Still No Badcat...

...but in the interests of sibling fairness I thought I'd post evidence of the other haircut.



I also found the last ever photo taken of Bertie Wooster, balancing and walking -with ease- on the outside of my car door. Sniff. I'm stopping all the leafletting now. It just makes me feel worse. I've rung vets and shelters, put up posters and leafletted over 300 neighbours. I've visited the RSPCA and the Lost Dogs Home and his name is on the Missing Pets' Registers. But thinking I should do more is kind of killing me; I trudge along local streets worriting and calling and trying not to cry. If he comes home now that would be a flaming miracle but not one that I can really hope to effect. I have to let go. The kids don't want to discuss it, and when we did mention that Bertie could be dead Cherub got distressed and told us not to talk about it because it scared him.

I put up a flier at some not-so-local shops and a woman came up to us and said Oh you're Bertie Wooster's owners, I got your flier and I checked my shed, he's so gorgeous, I hope you find him. And Great Name! as she walked off. Someone else who received a flier in her letterbox rang me, saying straight off she hadn't found him but had wanted to ring me because she had a short-haired oriental cat too, and could imagine how awful it must be to lose him. Slightly strange but also rather touching. The sympathy of strangers. Actually, every time my phone rings with an unknown number I get het up, only to crash afterwards. I hope this isn't apparent to prospective tap students calling me. Same thing with unexpected doorbell rings. We had one last night and I raced to answer it with a thudding heart only to find one of those dudes trying to tempt me into changing my electricity/gas supplier, and I just said straight out I don't want to talk about electricity! and he said Okay and walked off without trying any other angle. Unheard of. Whether I've just discovered the perfect line to repel this sort of caller or whether my inner turmoil was apparent on my face I don't know, but you are welcome to test it yourself next time one of those people comes a-knockin' at your door.

Cherub vs Bertie Wooster

The Cherub bounced out of bed when he heard me get up this morning, happy and chatty. Straight away, he launched into his adventures from last night:

Last night, in the middle of the night, Bertie was sleeping in the middle of my pillow so I hadded to frow him off. Because it was uncomp'table.

Clearly he thinks he sorted that pillow-hogging cat out.

But at some point last night I think Bertie Wooster evened the score...

Musical Notes

• Nell and I went with my Mothers' Group friends Astrid and Jenny to their school's Music Trivia Night. Pardon? Of course we won! I had to stay stone cold sober all evening too; curse those antibiotics. There were these extra bonus games outside the main Trivia Competition: Heads or Tails (predict the coin drop) at which I suck, a Limbo competition (at which I also suck, but I think I've got more of an idea of the technique for future attempts) and a game of True or False which, through a combination of 95% lucky /shrewd guesswork and 5% actual knowledge - on the final knock-out question when it counted - I won! Which was worth an extra bottle of wine and a giant Toblerone bar.
  

• Cherub walks around the house singing all day. He's just a boy with a song in his heart, and it makes me so happy. My favourite is when he sings We all live in a lallow sumba-ween, a lallow sumba-ween, a lallow sumba-ween.

• We finally got Bertie Wooster a new collar, with a charming tinkly bell. I actually thought I would get him a nice red or blue collar to set off his coffee brown fur, but suddenly I saw this purple velvet one (in a complementary warm tone) with diamantés! Wasn't worth even looking at anything else after that. He was very funny for the first hour or two, running away from himself and being slightly confused. He then became very competent at removing his new collar, until Fixit fixed it to cat-proof levels.
  

• Climber's favourite song at present is The Cure's In Between Days. It's a lot to do with his little girlfriend being overseas. Come back, come back, come back to me. He didn't quite have the lyrics right to start with. It should be:

And I know I was wrong
When I said it was true
That it couldn’t be me and be her
In between without you.

He sang:

And I know I was wrong
When I said it was true
That it couldn’t be me and be her
In a tree without you.

And I think if you are a Climber Boy then there is probably some sort of logic to his misheard lyric.

Spur of the Moment Beach Holiday

I'm going to tell you the part about our homecoming first. I'm doing this because our homecoming was disgusting and annoying, and whilst it is obviously a good story which relates to our trip away, I don't want it to be the final flavour of this piece.

