way to forgive others for losing the depth of their reasoning about just how hard things might be here right now.

Signs you haven't posted to your Blog for an age

(and secondary sign that you've been hanging with the kiddies too long)

• You wonder why, when you type in the URL, you're thoroughly confused that booger.com doesn't take you to your usual control panel. Ah, that's because it be BLOGGER.com, dimwit.

*buck-toothed lazy-eyed sheepish grin*

*Pumps air with triumphant fist*

It took me two hours to make the 40 minute trip home from lunch with a friend yesterday.

Why?

Oh, because the shitty grizzle tones from the back seat turned into full blown "I can't believe it's not booby time" in .00949 seconds... I masterfully found a park, inner city no less, under a shady tree on a hot day, just before joining the main arterial to get us home. Jumped in the back seat next to LGBB, pulled her out of her seat and fed her. Then, I even managed to change her nappy while sitting there - our car is G.R.O.U.S.E. - by pulling down the seat next to me and laying her on the flattened back of that seat.

Amazing how feeding and cleaning up your child all of a sudden makes the stress of rushing home in heavy traffic melt away. She cooed and giggled for rest of the trip. Oh... except that moment where I thought she was choking. Thank God for our maze of mirrors setup, where I can see her from the communication mirror in the front, reflecting into her Lamaze mirror in the back. I'd have screeched across three lanes of traffic to pull over and javeline my body into the back seat if we didn't have it set up like that.

Still, a fun day was had by all. Even if the brilliant hair vanished into a puff of defiance as soon as I stepped out into the wind.

It's a great day

Putting my hair back into my now signature twist and clip (a. because it's the easiest and b. I can hide all the scariness of my thick mane in that style), the front bits of my fringe fell out of my grip. I was in a rush. Bugger, I thought, as I worked with hands behind head, Now I'll have to pin all that somehow at the sides.

But when I lifted my head to look at the damage in the mirror.... it was perfect. It had fallen around my face perfectly. So I did what any girl would do: I kept my head and neck level and edged ever so delicately towards the hairspray, using my eyes to guide my outstretched arm. Popped the lid off the can gently so as not to disturb a perfect hair.

And sprayed the shit out of it.

Ah haaaa. The perfect fall-about-face-fringe bits. Captured!

It's alright, it's ok, you're gonna pump my gas someday

We're cheerleaders! Cheer! Cheer! Cheerleaders! WOO!

When it's all going to shit, there's nothing like footage of people hurting themselves whilst taking their craft so seriously to make your life seem better.

Is that a banana or are you just happy to see me?

I should really get a Freudian analysis done on my brain before I give credit to the illustrator of this book for having a tongue-in-cheek joke with parents.

Ouch

I swear.

I wasn't trying to make her look ergly. It's just where I paused.

I like Tyra Banks! I think she's ..... harmless. But maybe, going by this photo, she ought to practice what she preaches on that America's Next Top Model show. I do believe, when I paused this frame, she was reiterating to the contestants how important it was to carry themselves properly at all times and not risk being snapped at a bad or unfortunate angle.

How unfortunate.

The Farcuwindow

Our new car has a special feature I was previously not aware of. It's not in any of the manuals. And you won't find it under the hood. Steve has been privy to this feature for a while now and as he explained to me the other week, it's quite a handy little device to have. Apparently, the car has a Farcuwindow. And the manufacturers weren't aware of what they'd included when they designed it because it's not any manual.

To see the Farcuwindow in use impressed me because I never knew it was there and here I'd been driving the Renault now for months. I can't say I'll be using it though. But Steve uses it a fair bit.

It's put to best use on occasions when he's been driving along with someone close behind. If that driver tailgates and then darts out to pass on our driver side, the Farcuwindow (which is a little triangular window near the driver side mirror) gets activated and magically, Steve's middle finger is raised in it. Amazing! It has varying occasions for use, including hoons flying past breaking the speed limit, but the output is consistent. No other fingers are used. No fists shaking. Just the flipping of the bird.

