There's no business like shoe business.

I started my Christmas shopping today - the easy stuff ie. gifts for all the children in our life. But ..err.. don't tell Fixit, somehow my day of shopping started with me walking into a shoe-shop and buying some shoes for myself.

And ..err.. don't tell Elda, I paid full retail price for them too. No discounts, reward points or great deals.

In my defence though, they are purple.

What's more, the shops were full of great purple stuff which was a little bit distracting seeing as I was supposed to be buying things for everyone else. Therefore my Mum is getting something purple too; she is a fan so no conflict of interest there. Also there were a couple of nice purple things that I really wanted, just small stuff, and so I decided to get them as Climber's and Cherub's presents to me this year; what? I'm just saving Fixit from the embarrassment of him receiving presents from me and each of the boys, which would then make him grab the (totally great and no doubt well-thought out and spoiling) single solitary present and say heartily and boys this is from ALL of us. I'm only thinking of him.

Grumbling.

The house is due for a clean anyway, I know it has to be done. But I have this pressing deadline - the annual property inspection this afternoon by the real estate agent (on behalf of the landlord).

Neither Fixit or I really like this house. It is revoltingly hot in summer. May as well live in a tent. It's got a poky, foul bathroom which I resent every time I use it. The grouting is shoddy; cleaning it is a nightmare and never repays the effort. The carpets are scungy (rental standard carpets, you know the sort) and look crappy even straight after I've vacuumed. The tiles in the living area are cracked & pale coloured and show every speck of dirt. I have to be a complete tyrant apres-mop if I don't want it ruined again an hour later. Which is no fun for anyone.

Of course it's not all bad. We have great neighbours. (Sadly the Crafty mob are moving soon, we are trying not to think about this). And we have a fantastic backyard. The location is not bad for shops, tranport and such. None of this really helps though, when I have to do the cleaning and I. Don't. Want. To.

The reason for my grumble is I just know they are going to put the rent up the second they finish the inspection, clean house or no, so the effort is even less appealing than usual. If that's possible.


And if any of you know where the stick/tube part of my vacuum cleaner is, let me know because I AM VACUUMING ON MY HANDS AND KNEES.

Grrr! or I ain't no hollaback girl

Without being too sure what exactly comprises an alpha-type personality, I'm pretty sure I'm not one. Not quite. I think I have traces of it, I was the kid achieving extremely well in school until the family implosion when I was in Year 12. And I am an oldest child and therefore bossy, and I like to be the centre of attention.

However, in the career stakes I am a bit of a hippy drop-out, opting for family and personal cosy-ness over the Real Job. (Which is not to say other people can't have both, just that this is not what I want to do in my life). Maybe when I am older I will be sad I never explored my full potential (could I have been a high-flying lawyer?) but I'm willing to risk that. And obviously the not having much money can occasionally be a drag. But as I see it, I am very happy in my life at present. I do have a career of sorts; I even have My Own Business, and this, to my mind, is not to be sneezed at. I love my job, I think I'm good at it and I'm able to be home with the kids during the day and out fulfilling my creative urges at night. And it's not like we're broke, we have all we need. What we don't have is The Great Australian Dream Mortgage. Cest la vie.

Elda and I were discussing all this recently, and were wondering if we were A-minus or B+ types. Is there such a thing? Because both of us have been told that we are scary/intimidating by various people in our lives and we always walk away after those comments mentally shaking our heads. See the thing is, I am a complete coward. Physically and emotionally. The lengths I will go to NOT have a confrontation are ..well .. really long!! I'll bend, I'll fold. I reckon it's only since having kids that I've learned to have a medium-sized yell at other people, but I need to be incandescent with rage to actually do this. And it's rare that I reach that level of rage; on the whole I walk a happy walk, and only stray as far as 'irritable' territory if I fall off the happy path. Trade secret: if you yell at me, chances are I will back down. The good news is that Fixit is not very shouty. We have mild little grumps at each other and hardly ever fight. That's how we like it.

I think the scary reputation comes from a few things:

• Not being very good at disguising my irritability.
• edited to add: Having opinions. And being competitive.
  