So here is the disgusting and annoying end to our tale:

When we returned home from our spur-of-the-moment beach holiday, we walked into our house, which had been closed up and baked in the historic three-day 43+degree Melbourne heatwave. As expected the air was thick and hot, and although it was nasty to walk into, we were able to congratulate ourselves for having escaped actually living in it during the heatwave. But as I walked from room to room, throwing open the windows to encourage inside the mild cool change that blew around the outside of the house, my nostrils were assailed by a Very Bad Smell. Worse, it came from our bedroom. So I did the only sane and rational thing in I could do in that situation; I went outside to tell Fixit that I was pretty sure that Bertie Wooster had left a dead bird in our room.

My nose had not lied to me, and even Iron-guts Fixit struggled with the clean-up. He was heard to voice his intention to kick Bertie Wooster all the way back to Seymour. The maggotty remains of the bird were writhing under our bed and the smell was just vile. One day, two incense sticks, a vacuum and some bicarb soda later and the smell is still not nice. Thank goodness one of our new couches has a fold-out bed in it!

Now for the good stuff. We got to escape the foul Melbourne heatwave!!

Fixit's work stood him down unexpectedly this week, due to him having too many extra hours to his credit. So I made a quick phone call to my aunt and uncle, and they very kindly gave us the use of their beach-house. And although Barwon Heads and surrounds was suffering from exactly the same heatwave as poor old Melbourne, it didn't matter!!! Heatwaves at beaches are fun! Too hot? Let's go swimming! Or lounge around in the cool house watching tennis! Or eat takeaway food! Or have an ice-cream! (Climber lost a tooth into an ice-cream cone, but didn't swallow it, luckily.) See? Fun. And Easy.



My friend Jenny loaned us a beach shelter and some blow-up boogie boards, which were a smash hit. The water was completely refreshing and I swam as much as anyone, in Just Bathers, didn't need a Wussy Wetsuit! And we saw a Real Dolphin, an actual wild dolphin!!! A guy told me that the locals call it Archie and that it has been swimming into the river beach at Barwon Heads and frolicking round with the swimming people for the last few weeks.
And we saw it!
I was beside myself with excitement, it's one of my wishes come true to see a dolphin in its natural habitat. Sadly, I didn't have my camera ready because I was in the water at the time.

Cherub mostly floated serenely on the boogie-board, preferably with a parent pulling him around with the leadrope -like a little pasha- or played in the sand, but he practised his floating when I told him to.



Climber tried sushi (fussy eaters can come good, Climber is living proof!) and wave-catching. He swam freestyle in the river, jumped through waves in the surf, dug forts in the sand, or ran around the beach playing his own private and intense fantasy games. He is just lovely to take on holiday.



We made Fixit drive us to the nearby beach at Queenscliff to show him how ace it was. Twice. (River beaches are okay, but surf is much more fun!)



Best of all, poor tired, stressed, overworked Mister Fixit-McCrankypants gradually relaxed back into the Fixit we know and missed.

Bad Bad Bertie Brown

The other night we watched Bertie Wooster speed-slink past the loungeroom door, and we knew. That guilty run of his means only one thing: he's caught some prey and he's hotfooting it to our bedroom to whack it round for a while. Before leaving it there to rot.

Sure enough we followed him into our bedroom to find an enormous rodent lying dead by the bed. It was a big mouse, big enough to be a small rat or a little marsupial. Much to Bertie's disgust, Fixit wrapped up the dead mouse / rat/ marsupial and put it in the outside wheelie bin. After which he closed all the windows and locked the bad cat out.

However, an hour later we walked into our bedroom again, only to find an identical large rodent in exactly the same spot. Leaving us to wonder: could Bertie have opened a wheelie bin and done a spot of retrieving?

We checked. No. Large Rodent #1 still there.

He'd gone and caught an identical rodent and placed it in the same spot. Just to teach us. I think it was his way of giving us the finger, frankly.