Perhaps the most ingenious thing about this Farcuwindow though is that it's so discreet. Nobody knows Steve's using it! He can subtlely centre all his road rage into the Farcuwindow and it takes care of the rest. So it's safe as well as fun!

The High Folutin







The Casual "Oh yeah?"








The "Take THAT, tool"

Does my bum look big in this?

A question on Geography

Watching America's Next Top Model tonight. There was a discussion about a photographer who said he was born in Sri Lanka and was half Sri Lankan, half English. Then his mother came on and she said was born and had lived in Bombay, now called Mumbai all her life, etc.

Cue a puzzled look from yours truly, Geographer Extraordinnaire. I don't know why I think Steve has all the answers. Like he was there.

"Isn't Bombay in India? He said he was Sri Lankan. How can he be Sri Lankan if his mum's Indian?"
"No, she said she was born in Bombay."
*forgetting the bit about Mumbai* "But Bombay's in India.... isn't it? Is Sri Lanka in India now?"
"No. Sri Lanka's a country. Maybe there's a Bombay in Sri Lanka too."
"So.... what? They just renamed it?"
"Yeah. *donning shocking accent and holding two-way conversation between imaginary characters of Indian descent* 'Hey! I live in Bombay!' ('You live in Bombay? I live in Bombay!') 'Yeah, Main Street, Bombay.' ('I live in Main Street Bombay too!') 'Number 7.' ('You number 7, Main Street, Bombay? Me too!')
"And that's... why they changed it, is it?"
*decisively* "Yuh-huh."

So apparently to save confusion over the two people who lived at 7 Main Street, Bombay, that's why the Sri Lankan Bombay is now called Mumbai.

Throwing down my hanky as a challenge

I love to sing. Sing, sing, sing. Sometimes I boldly sing completely the wrong words. Your mission, dear reader, if you choose to accept it, is to:

a) Name the song title
b) Provide the correct lyrics to the line/s I have misheard (sometimes for years, oh the shame of it all).

Should be pretty darn easy, I've given the artist already. Ok, here we go:

"Lima beans, I promise I will eat..." - Sheryl Crow
(this one's actually Steve's misheard lyric but it's funny so I thought I'd chuck it in)

"Nino's little son's a wanker" - Oasis
(seriously. In fact, I still don't believe he's singing anything else. I was shocked but not surprised the Gallagher brothers would come up with such a song but thought 'there goes the youth of today' when I heard them play it on the radio in the 90's...)

"I know a place where we can dance the whole night away underneath electric stars, Just come with me and we can shake your boobs right away, You'll be doin fine once the music starts...Oh!" - De Barge
(one of the two first ever record singles - yes, record, as in vinyl - I ever owned. But I was intrigued by what these older people did underneath electric stars... did they really shake their boobs? Were they bare-chested when they shook them? I'd seen Countdown, I knew there was some pretty wild shimmying to be had in the 80's, and it was all a little bit naughty and titillating so as far as I knew, a bluelight disco was where bawdy, nekid, teenage debauchery took place - teenagers who seemed soooo much older to me when I was 11)

"Listen to some music, maybe just cocaine, I'd love to know you better" - ABBA
(I confess, as a child, to thinking this lyric might very well have to force me to stop listening to ABBA, such was my moral standard of the time. I was very disappointed in my beloved ABBA for singing about drugs and didn't want to believe Agnetha was snorting lines - how I knew what cocaine was at age 9 or 10 is another question)

"Well I flufter every under-confidence I have and hit my ball into the water" - Teddy Geiger
(I supposed a 'flufter' was a new word meaning "to fudge/stuff up" - so someone who stuffs up their under-confidence has got to be one sad, sorry loser)


There have been so many more. I might have to make this a To Be Continued... post so I can add more if I remember them later. It should also be said that once I discovered the actual words to these songs, they didn't come quickly to me as I was singing along, so ingrained were the ones I'd been incorrectly singing. So usually it led me to pretend to see a piece of lint on my sleeve that needed picking, thereby causing a distracted-sounding trail-off, or choosing that moment to take a sip of a drink, or otherwise looking deep in concentration about something else - anything to avoid the gap in the song that was now there.