• Suffering from occasional bouts of foot-in-mouth. Must. Think. Before. Opening. Mouth. But don't we all do that? And I usually pay for these faux pas with a week's worth of agonising and kicking myself.
  
• Being very bad at waking up of a morning and therefore very grumpy if I don't get to "come-to" in my preferred way (sitting in bed for a good half an hour with a cup of tea, arranging my thoughts for the day) This really only applies if you stay at our house and try to talk to me too early. *cough*Bronnie*cough*
  
• Being a reasonably strict mother. Eg. once my kids are in bed, they are not welcome to get back up again and I will roar to enforce this. I don't find them cute when they get back up, even when Climber comes out all docile and says he needs a hug, something that obviously works on Fixit on the nights I go out to teach. And I'm bossy about manners and tend not to cut kids much slack in this department.
  
• Being quite confident about many parts of myself and my life. You know, except for all those bits I feel desperately insecure about.
  

The most recent person to have called me scary (not to my face) was a teenager, and I understand this, because I'm not good with teenagers. I'm probably as scared of them as they are of me, really. I'm hoping to be better with them when my kids hit that age. In the meantime, don't be scared. My bark and my bite are quite pathetic, actually.

Somebody pinch me

Do we ever.

Okay.

We did.











I'm still a bit stunned.
But I'd really like to send Maxine McKew an enormous bunch of flowers.

Propaganda

Hmm. I marked my 200th post by discussing vomit. That would be right.

Despite my intentions of being the sort of parent who gives a whole-picture, objective-and-balanced answer to questions about life, sex, politics and religion, the response I actually gave to Climber's questions about elections turned into a full-blown political rant. Which I suppose just goes to show how anxious and wound-up I am about the outcome of this weekend's national election. Anyway, today of his own volition and with no prompting from me except I helped him with some spelling, he made a newspaper.

Look at that, in one quick discussion I have indoctrinated my child.

Climber drank too much fruit juice at a party.

So the thing I've discovered about bunk beds? Is that if the child in the top bunk vomits comprehensively, the clean-up is

a
big
job

involving the upper and lower bunk bedding, the curtains, the bed slats and the wallpaper.

And the usually faithful Iron-guts, aka Mister Fixit, who generally handles the vomit clean-ups, (yes, I am a pathetic wimp) was still out at that same party so the whole thing took me ages what with all the trying not to breathe in the fumes, and the climbing up and down, and the bewildered rudely awoken Cherub following me around (Climber was attending to his own cleanup in the bath) wanting drinks of water and to know if it was breakfast time yet.

That Fete-ful Day

Climber's School's Fete.

Pictorial evidence of the difference between boys aged 6 and boys aged 4.

Chairplane 6.

No worries, rode it a couple of times as a form of flight-simulation-training for the real whizzy ride, aka The Cha-Cha.

vs.

Chairplane 4.

No actual fuss or meltdown, but when a little girl early on in that same ride went into screaming hysterics and they had to stop it and let her off, Cherub very quietly and nimbly hopped down and came and sat in my lap. Looking relieved.

Getting High 6.

Did I mention we call him the Climber?

vs

Getting High 4

And don't think his big brother wasn't in there too, bouncing away like a happy kangaroo, off the walls, turning somersaults, narrowly missing smaller children etc.

Going Down 6.

Face first. Natch.

vs

Going Down 4.

Mini-golf.

****

Due to parental duties on the Grade Stalls we had to stay All Day. Best decision I made was buying the Cherub this:
He carried it round all day like a security blanket. When I worked the Clothing Stall he sat happily under the table with the hospital and rested his tired little legs, and if we hadn't had it he could never have lasted so long.

Our class had to run 2 stalls this year, so I worked the Clothing Stall shift and Fixit took the Sausage Sizzle. Except he unwittingly upgraded himself and worked half his shift on the Gourmet Sausage Sizzle stall before I found him and dragged him back to the humble 1K Sizzle. He says it was an easy mistake but I have my doubts.