In which I say Rest-in-Peace but hope I'm proved wrong

I feel slightly guilty to be constantly banging on about the missing badcat, but it's pretty much the main thing going on round here, in my mind at least. I had an enormous big private weep for him last night and maybe that helped a bit. Today I was at least and at last able to shrug off the inertia of my sadness and start to bring my house back into order. I swept and mopped the (disgusting from last night's Great Fridge Defrosting) floor today and this led me to the discovery of a couple of little catty toys (a jingle ball and his favourite, a pipe-cleaner) and then I looked down at the cat-food dish with the dried food in it (in case he arrived back when we were out) and I thought well, I may as well pack that up too. So, in the spirit of cleaning up, I want to commit to the record:

• That Bertie Wooster used to love Climber's football socks and used to steal them - and only them- out of Climber's sock draw and leave them in odd locations round the house. Occasionally we'd catch a glimpse of him carrying the enormous socks in his little cat mouth, with his I'm on a very-important-mission walk.
• That if we ever saw him having an absolutely ballistic play with something, it was probably a pipe-cleaner.
• That his favourite daytime sleeping haunt was on top of the boys' wardrobe, curled up on the sheepskin rug that I used to put the boys on when they were babies.
• That he and Cherub had this great game they never tired of playing where Cherub used to run around the backyard trailing a skipping rope and laughing his head off, whilst Bertie leapt at and pounced on and chased after and caught and then let go so he could start it all again.
• That he had worked out Cherub and Fixit only let him sleep with them if he stayed on TOP of the doona but if he slept with Climber or me he could snuggle under the doona, which is pretty smart when you factor in that Fixit and I share a bed.
• That really he preferred sleeping with Climber or me because he liked that under-the-doona option, and used to alternate every couple of days between us.
• That he knew Climber was for cuddles and Cherub was for mad-kitty berserk fun.

And that the 18 or so months that he had been with us was not nearly long enough, so we still really hope he comes back.



I haven't yet stopped jumping for phone calls and door-knocks but I suppose that will happen eventually. But maybe now I can shut up about it. You know, unless there's some good news. Thanks for listening and thanks for kind comments and thanks for sympathising. It has actually helped carry me through.

When Do You Give Up Hope?

Bertie Wooster has been missing for nearly 6 nights . This is a very long time in the life of a cat who has never gone AWOL before. Being the hopeful Pollyanna type I just kept thinking he'd be back at any moment. Every time I left the house I would re-enter it expectantly, straining my ears to hear the padding of his little feet and a boisterous meow demanding food NOW! It has finally dawned on me if he could have come home, he would have by now. He's micro-chipped, he's desexed, so I just thought he'd either come back or that someone official would have called me. On Friday I put some notices up at the local shops, and tonight the whole family walked the nearby streets calling him. Tomorrow I'll call some vets and I think I'll do a letterbox drop asking our neighbours to check their sheds or garages for a little locked-in Burmese. I should probably have done this 3 days ago but I just thought he'd be home by now.

He's left such a gap. I miss his purry little presence in the bed at night as he snuggled down next to me, I miss his slightly grumpy presence of an evening as he lay in front of the heater getting so hot he became cranky and flicked his tale in an irritated manner before finally dragging himself up and re-settling on one of our laps. I even miss the really annoying way he would trip me up and deafen me in the kitchen whilst I cooked because he thought I ought to attend to his stomach before those of the humans.

The boys are okay so far, they're fleetingly sad if they think about it but it's only really tonight that the he might never come back scenario has been raised, rather bluntly, by Fixit-the-Pessimist. I suppose he had to do it, given that in my heart of hearts I really thought Bertie would return to us. I don't really know what to say to the boys, to be honest. I hate admitting to myself that we might never see him again, much less to them. I can't even bring myself to pack up the forlorn cat-food dishes, because that might make it real.

Ya Ya Bishey.

How is this for a nasty bump? He rounded a corner too fast and clipped the edge of the door frame. I saw it happen and was not at all alarmed because he cried the right amount, if you know what I mean. Then a minute later I looked at him and there was the biggest, reddest egg on his hairline. Wasn't quite as calm then! But he was fine. This photo is taken a couple of days later.

In lieu of having a functioning long-term memory, I am once more recording some of Cherub's sweet talk. In case I want it for Ron. (Later Ron). The only stuff I remember about Climber's developing language is some early stuff that got written in a (very poorly kept) baby diary.
Thus I can tell you that one of Climber's first words was Dirty!!, said with a happy emphatic-ness as he pointed at the toilet or the rubbish bin; clearly we didn't want him to touch. He also said Whassat? (a lot) and the inscrutable Ya Ya Bishey. (Or sometimes Bishey Bishey Ya Ya.) Maybe it was something to do with ABC kids television logo, maybe it was to do with the Three Little Fishies song, we never worked it out. And let's not forget Dubba Dubba Dee which we think he just said because it is pleasurable to say. But the rest is lost in the mists of time and for that I say sorry, Climber.