So. Who's up for the challenge?

.....But seriously....

I don't think I can play with you anymore, Mummeh. I'm out of your league now I'm three months old.














Damn, I'm funny! See what I did there? Co-ma-dy! I love to laugh, especially when you have no idea what the joke is.

These are a few of my favourite things

My version:

• Foccaccia rolls, fresh, ready to be stuffed with cream cheese, sundried tomatoes and zucchini
• Baby breath, the milkier the better
• Hot chocolates with ice cream melting on the top
• Sitting under a tree on lush grass
• Making that appointment with my chiropractor to reassemble my pelvis (the thigh bone's connected to my ... wristwatch ... UH oh)
• Opening a magazine that hasn't been opened yet
• Ditto to a newspaper
• Good hard back massages and trigger point therapy
• An indulgent big bath (or the dream of one)
• Candles lit around the room
• Sleeeeeeeeeeeep
(I'd add chocklit but it's so cliché, and besides, everyone knows it's a given)


Her version (together!):*

• One bone, no two bones and Simon the squeaky-toy
• Ropey and Bluey and a sandwich to enjoy...
• A couple of fat cigars, what joy they bring

These are a few of her favourite things.


*Without a word of a lie, this is how I found Jazz's favourite things just now. And yes. Those are what you think they are laying alongside Exhibit C: Bone #1. I may be sick, but I think this is majorly cute, this little haul. I wonder what LGBB's will look like, in years to come. I hope to high heaven it doesn't include "cigars".

Major design flaw

Dear Manufacturer,

I wish to bring to your attention a design fault which has been existent for some years now, but has not bothered me before now.

Whilst your product is virtually faultless in its function, there is a persistent clicking noise which now prevents me from performing my job functions effectively. I do not believe there is a way to rectify this issue. Therefore, I am seeking alternative compensation.

This click occurs when it is imperative that it does not. Usually on first lift of the leg. I have noticed this for some years, as mentioned. However now, what once was simply an audible sound has become the difference between stealth and discovery.

Being that the problem with these clicking knees cannot be solved, I ask instead that you simply negate the need for me to have knees that operate covertly; make it so. Will the precious little person who has taken up residence in our home to sleep longer than half an hour at a time so I don't then have to stand by the cot, settling. The tired components making up my weary legs then will not settle into their aforementioned pre-aged, crackle-boned stance and rendering a clean get-away impossible.

I look forward to your prompt action.

With regards,

Kneecrack Paddywhack

Remember the fun we had?

Well, no, I hadn't actually. Not until the most thoughtful gift our girls have ever received arrived for them in the post from K77.

At first, I thought it was a package I was waiting on for LGBB - a set of bath toys - and to be honest, when I pulled the first plastic "bath toy" out, I thought "Dear God, has my judgement clouded over THAT badly that I would buy something that looks like a turd with eyes for my daughter to play with in the bath like that scene from Caddyshack?" (when the Pollywaffle falls in the pool....)

Turns out, it was one the cutest squeaky toys for Jazzmena and Pep. A sandwich and a .... piece of poo with eyes?? I still don't know what it's trying to be. But they loves it all the same. In fact, they squabbled over it. Over both of them.

It was like watching an episode of a bad daytime soap. Here's how it went down:


Jazz chooses the dainty sandwich triangle, Pepper takes on the frightened turd (whom we have nicknamed Simon, after Mr Hanky's son)







Then, as usual, Miss I Wannit All decides she neeeeeds to take Pepper's toy away from her and continues to go forth and do so, hamming it up for the camera and literally rubbing it in Pep's face that she now has BOTH the toys.



So I suggest to Peppy that she might like the toy that Jazz has put aside (the sandwich). Pep siezes her moment and makes a dash to get it.







And Jazz is mortified at Pepper's assumption that she's finished with it.








So she takes it back off Pep.










Who is now very sad.




And I have to convince my big brave old dog once again to stand up for her rights and get her toy back. Or at least one of them.

So she does. Ever so apologetic-like, as if to say "I'm so sorry about all the fuss, poor me, poor me" - a bit like Eeyore would. Or Neil from The Young Ones.