Anyway, to talk like the Cherub (aged 4 and a half):

• Firstly, you must have a W where your R should be.
• Secondly, if you are feeling earnest about anything you must start your sentence with Well, especially if you are crying and reporting on what it was caused the crying in which case the Well, will usually be followed by Climber ... (did/said/pushed/shouted/stole).
• Thirdly you will get cross if anyone upterrupts you (pronounced cwoss and uptewwupts, see point 1).
• Finally, you will play fast and loose with the F and V sounds.

So this is a fan,

but this is Dark Vader.

He likes to watch a bideo. Berry much.

... and we took Bertie Wooster to see the Bet. She was lovely, although for some reason Bertie had a problem with her, something to do with where she put the thermometer I think..

What ho.

Meet Bertie Wooster, Bertie for short.
He is a 12-week old chocolate Burmese, purchased from a breeder in Seymour. He's been here exactly one day, and he is quite at home and we are all besotted.
Even though a pet is for life not just for Christmas, he is a Christmas present (from Fixit to me). It's been 6 years since my last cat crept quietly away under our neighbour's house to die. That was when we lived somewhere else and Climber was a crawling bundle of baby, and then we moved here and had Cherub and for a while there a pet would have been beyond our means and our energy. Now though, we need a pet. 'Specially Climber.It is so nice to have that little purring bundle of fur to cuddle; when we are not being entertained by his kittenish scampering antics, of course.

Basil The Cat Q&A

WHAT'S WITH THE NAME?
Our last kitty was called Bertie Wooster, which was a name I absolutely LOVED. It was really hard to think of a name that could live up to that, especially because Cherub kept nagging me: he needed the name NOW. So I was harassed-ly flicking through my mental library of well-known literary or real or film/tv characters and Basil Fawlty cropped up. Basil seemed like a good name. When he's naughty I can do my Sybil Fawlty impersonation. Basil! We most definitely do not say Bay-sil in Australia.



WHERE DID YOU GET HIM?
We got the new kitty from a breeder in Macclesfield, which is a long drive from our house, all the way to the Dandenongs. His breeder was recommended to us by Bertie's breeder, and I'd been watching the ad for him for a couple of weeks while I agonised over whether we could afford him, in light of the great motorcycle disaster. Of course, we can't, not really. But he was still there after a couple of weeks, so I figured it was meant to be. He is, after all, a lilac burmese.



The family who sold him to us had 3 very nice boy-children and such was their rapport with my kids that the Climber and their eldest boy exchanged email addresses and have been sending each other little messages all day. It also turned out that the family ran an online toy shop so I was able to buy the kids a Sonic Screwdriver at the same time, because I have started letting the kids watch Doctor Who this year. It scared them so much the first time that Cherub was glued to my lap and Climber was awake from 12.30am to 2am that first time, but they've got the hang of it now.


Doctor Climber attacks a Dalek-Cherub with the Sonic Screwdriver

WHAT SORT OF CAT IS HE?
Basil is a Burmese cat, they make extra good pets because they are so friendly and clever and affectionate and playful. Even better, he is a lilac Burmese, which considering the whole purple fixation I have going on, made him fairly irresistible to me. He even has a purple nose.

HOW'S HE SETTLING IN?
Really well, considering he's just been ripped from his home, his mother and his many kitten friends and siblings. He seems to have a really sweet nature, not so much of the bad-ass attitude of the last puss. He's successfully acquainted himself with the litter-tray (after having an accident on the sheepskin rug I'd given him to make him feel comfortable). He's eating, he's cuddling, he's slept on Cherub's bed, he's played. He's just lovely actually. He's not 100% at home yet, but he's doing really well.

WHAT'S HE LIKE?
Teeny. Soft. He has a croaky meow like a creaky door. Extremely pretty. Smoochy. Still a bit nervous, but getting braver.



ARE THE KIDS HAPPY?
Oh yeah, baby.

The Night We Felt the Earth Move

So the kids were in bed but not asleep, and Fixit and I were sitting on the loungeroom floor (old habits die hard I suppose - the new couch is perfectly comfortable) when the ground started shaking. Our brains could not make any sense of it. At all. We just sat there looking surprised for a few seconds. Vibrations, quite big ones, coming up through our floor.