So then Jazz gets the sads.








And the episode ends with Jazz watching on as Pep soaks up the glory and satisfaction of getting her turd-man back.









So. A fun afternoon was had by all. Most of the days now, at any given time of the day, you can find both the new prized possessions on the bed that used to be Pepper's but is now Jazz's. And Jazz sitting guard with them. But see, they're only of true importance to Jazz when Pepper wants them. Without that, their currency is quite low-grade.

A HEEEEUGE doggy-wag thank you to our avid dog-lover friend K77 for being so kind as to think of the dogs. And an even bigger one for sending only the cutest and brightest pocket nappy and home made wipes now in our stash. I'm all inspired to get my hands back on the overlocker now, which I gave back to my friend way too soon..... Spotlight, here I cooooooome....

So now even Blogger thinks I'm talking crap

Is this for real? My blog was locked for almost two days and I couldn't post during that time (read by Blogger: I couldn't inflict indless banter on my tiny viewing audience one more second). Among other things in their description, Blogger cites:

... As with many powerful tools, blogging services can be both used and abused ... Blogs engaged in this behavior are called spam blogs, and can be recognized by their irrelevant, repetitive, or nonsensical text ... Spam blogs cause various problems, beyond simply wasting a few seconds of your time when you happen to come across one. They can clog up search engines, making it difficult to find real content on the subjects that interest you. They may scrape content from other sites on the web, using other people's writing to make it look as though they have useful information of their own.

Ah, so it was a case of "stop talking shite and wasting these people's time!" A community service conducted by the site administrators on behalf of my audience. Now, I could get shirty (the Slightly Aggresive Bear for those of you who recall The Late Show) at this point and say "Fiends! You dare to mock me by locking my blog for its content which you deem pointless?" But in reality, after I wrote my heart out about my losses, I guess the content has been less helpful. I even had one or two readers deliberately seek out my writings to tell me it was all self-promoting crap... and that was way before I'd resorted to talking of my puppy's penchant for fashioning her dried turds into delectable cigars.

So I see Blogger's point. I do speak jive. But I am giving the readers what they want, no? Mindless banter. Pointless irrelevant words *crestfallen* Way to make a girl's confidence plummet.

I need topic ideas. I've said it before... This blog needs to get to Rampart ..... STAT!

A measure of wealth

Various toys and books lying around play mat: $150

Monthly Foxtel Digital: $75

Seeing Lolly's face light up and actually grinning ear to ear at the opening credits of The Simpsons: PRICELESS

Come on, don't tell me you've never done it

Anyone with a dog has done this. I am SURE I'm not the only lunatic *thinks long and hard and considers taking that statement out*

Last night, I was walking down to our bedroom and went past Jazz, who has decided to claim one of the couches in our lounge ever since I left a doona there from the last heady days of pregnancy when I needed to find the easiest thing to roll off after "sleeping". She has always been a puppy who's non-fussed by her non-ladylike demeanour and dozes off on her back, back legs splayed to all and sundry and front legs up in the begging position. Her head arches back, exposing her neck and she is quite obviously very comfortable and fears nothing.

Aaaanyway, when I went past I didn't know she was there in the darkened room until I heard her having a doggy-dream. I couldn't resist. I went up to her and started flicking her paws up. Nothing. They simply bobbed back to their resting position. So I tickled her nose, the bit between her nostrils and cute little doggy mouth. Nothing. Hmmm, she must really be asleep, I thought, amused. So I did it. The thing I have done to just about every dog we've ever owned, right back from when I was a kid.

I shoved two fingerpads against her nostrils. Just to plug them up and see what happened. And it worked beautifully. She started breathing out of her mouth instead, without waking. Bwahahaha! O to be THAT asleep. When she did wake, very shortly after that, she didn't stir. Simply opened her eyes, her head and body still in that luxurious position. Such a funny, placid, gorgeous natured dog. I'm starting to suspect more and more that it was part of the Master Plan to get her, train her up, have her here waiting by the time Lolly came along.

They are going to get along famously. I can tell.