Fixit at first accused the kids of rough-housing on the bunkbed, but really we knew it was a tremor. He's felt one before, years ago, but I never had. The only information that came into my completely freaked out brain was that everyone needed to stand under a door frame. So we did. I mean, the shaking had stopped by then but we still stood under the door-frames, just in case. As you do.

The kids were completely unnerved, and I think it was worse in the top bunk because Climber was fighting back a few frightened tears. We went out the front door to have a look. What were we expecting to see, crevices in the front yard? Everything was quiet and we were the only ones who came outside in our street.

The instinct in that situation is to reach out to others, so Fixit rang a friend who lives nearby, and his parents, and I came down to the computer where I watched Facebook and Twitter light up. Oddly comforting to hear about it from others.

Still haven't seen Bertie Wooster, who had been quite the psycho cat earlier that evening. Did he know? They say they do.

The kids were soothed and sent back to bed. It took a lot longer for my jumping nerves to calm. The thing is, I think, that here in Victoria, we're a little bit scared of Mother Nature right now.

Bertie Wooster - Action Kitteh

Pictures taken by my sister on the fancy camera.

I've just discovered LOLcatz. (I'm a bit behind). Unfortunately I am no good at funny captions.

The Drones Club

Nell came over to meet our new kitty.

Oops. Silly, that isn't Bertie Wooster. Here he is.

Of course she also came over to see The Cherub...

...and The Climber too.

Oh sorry. I meant this Climber.

Is magic real?

At school last Friday the Climber lost his other front tooth and is currently sporting the look we like to call the Toofless Tiger.
I think Climber and Crafty's boy monkey may have had a Tooth Fairy discussion recently. Suddenly her non-believer is enamoured of the coin under the pillow and Climber meanwhile starts in with is the Tooth Fairy real? because there's no such thing as magic, really, is there? Fortunately I was able to construct, hastily, a cogent argument based on the psychic connection between twins, which culminated in a resounding if that's not magic what is? Reassured, he decided that the Tooth Fairy should swim for this tooth and it was placed in a glass of water forthwith. Then, of course, conscience struck and he dictated the following note to be left out for her :

The Cherub said wistfully on the day after his first day, I really miss my kinder. Later that same morning he requested a daytime sleep. This was a surprise, because we recently lost his daytime sleep due to Christmas, heat-waves and school holidays. ( I know! A four-year-old still having a day sleep! Climber was the same, but don't be jealous; remember my kids are Very Fussy Eaters). When I looked askance at him, he explained that he wanted to dream about his kinder. I was a little bit overwhelmed by this huge kinder-love after only one day, but then I worked it out. The Cherub is mad for toy trains; indeed, the reason I never got any artwork from him is that he spent every possible inside moment at crèche crouched over the train track. At kinder there is a whole new set of tracks to fall in love with. With the added bonus of a really good large bit of floor so he can set up a decent sized track. No wonder he wanted to have a quiet little lie-down while he contemplated the glories awaiting him. I understand this. I'm a day-dreamer myself.

The house is being tackled bit by bit. The good news is that the boys' room is once more fit for human habitation, (not that it ever stopped me from making them sleep there, mind!), in fact better than that, it is spotless! It had got so bad it had assumed the proportions of Poe's Tell-tale Heart, because of all the Christmas presents and the spare mattress for the hot nights (the top bunk is too stifling) and the friends coming over and allright, yes, my general slackness. All I could think about was the terrible mess in there and I got to a stage of virtual paralysis with the other housework. Anyway, Bertie Wooster and I spent a day cleaning it up and I have to say that housework is much more fun when you have a pouncing kitty for company, but not necessarily faster. And although technically, the completion of this room should have meant I was free to get on with the rest of the house, I instead allowed myself to be distracted by a flying visit from my Mum, here to celebrate her little sister's 50th birthday.

Ringing in the new.

If I were to do a little precis of 2008 I would say...

Climber: Grade 2, and a little love affair - very good year.
Cherub: Kindergarten, huge improvement at swimming, finally picked up a pencil - very good year.
Bertie Wooster: arrived at our house, caught lots of mice and got loved to bits - a good year
Stomper: Tap school starting to do very well, got some real grown-ups' furniture at home - good year.
Fixit: Career change, tired, stressed, grumpy - hard year. (But we knew the first year in to the career change would be tough so our fingers are crossed that 2009 is easier and happier)

Anyway, because that's not such an exciting list, I give you instead a picture of my new dress, all silk and purple and art deco. I've been supporting the economy, as requested -and funded- by our Prime Minister. Shopping never felt so virtuous. The dress was on sale, half-price. I held it up to show Fixit and he completely ignored the loveliness of the dress as he gasped at the price tag and exclaimed Ninety nine dollars for a dress! When I tell my girlfriends this they roll their eyes and say $99 is cheap for a dress, especially a silk one. I love my girlfriends.



Last night we stayed in, being as I am a grinch about New Year's Eve festivities. I made a nice roast lamb dinner and sticky date pudding for dessert and hired dvds to be watched in comfort from the new pull-out sofa-bed. The boys of course were entranced by a Bed In The Lounge-Room and so of course we had to have bedtime stories all tucked in there together. Climber has already asked if he could sleep in it for a night, but where would Fixit and I sit to relax if Climber slept in the lounge, hmm?



Anyway, I would like to wish all who read here the very best for 2009, and give a special mention to my little network/family of blog-friends (you know who you are xx) whose friendship I treasure so much. And I thought I would also ask a small favour. I suspect there might be a few lurkers who also read here, so as a New Year's present to me, won't you please de-lurk and say hello or happy new year or anything you like, really. Go on, don't be shy.

Happy New Year to you all! Cx

Trainee Days

Fixit's first week at the new job was a total bludge, it must be admitted. He was only physically on the premises for a period of 7 hours during his first 4 days. They said they were paying him, so we're not complaining. His nose is well and truly on the grindstone now, though. It's Back-To-School for Mister Fixit. Or back to TAFE (Technical And Further Education) if you want to be accurate.

From what Fixit tells me of his TAFEs (this is his second time now), specifically TAFEs that educate mechanics, they seem like a little pocket of 1970/80s bogan Australia. His descriptions immediately conjure up my High School days - even though I had some tremendously good and progressive teachers there I must add - in that there existed this student culture where scholastic achievement equalled social suicide, as did expressing your own personality or beliefs. I thought we'd moved on as a country, grown up, achieved some insight and sophistication. But Fixit tells me I'm just stuck in an ivory tower of middle class bohemian niceness, and that if I ventured out of my sanctum I would see what the great unwashed were really like.

These are -really and truly- some things Fixit was told in the introductory speech at TAFE. That is is Not Allright to call a poof a poof. That you are not allowed to whistle at, make comments to or put your hands on attractive young girlies whilst on the TAFE premises, even if they are wearing tiny little shorts. Save it for the shopping mall across the way. If you see some Muslim women wearing the full veil you are Not Allowed to pretend to wave your Star Wars light sabre at them in a mock duel. They don't like it.

I get that they need to tell the young kiddies the right way to behave, in a way that will not set up their backs, but Geez. Talk about believing in the message you preach.

Luckily Fixit is part of a group of adult apprentices so he won't be forced to endure the company of bogan teenagers for the next 4 weeks. There are other men in their 30s doing his course. Meanwhile, the workload is pretty full-on and there are penalties for breaches; such as paying $140 to re-sit any tests you fail, and being sent home for the day if you forget your safety glasses and having your mobile phone confiscated if it rings in class. And in the first weeks it's all Occupational Health & Safety which means he is subjected to images of the results of Unsafe Practises. Like footage of a man who got sucked up into a jet engine (he survived almost unscathed apparently) and pictures of an arm that's been electrocuted. How many times do I need to tell you I'm extremely squeamish Mister Fixit before you stop trying to describe these things to me????

Anyway, Fixit is probably at maximum stress this last few weeks, what with quitting the old and starting the new. Not to mention health news - he's been told he has bad cholesterol and high blood sugar (his mother and sister both have Adult Onset Diabetes so this is not good) which means his diet needs a long hard look at itself...

... So the news that the guy who hired him -the only person he's really had as a point of contact at the new job and the one who made the case for taking on all these adult apprentices- was Escorted From The Premises on Wednesday was less than welcome. Turns out the guy was retrenched, which we think is different from being sacked for stealing or whatever, but it still feels like a bit of a worry.

But life goes on, we suppose, and as far as we know the job is secure. In the meantime, we'll be managing our stress by heading beach-wards for a night, while Nell kindly kitten-sits Bertie Wooster for us. Packing up our troubles in our old kit-bag and all that.

Have a Happy Easter, won't you. xx

A waste of good Ylang Ylang.

The plan was to return from our trip to Daylesford all serene and happy, so that the ensuing two weeks of school holidays would be as pleasant as possible for everyone. And up until the minute I walked through my front door to hungry children whose father (a) was still at the pub (he turned up 5 minutes after I did) despite airy, reassuring sms-es that led me to expect the opposite and (b) had not left any dinner instructions with Nell-the-kind-babysitter, the plan was going well. And it's possible that if Fixit had managed to apologise then my anger would have blown over. But he is not good at apologising so this did not happen, and I was angry for nearly a week. Which was a bit of a bummer. And I never got to tell him about the super bath and massage I had, or the lovely meals, or what a great relaxing time I had with the girls. Because I was too cross to even look at him.

Meantime the school holidays ploughed on, and prolonged sulking on my part aside, they have, on the whole, been very nice. I've been having sleep-ins because the kids are of an age where they can quietly self-amuse for fairly long periods of time if Fixit has made the breakfasts & switched on the pixel nanny.

We have played with Bertie Wooster, who is now allowed outdoors and has become a much nicer cat because of it. It also means that it is much easier to have people visit us, as we are no longer shouting shut the door!!! every time someone goes into the backyard.

We have played with lots of our friends, including these ones:

The boys have played with Lego. A lot. In fact, they've even had organised Lego play; here is a picture of Cherub attending his first ever Lego Workshop. (His veteran big brother had disappeared off to the toilet when I took the photo)

I've had a rest from teaching Saturday morning Kiddie Tap Classes because I was feeling burnt out. But I took a long drive out to Cranbourne on Friday to do a special teenage holiday program workshop in the company of fellow Tap-pet, the lovely Miss Kaye, and a good time was had by all. And I wish everyone paid artists as well as that council does. And I also wish that I had better photos.

Finally, today, after a pleasant but tiring weekend on my own with the boys because Fixit had to work both days, I am having a bit of peace and quiet. The Climber is at Soccer Clinic and I cleverly put the Cherub into the holiday program at his Kinder.

And seeing as I have finally come off my high-horse, (but am still very much on the moral high-ground) I thought I'd blog.

The Christmas Tree goes up.

You know what really says Christmas to me? Having a real tree at Christmas time. It's the smell of a pine tree in a loungeroom. Sure, they are messy, and wonky, and getting more and more expensive, but the smell! It brings me Christmas cheer.

We did some preliminary decorating when Fixit first brought the tree home. While he sawed off excess branches so we could fit it in a pot, I found some pretty fabric for the underlay and Cherub got the stuff together for a circular track round the outside.



Then we waited till after dinner and bath, and the whole family including Nell began the decorating process.



Nell is very good for tying fiddly string onto ornaments and unravelling tangled fairy lights. The boys are good at hanging baubles (up to a certain height of course), and Fixit is good for reaching up high and plugging stuff in. I float around filling gaps and directing operations.



Bertie Wooster, however, is good for nothing.



Climber took a hand in the photography, behind and in front of the camera. This is him doubling as a particularly rosy-cheeked elf. I'm pretty sure he has 5th disease (also called parvovirus or slapped face/cheek.) He's absolutely fine, and I would like to reassure everyone that no actual slapping was responsible for this face:



There was of course discussion about who should put the star on. Cherub had been eyeing it off ever since I bought it last week, and wasn't going to let any height requirements enter the agenda.



In the end we had a sort of mid-air passing ceremony so that both boys did the star. This montage shows the action, but in a strange order: basically start at the top on the right hand side and go down that column, then go the middle top and down then the left.



The Cherub was also facing health issues, he gagged on his dinner (he had this mean mother telling him to get on with it, just eat that last mouthful for goodnessakes) which caused him to bomit it back up and he was heard to repeat pathetically many times during that evening I don't like bomiting. Well, who does? And maybe just maybe the bomit wasn't all the faultmeanmother, as his guts have been acting up all weekend (causing me to thank my stars that he has finally learnt the ancient art of wiping his own bottom). Nell captured this last photo of us; rather than saying Happy Christmas! or even cheese! we are all saying Cherub farted!!, and if you look at his pleased but slightly guilty face you'll know it's true.